The Sound of Thunder (17 page)

Saul. Merry little Saul with his monkey face, who made her laugh the way a mother laughs at her child. I love him, she thought. And it was true, she loved him. But love has many shapes, and some are the shapes of mountains-tall and jagged and big. While others are the shape of clouds-which have no shape, no sharp outline, soft they blow against the mountain and change and stream away but the mountain stands untouched by them. The mountain stands for ever.

“My mountain,” she murmured, and she saw him again so vividly, standing tall above her in the storm.

“Storm,” she whispered and clasped her open hands across her belly that was still flat and hard.

“Storm,” she whispered and felt the warmth within her. It spread outwards from her womb, the heat rising with it until it was a burning madness she could no longer control. With her skirts flying about her legs she ran to the stallion, her hand trembled on the straps of the girth. - “Just once,” she promised herself. “Just this once more. Desperately she clawed up into the saddle.

“Just this once, I swear it! ” and then brokenly,

“I can’t help myself. I’ve tried-oh God, how I’ve tried!

An appreciative stirring and hum of comment from the beds along the wall followed her as she swept down the hospital veranda. There was urgent grace in the way she held her skirts gathered in one hand, in the crisp staccato tap of her pointed boots along the cement floor and the veiled swing of her hips above. There was unrestrained eagerness in the sparkle in her eyes and the forward thrust of her breasts beneath the wine coloured jacket. The wild ride which brought her here had flushed her cheeks and tumbled her hair glossy black down her temple and on to her forehead.

Those sick and lonely men reacted as though a goddess had passed them by, thrilled by her beauty, yet saddened because she was unattainable. She did not notice them, she did not feel their hungry eyes upon her nor hear the aching whisper of their voices-for she had seen Sean.

He came slowly across the lawns towards the veranda, using the stick awkwardly to balance the drag of his leg. His eyes were downcast and he frowned in thought. Her breath caught in her throat as she saw how wasted was his body. She had not remembered him so tall with shoulders gaunt and wide like the crosstree of a gallows. Never before had she seen the bony thrust of his jawline, nor the pale smoothness of his skin faintly blue with new-shaved beard. But she remembered the eyes heavily over scored with black brows, and his great beaky nose above the wide sensuality of his mouth.

On the edge of the lawn he stopped with feet apart, set the point of the cane between them with both hands clasped over the head of it, and he lifted his eyes and looked at her.

For many seconds neither of them moved. He stood balancing on the cane with his shoulders hunched and his chin raised as he stared at her. She in the shadow of the veranda, her skirts still in one hand-but the other at her throat, fingers trying to still the emotions that fluttered there.

Gradually his shoulders straightened until he stood tall. He hurled the cane aside and reached both hands open towards her.

Suddenly she was running over the smooth, green lawn. Into his arms, trembling in silent intensity, while he held her.

With both arms around his waist and her face pressed against his chest she could smell the man smell of him and feel the hard muscle of his arms as he enfolded her-and she knew she was now safe. As long as she stayed like this-nothing, nobody could touch her.

On the slope of the table-topped mountain that crouches over the town of Pietermaritzburg there is a glade among the wattle trees. It is a secret place where even the timid little blue buck come out to graze in daylight. On a still day you can hear very faintly the pop of the wagon whips on the road below, or farther off the steam whistle of a train. But that is all that intrudes in this wild place.

A butterfly crossed the glade in uncertain wobbling flight, it came out of the sunlight into the dappled, moving shade along the edge, and settled.

That’s good luck,” Sean murmured lazily and Ruth lifted her head from the plaid rug on which they lay. As the butterfly moved its wings, fanning them gently, the iridescent green and yellow markings sparkled in the speck of sunlight that pierced the roof of leaves above them and fell upon it like a spotlight.

“It tickles, ” she said, and the insect moved like a living jewel across the smooth white field of her belly. It reached her navel and paused. Then the tiny tendril of its tongue uncurled and dabbed at the fine sheen of moisture that their loving had left Upon her skin.

“He’s come to bless the baby.”

The butterfly skirted the deep, delicately chiselled pit and moved on downwards.

