The Sun Between Their Feet (34 page)

The brother turns his face away in shame and sorrow. Then he embraces his mother and hurries on. Jabavu is filled first with gratitude, then with resentment – again his mother has understood him too well, and he dislikes her for it. He is stuck to the piece of ground where he stands. He knows if he says one word he will weep like a little child. His mother says, softly, out of the darkness: ‘Do not let your brother come to harm. You are headstrong and fearless and may go into danger where he may not.' Jabavu shouts: ‘My brother is my brother, but he is also a man -' Her eyes glint softly at him from the dark, and then he hears the apologetic words: ‘And your father, he will surely die if he does not hear word
of you. You must not do as so many of the children do -send us word through the Native Commissioner what has happened to you.' And Jabavu shouts: ‘The Native Commissioner is for the baboons and the ignorant. I can write letters and you will have letters from me two – no, three times a week!' At this boast the mother sighs, and Jabavu, although he had no intention of doing any such thing, grabs her hand, clings to it, then gives it a little push away from him as if it were her desire to clasp his hand – and so he walks away, whistling, through the shadows of the trees.

The mother watches him until she can see her sons walking together, then waits a little, then turns towards the light of the fires, wailing first softly, then, as her sorrow grows strength with use, very loudly. She is wailing that her sons have left the kraal for the wickedness of the city. This is for her husband, and with him she will mourn bitterly, and for many days. She saw their backs as they stole away with their bundles – so she will say, and her voice will be filled with a bitter reproach and anguish. For she is a wife as well as a mother, and a woman feels one thing as a mother, another as a wife, and both may be true and heartfelt.

As for Jabavu and Pavu, they walk in silence and fear because of the darkness of the bush till on the very outskirts of the village they see a hut that has been abandoned. They do not like to walk at night; their plan had been to leave at dawn; and so now they creep into this hut and lie there, sleepless, until the light comes first grey and then yellow.

The road runs before them fifty miles to the city; they intend to reach it by night, but the cold shortens their steps. They walk, crouching their loins and shoulders against it, and their teeth are clenched so as not to confess their shivering. Around them the grass is tall and yellow, and hung with throngs of glittering diamonds that slowly grow few and then are gone, and now the sun is very hot on their bodies. They straighten, the skin of their shoulders loosens and breathes. Now they swing easily along, but in silence. Pavu turns his narrow, cautious face this way and that for
new sights, new sounds. He is arming his courage to meet them, for he is afraid his thoughts have returned to the village for comfort: Now my father will be walking alone to the fields, slowly, because of the weight of grief in his legs; now my mother will be setting water to heat on the fire for the porridge …

Jabavu walks confidently. His mind is entirely on the big city. Jabavu! he hears, look, here is Jabavu come to the town!

A roar grows in their ears, and they have to leap aside to avoid a great lorry. They land in the thick grass on hands and knees, so violently did they have to jump. They look up open-mouthed, and see the white driver leaning out and grinning at them. They do not understand that he has swerved his lorry so that they have to jump for his amusement. They do not know he is laughing now because he thinks they look very funny, crouching in the grass, staring like yokels. They stand up and watch the lorry disappearing in clouds of pale dust. The back of it is filled with black men, some of them shout, some wave and laugh. Jabavu says: ‘Hau! But that was a big lorry.' His throat and chest are filled with wanting. He wants to touch the lorry, to look at the wonder of its construction, perhaps even to drive it … There he stands, his face tense and hungry, when there is a roar, a shrill sound like the crowing of a cock – and again the brothers jump aside, this time landing on their feet, while the dust eddies and swirls about them.

They look at each other, then drop their eyes so as not to confess they do not know what to think. But they are wondering: Are those lorries trying to frighten us on purpose? But why? They do not understand. They have heard tales of how an unpleasant white man may make a fool of a black one, so that he may laugh, but that is quite different from what has just happened. They think: We were walking along, we mean no harm, and we are rather frightened, so why does he frighten us even more? But now they are walking slowly, glancing back over their shoulders
so as not to be taken by surprise. And when a car or lorry comes up behind they move away on to the grass and stand waiting until it has gone. There are few cars, but many lorries, and these are filled with black men. Jabavu thinks: Soon, maybe tomorrow when I have a job, I will be carried in such a lorry … He is so impatient for this wonderful thing to happen that he walks quickly, and once again has to make a sudden jump aside when a lorry screeches at him.

