trotting at his one stirrup and an overgrown brindle hound at the other. They pushed their way between the wagons that cluttered the wide street; they passed the Raadsaal of the Republican Parliament, passed the houses standing back from the road in their spacious purple and green gardens and came at last to the business area of the city that crowded round the railway station. Sean and Duff had bought their supplies at a certain general dealer's stores and now Sean went back to it. It was hardly changed, the signboard in front had faded a little but still declared that Goldberg, Importer and Exporter, Dealer in Mining Machinery, Merchant and Wholesaler, was prepared to consider the purchase of gold, precious stone, hides and skins, ivory and other natural produce. Sean swung down from the saddle and tossed his reins to Mbejane. Unsaddle, Mbejane. This may take time. Sean stepped up onto the sidewalk, lifted his hat to two passing ladies and went through into the building where Mr Goldberg conducted his diverse activities. one of the assistants hurried to meet him, but Sean shook his head and the man went back behind the counter. He had seen Mr Goldberg with two customers at the far end of the store. He was -- content to wait. He browsed around among the loaded shelves of merchandise, feeling the quality of a shirt, sniffing at a box of cigars, examining an axe, lifting a rifle down off the rack and sighting at a spot on the wall, until Mr Goldberg bowed his customers through the door and turned to Sean. Mr Goldberg was short and fat.
His hair was cropped short and his neck bulged over the top of his collar. He looked at Sean and his eyes were expressionless while he riffled through the index cards of his memory for the name. Then he beamed like a brilliant burst of sunlight. Mr Courtney, isn't it? Sean grinned. That's right. How are you, Izzy? They shook hands. How's business?
Mr Goldberg's face fell. Terrible, terrible, Mr Courtney.
I'm a worried man. You look well enough on it, Sean prodded his stomach. You've put on weight! You can joke, Mr Courtney, but I'm telling you it's terrible. Taxes and worry, taxes and worry. Mr Goldberg sighed, and now there's talk of war. What's this? Sean frowned. War, Mr Courtney, war between Britain and the Republic. Sean's frown dissolved and he laughed. Nonsense, man, not even Kruger could be such a bloody fool! Get me a cup of coffee and a cigar and we'll go through to your office and talk business. Mr Goldberg's face went blank and his eyelids drooped almost sleepily. Business, Mr Courtney? That's right, Izzy, this time I'm selling and you're buying. What are you selling, Mr Courtney? Ivory. Ivory? ? lTwelve wagon loads of it Mr Goldberg sighed sadly. Ivory's no good now, the bottom's fallen out of it. You can hardly give it away. It was very well done; if Sean had not been told the ruling prices two days before he might have been convinced. I'm sorry to hear that, he said. If you're not interested, I'll see if I can find someone else. Come along to my office anyway, said Mr Goldberg. We can talk about it. Talk costs nothing. Two days later they were still talking about it. Sean had fetched his wagons and had off-loaded the ivory in the back yard of the store. Mr Goldberg had personally weighed each tusk and written the weights down on a sheet of paper. He and Sean had added the columns of figures and agreed on the total. Now they were in the last stages of agreeing the price. Come on, Izzy, we've wasted two days already. That's a fair price and you know it... let's get it over with, Sean growled. I'll lose money on this, protested Mr Goldberg. I've got to make a living, every man's got to live. Come on, Sean held out his right hand. Let's call it a deal. Mr Goldberg hesitated a second longer, then he put his pudgy hand in Sean's fist and they grinned at each other, both well satisfied. One of Mr Goldberg's assistants counted out the sovereigns, stacking them in piles of fifty along the counter, then Sean and Mr Goldberg checked them and agreed once more. Sean filled two canvas bags with the gold, slapped Mr Goldberg's back, helped himself to another cigar and headed heavily laden for the bank. When are you going into the veld again? Mr Goldberg called after him.
Soon! said Sean.
Don't forget to get your supplies here. I'll be back, Sean assured him.
Mbejane carried one of the bags and Sean the other.
Sean was smiling and streamers of cigar smoke swirled back from his head as he strode along the sidewalk.
There's something in the weight of a sack of gold that makes the man who holds it stand eight feet tall.
