The Sound of Thunder (15 page)

“I have pleasure in bringing to your attention… conduct beyond the call of … under intense enemy fire… once more, initiated an advance … although wounded… disregard of personal danger … two members of your Guides.

Sergeant Sean Courtney.

Pte. Saul Friedman.

earnestly recommend … Distinguished Conduct Medal great gallantry and powers of leadership. “Garry dropped the letter and leaned back in his chair, staring at it as though it were his own death warrant. For a long while he did not move, while the pain kept beating in his head. Then he picked it up once more. Now his hands trembled so violently that the paper fluttered like the wing of a wounded bird.

“Everything of mine, everything I’ve ever owned-he’s taken it from me,” and he looked down at the ribbons on his breast.

“I’ve never had … Now this, the one thing. ” A drop of moisture fell on to the letter, blurring the ink.

“I hate him, ” he whispered and tore the letter across. hope he dies,” and he torr again and again, ripping it to shreds and at last screwing them into a ball in his clenched fist.

“No. You’ll not get that from me. It’s mine-it’s the one thing you’ll never have! ” He hurled the crumpled ball against the canvas of the tent, and lowered his head on to his arms upon the desk. His shoulders shook as he sobbed: “Don’t die. Please, Sean, don’t die.”

Simply by putting his shoulder against her and shoving her aside, Dirk Courtney cleared a small girl from the doorway and was first down the steps and out into the sun. Without looking back at the schoolhouse he headed for the hole in the back hedge, the others would be following.

They caught up with him while he was selecting a klei-lat from the hedge.

“Hurry up,” Dirk ordered. “We got to get to the river first else they’ll get the best place.

They spread out along the hedge, small boys chattering like a troop of excited monkeys

“Lend me your knife, Dirkie . “Hey, look at my lat.” Nick Peterson brandished the short rod of Port Jackson Willow he had cut and peeled. It whipped with a satisfying swish.

“It’s not a lat,” Dirk informed him. “It’s a Lee-Metford-” He looked round at the rest of his team. “You remember now, I’m Lord Kitchener, and you got to call me

“My Lord.” ” “And I’m General French,” announced Nick. This was fair enough, after all, he was Dirk’s chief lieutenant. It had taken Dirk a mere two weeks and five bloody fist-fights to reach his position as un-challenged leader.

-,I’m General Methuen!” one of the lesser members yelped.

“And I’m General Butler!”

I

“And I’m General Gatacre!

“You can’t be all generals.” Dirk glared around. “Only Nick and I are generals. You are all just Privates and things

“Gee, man, Dirkie! why you always got to spoil things?” you shut your mouth, Brian.” Dirk sensed mutiny, and quickly he diverted their attention.

“Come on, let’s go and get ammo.

“Dirk took the long route down the sanitary lane. This way he was unlikely to meet adults and have any of his force seconded to serve elsewhere at wood chopping or gardening under parental control.

“Peaches are nearly ripe,” Nick commented as they passed the Pye orchard.

“Another week, ” Dirk agreed, and crawled through the hedge into the Van Essen plantation that spread down to the Baboon Stroom.

“There they are!” someone shouted as they emerged from the trees.

“Boers, General!

Out on the right, busy along the bank of the river was another bunch of small figures-sons of the Dutch families in the district.

“I’ll go and talk to them,” Dirk said. “You go for ammo.

They trotted off towards the river and Dirk called after them: “Hey, Nick, get me a good dollop of clay.

“All right, My Lord.”

With all the dignity of a general, officer and a peer of the realm Dirk approached the enemy and stopped a short distance from them.

“Hey, Piet, are you ready yet? ” he asked haughtily. Piet Van Essen was his second cousin twice removed. A chunky lad but not as tall as Dirk.

“Ja. ” “The same rules?” Dirk asked.

“Ja, the same rules. ” No clothes, ” Dirk warned him.

“And no throwing with stones,” Piet shot back.

“How many you got?” Dirk began counting the enemy suspiciously.

“Fifteen-same as you.”

“All right then,” Dirk nodded.

“All right then!”

Nick was waiting for him below the bank. Dirk jumped down beside him and accepted the large ball of blue clay that Nick handed him’ It just right, Dirkie, not too wet.

“Alright let’s get ready.”

Quickly Dirk stripped off his clothing, pulled the belt from the loops of his pants and buckled it around Ins waist to hold his spare lats.

