When the Lion Feeds (9 page)

Garrick nodded and Sean went on. On Saturday Sean held up his second finger, we'll burn fire breaks along the top of the escarpment. The grass is dry as hell up there. You take one gang and start near the falls, I'll ride down to the other end, near Fredericks Kloof.

On Sunday. . . Sean said and then paused. On Sunday Anna. I want to go to church on Sunday, said Garrick quickly. That's fine, agreed Sean.

You go to church. Are you going to come? No, said Sean.

Garrick looked down at the leopard-skin rugs that covered the floor, he didn't try to persuade Sean for Anna would be at the service. Perhaps afterwards, if Sean wasn't there to distract her, he could drive her home in the buggy. He started a day dream and wasn't listening as Sean went on talking.

In the morning it was full daylight by the time Sean reached the dip tank. He pushed a small herd of stragglers before him and they came out through the trees and stirrup high grass into the wide area of trampled earth around the tank. Garrick had started running cattle through the dip and there were about ten head already in the draining kraal at the far end, standing wet and miserable, their bodies dark with dip.

Sean drove his herd through the gates of the entrance kraal into the solid pack of brown bodies that were already there. N'duti slid the bars of the gate back into place to hold them. I see you, Nkosi. I see you, N'duti. Plenty of work today! Plenty, agreed N'duti, always plenty of work. Sean rode around the kraal and tied his horse beneath one of the trees, then walked across to the tank. Garrick was standing by the parapet and leaning against one of the columns that supported the roof. Hello, Garry, how's it going? Fine. Sean leaned over the parapet next to Garry. The tank was twenty feet long and eight wide, the surface of the liquid was below ground level. Around the tank was a low wall and over it a roof of thatch to prevent rain diluting the contents.

The herdboys drov, 2 the cattle up to the edge and each beast hesitated on the brink. Elyapi, Elyapi, screamed the herdboys and the push of bodies behind it forced it to jump. If one was stubborn, Zama leaned over the railing of the kraal, grabbed its tail and bit it.

Each beast jumped with its nose held high and its forefeet gathered up under its chest; it disappeared completely under the oil black surface and came up again swimming frantically along the tank until its hooves touched the Sloping bottom at the far end and it could lumber up into the draining kraal.

Keep them moving, Zama, shouted Sean.

Zama grinned at him and bit with big white teeth into a reluctant tail.

The ox was a heavy animal and it splashed a drop up onto Sean's cheek as he leaned over the wall. Sean did not bother to wipe it off, he went on watching. Well, if we don't get top prices for this lot at the next sale then the buyers don't know good cattle, he said to Garry.

They're all right, agreed Garry. All right? They're the fattest oxen in the district. Sean was about to enlarge on the theme, but suddenly he was aware of discomfort, the drop of dip was burning his cheek. He wiped it off with his finger and held it to his nose; the smell of it stung his nostrils. For a second he stared at it stupidly and the spot on his cheek burned like fire.

He looked up quickly. The cattle in the draining kraal were milling restlessly and as he looked one of them staggered sideways and bumped against the railing.

Zama! shouted Sean, and the Zulu looked up. Stop them. For God's sake don't let any more through. There was another ox poised on the edge.

Sean snatched off his hat and jumped up onto the wall, he beat the ox in the face with his hat trying to drive it back, but it sprang out into the tank. Sean caught hold of the railing and stepped into the space it had left on the edge of the tank. Stop them, he shouted. Get the bars in, don't let any more through. He spread his arms across the entrance, holding onto the railing on each side, kicking at the faces of the cattle in front of him. Hurry, djunn you, get the bars in, he shouted.

The oxen pressed towards him, a wall of homed heads. Pushed forward by those behind and held back by Sean they started to panic; one of them tried to jump over the railing.

As it swung its head its horn raked Sean's chest, up across the ribs, ripping his shirt.

Behind him Sean felt the wooden bars being dropped into place, blocking the entrance to the tank, and then Zamma's hands on his arm pulling him up out of the confusion of horns and hooves. Two of the herdboys helped him over the railing and Sean shrugged their hands off as soon as he was on the ground.

