Part 39 (1/2)
Stubbly bush had been uprooted from charming slopes to make place for luxuriant beds of tomatoes and Cape gooseberries; and terraces of flowers already gave evidence of beauty and fragrance to come. Gnarled growths had disappeared, and big trees had a clear s.p.a.ce to branch abroad in freedom and grace. A fine tennis-court, the delight of every player in the town, stretched its gleaming level s.p.a.ce near a newly begun small banana grove.
Each of our huts except the kitchen had now a picturesque rustic porch added to it, round which were set plants of young grenadilla--the best shady creeper in Africa, and one that bears a lovely purple pa.s.sion flower, and most delicious fruit.
The men's camp was also enormously improved. A little agitation in the right quarter had resulted in a grant of Government boys to build and thatch a big mess and club-house. The parade ground had been enlarged, and the beginning of an out-door gym was visible. The men had something better to do now than loafing to town in off hours, or getting drunk in their huts out of sheer boredom with life. There were shooting-b.u.t.ts up, and regular hours for practice in view of putting forward a Bisley team. There was also a Sports programme in active rehearsal for a projected gymkhana meeting in the near future. Under a smart officer full of initiative and invention the best bred wasters in the world are bound to ”buck up and look slippy” and that is what the Mgatweli troopers were very busily occupied in doing.
In six months Maurice had done wonders; and the wonders had not ceased with improvements at home and in the camp. You had only to look at him sitting there, neat and debonair in his grey uniform, to recognise that fact. He had the clear eye, healthy skin, and quiet, firm air of a man with a purpose. Force of character may be c.u.mulative, and six months may not be a very long time in which to acc.u.mulate it. But a will to do well, and a lovely climate to do it in, is much; and I should say the matter depended not so much on time as on the number and size of the difficulties met and overcome. Six months may not be a long time but it is too long to fight daily battles with your vices without getting results; and an acc.u.mulation of results sat upon the serene brow of Maurice Stair, and revealed themselves in the firmness of his mouth.
No more sealed wooden cases were surrept.i.tiously carried to his hut. He drank his whiskey-and-soda from his own sideboard like a sane and decent gentleman. No more s.h.i.+rking and shelving of duties: but rather a seeking of fresh ones. No more sloth and skulking and petty sins. The old vices and weaknesses were under foot at last. He had his heel on the heads of them.
I know not what upheld him in the fight; what secret dew refreshed his jaded spirit in the terrible struggles he must have undergone. Often I saw him stumble and falter, and sometimes (but not often) fall ”mauled to the earth.” And I cannot tell where he found the strength to ”arise and go on again;” but he did. There is little one human being can do for another in these crises of the soul, these fierce battles with old sins that have their roots in deep. They must be fought out alone.
External aid is of small use. But what I could I did. And perhaps it helped a little to let him see that I too was fighting and suffering and striving to climb by his side with my hand in his. But whatever the means the result was there plain for all who ran to read; and I am bound to admit that it was so far beyond my dreams and expectations that I sometimes found it hard to recognise in this new Maurice, whose feet were so firmly planted on the upward slopes, the old Maurice, my dark-souled companion in a deep and dread ravine.
Sitting there in the sunset glow he gave me fresh proof of his changed outlook on life. He offered of his own free will to renounce the five hundred a year Sir Alexander Stair paid him to live in Africa. A few days before he had unflinchingly and without preliminaries told me the meaning of the income he enjoyed from his uncle.
”He pays me to keep out of his sight. He has always despised me for a rotter. The reason he put a clincher on my going into the army was because he thought I'd disgrace the family name there. It makes him sick to think I'll get the t.i.tle after him. Rather than see me, and be reminded of the fact, he pays me nearly half of his income to stay out here.”
I said nothing at the time beyond exclaiming at the arrogant self-righteousness that made it possible for a man to condemn his only relative so harshly. But I knew very well that the new Maurice felt the ignominy attached to such an arrangement, and that his confession to me heralded some change. Now he volunteered to give up the money, and asked me if I would leave Africa with him for Australia, where an old friend of his father's had a large ranch near Melbourne and had offered him a sort of under-managers.h.i.+p on it. Having been out there for several years before coming to Africa, Maurice thoroughly understood the life and its conditions.
