Garrick's voice was shaky.
Pa's in Pietermaritzburg, said Sean.
Garrick stood in the doorway and looked around the room. It was the first time he had really seen it. On every previous visit he had been too preoccupied with the violence to come and the only item in the room he had studied closely was the seat of the big leather easy chair as he bent over the arm of it and exposed his backside to the sjambok.
Now he looked at the room. The walls were panelled to the ceiling, the wood was dark yellow and polished.
The ceiling was fancy plaster, in a pattern of oak leaves.
A single lamp hung from the centre of it on a brass chain.
You could walk into the fireplace of brown chipped stone and there were logs laid ready for the match.
Pipes and tobacco jar on the ledge beside the fireplace, guns in a rack along one wall, a bookcase of green and maroon leather bound volumes: encyclopaedias, dictionaries, books on travel and farming, but no fiction. There was an oil painting of Ada on the wall opposite the desk, the artist had captured a little of her serenity: she wore a white dress and carried her hat in her hand. A magnificent set of Cape buffalo horns above the fireplace dominated the room with their great crenellated bosses and wide sweep to the tips.
It was a man's room, with loose dog-hairs on the Ieopard-skin rugs, and the presence of the man strongly there - it even smelled of Waite. It was as distinctively his as the tweed coat and Terai hat that hung behind the door.
Next to where Sean sat the cabinet was open and a bottle of brandy stood on top of it. Sean had a goblet in his hand.
You're drinking Pa's brandy, Garrick accused. It's not bad Sean lifted the glass and inspected the liquid, he took a careful sip and held it in his mouth, preparing himself to swallow. Garrick watched him with awe and Sean tried not to blink as it went down his throat. Would you like some? Garrick shook his head and the fumes came up Sean's nose and his eyes ran.
Pa will kill you! said Garrick. Sit down, ordered Sean, his voice husky from the brandy. I want to work out a plan for the time Pa's away. Garrick advanced on the armchair, but before he reached it he changed his mind, the associations were too painful. He went to the sofa instead and sat on the edge. Tomorrow, Sean held up one finger, we'll dip all the cattle in the home section. I've told Zama to start bringing them early, you did do the tanks, didn't you?
Garrick nodded and Sean went on. On Saturday Sean held up his second finger, we'll burn fire breaks along the top of the escarpment. The grass is dry as hell up there. You take one gang and start near the falls, I'll ride down to the other end, near Fredericks Kloof.
On Sunday... Sean said and then paused. On Sunday Anna. I want to go to church on Sunday, said Garrick quickly. That's fine, agreed Sean. You go to church. Are you going to come? No, said Sean.
Garrick looked down at the leopard-skin rugs that covered the floor, he didn't try to persuade Sean for Anna would be at the service. Perhaps afterwards, if Sean wasn't there to distract her, he could drive her home in the buggy. He started a day dream and wasn't listening as Sean went on talking.
In the morning it was full daylight by the time Sean reached the dip tank. He pushed a small herd of stragglers before him and they came out through the trees and stirrup high grass into the wide area of trampled earth around the tank. Garrick had started running cattle through the dip and there were about ten head already in the draining kraal at the far end, standing wet and miserable, their bodies dark with dip.
Sean drove his herd through the gates of the entrance kraal into the solid pack of brown bodies that were already there. N'duti slid the bars of the gate back into place to hold them. I see you, Nkosi. I see you, N'duti. Plenty of work today! Plenty, agreed N'duti, always plenty of work. Sean rode around the kraal and tied his horse beneath one of the trees, then walked across to the tank. Garrick was standing by the parapet and leaning against one of the columns that supported the roof. Hello, Garry, how's it going? Fine. Sean leaned over the parapet next to Garry. The tank was twenty feet long and eight wide, the surface of the liquid was below ground level. Around the tank was a low wall and over it a roof of thatch to prevent rain diluting the contents.
The herdboys drov, 2 the cattle up to the edge and each beast hesitated on the brink. Elyapi, Elyapi, screamed the herdboys and the push of bodies behind it forced it to jump. If one was stubborn, Zama leaned over the railing of the kraal, grabbed its tail and bit it.
Each beast jumped with its nose held high and its forefeet gathered up under its chest; it disappeared completely under the oil black surface and came up again swimming frantically along the tank until its hooves touched the Sloping bottom at the far end and it could lumber up into the draining kraal.