“Hide the clothes, Brian,” Dirk ordered and surveyed his naked warriors. Nearly all of them still retained the almost WOManly shape of youth; undeveloped chests, protruding stomachs and fat white buttocks.

“They’ll come down the river like they do every time,” Dirk said.

“This time we’re going to ambush them. ” As he spoke he kneaded a handful of clay into a ball and spiked it on to the end of the lat.

“Me and Nick Ill wait here-the rest of you on top of the bank in those bushes back there He was looking for a target to practise on, and found it in a water tortoise which was laboriously climbing the far bank -watch that old skilpad. ” He interrupted himself; stepped forward with his right hand holding the lat thrown back, then whipped it through in an overhead swing. The ball of clay flew from the end of the rod with a vicious hum and smacked on to the shiny black carapace with a force that left a white star shaped crack upon the shell. The tortoise jerked in its head and limbs and toppled backwards into the stream.

“Good shot!”

“There he is, let me have a shot.

That’s enough! You’ll get plenty shots just now. ” Dirk stopped them. Now listen to me! When they come me and Nick will hold them here for a bit, then we’ll run back along the river and they’ll chase us. Wait until they are right underneath you-then give it to them.”

Dirk and Nick crouched side by side, close in against the bank with the water up to their noses. A tuft of reeds hid those Parts of their heads still above the surface and within easy reach their loaded clay-lats lay on dry land.

Below water Dirk felt Nick’s elbow nudge his ribs, and he nodded carefully. He also had heard the whisper of voices around the bend of the river, and the roll and plop of loose earth dislodged by a careless foot. He turned his head and answered Nick’s grin with one just as bloodthirsty, then he. peered around the reeds.

Twenty paces in front of him a head appeared cautiously around the angle of the bank and the expression on its face was set and nervous-and Dirk moved his own head back behind the bunch of reeds.

A long silence broken suddenly. “They’re not here.” The voice was squeaky with adolescence and tension. Boetie was a delicate child, small for his age, who insisted on joining the rest Of them in games beyond his strength.

Another long silence and then the sound of a wholesale but stealthy approach. Dirk reached out and gripped Nick’s arm the enemy were committed, out in the open-he lifted his mouth above the surface.

“Now!” he whispered and they reached for their lats. The surprise was complete and devastating. As Dirk and Nick rose dripping, with throwing arms cocked, the attackers were bunched in such a way that they could neither run nor return the fire unhampered.

The clay pellets flew into them, slapping loudly on bare flesh, producing howls of anguish and milling, colliding confusion.

“Give it to them,” shouted Dirk, and threw again without picking his man, blindly into the mass of legs and arms and pink backsides.

Beside him Nick worked in a silent frenzy of load and throw.

The confusion lasted perhaps fifteen seconds, before the howls of pain became shouts of anger.

“It’s only Dirk and Nick.”

“Get them-it’s only two of them.

The first pellet flipped Dirk’s ear, the second hit him full in the

chest.

“Run!” he gasped through the pain, and floundered to the bank.

Bent forward to climb from the stream he was frighteningly vulnerable, and a pellet thrown at point-blank range took him in that portion of his anatomy which he was offering to the enemy. The sting of it propelled him from the water and clouded his vision with tears.

“Chase them!”

“Mt. them!”

The pack bayed after them, pellets hissed about them and slapped at them as they pelted back along the stream. Before they reached the next bend their backs and bottoms were dappled with the angry red spots which tomorrow would be bruises.

Without discretion, hot with the chase, shouting and laughing, the attackers poured into the trap and as they rounded the bend it closed upon them.

Dirk and Nick stood poised to meet them, and suddenly the bank above their heads was lined with squealing, dancing, naked savages, who hurled a steady stream of missiles into them.

For a minute they stood it, then completely broken they scrambled out of the riverbed with pellets flailing them and raced panic-stricken for the shelter of the plantation.

One of them remained below the bank, kneeling in the mud, sobbing softly. But according to the unspoken laws that governed them this one was exempt from further punishment.

“It’s only Boetie,” Nickie shouted. “Leave him. Come on!

Chase the others! ” And he scrambled up the bank and led them after the flight. Yelling and shrilling with excitement they streamed away through the brown grass to where Piet Van Essen was desperately trying to stay the rout on the edge of the plantation, and gather his men to meet the charge.

