The Sound of Thunder (52 page)

A few of the men along the bar glanced up as he entered.

“Hey, Dirk!”

“We’ve missed you-where have you been all week?” Dirk returned Archy’s greeting selfconsciously and when he walked to take the stool beside him at the end of the bar counter he held himself erect and swaggered a little-for this was a place of men,

“Good evening, Dirk.

What will it be?” The barman hurried across to him.

“Hello, Henry-is it all right tonight?” Dirk dropped his voice to a whisper.

“Should be-we aren’t expecting any snoopers,” Henry reassured him.

“But the door behind you isn’t locked.”

Dirk’s seat in the corner had been selected with care. From it he could survey each newcomer to the room while being screened himself by the drinkers along the counter. Behind him a door led through the wash up into the back yard-a necessary precaution when you’re seventeen and both the law and your father forbid you liquor.

“Very well, then-give me the usual,” Dirk nodded.

“You’re out late tonight,” Henry remarked as he poured gin into a tumbler and filled it with bottled ginger beer “You been out hunting again?” Henry was a small man in his early fifties, with a pale un sunned face and little blue eyes, and now as he asked the question he winked one of them at Archy Longworthy.

“Did you get it tonight?” Archy took over the catechism.

Dirk laid a finger along the side of his nose. “What do you think?” He grinned and they all laughed delightedly.

““Who was it? Madame?” Archy drew him out, playing for the other listeners, who were leaning forward still chuckling.

“Oh, her! ” Dirk shrugged contemptuously. Madame was the code name of the wife of one of the railway drivers. Her husband ran the night train to Pietermaritzburg every alternate day. She was not considered much of a conquest.

“Who then?” Henry kidded softly.

“I’ll let you know when I’m finished nesting there myself,” Dirk promised.

“A pretty one?” they insisted. “Young, hey?”

“She’s all right-not too bad.” Dirk tasted his gin.

“Man, you get so much you don’t hardly “preciate it any more,”

Archy chided him, grinning at his audience, and Dirk bridled with pleasure. “Come on, Dirk-tell us, man. Is she hot? ” For answer Dirk extended one finger cautiously and touched his glass, hissed sharply as though he had touched red hot steel and jerked his hand back with an exclamation of pain. They roared with appreciation and Dirk laughed with them, flushing, eager for their acceptance.

I’ve us the story-” Henry insisted. “You don’t have to give us the name, just give us the details. Where did you take her?”

“Well-” Dirk hesitated.

“Come on, Dirk. Tell us about it.”

And of course he obliged. Telling it in detail so that the indulgent quality of their laughter changed and they leaned closer to him listening hungrily.

“Jesus! Did she say that?”

“Then what did you do?” they encouraged him.

And Dirk told them. He was a natural storyteller and he built up the suspense until there was a small island of attentive silence around him. But the rest of the bar-room was louder with laughter and voices than it had been when he entered. One group in particular were feeling their liquor.

—So I took her hand,” Dirk went on, “and I said,

“Now I’ve got a little surprise for you. ” “What is it?” she asked, as though she didn’t know. “Close your eyes and I’ll show you.” I told her . And a voice rang loudly from across the room: —You take that big ugly bastard Courtney. What does he do except drive around in a big motor-car and make speeches.

Dirk stopped in the middle of a sentence and looked up. Suddenly his face was pale. The man who had spoken was one of the group at the far end of the bar. He was dressed in a shabby overall of blue denim.

A man no longer young, with the lines of hardship etched deep around his eyes and mouth.

“You know who gives him his money? I tell you-we give it to him.

Without these he’d be finished-he wouldn’t last a month.” The man held up his hands, they were calloused and the nails were split and ragged, encrusted with dark semicircles of dirt. “That’s where he gets his money. Colonel Bloody Courtney. Dirk was staring across at the speaker; his hands lay clenched on the counter in front of him.

Now suddenly the room was very quiet-so that the man’s next words seemed even louder.

“You know what he pays,- thirty-two pounds a month top journeyman’s wages! Thirty-two pounds a month!”

“The minimum rate is twenty-five-” one of his companions observed dryly. “I reckon you’re free to move on to a better job-if you can find it. Me, I’ll stay on here. ” “That’s not the point. That big idle bastard’s making a fortune out of us-I reckon he can afford to pay more. I reckon … ” “Do you reckon you’re worth that much?” Dirk jumped up from his stool and shouted the question down the length of the counter. There was a stir of interest and every head turned towards him.