“Don’t you think he’s being just a little forward-he doesn’t have to bless that as well?” Ruth asked.

“He certainly seems to know his way around,” Sean admitted dubiously.

The butterfly found its road southwards blocked by a forest of dark curls, so laboriously it turned and retraced its steps towards the north. once more it detoured round her navel and then headed unerringly for the pass between her breasts

“Keep right on, friend,”

Sean cautioned, but it turned suddenly and climbed the steep slope until at last it sat triumphant on the peak.

Sean watched it throbbing its wings, blazing in oriental SPlendour upon her nipple, and he felt himself stirred once more.

-Ruth.” His voice was husky again. She rolled her head to look into his eyes Go away, little butterfly, ” and she brushed it from her breast.

Ruth woke him a little Later, after they had slept and they sat facing each other on the rug with the open hamper between them.

While Sean uncorked the wine she worked over the hamper with the dedication of a priestess preparing a sacrifice. He watched her split the bread rolls and fill them with salty, yellow butter, then open the screw-topped jars of soused beans and pickled onions and beetroot. A heart of young lettuce rustled crisply as she plucked its leaves into a wooden bowl, and poured dressing over them.

Her hair, released from its braid, broke like a black wave over the marble of her shoulders, then rippled and swung with the small movements of her body. With the back of her hand she brushed it from her forehead, then looked up at him and smiled.

“Don’t stare. It’s bad manners. ” She took the glass he offered her and sipped the cool yellow wine, set it aside and went on to dismember the fat-breasted chicken. Pretending to ignore his eyes upon her body, she began to sing, softly, the love-song she had sung on the night of the storm and shyly her breasts peeped at him through the black curtain of her hair.

She wiped her fingers carefully on a linen napkin, took up the wineglass again and with elbows on her knees leaned forward slightly and returned his scrutiny with equal frankness.

“Eat,” she said.

“And you? “In a little while. I want to watch You. Then he was hungry.

“You eat the way you make love-as though tomorrow you die.

“I’m taking no chances.”

“You’re covered with scars, like an Old tOm-Cat who fights too much,” and she leaned forward and touched his chest with one finger.

-What happened there?”

-Leopard.

“And there?” She touched his arm.

“Knife.

“And there?” his wrist.

“Burst shotgun.”

She dropped her hand and caressed the fresh purple cicatrice that twined around his leg like some grotesque parasitic vine.

“This one I know,” she whispered and her eyes were sad as she touched it.

Quickly, to change her mood, he spoke.

“Now it’s my turn to ask the questions.” He reached across and laid his open hand upon her stomach where the first faint bulge pressed warmly into his palm.

“What happened there?” he demanded, and she giggled before she replied. “Burst shotgun-or was it a cannon?”

When she had repacked the hamper she knelt beside him. He lay flat on his back with a long black cheroot between his teeth.

“Have you had sufficient?” she asked.

“My God, yes,” and he sighed happily.

“Well, I haven’t.” She leaned over him, took the cheroot from his mouth and flicked it into the brambles.

With the first faint flush of evening in the sky a small breeze came down from the mountain and rustled the leaves above them. The fine hairs upon her forearms came erect, each on its tiny pimple of gooseflesh, and her nipples stood out dark and hard.

“You must not be late back to the hospital on the very first day they’ve let you out. ” She rolled away from him and reached for her clothing. Matron will have me hung, drawn and quartered.

Sean agreed. they dressed quickly, and she was remote from him.

All the laughter gone from her voice and her face cold and expressionless.

He stood behind her to lace the whalebone corset. He hated to cage that lovely body and was about to say so.

“Saul is coming tomorrow. A month’s leave. Her voice was harsh.

His hands stilled and they stood without moving. It was the first time either of them had referred to Saul since that morning a month ago when she had come to him at the hospital.

“Why didn’t you tell me sooner?” His voice also was harsh.

“I didn’t want to spoil today.” She had not turned towards him, but stood staring out across the glade to the far hills beyond the town.

“We must decide what we are going to tell him.”

“There is nothing to tell him,” she answered flatly.

