| This is a fictional story, and it takes place in what | | | | think about. Piet rose and stomped into his |
| is now Zimbabwe. The date is 1871. | | | | rondavel. His anger was fierce. |
| "Basop!" | | | | Timothy had one other friend who shared all his |
| The huge Afrikaaner raised his hand and brought | | | | secrets. An nDebele boy of about the same age, |
| the column to a halt. He inspected the the bauxite | | | | but bigger. The day after Timothy's conversation |
| dust that made up the broad trail along which | | | | with Piet, he met Mbizo at their secret place and |
| they were travelling, then went over to the thorn | | | | together they trekked into the bush. They went |
| bushes at one side. He turned. | | | | farther than usual, Mbizo carrying his shield and |
| "A small impi awaits us, Major. Just ahead." | | | | assegai, Timothy with the assegai Mbizo had |
| Major Simon Edson leapt from the small supply | | | | made for him. Suddenly, Mbizo stopped dead, and |
| wagon. "One up the spout, fix bayonets." | | | | Timothy nearly cannoned into him. |
| "Come along, lads, you 'eard the officer. Look | | | | "Gahle! Ingwe!" |
| sharp." Sergeant Chivers and five privates jumped | | | | Timothy felt his stomach leap into his throat. He |
| to the ground, just as a score of ululating | | | | looked over Mbizo's shoulder and saw two leopard |
| tribesmen appeared through the bush and on to | | | | cubs. Mbizo whispered to Timothy to walk |
| the track. Almost immediately, one of the | | | | backwards very slowly the way they'd come. |
| privates was killed, an assegai lodged deep in his | | | | Slowly, they went. Very, very slowly. Timothy's |
| belly. The battle became very personal. | | | | eyes were fixed on Mbizo's muscular back. Sweat |
| Piet van der Merwe unsheathed an enormous | | | | poured off the smaller boy. He felt it running |
| double-edged bayonet and began to inflict terrible | | | | down his sides from his armpits, down his back |
| carnage. Simon, the six bullets in his side arm | | | | and off his chest. He thought the whole of |
| spent, now used it as a club in his left hand while | | | | Creation could hear his heart hammering against |
| he grabbed up the rifle of the fallen private, and | | | | his ribs. Don't look around. Don't even breathe. |
| thrust for his life at the warriors surrounding | | | | Watch Mbizo. Oh God, please let this end! Please |
| them. Suddenly, an iklwa was thrust into the | | | | make us safe. Not far now. Nearly there -- |
| Afrikaaner's side. Piet looked at it, tugged it out | | | | Suddenly, there was a rustle, and a flash of |
| and rammed it into the belly of the warrior who's | | | | spotted fury flew past his head. The big cat |
| weapon it was. The man's eyes opened wide with | | | | landed with its front paws on Mbizo's back, |
| amazement as he tumbled to the ground, | | | | smashing the boy to the ground. Timothy saw |
| clutching his stomach. The iklwa was so named | | | | the merciless jaws open and try to take his |
| for the sound it made when withdrawn from | | | | friend's head in its mouth. Mbizo twisted and |
| flesh. It was shorter and with a broader blade | | | | turned and tried to spear the animal, but he was |
| than the assegai and used for close quarter | | | | held down too tightly. |
| fighting. | | | | Timothy looked on in horror. What was he to do? |
| All the soldiers had expended their bullets from | | | | He was the prisoner of his fear. Snatches of |
| their single shot Martini-Henrys. Two privates lay | | | | conversation with Oom Piet came to him from |
| dead, and the remaining two, with the sergeant, | | | | the previous night. That was his best friend under |
| were fighting a desperate battle with their | | | | that killing machine. Run! Run away! Hide! Pretend |
| bayonets. In, up, twist, out, time and time again. | | | | he never saw what happened. And then face |
| The next time Simon turned to look, another | | | | Oom Piet. In his dreams, he would have to explain |
| private was victim to an iklwa, and Sergeant | | | | himself to his best friend. Like lightening these |
| Chivers and the remaining soldier were fighting | | | | thoughts flashed through his mind. He started to |
| back to back. | | | | jump up and down in indecision. Then, from |
| Piet was obviously weak from the iklwa thrust | | | | somewhere deep in his primeval make-up, he |
| and losing blood, but he fought with every ounce | | | | gave a cry, more animal than human, and rushed |
| of his enormous strength. | | | | to where the leopard mauled his friend. |