They have been walking for perhaps an hour when they overtake a man who is travelling with his wife and children. The man walks in front with a spear and an axe, the woman behind, carrying the cooking pots and a baby on her back, and another little child holds her skirt. Jabavu knows that these people are not from the town, but travelling from one village to another, and so he is not afraid of them. He greets them, the greetings are returned, and they go together, talking.

When Jabavu says he is making the long journey to the city, the man says: ‘Have you never been before?' Jabavu, who cannot bear to confess his ignorance, says: ‘Yes, many times,' and the reply is: ‘Then there is no need to warn you against the wickedness of the place.' Jabavu is silent, regretting he has not told the truth. But it is too late, for a path leads off the road, and the family turn on to it. As they are making their goodbyes, another lorry sweeps by, and the dust swirls up around them. The man looks after the lorry and shakes his head. ‘Those are the lorries that carry our brothers to the mines,' he says, brushing the dust from his face and shaking it from his blanket. ‘It is well you know the dangers of the road, for otherwise by now you would be in one of them, filling the mouths of honest people with dust, and laughing when they shake with fright because of the loud noise of the horn.' He has settled his blanket again over his shoulders and now he turns away, followed by his wife and children.

Jabavu and Pavu slowly walk on, and they are thinking: How often have they heard of the recruiters of the mines!

Yet these stories, coming through many mouths, grow into something like the ugly pictures that flit through sleep when it is difficult and uneasy. It is hard to think of them now, with the sun shining down. And yet this companion of the road spoke with horror of these lorries? Jabavu is tempted; he thinks: This man is a village man and, like my father, he sees only the bad things. Perhaps I and my brother may travel on one of these lorries to the city? And then the fear swells up in him and so his feet are slow with indecision, and when another lorry comes sweeping past he is standing on the very edge of the road, looking after it with big eyes, as if he wishes it to stop. And when it slows, his heart beats so fast he does not know whether it is with fear, excitement, or desire. Pavu tugs at his arm and says: ‘Let us run quickly,' and he replies: ‘You are afraid of everything, like a child who still smells the milk of its mother.'

The white man who drives the lorry puts his head out and looks back. He looks long at Jabavu and at his brother, and then his head goes inside. Then a black man gets out of the front and walks back. He wears clothes like the white men and walks jauntily. Jabavu, seeing this smart fellow, thinks of his own torn trousers and he hugs his elbows around his hips to hide them. But the smart fellow advances, grinning, and says: ‘Yes, yes – you boys there! Want a lift?'

Jabavu takes a step forward, and feels Pavu clutching his elbow from behind. He takes no notice of that clutching grip, but it is like a warning, and he stands still and plants his two feet hard in the dust like the feet of an ox who resists the yoke.

‘How much?' he asks, and the smart fellow laughs and says: ‘You clever boy, you! No money. Lift to town. And you can put your name on a piece of paper like a white man and travel in the big lorry and there will be a fine job for you.' He laughs and swaggers and his white teeth glisten. He is a very fine fellow indeed, and Jabavu's hunger is like a hand clutching at his heart as he thinks that he, too, will be like this man. ‘Yes,' he says, eagerly, ‘I can make my name,
I can write and I can read, too, and with the pictures.'

‘So,' says the fine fellow, laughing more than ever. ‘Then you are a clever, clever boy. And your job will be a clever one, with writing in an office, with nice white man, plenty money – ten pounds, perhaps fifteen pounds a month!'

Jabavu's brain goes dark, it is as if his thoughts run into water. His eyes have a yellow dazzling in them. He finds he has taken another step forward and the fine fellow is holding out a sheet of paper covered all over with letters. Jabavu takes the paper and tries to make out the words. Some he knows, others he has never seen. He stands for a long time looking at the paper.

