The convoy of heavy trucks ground across the plains, keeping open intervals to avoid the dust thrown up by the receding vehicle. The dust rose in a feathery spray, high in p the still heated air like the yellow smoke from a bush fire burning on a wide front.
Gerhard Fourie, in the lead truck, slumped at the wheel with his belly hanging into his lap; it had forced open the buttons of his shirt, exposing the hairy pit of his navel. Every few seconds he glanced up from the road to the rearview mirror above his head.
The back of the truck was piled with the baggage and furniture of the families, both black and white, that had been laid off from the mine. On top of this load were perched the unfortunate owners. The women had knotted scarves over their hair for the dust; they clutched their young children as the trucks bounced and swayed over the uneven tracks. The elder children had made nests for themselves amongst the baggage.
Fourie reached up and readjusted the mirror slightly, centring the image of the girl behind him. She was wedged between an old tea chest and a shabby suitcase of imitation leather. She had propped a blanket roll behind her back and she was dozing, her streaky blond head nodding and lolling to the truck's motion. One knee was slightly raised, her short skirt rucked up and as she fell asleep so her knee dropped to one side and Fourie caught a glimpse of her underpants, patterned with pink roses, wedged between those smooth young thighs. Then the girl jerked awake and closed her legs and rolled on her side.
Fourie was sweating, not merely from the heat; drops of it glinted in the dark unshaven stubble that covered his jowls. He took the stub of cigarette from between his lips with shaky fingers and inspected it.
Saliva had soaked through the rice-paper and stained it with yellow tobacco juice. He flicked it out of the side window and lit another, driving with one hand and watching the mirror, waiting for the girl to move again. He had sampled that young flesh, he knew how sweet and warm and available it was, and he wanted it again with a sickness of desire. He was prepared to take any risk for just another taste of it.
Ahead of him the clump of grey camel-thorn trees swam out of the heat mirage. He had travelled this road so often that the journey had its landmarks and rituals. He checked his pocket watch and grunted. They were twenty minutes late on this stage. But then the trucks were all overloaded with this throng of newly unemployed and their pathetic possessions.
He pulled the truck off the track beside the trees and climbed stiffly out onto the running-board and shouted: All right, everybody. Pinkie pause. Women on the left, men on the right. Anybody who isn't back in ten minutes gets left behind. He was the first back to the truck, and he busied himself at the left-hand rear wheel, making a show of checking the valve but watching for the girl.
She came out from amongst the trees, smoothing her skirts. She looked petulant and hot and grubby with floury dust. But when she saw Fourie watching her, she tossed her head arid swung her tight little buttocks and ostentatiously ignored him.
Annalisa, he whispered, as she raised one bare foot to climb over the tailboard of the truck beside him.
Your mother's, Gerhard Fourie! she hissed back at him.
You just leave me alone, or I'll tell my Pa! At any other time she might have responded more amiably, but her thighs and buttocks and the small of her back were still crisscrossed with purple weals from where her father had lambasted her. Temporarily she had lost interest in the male sex.
,I want to talk to you, Fourie insisted.
Talk, ha! I know what you want. Meet me outside the camp tonight, he pleaded.
Your bollocks in a barrel. She jumped up into the truck and his stomach turned over as he saw the full length of those slim brown legs.
Annalisa, I'll give you money. He was desperate; the sickness was burning him up.
Armalisa paused and looked down at him thoughtfully.
His offer was a revelation that opened a chink into a new world of fascinating possibilities. Up to that moment it had never occurred to her that a man might give her money to do something which she enjoyed more than eating or sleeping.
How much? she asked with interest.
A pound, he offered.
It was a great deal of money, more than she had ever had in her hand at any one time, but her mercenary instinct was aroused, she wanted to see how far this could be taken. So she tossed her head and flounced, watching him out of the corner of her eye.
Two pounds, Fourie whispered urgently, and Annalisa's spirits soared. Two whole pounds! She felt bold and pretty and borne along by good fortune. The stripes across her back and legs were fading. She slanted her eyes in that sly knowing expression that maddened him and she saw the sweat start on his chin and his lower lip trembled.
It emboldened her even further, and she drew breath and held it, and then whispered daringly: Five pounds! She ran the tip of her tongue around her lips, shocked by her own courage in naming such an enormous sum. It was almost as much as her father earned in a week.
Fourie blanched and wavered. Three, he blurted, but she sensed how close he was to agreement and she drew back affronted.
You are a smelly old man. She filled her voice with scorn and turned away.
All right! All right! he capitulated. Five pounds. She grinned at him victoriously. She had discovered and entered a new world of endless riches and pleasure.
She put the tip of her finger in her mouth. And if you want that too, it will cost you another pound. There were no limits to her daring now.
The moon was only days from full and it washed the desert with molten platinum, while the shadows along the ravine walls were leaden blue smudges. The camp sounds carried faintly along the ravine, somebody was chopping firewood, a bucket clanged and the women's voices at the cooking fires were like bird sounds heard from afar. Closer at hand a pair of prowling jackal cried, the odours from the cooking pots exciting them into their wild, wailing, almost agonized chorus.
Fourie squatted against the wall of the ravine and lit a cigarette, watching the ravine along which the girl must come. The flare of the match illuminated his fleshy unshaven features and he was so intent that he was totally unaware of the predatory eyes that watched him out of the blue moon shadows close by. His whole existence centred on the arrival of the girl and already he was breathing with eager little grunts of anticipation.
She was like a wraith in the moonlight, silvery and ethereal, and he heaved himself to his feet and crushed out the cigarette.
Annalisa! he called, his voice low and quivering with the need of her.
She stopped just out of reach before him, and when he lunged for her she danced away lightly and laughed with a mocking tinkle.
Five pounds, Meneer, she reminded him, and drew nearer as he fumbled the crumpled bank notes out of his back pocket. She took them and held them up to the moon. Then, satisfied, tucked them away in her clothing and stepped boldly up to him.
He seized her around the waist and covered her mouth with his wet lips. She broke away at last, laughing breathlessly, and held his wrist as he reached under her skirt.
Do you want the other pound's worther It's too much, he panted. 'I haven't got that much. Ten shillings, then, she offered, and touched the front of his body with a small cunning hand.
Half a crown, he gasped. That's all I have got. And she stared at him, still touching him, and saw she could get no MOre out of him.
All right, give it to me, she agreed, and hid the coin before she went down on her knees in front of him as though for his blessing. He placed both hands on her curly sun-streaked head and drew her towards him, bowing his head over her and then closing his eyes.
Something hard was thrust into his ribs from behind with such force that the wind was driven from his lungs and a voice grated in his ear.
Tell the little bitch to disappear. The voice was low and dangerous and dreadfully familiar.