| Suddenly, a knobkerrie crashed into the base of | | | | In a haze of panic, he stabbed at the spotted |
| his skull, and like a great tree felled by the | | | | back. The great cat turned in fury to face its |
| forester, he collapsed on the blood-soaked trail. | | | | attacker. Momentarily, it crouched, then sprang at |
| Simon stood over him, his back to the thorn | | | | Timothy. He saw the brute's bloodshot, yellow |
| bushes at the side of the track. His helmet was | | | | eyes as it slammed him to the ground beneath its |
| long gone, his red tunic ripped to pieces and his | | | | weight. He managed to hold his assegai upwards |
| once-white shirt now soaked in blood. His rifle was | | | | and thrust it into the belly of the spotted terror. |
| difficult to hold for the gore so thick upon it. The | | | | The last thing he remembered before oblivion |
| bodies of the warriors lay piled on the ground, yet | | | | was the stench of the leopard's foul, foetid |
| still they came on. He turned again quickly, and | | | | breath. |
| saw that Sergeant Chivers was on his own, | | | | "Oh my God, where is he? Where can he have |
| fighting like a demon. Simon turned back, just in | | | | gone? Piet, you're sure you haven't seen him? He |
| time to find a tribesman coming at him with an | | | | didn't say anything to you?" |
| underarm thrust. He parried it, drove his bayonet | | | | Patricia paced to and fro on the stoop, her steps |
| into the man's belly, cut upwards and across, | | | | jerky and uncoordinated. She kept wringing her |
| disemboweling the warrior. His guts spilled out. The | | | | hands, a handkerchief crumpled between them. |
| warrior tried to push them back in, but collapsed. | | | | "Mevrou, if I knew, you know I'd tell you." |
| Just then, a knobkerrie smashed into the side of | | | | Patricia moved over to him quickly and laid a hand |
| Simon's head. A red haze swam before his eyes. | | | | on his arm. "Piet, I know, and I'm sorry. I know |
| Just before he passed out, he thought he heard | | | | you've done all you can." |
| the sound of a bugle. | | | | Just then Simon appeared at the door, full glass in |
| The bugle was real. A column of mounted soldiers | | | | hand. |
| had been tracking this very impi. They made | | | | "Wretched boy. Told him never to wander off like |
| short work of the survivors and looked around in | | | | this. Teach him a lesson." |
| admiration at the carnage wrought by so few | | | | Piet moved towards him as soon as he appeared, |
| men. | | | | and now towered over him. Very gently, he took |
| The stench of battle was thick in the air. Blood, | | | | the glass from Simon's hand and with great |
| guts, bowels; all the hellish refuse of combat. | | | | deliberation, dashed the contents in his face. |
| Major Simon Edson, Piet, and Sergeant Chivers | | | | "If one more word issues from your mouth, |
| were the only survivors. All, including the dead, | | | | Meneer, I will be forced to 'it you. Your poor wife |
| were awarded the Distinguished Conduct Medal, | | | | wouldn't wish to see your 'ead roll upon your fine |
| save Simon, who received the Meritorious Service | | | | wood floor." |
| Medal, awarded to officers. | | | | Simon blinked up at him, and with a puzzled look |
| In September 1868, Mzilikazi died. Not only was he | | | | on his face, turned and walked unsteadily away. |
| king of all the nDebele people, he was their | | | | He wasn't seen again that night. |
| founder. He was a senior lieutenant of the great | | | | Just then, there was a sound on the stoop and |
| Zulu king, Tshaka. In 1823, he broke away from | | | | two Africans appeared. They wore the headrings |
| his sovereign, since he considered he'd become | | | | of 'zinDuna, and were dressed in the full regalia of |
| too greedy and too unwilling to share the spoils of | | | | leopard skins and monkey tails. Piet went to them |
| war. In this way, he formed the nDebele nation, | | | | and they entered into an intense conversation. |
| or Matablele as they're still called by Europeans. | | | | Finished, the two Africans turned and trotted |
| Their language then, as now, is similar to the Zulu | | | | back into the short dusk that ran away before |
| tongue, and their name means The People of the | | | | the encroaching night. |
| Long Shields. | | | | "Mevrou, Timothy is safe, though injured. 'E's at |
| Just before his death, Mzilikazi ruled over great | | | | the Great Kraal of Lobengula." Patricia fainted. |
| swathes of South Africa, an area that was to | | | | Piet strode over to where she lay in a heap on |
