and legs dangling starboard.
'It is possible that tomorrow you will regret this,' Mbejane told him
primly as he unloaded him beside the fire and rolled him still booted
and bloody into his blanket.
He was correct.
In the dawn as Sean cleaned his face with a cloth dipped in a mug of
hot water, regarding its reflection in the small metal mirror, the only
fact that gave him the faintest satisfaction was the two hundred-odd
sovereigns he had salvaged from the night's debauch.
'Are you sick, Pa?' Dirk's ghoulish interest in Sean's condition added
substantially to Ins evil temper.
'Eat your breakfast. ' Sean's tone was calculated by its sheer
malevolence to dry up further questioning.
'There is no food.' Mbenjane fell into the fkmiliar role of
protector.
'Why not?' Sean focused his bloodshot eyes upon him.
'There is one among us who considers the purrhase of strong drink, and
other things, more important than food for his son. ' From the pocket
of his jacket Sean drew a handful of sovereigns. 'Go!' he ordered.
'Buy food and fresh horses. Go quickly so that in my grave illness I
may not be afflicted with the wisdom of your counsel. Take Dirk with
you.
Mbejane examined the money, and grinned.
''The night was not wasted.
When they had gone back to Frerr, Dirk trotting beside the huge
half-naked Zulu and his voice only fading at a distance of a hundred
yards, Sean poured himself another mug of coffiee and cupping it in his
hands he sat staring into the ash and pink coals of the fire. He could
trust Mbejane to use the money with care, he had the bargaining
patience peculiar to his race that could if necessary devote two days
to the purchase of a single ox. These things did not concern Sean
now.
Instead he went over the events of the previous night. Still sickened
by his display of murderous rage, he tried to justify it.
Taking into account the loss of nearly all he owned, the accumulation
of years of hard work that had been stripped from him in a single day;
the hardship and uncertainty that had followed. And finally he had
reached the flash point when liquor and poker-tensed nerves had snapped
the last reserve in him and translated it all into that violent
outburst.
But that was not all, he knew he had avoided the main issue.
Ruth. As he came back to her a wave of hopeless longing overwhelmed
him, a tender despair such as he had never experienced before. He
groaned aloud, and lifted his eyes to the morning star which was fading
on the pink horizon as the sun came up behind.
For a while longer he wallowed in the softness of his love, remembering
the way she walked, the dark serenity of her eyes and her mouth when
she smiled and her voice when she sang until it threatened to smother
him in its softness.
