I have been over this phase of the incident many times in my mind. I know that the sensible thing to do would still have been to avoid the crowd of boys, or even to wait for the storm to blow over as these village upsets sometimes did. Yet once that boy had seen me and knew that I had seen him, I was no longer a free agent but a prisoner of the situation. It was impossible for me to do anything else but go on, because everyone expected that and nothing else of me. Whatever price the drama was going to exact from us all it was presupposed that I would play my part exactly as I did. The ancient pattern conditioning the minds of the youth of our village from that fateful Sunday onwards was such that they were instinctively, without any special word of command or active leadership, committed to a conspiracy wherein they would all serve a moment when my brother and I could be confronted together, and alone, without any chance of interference from our elders. But I knew none of this at that time. I knew only that under that empty and unseeing blue sky from which even the witness of the hungry falcon had been withdrawn, I had to go on and get over that crossing with my awkward brother as best I could.
Feeling sick in the stomach I moved forward. My brother however still blanched at the prospect. Putting his broad ploughman’s hand on my arm to restrain me he said in an incredulous voice: ‘But, Ouboet, if you go on they’ll tear the clothes off my back and mock me for –’
I pushed his hand roughly away and said with bitter resignation: ‘It’s too late now for anything else. But I’ll not let them touch you if I can help it. Look! When we get to the river bed I want you to go straight on. I want you to promise me to walk straight on home . . . and not look back whatever happens. If you’re right and they’ve nothing against me then you’ve no need to worry.’
He opened his mouth to protest but I shook him roughly and said, ‘For Christ’s sake do what you’re told! You’ve already caused trouble enough.’
It was the oath that did it. That form of swearing is absolutely forbidden among decent people in my country. I don’t think I had ever tried it before. To this day I find it strange that I should have used it then and that, hearing it, my brother should have come forward without demur to walk like a shadow at my side.
Some minutes before we came to the dip in the road we could hear the quick buzz which comes from an excited crowd. The sound rose high into the bright air around us and harmonized uncannily with the feverish tempo of the light and constant murmur of heat which always trembles in our bush-veld afternoon silences. But as we came nearer the buzz quickly detached itself from the general rhythm of the day and hit us like the noise of a crowd at some public demonstration. Nevertheless, directly my brother and I came out on the river bank someone called out joyfully: ‘Look: Oubeotjies, fn4 they’re here!’
Instantly the crowd went as silent as a tomb. I had not much eye for detail at that moment nor indeed for anything save the sullen shade and earthquake rumble of the dark necessity which drew my brother and myself. Yet as I took in the general outline of that mass of oddly-expectant faces arranged in a half-moon on the level surface of the river bed I saw that not a boy under sixteen from our village was absent and that some pimply over-seventeens had been thrown in for the generous measure that fate reserves for these occasions. I remember also that the glare in those eyes focused on me and my brother seemed fired with a blazing cannibal hunger which I had never seen before on human faces – though today I know it only too well. Then quickly I marked down two figures standing apart from the rest and facing us. Bitterly I recognized the principals in the scene, the two toughest of the occupants of the pew behind ours. As my eyes met theirs one shifted his hobbledehoy weight uneasily on to another foot, and the other licked his lips with apparent nervousness.
‘Remember,’ I whispered to my brother: ‘Not a word to anyone. Walk past them and straight home. I’ll do all the talking that’s necessary.’
He made no reply. Silently we approached. Though we had known those present all our young lives no one called out a greeting: they just sat or lolled against the river banks staring at us with that strange hunger in their eyes. My brother, devastated by the brilliance of that massed impersonal stare, tried desperately to look for comfort in some eye not hostile to him. But those faces were not glaring so much at us but at the event that they longed to bring about through us. At last we came close to the two standing apart waiting in the middle of the river bed. I could hear their hard breathing. My brother and I stepped to the side in order to pass them. At that a hiss of imperative meaning escaped from the crowd like steam from a high-pressure boiler. Automatically the biggest of the two grasped my brother by the arm and said: ‘Not so fast – you misshapened bastard!’
As if long rehearsed for the part I moved in between them, pushed him aside and said quietly to my brother: ‘Remember. Your promise.’ In the same breath I turned to face his opponent.
The crowd sighed with relief. Tongues licked expectant lips as quickly as those of our lizards when they deftly flick some ripe insect-sparkle from the air into their saffron mouths. The occasion was developing according to their satisfaction.
‘Get out of my way, Cousin,’ the youth growled at me. ‘Our quarrel isn’t with you but with that abortion of a brother of yours.’
‘I shan’t get out of your way,’ I told him, my heart beating wildly. ‘You’re not going to touch my brother. He’s much younger and smaller than you.’
I forbore to add that my opponent was also a good deal bigger than I.
For a moment he stood there undecided, looking first at me and then at my brother who was walking fast up to the far bank and towards the village with an apparent willingness so different in spirit from the reluctant promise which I had extracted from him that even I was surprised and perhaps somewhat shocked. Then my enemy looked back from my brother to the one-eyed crowd and in its glance read his instructions. I had just time to see my brother scramble up the far bank and break into a run, when he exploded in hoarse, militant sarcasm: ‘Well, you’ve asked for it!’ and came for me hitting out fast with both hands.
Excitement heaved the crowd to its feet and sent it rushing to form an eager ring around us. He was, as I said, bigger than I and I never had much hope of beating him, quite apart from the fact that while we fought his brother danced around exhorting him to finish me and threatening to join in if the other failed. I don’t know how long we fought. I am told that after the first few minutes I was clearly the loser, but I was unaware of the fact. In me some stranger had taken over. He did the thinking and the hitting for me and robbed me of all feeling. Yes, someone of infinite experience became master of my situation. Then suddenly on the far perimeter of the storm of my senses came a new sound.
Someone was bellowing like a bull at the crowd of boys and hitting out at them. Simultaneously we stopped fighting, and looking round in amazement we saw the crowd scattering fast and the big figure of the village lay-preacher lashing out right and left with his horsewhip as he came towards us, my brother following close behind him.
‘Are you all right, Ouboet?’ my brother implored even before he reached me.
I don’t know why but at his words rage boiled over like water in a kettle inside me.