That night as they lay together in the darkness of the wagon Katrina asked him. Have we enough money to buy the farm yet, Sean? Yes, said Sean. We've got enough for the finest farm in the whole Cape peninsular... and, after one more trip, we'll have enough to build the house and the barns, buy the cattle, lay out the vineyard and still have some left over. Katrina was silent for a moment then, So we are going back into the bushveld again? One more trip, said Sean. Another two years and then we'll go down to the Cape. He gave her a hug. You don't mind, do you? No, she said. I think I'd like that. When will we leave? Not just yet awhile, Sean laughed. First we're going to have some fun. He hugged her again, her body was still painfully thin; he could feel the bones of her hips pressed against him. Some pretty clothes for you, my fancy, and a suit for me that doesn't look like a fancy dress. Then we'll go out and see what this burg has to offer in the way of entertainment, He stopped as the idea swelled up in his mind. Damn it! I know what we'll do. We'll hire a carriage and go across to Johannesburg. We'll take a suite at the Grand National Hotel and do some living. Bath in a china bath, sleep in a real bed; you can have your hair prettiedup and I'll have my beard trimmed by a barber. We'll eat crayfish and penguin eggs... I can't remember when I last tasted pork or mutton... we'll wash it down with the old bubbling wine and waltz to a good band - Sean raced on and when he stopped for breath Katrina asked softly, Isn't the waltz a very sinful dance, Sean?
Sean smiled in the darkness. It certainly is! I'd like to be sinful just once, -, not too much, just a little with you to see what it's like. We will be, said Sean as wicked as hell The next day Sean took Katrina to the most exclusive ladies shop in Pretoria. He chose the material of half a dozen dresses. One of them was to be a ball gown in canary-yellow silk. It was extravagance and he knew it, but he didn't care once he saw the flash of guilty delight in Katrina's cheeks and the old green sparkle in her eyes.
For the first time since the fever she was living again.
He spilled out his sovereigns with thankful abandon. The sales girls were delighted with him, they crowded round him with trays of feminine accessories. A dozen of those, said Sean and, yes, those will do. Then a flash of green on the racks across the room caught his eye, it was Katrina's green.
What's that? He pointed and two sales girls nearly knocked each other down in the rush to get it for him.
The winner carried the shawl back to him and Sean took it and placed it around Katrina's shoulders. It was a beautiful thing.
We'll take it, said Sean and Katrina's lips quivered then suddenly she was crying, sobbing brokenly. The excitement had been too much. There was immediate consternation among the shop assistants, they flapped around Sean like hens at feeding time while he picked Katrina up and carried her out to the hired carriage. At the door he paused and spoke over his shoulder.
I want those dresses finished by tomorrow evening.
Can you- do it? They'll be ready, Mr Courtney, even if my girls have to work all night on them. He took Katrina back to the wagons and laid her on her cot. Please forgive me, Sean, I've never done that in my life beforeIt's all right, my fancy, I understand. Now you just go to sleep The following day Katrina stayed at the camp resting, while Sean went to see Mr Goldberg again and buy from him the stores they would need for the next expedition. it took another day to load the wagons and by then Katrina seemed well enough to make the trip to Johannesburg.
They left in the early afternoon. Mbejane driving, Sean and Katrina sitting close together on the back seat holding hands under the travelling rug and Dirk bouncing round the interior of the carriage, pausing now and then to flatten his face against a window and keeping up a flow of comment in the peculiar mixture of English, Dutch and Zulu that Sean called Dirkese. They reached Johannesburg long before Sean -expected to. In four years the town had doubled its size and had spread out into the veld to meet them. They followed the main road through the new areas and came to the centre. There were changes here as well but it was, in the main, the way he remembered it.
They threaded their way through the babble of Eloff Street, and around them, millOwing with the crowds on the sidewalks, were the ghosts of the past. He heard Duff laugh and twisted quickly in his seat to place the sound; a dandy in a boater hat with gold fillings in his teeth laughed again from a passing carriage and Sean heard that it was not Duff's laugh. Very close, but not the same. All of it was like that, similar but subtly changed, nostalgic but sad with the knowledge of loss. The past was lost and he knew then that you can never go back. Nothing is the same, for reality can exist at one time only and in one place only. Then it dies and you have lost it and you must go on to find it at another time and in another place.
They took a suite at the Grand National, with a sittingroom and two bedrooms, a private bathroom and a balcony that looked out over the street, over the rooftops to where the headgears and white dumps stood along the ridge. Katrina was exhausted. They had supper sent up to the room early and when they had eaten Katrina went to bed and Sean went down alone to drink a nightcap at the bar. The bar-room was crowded. Sean found a seat in the corner and sat silently in the jabber of conversation. In it, but no longer a part of it.
They had changed the picture above the bar, it used to be a hunting print; but now it was a red-coated general, impressively splattered with blood, taking leave of his staff in the middle of a battlefield. The staff looked
