When the Lion Feeds (33 page)

You thought only of your own miserable skin, Duff told him, you filthy little coward, you slimy yellow bastard, you, .

Mbejane caught Duff Is arm and Duff stopped his tirade.

They all heard it then, clink, clink, clink. It's him, it must be him!

whispered Duff, he's alive! He snatched a crowbar from one of the natives and knocked against the side of the tunnel. They waited, their breathing the only sound, until the answer came back to them louder and sharper than before. Mbejane took the crowbar out of Duff's hands. He thrust it into a crack in the rock jam and his back muscles bunched as he heaved.

The bar bent like a liquorice stick, he threw it away and went at the stone with his bare hands. You! Duff snapped at the shift-boss. We'll need timber to shore up as we clear the fall, get it. He turned to the natives. Four of you working on the face at one time the rest of you carry the stone away as we loosen it.

Do you want any dynamite? asked the shift-boss. And bring the rock down a second time? Use your brains, man. Go and get that timber and call Mr du Toit while you're at the surface. In four hours they cleared fifteen feet of tunnel, breaking the larger stabs of stone with sledge hammers and prising the pieces out of the jam. Duff's body ached and his hands were raw. He had to rest. He walked slowly back to the lift station and there he found blankets and a huge dish of soup. Where did this come from? Candy's Hotel, sir. Half Johannesburg is waiting at the head of the shaft. Duff huddled into a blanket and drank a little.

of the soup. Where's du Toit? I couldn't find him, sir.

Up at the face Mbejane worked on. The first four natives came back to rest and fresh men took their place.

Mbejane led them, grunting an order occasionally but otherwise reserving his strength for the assault on the rock. For an hour Duff rested and when he returned to the head of the tunnel Mbejane was still there. Duff watched him curl his arms round a piece of stone the size of a beer keg, brace his legs and tear the stone out of the jam. Earth and loose rock followed it burying Mbejane's legs to the knees and Duff jumped forward to help him.

Another two hours and Duff had to rest again. This time he led Mbejane back with him, gave him a blanket and made him drink a little soup. They sat next to each other with their backs against the Wall of the tunnel and blankets over their shoulders. The shift-boss came to Duff. Mrs rautenbach sent this down for you, sir It was a half-bottle of brandy.

Tell her, thank you Duff pulled the cork with his teeth and swallowed twice. it brought the tears into his eyes, he offered the bottle to mbejane.

It is not fittingl Mbejane demurred.

Drink Mbejane drank, wiped the mouth of the bottle carefully on his blanket and handed it back. Duff took another swallow and offered it again but Mbejane shook his head.

A little of that is strength, too much is weakness.

There is work to do now Duff corked the bottle.

How long before we reach him? asked Mbejane. Another day, maybe two. A man can die in two days, mused the Zulu. Not one with a body like a bull and a temper like a devil, Duff assured him. Mbejane smiled and duff went on groping for his words in Zulu.

"You love him, Mbejane? Love is a woman's word Mbejane inspected one of his thumbs; the nail was torn loose, standing up like a tombstone; he took it between his teeth, pulled it off and spat it onto the floor of the drive. Duff shuddered as he watched. Those baboons will not work unless they are driven. Mbejane stood up. Are you rested? Yes, lied duff, and they went back to the face.

Sean lay in the mud with his head on the hard pillow of the helmet. The darkness was as solid as the rock around him. He tried to imagine where the one ended and the other began, by doing that he could stop himself feeling his thirst so strongly. He could hear the ring of hammer on stone and the rattle of rock falling free but it never seemed to come any closer. The whole side of his body was stiff and sore but he could not turn over, his knees caught on the cocopan every time he tried and the air in his little cave was starting to taste stale, his head ached.

