'Go in peace.'
'Stay in peace. ' She stood, lifted the child on to her hip and walked
slowly from the yard without looking back.
'I will go now, Nkosi.' Mbejane spoke from the litter. The colour of
his skin was grey with pain. 'And when I return we will plant again.
It was only a small fire.'
'it was only a small fire.' Sean nodded. 'Go in peace, my friend.
Drink much beer and grow fat. I will visit you.
Mbejane chuckled softly and signalled his wives to their places around
the litter. They lifted him, young women strong from their work in the
fields, on to the soft mattress of fur, and they carried him out of the
yard. They began to sing as they passed the gates, moving in double
file on each side of the litter, stately and tall, their naked backs
glistening with oil, rumps swaying together beneath the brief loin
cloths, and their voices joined high and proud in the ancient song of
welcome to the warrior returned from battle.
Gathered on the stoep of Lion Kop were many of his neighbours and their
wives, come with sympathy and offers of assistance.
Ada was waiting for him as Sean climbed the steps.
'Dirk?' he asked.
'He is well, asleep now. Laudanum.
'Michael?'
'He is waiting for you. He refused the drug. I've put him in your
room.
On his way down the passage Sean stopped at Dirk's room and looked in.
Dirk lay on his back with bandaged hands folded across his chest.
His face was swollen and laced with ugly red lines where the wattle
branches had clawed him. beside his bed Mary sat in patient vigil. She
looked at Sean and made to rise. Sean shook his head.
'No, I will come back when he is awake.' He went down the passage to
his own room.
Three of Ada's girls hovered and chirruped about Michael's bed like
birds whose nests are endangered. They saw him and stopped their
chatter. All Ada's girls held Sean in unexplained awe.
'Oh, Mr. Courtney. His poor hands one little lass began, then blushed
crimson, dropped a hurried curtsey and escaped from the room.
The others followed quickly.
Sean moved across to the bed.
'Hello, Mike.' His voice was gruff, as he saw the blister that hung
like a pale grape on Michael's cheek.
'Hello, Uncle Sean.' The raw places of his face and lips were smeared
with yellow ointment. Sean sat down gingerly on the edge of the bed
'Thank you, Michael,' he said.
Ronny Pye called early the following morning. With him came Dennis
Petersen and both of them were wearing suits.
'Very fancy turnout,' Sean greeted them. 'Business or social?
Well, you might say a little of each.' Ronny paused at the top of the
veranda steps. ' May we come in?'
Sean led them to the end of the veranda, and they seated themselves