“But what are we going to do?” Now his voice was ugly with mingled dread and guilt.

“Do, Sean?” She turned slowly and her face was still cold and expressionless. “We are going to do nothing! nothing at all! “But you belong to me!” he cried in protest.

“No,” she answered.

“The child, it mine!”

At his words her eyes narrowed and the sweet line of her lips hardened in anger.

“No, damn you, it isn’t! Not yours-although you sired it.

She flamed at him. It was the first time she had unleashed her temper at him. It startled Sean. “The child belongs to Sauland I belong to Saul. We owe you nothing.

He stared at her. “You don’t mean that,” and the flames of her anger faded. Quickly he tried to press his advantage.

“We’ll go away together.”

“Run away-you mean. Sneak away like a pair of thieves.

What would we take with us, Sean? The happiness of a man who loves and trusts us both-that, and our own guilt. You’d never forgive me, nor I you. Even now when we talk of it you cannot meet my eyes.

Already you are beginning to hate me a little.

“No! No!”

“And I would hate you,” she whispered.

please.

“You don’t love him. ” The agonized accusal was wrung from him, but it was as though he had not spoken. She went on dressing.

“He’ll want to see you. Half of every letter he writes is about

YOU.

I’ve told him that I’ve visited you at the hospital.”

Call for my horse,

“I’m going to tell him,” Sean shouted. “I’ll tell him everything.

“No, you won’t.” She answered him calmly.

“You did not save him at Colenso to destroy him now. You would destroy him-and us. Please call for my horse. ” Sean whistled and they stood together, not touching, not talking, not even looking at each other. Until Mbejane emerged from the bush below the glade leading the horses.

Sean lifted her into the saddle.

“When?” he asked quietly.

“Perhaps never,” she answered and swung the horse away.

She did not look back so Sean never saw the tears that streamed down her face. The muffled drum of hooves drowned her sobs and she held her back and her shoulders stiff so that he would not know.

The War Council ended long after dark and when his commandants had up saddled and ridden away to their laagers among the hills, Jan Paulus sat alone beside the fire.

He was tired, as though his brain was the cold, flabby body of an octopus and its tentacles spread out to every extremity of his body.

He was lonely. Now at the head of five thousand men he was alone as he had never been in the vast solitude of the open veld.

Because of the loneliness and because of the companionship she had given him these past twenty years his thoughts turned to Henrietta, and he smiled in the dari mess and felt the longing blunt the edge of his determination.

I would like to go back to the farm, for a week only. Just to see that they are all well. I would like to read to them from the Book and watch the faces of the children in the lamplight. I would like to sit with my sons on the stoep and hear the voices of Henrietta and the girls as they work in the kitchen. I would like …

Abruptly he stood up from beside the fire. Ja, you would like !

to do this and you would like to do that! Go then!

Give yourself leave of absence as you refused it to so many others.

He clenched his jaw, biting into the stem of his pipe. Or else, sit here and dream like an old woman while twenty-five thousand English pour across the river.

He Strode out to the laager, and the earth tilted upwards beneath his feet as he headed for the ridge Tomorrow, he thought.

Tomorrow.

God has been merciful that they did not rush the ridge two days ago when I had three hundred men to hold it. But now I have five thousand to their twenty-five-so let them come!

Suddenly, as he reached the crest, the valley of the Tugela lay below him. Soft with moonlight so that the river was a black gash in the land. He scowled as he saw the field of bivouac fires that straddled the drift at Trichardt’s farm.

They have crossed. May God forgive me that I had to let them cross, but I could not meet and hold them with three hundred.

Two days I have waited in agony for my columns to cover the twenty miles from Colenso. TWo days while the cannon bogged down in the mud.

Two days while I watched their cavalry, foot soldiers and wagons crossing the drift and I could not stop them.

Now they are ready. Tomorrow they will come up to us. they will come, to try at any other place is madness, a stupidity far beyond any they have shown before They cannot try the right, for to reach it they must march across our front. With little cover and the river fencing them in they would expose their flank to us at two thousand yards. No, they cannot try the right-not even Buller will try the right.