“Leave him, Dirk, he’s drunk. Don’t start anything,” Henry whispered in agitation, and then raising his voice and turning to the other,

“You’ve had enough, Norman. Time you were on your way. Your old lady will be waiting dinner for you.”

“Good God!” the man was peering in Dirk’s direction, his eyes focusing blearily.

“Good God! It’s Courtney’s pup.”

And Dirk’s face set into nervous rigidity. He began to walk slowly down the room towards the man.

“Leave him, Dirk.” To restrain him Archy caught his arm as he passed. But Dirk shrugged it off.

“You insulted my father. You called him a bastard!”

“That’s right.” Norman nodded. “Your daddy’s a bastard all right. Your daddy’s a big lucky bastard who’s never done a full day’s work in his life-a big, lucky, bloodsucking bastard. And he’s whelped an equally useless pup, who spends his time .

Dirk hit him in the mouth, and he went over backwards off the stool, flailing his arms as he fell. He hit the floor with his shoulders and rolled on to his knees spitting blood and a broken tooth from his mouth.

“You little bastard— he mouthed through the blood. Dirk stepped forward with his left foot and swung his boot with the whole weight of his body behind it. The toe of his boot thudded into the man’s chest and flung him on to his back.

,

“Christ, stop him,” shouted Henry from behind the bar. But they sat paralyzed as Dirk stooped for the bar stool, lifted it above his head and then brought it down, swinging his body with it as though he were chopping a log. The heavy wooden seat hit the man in the centre of his forehead, it hit solidly for the back of his head was against the floor and could not give with the blow. It split his skull cleanly and twin spurts of blood shot from his nostrils into the sawdust on the floor.

“You’ve killed him. ” A single voice broke the long silence that followed.

“Yes.” Dirk agreed. I’ve killed him. I’ve killed a man. It sang within him savagely. It came up and filled his chest so that he could hardly breathe. And he stood over the corpse not wanting to miss a moment of it. He felt his legs trembling under him, the muscles of his cheeks so tight with excitement they felt they must tear.

“Yes, I killed him. ” His voice was choked with the violence of the pleasure that gripped him. His vision narrowed down so that the dead man’s face filled the whole field of it. The forehead was deeply dented and the eyes bulged from their sockets.

Around him there was a sudden bustle of consternation.

“You’d better send for his father.”

“I’m getting out of here!”

“No, stay where you are. Nobody must leave.”

“My God, call Doc Fraser.”

“Doc’s not wanted-get the police.”

“He was so quick-like a bloody leopard-“Christ, I’m getting out of here.”

TWo of them stooped over the body.

“Leave him!” snapped Dirk. “Don’t touch him.

a young lion of its kill. And instinctively they obeyed. They stood up and moved away. With them everyone else drew back, leaving Dirk standing alone.

“Get his father,” repeated Henry. “Someone ride out and call Sean Courtney. ” An hour later Sean strode into the room. He wore an overcoat over his nightshirt and his boots had been pulled hurriedly over his bare feet. He stopped on the threshold and glared around the room, his hair in wild disorder from sleep-but when he entered, the atmosphere in the room changed. The tense silence relaxed and every face turned eagerly towards him.

“Mr. Courtney-thank God you’ve come,” blurted the young police constable who was standing beside Dr. Fraser.

“How bad is it, Doc?” Sean asked.

“He’s dead, Sean.”

“Pa,” Dirk started.

“Shut up!” Sean ordered him grimly. “Who is he?” he fired at the constable.

“Norman Van Eek, one of your fitters from the mill.

“How many witnesses?”

“Fourteen of them, sir. They all saw it.”

“Right,” Sean ordered, “get the body down to the police station.

You’ll be able to take statements from them tomorrow morning.

“What about the accused … I mean what about your son, sir? ” The constable corrected himself.

“I’ll be responsible for him.

“I’m not sure that I shouldn’t . He saw the expression on Sean’s face. “Well, that will be all right, I suppose, ” he agreed reluctantly.

“Pa . Dirk started again.

“I told you to keep your mouth shut-you’ve done enough damage for one night. ” Sean spoke without looking at him, then to the barman.