Come on, he ordered and ran to his horse. Nkosi, you are bleeding.

Blood had splotched the front of Sean's shirt but he felt no pain. The cattle that had been through the dip were now in terrible distress. They charged about the kraal, bellowing pitifully; one of them fell and when it got to its feet again its legs were shaking so that it could barely stand.

The river, shouted Sean, get them down to the river.

Try and wash it off. Zama, open the gate. The Baboon Stroom. was a mile away. One of the oxen died before they could get them out of the kraal, another ten before they reached the river. They died in convulsions, with their bodies shuddering and their eyes turned back into their heads.

Sean drove those that remained down the bank into the river. The water was clear and as each beast went into it, the dip washed off in a dark brown cloud. Stand here, Don't let them come out. Sean swam his horse to the far bank and turned back the oxen that were trying to climb it.

Nkosi, one is drowning, called N'duti and Sean looked across the river.

A young ox was in convulsions in the shallows: its head was under water and its feet thrashed the surface.

Sean slid off his horse and waded out to it. The water was up to his armpits. He tried to hold its head out and drag it to the bank. Help me, N'duti, he shouted, and the Zulu came into the river. it was a hopeless task: each time the ox lunged it pulled them both under with it. By the time they got the ox to the bank it was dead.

Sean sat in the mud beside the body of the ox: he was exhausted and his lungs ached with the water he had breathed. Bring them out, Zama, he gasped. The survivors were standing in the shallows or swimming in aimless circles. How many? asked Sean. How many are dead?

Two more while you were in the water. Altogether thirteen, Nkosi.

Where's my horse? It ran, and I let it go. It will be back at the house Sean nodded. Bring them up to the sick paddock. We must watch them for a few days. Sean stood up and started walking back towards the dip tank. Garrick was gone, and the main herd was still in the kraal.

Sean opened the gate and turned them loose.

He felt better by then, and as his strength returned with it came his anger and his hatred. He started along the track towards the homestead.

His boots squelched as he walked and he hated Garrick more strongly with each step. Garrick had mixed the dip. Garrick had killed his cattle and Sean hated him, As Sean came up the slope below the house he saw garrick standing in the yard. Garrick saw him also; he disappeared into the kitchen and Sean started to run. He went in through the kitchen door and nearly knocked down one of the servants, Garrick, shouted Sean.

Damn it, where are you? He searched the house; once quickly and then again thoroughly. Garrick was gone, but the window of their bedroom was open and there was a dusty boot print on the sill. Garrick had gone over it. You bloody coward, howled Sean and scrambled out after him. He stood a second, with his head swinging from side to side and his fists opening and closing. I'll find out, he howled- again. I'll find you wherever you're hiding. He started across the yard towards the stables and halfway there he saw the door of the dairy was closed. When he tried it he found it was locked from inside. Sean backed away from it and then charged it with his shoulder, the lock burst and the door flew open. Sean skidded across the room and came up against the far wall.

Garrick was trying to climb out of the window, but it was small and high up. Sean caught him by the seat of his pants and pulled him down.

Whatcha do to the dip, hey? Whatcha do to it! He shouted in Garrick's face.

I didn't mean to. I didn't know it'd kill them. Tell me what you did.

Sean had hold of the front of his shirt and was dragging him towards the door.

I didn't do anything. Honest I didn't know, i'm going to hammer you anyway, so you might as well tell me. Please, Sean, I didn't know. Sean jammed Garrick against the doorway and held him there with his left hand, his right hand he drew back with the fist bunched. No, Sean.

Please, no. And suddenly the anger was gone from Sean, his hands sank back to his sides.

All right, just tell me what you did, he said coldly.

His anger was gone but not his hatred. I was tired and it was getting late and my leg was hurting, whispered Garrick, and there were still four more tanks to do, and I knew you'd check that all the drums were empty, and it was so late . . . and . . .

And? And so I emptied all the dip into the one tank . . . but I didn't know it would kill them, truly I didn't Sean turned away from him and started walking slowly back towards the house. Garrick stumbled after him.