| become known as Rhodesia, after Cecil Rhodes | | | | the floor. He picked her up like a baby and laid her |
| some 20 years hence. His first son, Nkulumani, | | | | very gently on the large sofa. He covered her |
| should have succeeded him. However, like so | | | | with a blanket and softly left the room. She came |
| many absolute rulers, old age made him paranoid, | | | | to, but sheer exhaustion overtook her and she |
| and he had Nkulumani and many of his senior | | | | slept. |
| izinDuna, or tribal chiefs, thrown over a cliff. The | | | | She awoke the next morning to feel the sun |
| remaining izinDuna, therefore turned to the | | | | warming her blanket. The memory that her son |
| second son, Lobengula, to take his place, and in | | | | was alive brought her quickly to her feet. Piet |
| late September 1868, amid a gathering of the | | | | was on the stoop smoking his pipe and she went |
| whole nation, he took the Throne of the the | | | | and joined him. |
| nDebele people. | | | | "Mevrou. You managed to sleep?" |
| Certain of the impi, or regiments, were against his | | | | "I did, Piet. Did you?" |
| elevation, mainly because his mother was a Swazi | | | | "I did, Mevrou, but 'ere we 'ave something of a |
| woman and considered inferior. Lobengula proved | | | | puzzlement. Timothy is alive and recovering, yes, |
| himself a true leader, however, and put down this | | | | but 'e was with a boy who is one of Lobengula's |
| rebellious faction by force of arms once, and for | | | | favourite sons. I 'ad no knowledge of 'is friendship |
| the remainder of his reign. | | | | with this boy, who's name is Mbizo. Did you?" |
| It was said that the streets of the capital, | | | | "No, Piet, no idea at all." Patricia frowned. "I've |
| Gu-Bulawayo, or the Place of Slaughter, ran with | | | | never heard of him." |
| more blood than rain that year. | | | | "It seems that because of Timothy's action, this |
| For some time, Simon had been considering | | | | boy still lives. 'Owever, 'e was worse injured than |
| resigning his commission. He had enough money | | | | Timothy. Mevrou, if 'e dies, then so does Timothy. |
| saved to buy a 3,000 acre cattle ranch, not big, | | | | A son for a son." |
| but sufficient to supply he and his family with a | | | | The colour drained from Patricia's face. |
| good living. He and Piet had always been close, but | | | | "You-you mean they'll kill my son just because the |
| their brush with death brought them even closer. | | | | other boy dies? Piet, that's - that's barbaric." Her |
| He asked the big Afrikaaner whether he would | | | | voice rose almost to a shriek, and she buried her |
| like to join him in the venture, and Piet readily | | | | face in her hands. |
| agreed. His knowledge of the bush and of cattle | | | | "I know, Mevrou, but we do not deal with people |
| would be invaluable assets. | | | | in fine suits and ties, who do their business in |
| Patricia, and his son, Timothy, were delighted to | | | | drawing rooms. This is Africa, Mevrou, and 'ere |
| have Steven home. For the first year, everything | | | | we deal with their ancient law." |
| went better than they could ever have expected. | | | | Just then, they heard a sound behind them. Simon |
| Patricia and Timothy lost no time in making Piet a | | | | was on the threshold of the drawing room, holding |
| member of the family. He insisted on living by | | | | onto the door for support. He looked ghastly. The |
| himself, however, and built a rondavel, a round, | | | | eyes in his chalk-white face were sunken and |
| single roomed dwelling where he slept and relaxed, | | | | bloodshot, and it looked as though he'd been |
| but joined the family for meals. | | | | crying. There was no sign of a glass. Patricia |
| After the first year, though, Simon started to slip | | | | walked quickly to him and helped him to a chair. |
| away from them. It was imperceptible at first, | | | | "Has Timothy--been found?" His voice was barely |
| but more and more he spent less time on the | | | | above a whisper, the question tentative and |
| ranch and more on the whiskey bottle. Where | | | | nervous. |
| there were none before, arguments began to | | | | "He has, darling." She flashed a look at Piet. "All's |
| spring up between husband and wife. Life soon | | | | well." |
| became a broken landscape of tension and | | | | "Thank God. I must wash," he muttered, trying to |
| controversy. | | | | stand. |
| Piet went about the business of the ranch in his | | | | "Come, dear, let me help you." He leaned on her |
| slow, deliberate way, and kept his council. Meals | | | | as they made their way to the bathroom. He was |