“Fetch a blanket.” Then to the police constable,

“Get some of them to help you,” and he pointed towards the window which was lined four deep with curious faces.

“Very well, Mr. Courtney. ” After they had shuffled out with the blanket-wrapped body, Sean glanced significantly at Dr. Fraser.

“I’d better get down there and complete my examination.

“You go ahead,” Sean agreed and the doctor packed his bag and went. Sean closed the door behind him and slammed the shutters across the window. Then he turned to the men who stood anxious along the bar.

“What happened?” They stirred restlessly and looked everywhere but at him.

“You, George?” Sean selected one of his mechanics.

“Well, Mr. Courtney your Dirk went up to Norman and hit him off the stool.

Then he kicked him as he was trying to get up, then he picked up the stool and hit him with it.” The mechanic stumbled hoarsely through his explanation.

“Did this man provoke him?” Sean demanded.

“Well, he called you a-begging your pardon, Mr. Courtney-he called you a big, idle, bloodsucking bastard. ” Sean frowned quickly. “Did he now! What else did he say?”

“He said you were a slave owner-that you starved your men.

He said that he was going to get even with you sometime.”

Arrhy Longwortby took over the telling of it with a note of interrogation in his voice as he glanced around at the others for support. After a few seconds there was a guilty nodding of heads and a few murmurs of agreement. Archy took courage from it.

“He sort of hinted that he was going to wait for you one night and get even.

“Did he say that in so many words?” Sean’s presence dominated the room with such an obvious air of authority that when Archy looked again for support he found it in their faces.

“He said: “One night I’m going to wait for that big bastard then I’ll show him a few things.” ” Archy gave them the exact words. No one protested.

“Then what happened?”

“Well then he sort of picked on young Dirk. And “here’s Courtney’s brat,” he said. “Yellow as his old man, I reckon!

“What did Dirk do?” Sean asked.

“Well, Mr. Courtney, he just laughed-like the gentleman, sort of, nice and friendly. “Forget it, he said-you’ve had too much to drink.” ” A sudden thought occurred to Sean. “What was Dirk doing in here, anyway?”

“Well, its like this, Mr. Courtney-a few weeks ago he lent me a couple of pounds. I asked him to call round here tonight so I could give it back to him-that’s all it was.

“He wasn’t drinking then?” Sean asked suspiciously.

“Good Lord, no!” Archy was so obviously shocked at the suggestion that Sean nodded.

“All right, what happened then? ” he pursued,

“Well, Norman went on ribbing him. Called him a coward and all that-I can’t remember the exact words. But at last young Dirk lost his temper. He walked across and hit him off the stool.

“Well, I guess Norman deserved that-what do you drink, boys?”

Archy looked at them again.

“That’s right-fair made my blood boil to hear him picking on Dirk like that. ” The mechanic backed him up and the others murmured agreement.

“Well, then,” Archy took up the tale again,

“Norman’s lying on the floor and pulls out his knife.” There was a rustle of astonishment from along the bar. One man opened his mouth and lifted his hand in protest, but suddenly embarrassed, he carried the gesture through and massaged his neck.

“Knife. What knife-where’s it now?” Sean leaned forward eagerly.

Standing beside him Dirk began to smile softly. When he smiled his face was beautiful.

“Here’s the knife.” Henry, the barman, reached under the counter and brought out a large bone-handled clasp knife. Everybody in the room stared at it blankly.

“How did it get there?” Sean asked, and now for the first time he was aware of the sickly guilt-ugly faces in front of him.

He knew then for certain it was a lie.

“I took it off Norman afterwards. We thought it best you should be the first one to know the truth-you being his father, and all. ” Archy wriggled his shoulders ingratiatingly and smiled around at his witnesses.

Slowly Sean turned to the man nearest to him, the bank clerk.

“Is this the knife with which Norman Van Eek threatened my son?

“Yes, Mr. Courtney. ” The man’s voice squeaked unnaturally.

Sean looked at the man beyond him and repeated the question exactly.

“Yes, that’s the one, sir.

“That’s it.”

I

“Yes.

“No doubt about it-that’s it.”

He asked each man in turn and each answered the same.

“Dirk. ” Sean came last to him. He asked it slowly and heavily.