Willem Kloot blinked at his confidence.
‘You’re very sure of yourself. They’re thieves, Roff, they’ll come again.’
‘I know, but we kill this lot, and next month another party, hearing of it, will come. And it’ll get worse and worse until finally there’s no one left. They’ve only touched our animals, not us. Other farmers have been less fortunate.’
‘That’s why we have to do it, to show them we mean business. It’s not going to stop. We just have to take care of them.’
‘I promise the sheep, Pa, that’s all.’
Willem considered this.
‘All right, Roff, I’m going to trust you. Just don’t tell me any stories afterwards. Bring my sheep back.’
David scowled at his father. ‘You’re going to let them go by themselves? You know what they get up to together.’
Willem Kloot got back on his horse. ‘Come on, we’ve already wasted a day. Roeloff will bring the sheep back. There’s work waiting at Kloot’s Nek.’
Roeloff and Twa watched them ride off.
‘Come Twa, this shouldn’t take long. The Sonqua will be slowed down by the sheep over this pass, we should catch up with them in no time.’
They moved stealthily up the path, leading the horses up the natural stairway of stone and vegetation, past clefts and cliffs until, sweaty and breathless, they reached the top. They found a shelter of overhanging rock scarred with the soot marks of old fires, and fresh evidence of the little hunters. Twa discovered water for the horses in the hollow of a tree, the dark streaks of usage still discernible.
‘They’ve been here.’
‘I know. Look at this,’ Roeloff pointed to a collection of stones arranged in a circle. ‘The sharp edges.’
‘Sharp enough to slice the hide off a steenbok without drawing blood. They leave things for other travellers.’
Roeloff looked around the cave. ‘Good shelter from the rain. Twa, look over here! What does it look like to you?’
Twa peered at some dull markings on the cave wall.
‘Elephants.’
‘That’s what I thought. It’s old, Twa.’ He ran his fingers over the rock. ‘Very old.’
‘I told you. My ancestors were here thousands of years ago. This was one of their homes. Here, stand over here, and close your eyes.’
Roeloff did as he was told.
‘Now, let everything inside of you go, and listen. Feel it come into you. Listen with all of your skin, not just your ears.’
Roeloff allowed his muscles to relax and let himself sink into his surroundings. He stood for a long time, smelling the earth, feeling the coolness of the cave on his skin. The silence was overpowering. The buzz of a bee whirred lazily in the background, the razz of birds a distant music. Then he heard it, the light-hearted banter, the soft laughter of children, the sound of stone on stone as men sharpened their hunting tools around the fire and women tended their hearths. Then the voices faded and all was quiet again. Presently he opened his eyes to the dimness.
‘You have visited my ancestors.’
‘I swear, Twa, I heard them.’
‘I know.’
‘Twa? Why did you stay on at Kloot’s Nek? I mean, you could’ve run away, couldn’t you?’
The question was unexpected. Twa picked up one of the stones and examined it. He didn’t answer right away.
‘I owed a debt to your grandfather.’
‘He was the one who shot you.’
‘I flung my arrow at him, too. It missed and hit his bag. I was sick from the sting of his gun. He could’ve left me for the jackals, or killed me.’
‘That’s why you stayed?’
‘I thought I would stay for a time to look after his sheep—he wanted me to look after them—then I would leave. What Sonqua will tie himself to the white man and a piece of land when the whole world is out there for him? But, the seaons changed, and I was still there, I couldn’t leave. It made me sad. A Sonqua doesn’t like to be sad. So I would go away, and return, go away, and return. I said to myself, if your grandfather gets angry, he won’t see me again. But your grandfather never got angry. Sanna wasn’t there in those days, she came afterwards, with your mother, and your grandfather fed me from his own pot. He was good with his gun. There was always eland or springbok.’
‘You stayed for the food.’
‘Also, your father was young at the time, I was curious about white people.’
‘What was he like as a child, Twa, do you remember?’
Twa’s eyes took on a faraway look.
‘Did he tell you how he got that scar on his hip?’
‘Oupa Harman said he was tossed by a wild buffalo when he was thirteen.’
‘More than that. He was tossed and trampled and the bull ripped out half his hip before your grandfather killed it. If you don’t hit a buffalo the first time, you better be far away. There isn’t an animal as angry as him. Your grandfather missed, and if he hadn’t had a second gun, your father would be with his ancestors. Anyway, I remember it, because he was bleeding, and shaking from shock, but he never cried. Even Twa will cry after landing on the horns of a buffalo. But not your father. He was too big for that. I only saw him cry once, when his younger brother Stefan died, after breaking his neck falling from a horse. Your father wasn’t the same after that.’