| were taken in strained silence, and the Afrikaaner | | | | half way through washing his face, when he |
| would escape to his rondavel as soon as possible. | | | | turned and threw himself down beside the toilet |
| There, he would smoke his pipe, seated in his | | | | and vomited. All Patricia could do was to watch. |
| huge captain's chair outside the door. | | | | Watch and pray that she was seeing the last of |
| Timothy, 11 years old and small for his age, liked | | | | the unwelcome visitor. |
| to join him in a little rocking chair that Piet had | | | | Simon recovered, hauled himself to his feet, went |
| made for him. He listened with rapt attention as | | | | back to the wash basin and cleaned his teeth. "Go |
| Piet told him tales of battles with the Zulu, hunting | | | | back to bed now, my love. I'll help you." |
| lion and buffalo, and stories of the the Great Trek | | | | But he turned back to the drawing room. He |
| made by the Voortrekkers so many years | | | | staggered to the door, then leaned against it. |
| before. The boy counted these times most | | | | "Piet." |
| precious to him. The smells of leather, sweat and | | | | The Afrikaaner was standing with his back to the |
| blue aromatic pipe tobacco, together with the | | | | door, but at the sound of Simon's voice, he spun |
| closeness of this massive man, enveloped him in a | | | | around. "Piet, I can never fully express--" |
| cocoon of safety from what had become | | | | But the big man strode to him and enveloped him |
| domestic misery. | | | | in a bear hug. Patricia watched as the two men |
| Another day, another argument. Both voices | | | | spoke, her eyes glistening. Finally, Simon turned |
| raised in anger. Normally, Timothy ran away from | | | | and walked unsteadily back to her. She put an |
| the ugly sounds, but suddenly he heard his father | | | | arm about his shoulders. |
| yell his name. Curiosity overcame fear, and | | | | "Back to bed, my love. I'll help you." |
| Timothy crept up onto the stoop and put his ear | | | | "My darling," he whispered. "I've caused you so |
| to the edge of the glass door. | | | | much pain. I--" |
| "--no good, Patricia. The boy's terrified of cattle, | | | | "And now it's forgotten. Come." |
| of everything that moves, it seems." | | | | She led him back to the bedroom, covered him |
| His father came into view, glass in hand. It was | | | | with a blanket, and rejoined Piet in the drawing |
| only ten o'clock in the morning. Timothy hear the | | | | room. |
| great grandfather clock strike the hour. He | | | | "The poor Major wrestles with 'is conscience, but |
| flattened himself against the wall, still able to hear | | | | I told 'im that if we never made mistakes, we'd |
| the hectoring voice. | | | | be on a level with God, which would cause the |
| "Let him have a go with my service revolver the | | | | Almighty a great muddle." |
| other day. First shot, flat on his back." Simon's | | | | Patricia couldn't remember when last she laughed. |
| voice tailed away. "No good to man nor beast." | | | | They heard Simon vomiting again in the bathroom. |
| Timothy risked a quick look into the room. His | | | | Patricia started to go to him, but Piet held her |
| mother was standing with her hands on the back | | | | back. |
| of a chair, her knuckles white. | | | | "No, Mevrou, leave 'im be. 'E must vomit out the |
| "And I suppose, in your besotted opinion, the | | | | evil that's within 'im." He faced Patricia. |
| answer is to send my son to school in England. | | | | "Tomorrow, Mevrou. Tomorrow we go for |
| God in heaven, Simon, what's happened to you? | | | | Timothy." |
| Where's the man I loved?" The last words were a | | | | The horse and trap threw up clouds of bauxite |
| cry of pleading desperation. | | | | dust as they made their way to the Great Kraal. |
| "Oh, for God's sake, women know nothing of | | | | The short, slender, purple leafed mapani trees |
| these things. Make a man of him if it kills me. Now | | | | seemed to stretch endlessly on either side of the |
| be a good girl and run along and leave--" | | | | track. Simon and Patricia held hands. Colour had |
| Timothy heard a slap. It sounded like a gunshot. | | | | returned to his face and he was a lot better. |
| Again, he inched his head around the door so that | | | | Finally, they came in sight of the Kraal. It was |
| one eye took in most of the room. He was just | | | | huge. Two gigantic elephant tusks were set on |
| in time to see his mother, standing eye to eye | | | | high mounds, forming an arch which in turn led to |
