Michael Dun - 26. Chapter 26

Christmas on the highveld was a warm show of evergreen goodwill. The men, cheerful and drunk, boisterous, and filled with life, sang carols about their fires. Some enjoyed duck, gammon and turkey, salads, pap and boerewors cooked over a slow brick fire.

Michael watched Danie chew his food delicately with a closed mouth. He watched him walk, bandy-legged with a swagger, to collect more. His speech was quick and sensible.

His heart said Danie would make a perfect companion. Companion or not, the question remained, why did Danie swing so suddenly? One moment he was married, and had attempted to start a family, then he was a widower and attracted to Michael! The jigsaw did not fit.

Danie sipped his wine and said, “I once ran errands for an English gentleman named Mr. Blithewaite. Ag, I was just a naïve, small boy. I was so naive that I thought it was only used for peeing. Blithewaite showed me what else to do with it.”

“He touched you?”

“Much more than that. But he was gentle.”

“And you kept this a secret all of your life?” Michael said, his face a picture of disgust.

“My mother had never told me about things like this. I was a quiet youngster. Never spoke much. I knew there was something wrong after the third time we were together. Blithewaite asked me if I had told anyone about us and I replied no. He told me that was good, because if I did tell, no one would believe me. The authorities would lock me up as a young upstart who wished him a trouble of the worst kind. He said my family would never recover from the scandal and they would leave town. This went on for six or seven years, until one day I realised I had freedom of choice. I stopped the errands and never saw him again.”

“If you saw him today, what would you do?”

“I shall probably thank him for bringing us together.”

“And what about Marie and the child? Where do they fit into this?”

“Marie’s husband died from some kind of illness last December. I worked on wagons at the Wagon Hand Shop in Cape Town. Her husband minded the woodwork. When he died, I took her into my care, married her, and promised to be a good father to her child. She wanted a boy. So did I. I promised that I would support her for the rest of our lives, but love was a thing she would have to find elsewhere. The woman was desperate to find a father for her child, I was not interested in love, or romancing.”

Michael suddenly thought of Madelyn who married his father for his money. She had rejected him after finding out about his sexual preference, and it sent sudden jolts of pain through his body. “I wish other women had it in them to accept our way of life.” He said, nibbling at the chicken in his plate.

Danie smiled, sipped his wine and said, “I was lucky.”

Mrs. Minnaar banged a couple of notes on the piano and every one turned to face her. Soon, they were singing Christmas carols. Every square inch of the bar was occupied, but one man edged through the crowd and stood at the counter. He wore black cotton trousers with a white, frilly shirt and a black tailcoat, he stood with his back turned to Michael and Danie who clapped and sang to the music.

Mrs. Ferreira of the Opera Company was asked to do a solo of Stille Nag, Silent Night. One hand rested on the piano, the other on the rose pearls about her long neck, and then she launched into the song with absolute passion.

He ordered hops, drank it quickly, then left the bar just as suddenly as he had come in, edging inch by inch through the crowd. A nagging smile of doom on his face.

 *

Gordon Atkinson spent Christmas day at Tweelingsrus. Frolicking in the celebrations of a pagan pageant did not appeal to his own belief that Nature is God. He walked naked through the fields of the farm, unseen, forgotten. His body was a pale, murky pink. His back and thighs were strong and his arms large from swinging an axe at the solid rock walls of the mine. Vanity was not the purpose here; his existence was more profound than mere pride. He enjoyed being in this body, it was not driven by one quality, but many, even to the extent of dressing up as a woman!

But, he did not see it quite like that. His mother knitted jerseys and pullovers for winter and set dinner on the table every day, and his father loved fishing and Bizley and the hunt.

He had inherited mostly female qualities, and this allowed him to explore other areas like cooking and household chores.

He was kneeling to inspect the fast, awkward dance of a chameleon in the veldt when he spotted another movement ahead of him.

