and bad liquor was solid.
among this press of men were half a dozen bright spots of the girls' dresses, but with their curiosity aroused by the singing more girls were coming through from the inter leading doorways at the back, some of them had men with them and were still shrugging into their clothing.
when they saw big king and his warriors in full war kit, they fell silent and watchful.
at big king's shoulder one of his shangaans whispered: 'basutos! they are all basutos!' he was right, big king saw that they were all men of that mountainous little independent state.
big king started forward, swaggering just enough to make his leopard tail kilt swing and swirl and the heron feathers of his head-dress rustle. he reached the primitive bar counter.
'flying bird,' he told the crone who owned the house, and she placed a bottle of eagle brandy on the counter.
big king half filled a tumbler, conscious that every eye was on him, and drained it.
slowly he turned and surveyed the room.
'what is it he asked in a voice that carried to every corner, 'that sits on top of a mountain and scratches its fleas. is it a baboon, or a basuto?' a roar of delight went up from his shangaans.
'a basuto!' they shouted, crowding forward to the bar, while a growl and a mutter went up from the rest of the room.
'what is it,' shouted a basuto jumping to his feet, 'that has feathers on its head and crows from a dung heap is it a rooster, or a shangaan?'
without seeming to move, big king picked up the bottle of eagle brandy and hurled it. with a crack it burst against the basuto's forehead and he went over backwards taking two of his companions with him.
the old crone snatched up her cash register and ran as the room exploded into violent movement.
there was not enough space in which to use the fighting sticks, big king realized, so he lifted a section of the bar counter off its trestles and, holding it in front of him like the blade of a bulldozer, he charged across the room, flattening all and everything before him.
the crash of breaking furniture and the yelp and squeal of men being struck down drove big king beyond the frontiers of sanity into the red atavistic fury of the berserker.
basuto is also one of the fighting tribes of the n'gum group. these wiry mountaineers rushed into the conflict with the same savage joy as the shangaans, a conflict that raged and roared out of the single room to engulf the entire population of dump city.
one of the girls, her dress ripped from her back so she was left with only a tattered pair of bloomers, had climbed on top of the remains of the bar counter from where, with her big melon breasts swinging in the lamp light, she shrilled that peculiar ululation that bantu women used to goad their menfolk into battle frenzy. a dozen of the other girls joined in, trilling, squealing, and the sound was too much for big king.
with the bar top held ahead of him he charged straight through the flimsy wall of the shack, bursting it open like a paper bag. the roof sagged down wearily, and big king raged on unchecked down the narrow dirt street, striking down any man who crossed his path, scattering chickens and yelping dogs, roaring like a bull gorilla.
he turned at the end of the encampment and came back, his frustration mounting as he found the street deserted except for a few prostrate bodies; through the gaping hole in the wall he entered the shebeen once more to find that here also the fighting had died down. a few of the participants were crawling, or moaning as they lay on the carpet of broken glass.
big king glared about him, seeking a further outlet for his wrath.
'king nkulu!' the girl was still on the trestle table, her eyes bright with excitement, her legs trembling with it.
big king let out another roar, and hurled the bar top from him. it clattered against the far wall and big king started towards her.
'you are a lion!' she shrieked encouragement at him, and she took one of her big black velvety breasts in each hand and pointed them at him, squeezing them together, shaking with excitement.
'eat me!' she screamed, as big king swept her off the table and, lifting her high, ran with her out into the night.
carrying her into the scrub below the mine dumps, holding her easily with one arm, ripping the leopard-tail kilt from his own waist as he ran.
it was saturday night in paris also, but there were men who were still working, for there were lights burning in the upstairs rooms of one of the big embassies in the rue royale.
the fat man who had been the host in the gambling establishment in johannesburg was now the guest. he sat at ease in a leather club easy chair, his corpulence and the steel grey hair at his temples giving him dignity. his face heavy, tanned, intelligent. his eyes glittery and hard as the diamond on his finger.
he was listening intently to a man of about the same age as himself who stood before a projected image on a screen that covered one wall of the room. there was that in the man's bearing and manner that marked him as a scholar, he was speaking now, addressing himself directly to the listener in the easy chair, pointing with a marker to the screen beside him.
'you see here a plan of the working of the five producing gold mines of the kitchenerville fields in relation to each other.' he touched the screen with the marker. 'thornfontein, blaauberg, tweefontein, deep gold levels and sander ditch.' the man in the chair nodded. 'i have seen and studied this diagram before.'
'good, then you will know that the sander ditch property sits in the centre of the field. it has common boundaries with the other four mines and here,' he tapped the screen again, 'it is intersected by the massive serpentine dyke which they call the big dipper.' again the fat man nodded.
'it is for these reasons we have selected the sander ditch as the trigger point.' the lecturer touched a button on the wall panel and the image on the screen changed.
'now, here is something you have not seen before.' the man in the chair crouched forward.
'what is it?'
'it is an underground map based on the borehole results of the five companies who have been exploring the ground to the east of the big dipper. these results have been pooled and interpreted by some of the finest brains in the fields of geology and hydra physics. you have here a carefully considered representation of exactly what lies on the far side of the big dipper fault.' the big man moved uncomfortably in his chair.
'it's a monster!'
'yes, a monster. lying just beyond the fault is an underground lake, no, that is not the correct word. let us call it an underground sea, the size of, say, lake eyrie. the water is held in a vast sponge of porous dolomite rock.'
'my god.' for the first time the fat man had lost his poise. 'if this is right, why don't the mining companies arrive at the same conclusion and keep well away from it?'
'because,' the lecturer switched off the image and the overhead lights came on, 'because of their highly competitive attitude none of them has access to the findings of the others. it is only when all the results are studied that the picture becomes clear.'
'how did your government come to be in possession of all the results?' demanded the fat man.
'that is not important.' the lecturer was brusque, impatient of the interruption. 'we are also in possession of the findings of a certain doctor peter wessels who is at present head of a research team in rock mechanics based on the sander ditch mine property. it is company classified information and consists of a paper that doctor peter wessels has written on the shatter patterns and stresses of rock. his researches are directly related to the ventersdorp quartzites which comprise the country rock of the sander ditch workings.' the lecturer picked up a pamphlet from his desk.
'i will not weary you by asking you to wade through its highly technical findings. instead i will give it to you in capsule form. doctor wessels arrives at the conclusion that a column of ventersdorp quartzite 120 feet thick would shatter under a side pressure of 4,000 pounds per square inch.' the lecturer dropped the pamphlet back on the desk. 'as you know, by law, the gold mining companies are bound to leave a barrier of solid rock 120 feet thick along their boundaries.
that is all that separates one mine's working from another, just that wall of rock. you understand?'
'of course. it is very simple.' 'simple? yes, it is simple! this doctor steyner, over whom you have control, will instruct the new general manager of the sander ditch to drive a tunnel through the big dipper dyke. the drive will puncture the vast underground reservoir and the water will run back and flood the entire sander ditch workings. once they are flooded, the pressure delivered by a 6,000-foot head of water at the lower levels will be in excess of 4,000 pounds per square inch.
that is sufficient to burst the rock walls, and flood the thomfonrein, the blaauberg, deep gold levels and tweefontein gold mines.'
'the entire kitchenerville gold fields would be effectively and permanently put out of production. the consequences for the economy of the republic of south africa would be catastrophic.' the fat man was visibly shaken.
'why do you want to do it?' he asked, shaking his head in awe.
'my colleague here,' the lecturer indicated a man who was sitting quietly in one corner, 'will explain that to you presently.'
