kindling. It fluttered, almost died, and then grew again as a wisp of
grass caught it.
Consumed instantly, the grass was gone and the flame died, gone-almost,
but then a leaf and it jumped brightly, orange points of flame in the
twigs. The first tiny popping and it spread sideways, a burning leaf
swirled upwards.
Dirk backed away as the flame leapt jubilantly into his face.
He was no longer sobbing.
'Pa, ' he whispered and the flame fastened on to the living leaves of a
branch that hung above it. A wiff of wind hit it and sprayed sparks
and golden flame against its neighbour.
Pa.' Dirk's voice was uncertain, he stood up and wiped his hands
nervously against his shirt.
'No.' He shook his head in bewilderment, and the sapling bloomed with
fire and the fire whispered softly.
'No Dirk's voice rose. 'I didn't mean. but it was lo eMt in the
pistol-shots of flame and the whisper that was now a drumming roar.
'Stop it,' he shouted. 'Oh God, I didn't mean it. No! No!'
And he jumped forward into the heat of it, into the bright orange
glare, kicking wildly at the flaming kindling, scattering it so that it
fell and caught again in fifty new points of fire.
'No, stop it. Please stop it!' And he clawed at the burning in tree
until the heat drove him back. He ran to another sapling and tore a
leafy branch from it. He rushed at the fire, beating at it, sobbing
again in the smoke and the flame.
Riding joyously on the west wind, roaring red and orange and black, the
flames spread out among the trees and left him standing alone in the
smoke and the swirling ash.
'Oh Pa! I'm sorry-I didn't mean it.'
A shutter kept slamming softly in the wind, but this was not the only
reason Michael Courtney could not sleep. He felt trapped, chained by
loyalties he could not break; he was aware of the dark oppressive bulk
of the Theuniskraal homestead around him.
A prison, a place of bitterness and hatred.
He moved restlessly on his bed and the shutter banged and banged, .
He threw off the single sheet and the floorboards creaked as he stood
up from the bed.
'Michael! ' The voice from the next room was sharp, suspicious.
'Yes, Mother.'
'Where are you going, darling?'
'There's a loose shutter. I'm going to close it.
'Put something on, darling. Don't catch cold.'
Stifling, beginning to sweat now in physical discomfort, Michael knew
he must get out of this house into the cool freedom of the wind and the
night. He dressed quickly but silently, then carrying his boots he
crept down the long passage and out on to the wide front stoep.
He found the shutter and secured it, then he sat upon the front steps
and pulled on his boots before standing again and moving out across the
lawns. He stood on the bottom terrace of Theuniskraal's gardens and