The fine fellow says: ‘Now, you clever boy, do you want to understand that all at once? And the lorry is waiting. Now just put your cross at the foot there and come quickly to the lorry.'

Jabavu says, resentfully: ‘I can make my name like a white man and I do not need to make a cross. My brother will make a cross and I will make my own name, Jabavu.' And he kneels on the ground, and puts the paper on a stone, and takes the stub of pencil that the fine fellow is holding out to him, and then thinks where to put the first letter of his name. And then he hears that the fine fellow is saying: ‘Your brother is not strong enough for this work.' Jabavu, turning around, sees that Pavu's face is yellow with fear, but also very angry. He is looking with horror at Jabavu. Jabavu rests his pencil and thinks: Why is my brother not big enough? Many of us go to town when we are still children, and work. A memory comes into his head of how someone has told him that when they recruit for the mines they take only strong men with fine shoulders. He, Jabavu, has the bulky strength of a young bull – he is filled with pride: Yes, he will go to the mines, why not? But then, how can he leave his brother? He looks up at the fine fellow, who is now impatient, and showing it; he looks at the black men in the back of the lorry. He sees one of these men shake his head at him as if in warning. But others are laughing. It seems to Jabavu that it is a cruel laughter, and
suddenly he gets to his feet, hands the paper back to the fine fellow, and says: ‘My brother and I travel together. Also you try to cheat me. Why did you not tell me this lorry was for the mines?'

And now the fine fellow is very angry. His white teeth are hidden behind a closed mouth. His eyes flash. ‘You ignorant nigger,' he says. ‘You waste my time, you waste my bosses' time, I'll get the policeman to you!' He takes a big step forward and his fists are raised. Jabavu and his brother turn as if their four legs were on a single body, and they rush off into the trees. As they go they hear a roar of laughter from the men on the lorry, and they see the fine fellow going back to the lorry. He is very angry – the two brothers see that the men are laughing at him, and not at them, and they crouch in the bushes, well hidden, thinking about the meaning of these things. When the lorry has sped off into its dust, Jabavu says: ‘He called us nigger, and yet his skin is like ours. That is not easy to understand.'

Pavu speaks for the first time: ‘He says I was not strong enough for the work!' Jabavu looks at him in surprise. He sees that his brother is offended. ‘I am fifteen years old, so the Native Commissioner has said, and for five years already I have been working for my father. And yet this man says I am not strong enough.' Jabavu sees that the fear and the anger in his brother are having a fight, and it is by no means certain which will win. He says: ‘Did you understand, my brother, that this was a recruiter for the mines in Johannesburg?'

Pavu is silent. Yes, he understood it, but his pride is speaking too loudly for any other voice to be heard. Jabavu decides to say nothing. For his own thoughts are moving too fast. First he thinks: That was a fine fellow with his smart white clothes! Then he thinks: Am I mad to be thinking of the mines? For this city we are going to is hard and dangerous, yet it is small in comparison with Johannesburg, or so the travellers tell us – and now my brother who has the heart of a chicken is so wounded in his pride that he is ready
not only for the small city, but for Johannesburg!

The brothers linger under the bushes, though the road is empty. The sun comes from overhead and their stomachs begin to speak of food. They open the bundles their mother has made for them and find small, flat cakes of mealie-meal, baked in the ashes. They eat the cakes, and their stomachs are only half silenced. They are a long way from proper food and the city, and yet they stay in the safety of the bushes. The sun has shifted so that it strikes on their right shoulders when they come out of the bushes. They walk slowly, and every time a lorry passes they turn their faces away as they walk through the grass at the edge of the road. Their faces are so firmly turned that it is a surprise to them when they understand that another lorry has stopped, and they peer cautiously around to see yet another fine fellow grinning at them.

‘Want a nice job?' he says, smiling politely.

‘We do not wish to go to the mines,' says Jabavu.

‘Who said the mines?' laughs the man. ‘Job in office, with pay seven pounds a month, perhaps ten, who knows?' His laughter is not the kind one may trust, and Jabavu's eyes lift from the beautiful black boots this dandy is wearing, and he is about to say ‘No,' when Pavu asks, suddenly: ‘And there is a job for me also?'