He stopped in his tracks and leaned forward, hoping to get another glimpse of the animal. He saw islands of rocks and hills and trees growing wild, but no sign of movement. When next he looked at the chameleon it too was gone.

And when he looked up, he instantly fell to his knees, covering his vital organs as though in shame. The blood rushed to his face and the adrenaline tasted bitter sweet beneath his tongue.

A man stood before him as naked as the day he had been born. If Gordon was going to taste the adventures of Africa, he would have to live, and so he decided the man must go.

He blinked, but the man was still there. He lay flat on the ground and the man advanced. Gordon stood up and ran as fast as he could into a clump of trees and bushes where he dropped to the ground, on a pathway he had never been on before.

He picked himself up and he could hear quick footsteps following him, taunting him, calling him to his doom. He tripped and fell, and suddenly the man was upon him but he could not see his face.

Then Michael woke him and told him to get dressed. He had bad tidings. “Peter Sheffield is dead.”

Gordon’s face was stiff from sleep. A muscle twitched. “What?”

“Peter is dead.” Michael repeated.

He climbed from the bed and asked, “What are you talking about, when did this happen?”

“Last week.” Michael said.

“And we only find out now!” Gordon exclaimed, pounding his fist in the air. “How?”

“Murdered. Throat slit. Ugly.” Michael whispered hoarsely.

“Good lord! But…but why? Who?”

“It is just as strange as the senseless deaths of Charlie, and Marie and the fire and Thokoza and perhaps even Dalton Peters.”

“We were wrong, Michael.” Gordon grinned sadly. “So wrong about Peter. Who the hell is doing this Michael?”

Michael shrugged. He did not know. It was like walking through life blindfolded in a wrapping of fear. A gun was being held to his head by someone who was very angry with him, or simply insane.

“Everyone’s being murdered, Michael.” Gordon whispered harshly.

“There is something missing. It seems to be someone who has followed me to the Rand and has watched me very carefully, every step of the way. He could be watching right now, laughing at us, poor demented creatures, sick with fear.”

The hills withdrew into a night that plugged every empty space with darkness. In that moment before the waxing of the moon, before the night sounds of the earth became a singular voice, in that moment – silence. The silence of the earth, broken only by the rush of Michael’s fears.

Michael had bought a new diary after the fire and continued making his observations and notes on the gold fields. That night, he sat on his bed and opened it to write some details and was startled to find a message scribbled in Charlie’s hand writing.

You once wanted to know why I ran from Laburnum. Before I tell you, I want you to relax and take a deep breath. Madelyn promised to pay me handsomely for making sure you never return to Laburnum. I had to get away from her. She is hell possessed and the Lord knows where your father ever found that one, she will take it all from you, Michael. All! I fled and am thankful that our relationship grew. I should have told you before. If I had, all this trouble could have been avoided. I guess I wasn’t man ‘nough.

I love you. Charlie…

Michael’s blood ran cold.

This was most unexpected.

Madelyn?

He walked around the room clasping the back of his neck, desperately trying to control the anger. The wench had deceived the entire Dun family and it was time to end the relationship! End it! How? He was deluded to think that it could be done immediately, as though he were in England and only five feet away from her. No, there was a better way. He began to write on the page facing Charlie’s words.

Father,

I sincerely hope this letter sees you in good health. It is of the utmost importance that you stop Madelyn…

No, not quite. It needed emotion.

Father

I sincerely hope this letter sees you in good health. I shan’t beat about the bush, Sir. I am furious and humiliated. Your second wife rips our family apart. She is trying to kill me…

No. That will not do at all. Anyway, why write to you? What can you do about my situation? You will probably deny it and me. How dare I insinuate such things? She is your wife after all. Oh, Father! You never did teach me how to deal with matters this decadent and offensive.

He tore the page out of the diary and crumpled it into his hands, then tried his pen at another letter, and as he wrote the word Dear, he suddenly knew to whom the letter should be addressed.