He moved again, restlessly, and his hand brushed the small pile of sovereigns. He struck at them, scattering them into the mud. They were the bait that had led him into this trap. Now he would give them, and all the millions. of others, for just the feel of the wind in his beard and the sun in his face. The darkness clung to him, thick and cloying as black treacle; it seemed to fill his nose, his throat and eyes, smothering him. He groped and found the matchbox. For a few seconds of light he would burn up most of the precious oxygen in his cave and call it fair exchange, but the box was sodden. He struck match after match but the wet heads crumbled without a spark and he threw them away and clenched his eyelids to keep the darkness out. Bright colours formed in front of his closed eyes, moving and rearranging themselves until suddenly and very clearly they formed a picture of Garrick's face.

He hadn't thought about his family for months, he had been too busy reaping the golden harvest, but now memories crowded back. There were so many things he had forgotten. Everything else had become unimportant when compared with power and gold, even lives, men's lives, had meant nothing. But now it was his own life, teetering on the edge of the black cliff.

The sound of the sledge-hammers broke into his thoughts again. There were men on the other side of the blocked tunnel trying to save him, working their way into the treacherous rock pile which might collapse again at any minute. People were more valuable than the poisonous metal, the little gold discs that lay smugly beside him in the mud while men struggled to save him.

He thought of Garry, crippled by his careless shotgun, father to the bastard he had sired, of Ada whom he had left without a word of goodbye, of Karl Lochtkamper with the pistol in his hand and half his head splattered across the floor of his bedroom, of other nameless men dead or broken because of him.

Sean ran his tongue across his lips and listened to the hammers; he was certain they were nearer now. If I get out of here, it'll be different.

I swear it Mbejane rested for four hours in the next thirty-six. Duff watched the flesh melt off him in sweat. He was killing himself, Duff was worn out; he could no longer work with his hands but he was directing the teams who were shoring up the reclaimed tunnel. By the second evening they had cleared a hundred feet of the drive. Duff paced it out and when he reached the face he spoke to Mbejane. How long since you last signalled to him?

Mbejane stepped back with a sledge-hammer in his tattered hands; its shaft was sticky and brown with blood. An hour ago and even then it sounded as though there were but the length of a spear between us. Duff took a crowbar from one of the other natives and tapped the rock. The answer came immediately, He's hitting something made of iron, Duff said.

It sounds as though he's only a few feet away. Mbejane, let these other men take over. If you wish you can stay and watch but you must rest again now. For answer Mbejane lifted the hammer and swung it against the face. The rock he hit cracked and two of the natives stepped up and levered it loose with their crowbars. At the back of the hole it left in the wall they could see the corner of the cocopan. Everyone stared at it, then Duff shouted. Sean, Sean, can you hear me? Stop talking and get me out of here. Sean's voice was hoarse with thirst and dust, and muffled by the rock. He's under the cocopan. It's him. Nkosi, are you all rightVWe've found him. The shouts were picked up by the men working behind them in the drive and passed back to those waiting at the lift station. They've found him, he's all'right, they've found him.

Duff and Mbejane jumped forward together, their exhaustion completely forgotten. They cleared the last few lumps of rock and with their shoulders touching knelt and peered under the cocopan. Nkosi, I see you. I see you also, Mbejane, what took you so long?

Nkosi, there were a few small stones in the way. Mbejane reached under the cocopan and with his hands under Sean's armpits pulled him out.

What a hell of a place you chose to go to ground in, laddie. How are you feeling? Give me some water and I'll be all right Water, bring water, shouted Duff.

Sean gulped it, trying to drink the whole mug in one mouthful. He coughed and it shot out of his nose. Easy, laddie, easy. Duff thumped his back. Sean drank the next mugful more slowly and finished panting from the effort. That was good. Come on, we've got a doctor waiting up on top. Duff draped a blanket over his shoulders. Mbejane picked Sean up across his chest. Put me down, damn you, I haven't forgotten how to walk. Mbejane set him down gently, but his legs buckled like those of a man just out of bed from a long illness and he clutched at Mbejane's arm. Mbejane picked him up again and carried him down to the lift station. They rode up in the skip into the open. The moon's shining.

And the stars, my God, they're beautiful. There was wonder in Sean's voice; he sucked the night air into his lungs but it was too rich for him and he started coughing again. There were people waiting at the head of the shaft and they crowded round them as they stepped out of the skip. How is he? Are you all right, Sean? Doc Symmonds is waiting in the office Quickly, Mbejane, said Duff, get him out of the cold.