But another of them remained below the bank-Dirk Courtney.

There were just two of them now. Screened by the bank, completely alone. Boetie looked up and through his tears saw Dirk coming slowly towards him. He saw the latin Dirk’s hand and the expression on his face. He knew he was alone with Dirk.

“Please, Dirk,” he whispered. “I give up. Please. I give

UP.

Dirk grinned. Deliberately he moulded the clay pellet on to his lat.

“I’ll give YOU all my lunch tomorrow, ” pleaded Boetie. “Not just the sweets, I’ll give you all of it.”

Dirk hurled the clay. Boetie’s shriek thrilled his whole body.

He began to tremble with the pleasure of it.

“I’ll give you my new pocket-knife. ” Boetie’s voice was muffled by sobs and his arms which he had crossed over his face.

Dirk loaded the lat, slowly so he could savour this feeling of power.

“Please, Dirkie. Please, man, I’ll give you anything you-” and Boetie shrieked again.

“Take your hands off your face, Boetie.” Dirk’s voice was strangled, thick with pleasure.

“No, Dirkie. Please no!”

“Take your hands away, and I’ll stop.”

“You promise, Dirkie. You promise you’ll stop.

“I promise,”

whispered Dirk.

Slowly Boetie lowered his arms, they were thin and very white, for he always wore long sleeves against the sun.

“You promised, didn’t you. I did what you-” and the clay hit him across the bridge of his nose, spreading as it struck, jerking his head back. Immediately there was blood from both nostrils.

Boetie clawed at his face, smearing blood on to his cheeks.

“YOU promised, ” he whimpered. “You promised, But Dirk was already moulding the next pellet.

Dirkie walked home alone. He walked slowly, singing a little, with soft hair falling forward on to his forehead and a smear of blue clay on one cheek.

Mary was waiting for him in the kitchen of the cottage on Protea Street. She watched from the window while he slipped through the hedge and crossed the yard. As he came towards the door she noticed the smile on his face. There was hardly sufficient room in her chest for what she felt as she looked at the innocent beauty of his face. She opened the door for him.

“Hello, darling.”

“Hello, Mary, ” Dirk greeted her, and his little smile became a thing of such radiance that Mary had to reach for him.

“My goodness, you’re covered in mud. Lets get you bathed before your granma gets home. ” Dirk extricated himself from her embrace and moved in on the biscuit-tin.

“I’m hungry.

“Just one,” Mary agreed, and Dirk took a handful. “Then I’ve got a surprise for you. ” “What is it? ” Dirk was more interested in the biscuits. Mary had a surprise for him every evening and usually it was something silly like a new pair of socks she had knitted.

“I’ll tell you when you’re in the bath. ” “Oh, all right. ” Still munching Dirk set off for the bathroom.

He began to disrobe along the passage dropping first his shirt and then his pants for Mary to retrieve as she followed.

“What is the surprise?”

“Oh Dirk, you’ve been playing that horrible game again.”

Mary knelt beside the tub and gently passed the soapy flannel down his bruised back and buttocks. “Please promise me you’ll never play it again.

“All right.” It was a very simple matter to extract a promise from Dirk, he had made this particular one before. “Now, what’s your surprise?

“Guess.” Mary was smiling now, a secret knowing smile which immediately caught Dirk’s attention. He studied her scarred face, her ugly loving face.

“Sweets?” he hazarded, and she shook her head and caressed his naked body with the flannel.

“Not socks!”

“No. ” She dropped the flannel into the soap-scummed water and clasped him to her chest. “No, not socks,” she whispered.

He knew then.

“Yes, Dirkie, it’s about your father.”

Instantly he began to struggle’ Where is he, Mary? Where is he?”

“Into your nightshirt first.

“Is he here? Has he come home?”

“No, Dirk. He isn’t here yet. He’s in Pietermaritzburg. But you’re going to see him soon. Very soon. Granma has gone now to make reservations on the train. You’re going to see him tomorrow.

His hot, wet body began to tremble in her arms, quivering with excitement.

“is it … ? is it … “well, you’ll see for yourself “In some respects, Mrs. Courtney, it was possibly all to the good that we were unable to contact you before. ” The Surgeon-Major tamped tobacco into his pipe, and began methodically searching all his pockets.