”As soon as I get back to the ropes, after a year or so Broughton will offer me the whole thing to manage. And I know well enough I'm able for it if you will only go with me and back me up.”
”Of course I will go, Maurice,” I said quietly, and we fell to making plans; but I looked no longer at the sunlit hills, and in the thorn tree the note of the little green-breasted robin had changed. It seemed now to be sobbing its life away in song.
”You see we couldn't go on here at twenty pounds a month, Deirdre. It is impossible. Living in this country is too high. These billets aren't meant for men without private incomes. Later, when the railways get up here, it will be different. But before then we are going to have another row with the n.i.g.g.e.rs here, or my name is not Jack Robinson.
Then life will be dearer than ever. There's trouble brewing again with these Matabele fellows. Ever since the rinderpest broke out they've been queer. They are desperate with vexation at losing their cattle, and their _Umlimo_, a sort of G.o.d or high priest who lives in a cave and prophesies to them from the depths of it--having carefully collected his information first, by means of spies--tells them it is the white man who is causing their cattle to die. The funny thing is that this fellow is really the G.o.d of the Mashonas, yet the Matabele put absolute faith in him. Old Loben used to send and consult him about everything--”
I was not listening very intently to Maurice. I was wondering whether it was the bird's song that had suddenly filled me with despair. Why was I not glad to be escaping at last from the claw of the witch? Was it these thatched huts that held me--because we had made them so charming and homelike without and within? I knew it could not be.
Places appealed to me, and people; houses and things never. Goods and chattels had no hands to hold me as they do some people. Of late I had come to think that life under a tree without any accessories at all could be very full and sweet--if one only shared the shade of the branches with the one right person in sill the world. Moreover, the legend carved above a door in dead Fatehpur had always struck me as a peculiarly appropriate motto for people whose lives were cast in Africa.
”_Said Jesus, to whom be peace, the world is a bridge, pa.s.s over it, but build no house there_.”
As we talked, Makupi in his brick-red blanket pa.s.sed down the sloping pathway towards the zinia-sea, and when he came to its beach squatted himself down, took his piano from his hair, and began his sombre beating.
_Tom--brr--torn--brr--torn--brr--tom-tom-tom-brr_.
It seemed to me that I heard the throbbing of a human heart laid upon the stone altar of some monstrous G.o.d. My eyes wandered to the hills again. Then suddenly I knew that it was the thought of leaving _them_ that filled me with such haunting despair--the far-off Matoppos that held for me some hidden mystery, some magic that drew my eyes at dawn, and at setting of sun. On moonlit nights I would often rise from my bed to gaze at them and wonder.
_Tom--brr--torn--brr--torn--brr_.
”Call him over here, Deirdre,” said Maurice suddenly. ”Let's give him back his _e'tambo_.”
Putting his hand into an inner pocket he drew out a small black object and handed it to me. It was a little bone taken from the joint of a sheep (the boys call them _dolour-ossi_, and often play with them). But this one was black, either with age or by some artificial process, and polished until it gleamed like a jewel. On it was traced in spidery lines the profile of some weird quadruped of the same description as the Hottentot drawings on the rocks; otherwise there was not the slightest thing about it to suggest mystery or romance. Yet Makupi was eating his heart out and growing hollow-eyed for lack of it. He wanted to go back to his kraal in Mashonaland, he told me, but would never leave until he got his _e'tambo_ back from the _Inkos_. He had even offered me some mysterious bribe if I would steal it for him. Something about a mysterious gold mine, no doubt, I thought, and laughed. But I always wished Maurice would give it to the poor fellow. Lately we had become so accustomed to seeing him about that I think we had almost forgotten what he was there for.
But _he_ had not forgotten. When I called to him to come, that the _Inkos_ had something for him, his thoughts flew at once to his charm, and he leaped to his feet and came running. He guessed what it was Maurice had hidden in his hand.
”But what about that wonderful secret you were going to tell me, Makupi?” I laughed. He rolled his eager sad eyes at me.
”Give me my _e'tambo_ first. You will be glad.”
”Give it to him, Maurice. Let us be glad,” said I, still laughing, and suddenly feeling, in spite of my sad thoughts of the last hour, extraordinarily light-hearted and happy.