I'm sorry, Sean, honest I'm sorry. I didn't know that. . .

Sean walked ahead of him into the kitchen and slammed the door in his face. He went through into Waite's study. From the bookshelf he lifted down the heavy leather-covered stock register and carried it to the desk.

He opened the book, picked up a pen and dipped it. For a moment he stared at the page and then in the deathscolumn he wrote the number 13

and after it the wordsdip poisoning. He pressed down so hard with the pen that the nib cut the paper.

It took Sean and the herdboys all the rest of that day and the next to bale out the tank, refill it with clean water and mix in fresh dip. He saw Garrick only at meals and they didn't speak.

The next day was Sunday. Garrick went into town early, for the church service started at eight o'clock. When he had gone Sean began his preparations. He shaved leaning close to the mirror and handling the cut-throat gingerly, shaping his side burns and clearing the hair from the rest of his face until his skin was smooth and freshlooking. Then he went through to the master-bedroom and helped himself to a generous portion of his father's brilliantine, taking care to screw the lid back on the bottle and replace it exactly as he had found it. He rubbed the brilliantine into his hair and sniffed its perfume appreciatively. He combed his hair over his forehead, parted it down the centre and polished it into a gloss with Waite's silver-backed brushes. Then a clean white shirt, breeches worn only once before, boots as shiny as his hair, and Sean was ready.

The clock on the mantelpiece in the lounge assured him that he was well ahead of time. To be exact, he was two hours early. Eight o'clock now:

church didn't end until nine and it would be another hour before Anna could escape from under the eyes of her family and reach the rendezvous above the falls. He settled down to wait. He read the latest copy of the Natal Farmer. He had read it three times before for it was a month old, and now even the excellent article on Stomach parasites in Cattle and Sheep, had lost much of its punch. Sean's attention wandered, he thought about the day ahead and felt the familiar movement within his breeches. This necessitated a rearrangement for the breeches were tight fitting.

Then fantasy palled; Sean was a doer not a thinker, and he went through to the kitchen to solicit a cup of coffee from Joseph. When he had finished it, there was still half an hour to go.

The hell with it, said Sean and shouted for his horse.

He climbed the escarpment, letting his horse move diagonally up the slope and at the top he dismounted and let it blow. Today he could see the course of the Tugela river out across the plain, it was a belt of dark green. He could count the roofs of the houses in Lady-burg and the church spire, Popper clad, shone in the sunlight like a beacon fire.

He mounted again and rode along the edge of the plateau until he reached the Baboon Stroom above the falls.

He followed it back and forded it at a shallow place, lifting his feet up on the saddle in front of him to keep his boots dry. He off-saddled next to the pools and knee-haltered his horse, then he followed the path until it dropped over the edge of the plateau into the thick forest that surrounded the falls. It was cool and damp in the forest with moss growing on the trees, for the roof of leaves and creepers shut out the sun. There was a bottle-bird in the undergrowth. Glug, glug glug, it said, like water poured from a bottle, and its call was almost drowned in the ceaseless thunder of the falls.

Sean spread his handkerchief on a rock beside the path, sat down on it and waited. Within five minutes he was fidgeting impatiently, within half an hour he was grumbling aloud. I'll count to five hundred. . .

. If she hasn't come by then I'm not going to wait. He counted and when he reached the promised figure he stopped and peered anxiously down the path. There was no sign of Anna. I'm not going to sit here all day, he announced and made no effort to stand up. A fat yellow caterpillar caught his eye; it was on the trunk of a tree farther down the slope. He picked up a pebble and threw it. It bounced off the tree an inch above the caterpillar. Close, Sean -encouraged himself and stooped for another stone. After a while he had exhausted the supply of pebbles around his feet and the caterpillar was still moving leisurely up the trunk. Sean was forced to go out on a foraging expedition for more pebbles. He came back with both hands full and once more took up his position on the rock. He piled the pebbles between his feet and reopened the bombardment. He aimed each throw with the utmost concentration and with his third pebble he hit squarely and the caterpillar popped in a spurt of green her. You shouldn't say things like that about your Pa.