| with his father, snatch the glass from his hand | | | | the road. At the end was the King's throne. |
| and fling it violently against the wall behind Simon. | | | | "We leave the trap 'ere," said Piet, climbing down |
| He stood there, bemused, his hand still positioned | | | | from the driver's seat and assisting Patricia. "We |
| as though he held the glass. | | | | leave our weapons as well." |
| "When you find my husband, be so kind as to tell | | | | Patricia felt as insignificant as an ant as she looked |
| me," his mother hissed fiercely. "The excuse for a | | | | up at the mighty arch and then the road before |
| human being standing before me is a most | | | | them, lined on each side by thousands of |
| unwelcome visitor." She swept imperiously from | | | | tribesmen. It was a distance of about 100 yards |
| the room. | | | | to where Lobengula sat, surrounded by his wives, |
| Timothy tip-toed off the stoop and ran down the | | | | senior 'zinDuna and some of his offspring. As soon |
| short driveway. He veered off into the long grass, | | | | as they walked beneath the great tusks, a total |
| threw himself down and wept until his back and | | | | silence fell. No sound. No movement. It was as |
| shoulders ached. He was sure he shed every tear | | | | though the whole gathering had turned to stone. |
| that God had given him. | | | | She walked between the two men. As they |
| Nothing was said during dinner that evening. Piet | | | | walked, warriors fell in behind them, gently tapping |
| knew well what was happening and it sorely | | | | their shields with their assegais. Patricia's back |
| grieved him. The dear friend who'd saved his life | | | | automatically tensed in readiness for the spears |
| was fast becoming a monster to his wife and son. | | | | she felt sure would pin them to the ground. Finally, |
| As usual, Timothy followed the Afrikaaner as he | | | | they arrived before the King. |
| headed for his rondavel. They took their seats, | | | | He was an enormous man, seated on a huge |
| and Timothy waited while Piet charged his great | | | | throne on a mound raised some six feet above |
| pipe and lit it with the deliberation that governed all | | | | their heads. He wore only a loincloth and made |
| his actions. Scented billows of smoke rose into | | | | liberal use of the flyswatter he held in his right |
| the velvety evening air, and Piet tamped down | | | | hand. Piet bowed to Lobengula, and Patricia and |
| the tobacco with a forefinger as thick as | | | | Simon followed suit. Piet opened the conversation |
| Timothy's wrist. | | | | in sinDebele. The King smiled. |
| Piet was halway through a story about walking | | | | "But we should speak in English. I enjoy the |
| around a giant anthill and coming face to face with | | | | practice, and my other guests may not be as |
| a lion, when Timothy blurted out; "My father | | | | fluent in our tongue as you." He nodded towards |
| hates me!" | | | | Piet. Patricia expected a great, booming voice, and |
| Piet stopped talking and slowly turned his eyes on | | | | was amazed at his quiet, almost genteel tones. His |
| him. | | | | English was flawless. |
| "You interrupt me, Jong. Kindly explain yourself." | | | | Simon bowed to him. "Your Majesty, it is a great |
| Then it all came spilling and tumbling out, while | | | | honour to stand before you." |
| tears ran in little rivers down Timothy's cheeks. | | | | Lobengula liked being called "Majesty". Normally, he |
| He didn't think he had any more tears, yet they | | | | was known as 'nDhlovu nGakulu', or great |
| came again from somewhere. | | | | elephant. This had no bearing on his size! Simply |
| "Oom Piet, he's right. I'm weak, and afraid of so | | | | that Africans consider the elephant the king of |
| many things." | | | | beasts. |
| He jumped off his chair to run away, but Piet's | | | | They were served pots of 'tshwala', the milky |
| huge left arm shot out with the speed of a | | | | coloured African beer, which Patricia found |
| mamba and caught him by the seat of his pants. | | | | surprisingly good. |
| He pulled him back and hoisted him into his lap as | | | | "I thank you for your courteous greeting, and we |
| if he were a tiny puppy. | | | | will drink to our friendship." Lobengula drained his |
| Timothy buried his face in the great chest and | | | | large goblet and handed it to one of his wives. |
| wept again. Piet's left hand entirely engulfed the | | | | "Now we must speak of your son." Patricia's |
| boy's blond head, while he continued to puff at his | | | | throat constricted. |
