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the dead Griqua had come to avenge the desecration of his grave, and seeing that I was making no movement, he d jumped on me to find out whether I was dead or alive. Once the confusion had been cleared up, all three of us collapsed in hysterics, which brought Gys s mother to our room (his father had already gone out with the gun by then). We were all bundled off to the kitchen where she made us coffee with lots of sugar. But I remained shivery until daybreak. And ridiculous as it might seem, I d borne within me, for many years afterwards, a feeling of awe for all those dark forces lurking in the earth, ready to intervene in the lives of the living without any warning. When one is eighteen years old, you see, one thinks one is bloody well immor- tal. It doesn t matter that you re in the army and shooting enemies from dawn to dusk and finding corpses behind every bush. You just go on believ- ing it can t happen to you. 333 A NDRÉ B RI NK But then it changes. One day it comes so close that you discover it s pos- sible after all. You can die any moment. You re not worth a turd. And it makes a difference. By that time we d passed Benguela on our way to Novo Redondo. On a stretch of open road one of the trucks struck a mine. Not the front one. In fact, I think two or three had driven over the mine unharmed. Then, all of a sudden, it was just bodies catapulting to all sides. The moment the con- voy stopped, the machine guns started. And the grapeshot exploding in the air. And those big Russian RPGs. An ambush. We dived off the jeeps and trucks and scuttled into the bushes like bloody rats. Ten minutes ago one could still hear the insects humming in the grass, and the birds and monkeys and things in the trees. Now it was like a fucking thunderstorm. The mortars went on the attack while the cannon donkeys tried to get the 88 mms ready. Jesus, they were shooting so fast even the auxiliary charges exploded. Our crewie decided a few of us had to try and get through to the left to attack the enemy from the side. Old Gouwsie and ten or twelve of us. There was one patch of open veld with no bush or stone in sight. All we could hope for was that the other boys would be distracting the attention of the Commies. Gouwsie was the first to run. He got through. Then two of the others. And then it was my turn, and Ronnie s. You remember Ronnie, don t you? Started camp with me. We were together all the time, rowers, blue- arses, old men, all the way. Marvelous ou, not scared of the devil himself. The moment we moved into that open patch, they started shooting right at us. Must have seen the front ones and waited for us to come out. I never thought I d make it, but I did. Ronnie wasn t so lucky. When I looked back from the bushes on the other side, I saw him lying there. Gouwsie and I went to get him. Funny thing is one isn t afraid when you re right in it like that. It s only afterwards you realize what a bloody fool you were. We just ran back and got him. Thought he might still be alive, but he was dead all right. On our way back Gouwsie got a shot in the shoulder. By that time our 88 mms had found their target and drawn 334 R UMORS OF R AI N the fire off us. Another hour and it was all over. Our little outing had been quite unnecessary. Only Ronnie was dead. That s the worst, you know, Dad. There s no one you can blame for it, no one you can take it out on. It s the enemy. But who s he? You see his tanks and his jeeps, you blow up his trucks, sometimes you find his dead bodies like that young Cuban. But you know that s not really the enemy. He s different, he hasn t got a name, you can never reach him. And yet old Ronnie was dead. I d helped to carry back his body. Nothing special about it, like a roll of blankets, you don t feel it. But you know Ronnie s dead. Old Ronnie who could take the mickey out of the PFs. Old Ronnie who nearly trod on a snake last night, taking his shower under the mango tree. Old Ronnie who used to brag about all the women he d had. Good old wind- bag Ronnie, who always shared his biltong with you. Who showed you the letters from his girl and told you what her tits looked like. Old Ronnie who sawed through the latrine seat on the shit trench just before the sergeant- major took his spade for a walk, that night outside Pereira d Eca. Old Ronnie is dead all right. I knew they would send his body back. He would get a hero s funeral and the top cunts would be moaning about wasting their time again. The papers would splash all about him and perhaps his mother would be offered a medal his father had died a long time ago. I knew how they would announce the news. They d say he d been killed in the operational area. On the border. No one would be told he d been here. Officially we weren t here. We counted for nothing. He was as expendable as the whole fucking rest of us. They d lie the same about all of us. And that killed Ronnie for me, good and for all. I hadn t been aware of him following me. The first I noticed was when I saw his vague figure entering the aloe enclosure. Coming up to me he stood watching the digging for some time. The picks were still hitting the earth with their dull thuds, going 335 A NDRÉ B RI NK deeper inch by inch; but it would be many hours before the grave was deep enough. Their digging was accompanied by a rhythmic, monotonous chant with hypnotic effect, maintained without a moment s rest: Ndiboleken inipeki ndigaule. Nobaselitshisa ndigaule. Goduka kwedini. Goduka kwedini. Goduka! That s why there s no one at work today, I said to Louis. I suppose they had no choice. The whole thing was unnecessary, right from the beginning. Isn t anything that happens unnecessary? he asked dully, with the total rejection characteristic of his adolescence. It could have been avoided. If Mandisi hadn t been such a sav- age, if he d had a grain of civilization in him. What has civilization got to do with it? he asked, a new tone of rebellion in his voice: not vague and general any more, but spe- cific, directed against me. Everything, I said laconically. For three centuries we ve been trying to civilize this land, and all the time these people are still gnawing at the roots. I suppose we also tried to civilize Angola, he said. With our cannons and mortars and things. Those Angolans had been exterminating each other long before you ever got there, I said. And without giving him a chance to reply I went on the attack: Say what you want, Louis, but our country has always been the most stable in Africa. One of very few in the world still ruled by law and order. You call this stable? he asked, looking me in the eyes: What I d like to know is how you manage to go on living so peacefully as if nothing had happened. 336 R UMORS OF R AI N I think we can still control what s happening here. ( Would I have said the same the next Tuesday or Wednesday? But then, of course, it was still Sunday.) In spite of the balls-up we made in Angola we re still all right. There s a lot to be done, I grant you that, but it will all come in due course. We ve been waiting too long as it is. [ Pobierz caÅ‚ość w formacie PDF ] |