'Only thing to do is to lift her out,' Ken said.
He began to unload the truck, handing the jerrycans of water and gas to Themba. Fennel got the rucksacks, sleeping bags and his heavy tool bag out.
'Back wheels first,' Ken said.
The three men got grips and at Ken's shout, heaved up. Their combined strength lifted the wheels and the next heave got the tail of the truck back on to the road.
'I can pull her out now,' Ken said. 'You two shove against the side in case she slides in again.'
Three minutes later, the Land Rover was once more on the road. They hastily reloaded, then Fennel said, 'I'm having a drink.'
Ken nodded and Themba opened two bottles of beer and a bottle of tonic water for himself.
Fennel looked at Themba.
'You say it's going to get worse?'
'So he says,' Ken broke in. 'No use talking to him, he doesn't understand English.'
Fennel emptied his bottle of beer.
'Looks like we three have picked the crappy end of the stick, doesn't it?' he said.
'That's the way the cookie crumbles.' Ken finished his beer, tossed the bottle into the gutter and climbed under the driving wheel. 'Let's go.'
At least the two incidents seemed to have made Fennel more human, he thought as he engaged gear. He had spoken to Themba and he had shown a spark of comradeship.
They now came to a series of steep hairpin bends. Using the four wheel drive, Ken continued the climb but at not much more than twelve kilometres an hour. The exertion of dragging the wheel around as he came into the bends and then straightening was making him sweat. The bends seemed to go on and on and they climbed higher and higher.
Fennel leaned forward.
'Want me to take a turn? I can handle this crate.'
Ken shook his head.
'Thanks . . . I can cope.' He spoke to Themba in Afrikaans and Themba replied.
Feeling out of it, Fennel demanded, 'What are you talking about?'
'At the top is the bad place. Themba says this is where we could get stuck for good.'
'That's fine! Bad place! What the hell does he call this?' Ken laughed.
'From what he says, this is like driving down Piccadilly to what we're coming to.'
Then from nowhere grey sluggish clouds crossed the sun, shutting it out and it turned cold. As Ken left the last hairpin bend and started up a long narrow, rocky rise, the rain came down in solid warm sheets.
The three men were soaked to the skin in seconds and Ken, blinded, stopped the Land Rover. They all crouched forward, shielding their faces with their arms while the rain slammed down on their bowed backs. They remained like that for some minutes. Water was in the Land Rover and sloshing around. Fennel's shoes, and water lay inches deep on the tarpaulin covering their equipment.
Abruptly as it began, the rain ceased, the clouds moved away and the sun came out. In a very few minutes their clothes began to steam.
'This is one hell of a picnic,' Fennel said. 'My goddamn cigarettes are soaked!'
Ken took a pack from the glove compartment and offered it. 'Take these.'
'I'll take one . . . keep the rest in there. If the bitch is going to
start again, we don't want to run short.'
They both lit up and then got back into the truck. Themba had walked on ahead. By now he was at the top of the rise and stood waiting.
As they reached him, he motioned Ken to stop. Both men looked beyond him at the road ahead. They appeared to be on the top of a mountain and the track abruptly narrowed. One side was a sloping bank of coarse grass and shrubs; the other side was a sheer drop into the valley.
Fennel stood up in the Land Rover and stared at the track. He was never sure of himself when in high places, and the sight of the distant valley far below and the narrowness of the rough track brought him out in a sweat.