| pipe and wait patiently for the storm of anguish | | | | "My son is alive today," Lobengula continued, |
| to abate. | | | | "because of your son's most gallant action." He |
| "I-I'm sorry, Oom Piet." The voice was very small. | | | | flicked his fingers, and a warrior came to them |
| "Sorry, Jong?" came the rumbling, gutteral | | | | out of the throng surrounding the King, carrying a |
| question. "Sorry for what? For crying? Or for | | | | parcel wrapped in oxhide. He placed it at their |
| interrupting my story?" He spoke the last in gentle | | | | feet. "In there," the King continued, "is the skin of |
| mock severity and very lightly tapped the tip of | | | | the leopard your son so bravely killed, together |
| Timothy's nose. | | | | with monkey tails, his nDuna headring, his black |
| "For crying like a silly girl, Oom Piet. Father says | | | | shield and iklwa. He is too young to wear them |
| that men should never cry." | | | | now, but later he will wear them with honour." He |
| "Then your father's 'ead is full of bricks. You | | | | made a beckoning motion, and Timothy appeared |
| English 'ave this business of the 'ard upper lip, or | | | | holding the left hand of a woman, while a black |
| whatever." | | | | youth accompanied them, holding her right. Both |
| "Yes, but you never cry, Oom Piet." | | | | boys were bandaged and limping. They came up |
| "Oh? And from whence comes this great | | | | to the three Europeans. Mbizo bowed. |
| knowledge? Of course I cry. To 'old in your | | | | "My name is Mbizo," he said in halting English. "I am |
| feelings is like always reining in a fast 'orse, never | | | | most - most apology for Timot. He is most |
| allowing it to run. You will make it weak and | | | | bravery." The nDebele found it impossible to |
| stubborn and the same thing will 'appen to your | | | | pronounce the 'th' sound. |
| 'eart." He tapped his chest. | | | | "I am so glad you are well, Mbizo." Patricia moved |
| "But I am weak and frightened of things, Oom | | | | and squatted down in front of him. "If the great |
| Piet. Father's right. He wants to send me to school | | | | King will allow, you must come and visit us often." |
| in England to make a man of me." | | | | "I would like, Madman." |
| "Verdommt!" | | | | Timothy whispered something in his ear. |
| Timothy didn't look at Piet's face, or he would | | | | "I am sorry. Madam." |
| have seen the mouth harden and the blue eyes | | | | Timothy rushed to his mother and wrapped his |
| catch fire. | | | | arms about her. She kissed him all over his head. |
| "Tell me, my Timothy. You say you are weak. I | | | | Then he went to his father and did the same. |
| can carry a 200lb sack of corn under each arm. | | | | Patricia noticed the tears in Simon's eyes as he |
| Your father can barely lift one. Yet I am alive | | | | held the boy close. |
| today because he fought like a lion to save me. If | | | | "And now, if you wish, you are dismissed," said |
| I am so much stronger, how, then, do you explain | | | | Lobengula, sitting back on his throne. |
| that?" | | | | As they made their way back down the broad |
| "I can't, Oom Piet. But I'd be too frightened to | | | | path beaten hard and flat by thousands of feet, |
| fight like that. I'm useless." | | | | the sound of a beautiful treble voice floated in the |
| "Now you listen to me well, Jong." Piet gripped his | | | | air. It rose like a graceful, invisible bird into the |
| little shoulders and moved him around so that | | | | timeless African sky. Before it could fall, it was |
| they were face to face. "To speak thus is to slap | | | | caught by the deepest bass note, followed by |
| the God of Abraham in the face. We are all 'ere | | | | intricate, melodious cadences from ten thousand |
| for a reason, all part of 'Is Great Purpose. Never | | | | throats. |
| ever forget that." | | | | "Oh, how beautiful," Patricia exclaimed. "What is it, |
| "No. No, Oom Piet, I won't." | | | | Piet?" |
| "And one more thing." Piet gently lifted the boy | | | | "Verdommt, but they sing the 'Bayete'. The great |
| off his lap and stood him before him. "You 'ave | | | | hymn of honour." |
| extended your love and friendship to me of your | | | | "Are they singing for us, Oom Piet?" asked |
| own will. It is a gift more valuable to me than gold. | | | | Timothy. |
| 'Ow, then, can you be useless?" | | | | "They sing it for you, my Timothy. Just for you." |
| He embraced the boy briefly but tightly. Timothy | | | | He passed a hand roughly across his eyes. |
| walked slowly back to the house. He had much to | | | | "Verdommt sweat," he muttered. |