Keep them moving, Zama, shouted Sean.
Zama grinned at him and bit with big white teeth into a reluctant tail.
The ox was a heavy animal and it splashed a drop up onto Sean's cheek as he leaned over the wall. Sean did
not bother to wipe it off, he went on watching. Well, if we don't get top prices for this lot at the next sale then the buyers don't know good cattle, he said to Garry.
They're all right, agreed Garry. All right? They're the fattest oxen in the district. Sean was about to enlarge on the theme, but suddenly he was aware of discomfort, the drop of dip was burning his cheek. He wiped it off with his finger and held it to his nose; the smell of it stung his nostrils. For a second he stared at it stupidly and the spot on his cheek burned like fire.
He looked up quickly. The cattle in the draining kraal were milling restlessly and as he looked one of them staggered sideways and bumped against the railing.
Zama! shouted Sean, and the Zulu looked up. Stop them. For God's sake don't let any more through. There was another ox poised on the edge. Sean snatched off his hat and jumped up onto the wall, he beat the ox in the face with his hat trying to drive it back, but it sprang out into the tank. Sean caught hold of the railing and stepped into the space it had left on the edge of the tank. Stop them, he shouted. Get the bars in, don't let any more through. He spread his arms across the entrance, holding onto the railing on each side, kicking at the faces of the cattle in front of him. Hurry, djunn you, get the bars in, he shouted. The oxen pressed towards him, a wall of homed heads. Pushed forward by those behind and held back by Sean they started to panic; one of them tried to jump over the railing.
As it swung its head its horn raked Sean's chest, up across the ribs, ripping his shirt.
Behind him Sean felt the wooden bars being dropped into place, blocking the entrance to the tank, and then Zamma's hands on his arm pulling him up out of the confusion of horns and hooves. Two of the herdboys helped him over the railing and Sean shrugged their hands off as soon as he was on the ground.
Come on, he ordered and ran to his horse. Nkosi, you are bleeding. Blood had splotched the front of Sean's shirt but he felt no pain. The cattle that had been through the dip were now in terrible distress. They charged about the kraal, bellowing pitifully; one of them fell and when it got to its feet again its legs were shaking so that it could barely stand.
The river, shouted Sean, get them down to the river.
Try and wash it off. Zama, open the gate. The Baboon Stroom. was a mile away. One of the oxen died before they could get them out of the kraal, another ten before they reached the river. They died in convulsions, with their bodies shuddering and their eyes turned back into their heads.
Sean drove those that remained down the bank into the river. The water was clear and as each beast went into it, the dip washed off in a dark brown cloud. Stand here, Don't let them come out. Sean swam his horse to the far bank and turned back the oxen that were trying to climb it. Nkosi, one is drowning, called N'duti and Sean looked across the river. A young ox was in convulsions in the shallows: its head was under water and its feet thrashed the surface.
Sean slid off his horse and waded out to it. The water was up to his armpits. He tried to hold its head out and drag it to the bank. Help me, N'duti, he shouted, and the Zulu came into the river. it was a hopeless task: each time the ox lunged it pulled them both under with it. By the time they got the ox to the bank it was dead.
Sean sat in the mud beside the body of the ox: he was exhausted and his lungs ached with the water he had breathed. Bring them out, Zama, he gasped. The survivors were standing in the shallows or swimming in aimless circles. How many? asked Sean. How many are dead?
Two more while you were in the water. Altogether thirteen, Nkosi. Where's my horse? It ran, and I let it go. It will be back at the house Sean nodded. Bring them up to the sick paddock. We must watch them for a few days. Sean stood up and started walking back towards the dip tank. Garrick was gone, and the main herd was still in the kraal. Sean opened the gate and turned them loose.
He felt better by then, and as his strength returned with it came his anger and his hatred. He started along the track towards the homestead. His boots squelched as he walked and he hated Garrick more strongly with each step. Garrick had mixed the dip. Garrick had killed his cattle and Sean hated him, As Sean came up the slope below the house he saw Garrick standing in the yard. Garrick saw him also; he disappeared into the kitchen and Sean started to run. He went in through the kitchen door and nearly knocked down one of the servants, Garrick, shouted Sean. Damn it, where are you? He searched the house; once quickly and then