One on either side of him they hurried Sean across to the administrative building and laid him on the couch in Francois's office. Symmonds checked him over, looked down his throat and felt his pulse. Have you got a closed carriage here? Yes, Duff answered.

Well, wrap him up warmly and get him home to bed.

With the dust and bad air he's been breathing there's serious danger of pneumonia. I'll come down with you and give him a sedative. I won't need one, Doc, Sean grinned at him.

I think I know what's best for you, Mr Courtne. Doctor Symmonds was a young man. He was the fashionable doctor among the rich of Johannesburg and he took it very seriously. Now if you please, we'll get you to your hotel. He started to pack, his instruments back into his valise.

You're the doctor, Sean agreed, but before we go will you have a look at mY servant's hands, they'-re in a hell of a mess. There's hardly any meat left on them. Doctor Symmonds did not look up from what he was doing. I have no Kaffir practice, Mr Courtney, I'm sure you'll find some other doctor to attend to him when we get back to town Sean sat up slowly, he let the blankets slip off his shoulders. He walked across to doctor Symmond held him by the throat against the wall. The doctor had a fine pair of waxed moustaches and Sean took one of them between the thumb and forefinger of his free handhe plucked it out like feathers from the carcass of a dead fowl and Doctor Symmonds, squealed. Starting now, Doctor, you have a Kaffir practice, Sean told him. He pulled the handkerchief out of Symmondstop pocket and dabbed at the little drops of blood on the doctor's bare upper lip. Be a good fellow, see to my servant.

When Sean woke the next morning the hands of the grandfather clock across the bedroom pointed at the top of their dial. Candy was in the room opening the curtains and with her were two waiters, each with a loaded tray. Good morning, how is our hero this morning? The waiters put down their trays and went out as she came across to Sean's bed.

Sean blinked the sleep out of his eyes. My throat feels as though I've just finished a meal of broken glassThat's the dust, Candy told him and laid her hands on his forehead. Sean's hand sneaked round behind her and she squeaked as he pinched her. Standing well away from the bed she rubbed her bottom and made a face at him. There's nothing wrong with you! Good, then I'll get up. Sean started to pull back the bedclothes.

Not until the doctor's had a look at you, you won, tCandy, if that bastard puts one foot in this room I'll punch him so hard in the mouth his teeth will march out of his backside like soldiers.

Candy turned to the breakfast trays to cover her smile.

That's no way to talk in front of a lady. But don't worry, it isn't symmonds. Where's Duff? Sean asked. He's having a bath, then he's coming to eat breakfast with you. I'll wait for him, but give me a cup of coffee in the meantime, there's a sweetheart. She brought the coffee to him. Your savage has been camping on my trail all morning, he wants to see you.

I've just about had to put an armed guard on this room to keep him out.

Sean laughed. Will you send him in, Candy? She went to the door and stopped with a hand on the latch. It's nice to have you back, Sean, don't do anything silly like that again, will you? That's a promise, Sean assured her.

Mbejane came quickly and stood in the doorway. Nkosi, is it well with you? Sean looked at the iodinestained bandages on his hands and the maroon and gold livery without answering. Then he rolled on his back and stared at the ceiling. I sent for my servant and instead there comes a monkey on a chain. Mbejane stood still, his face expressionless but for the hurt in his eyes. Go, find my servant. You will know him by his dress which is that of a warrior of Zululand. It took a few seconds for the laughter to start rolling around in Mbejane's belly; it shook his shoulders and creased the corners of his mouth. He closed the door very softly behind him and when he came back in his loin cloth Sean grinned at him. Ah! I see you, Mbejane. And I see you also. He stood by the bed and they talked. They spoke little of the cave-in and not at all of Mbejane's part in the rescue. Between them it was understood, words could only damage it. Perhaps they would talk of it later, but not now. Tomorrow, will you need the carriage? Mbejane asked at last.