‘Yes, that sounds right.’
The world had gone more than usually mad, Yudel thought. Oliver Hall on the loose. Elia Dlomo having escaped. And what would his reaction be when he found what Hall had done to his woman? And Beloved seemingly was going about her business, showing no interest in either matter. And now Robert shot. What the hell was that about?
Between Beaufort West and Laingsburg – 403 kilometres from the Freedom Foundation
THE DINING CAR
and the passage adjoining it were empty. That meant that he was probably in one of the compartments. Hall knew that there was always the chance that Dlomo had seen and recognised him. No, he couldn’t have. And yet perhaps he had.
The knife was back in his right hand. The door opened at the far end of the coach and a man in the uniform of the railway appeared, a conductor. Hall turned side on to hide the knife while he returned it to its holster.
The conductor was a stocky black man of perhaps thirty. He carried a clipboard. He smiled, his eyes travelling admiringly up and down Hall’s suit. ‘Good morning, sir.’
‘Good morning.’
‘You got on in Beaufort West, I think.’
‘That’s right.’
‘You looking for your compartment, sir?’
Fuck you with your smiling face, your interfering face, Hall thought. ‘Yes, I am. Perhaps you can help me.’ Beyond the conductor, the passage remained empty. The doors of the compartments were all closed.
‘I’m sure you’re in the wrong coach, sir.’
‘The wrong coach?’ Hall asked gently. You meddling little bastard, he thought.
‘I saw you get on. You were two or three coaches down that way.’ A wave of the hand showed the way he meant. ‘May I ask your name, sir?’
‘Ashton. My name is Ashton.’
The conductor consulted his clipboard. ‘Yes, sir. Here you are, Mr Ashton Hall. I’ll take you to your compartment. Just follow me.’
Hall looked back one last time, but the passage was still empty. He followed the conductor through the dining car and back to his own compartment where his travelling companion was awake now and sitting on one end of the lower bunk. ‘Up early,’ the other man suggested.
‘Couldn’t sleep.’ He sat down on the other end of the bunk and closed his eyes to avoid the need for further conversation. His mind was filled with the image of the man in the clerical collar, the man he thought was Elia Dlomo. Not thought, he told himself. How many times have I seen that ugly face? I know him.
Approaching De Doorns – 176 kilometres from the Freedom Foundation
Breakfast had come and gone. Elia Dlomo had not yet slept and he did not expect to be able to sleep, not on this day. The coldness that had enveloped his body earlier was still with him, a thing apart from the temperature of the day. It was twelve hours since he had seen the body being carried from Jenny’s cottage to the ambulance. Hall could not be far ahead. And Hall was running the same risks he was. The boers would be searching for him too.
The need to wait never rested easily on Dlomo. He slid the compartment door open and stepped into the passage. He wondered if the dining car was open and he could get a drink. Some compartment doors were open and he heard snatches of conversation. He made his way slowly down the passages of the coaches in between. The door of the dining car opened at the turn of the handle, but the tables were empty.
After almost a thousand kilometres across the desert plateau of the Karoo, the tracks drop a thousand feet down the Hex River Pass into the lush, vine-filled De Doorns Valley. The steepness of the descent and the winding nature of the tracks make it necessary for trains coming out of the Karoo to slow right down.
Dlomo sat at a window near the centre of the coach. From the window he could see a deep ravine and grey cliffs beyond. Below him and ahead his first view of the valley was a riot of yellows, reds and browns as the vine leaves took on their autumn colours. Dlomo’s life had not been filled with moments of beauty. The foothills of the mountains where the Khumalo family lived and where he had killed Ruth were filled with glorious, steep-sided ravines and covered by grass so brilliantly green that its existence seemed impossible. But he had noticed little of it. Now for one of the few times in his life he appreciated the beauty of a landscape. The sun, penetrating the vine leaves at an angle, seemed to light the valley floor with a living carpet. Somehow the loveliness reached through the ugliness and pain of which almost all his life had consisted, and held him in thrall.
Perhaps, if it had not been for the vines, he would have heard the movement behind him earlier. Perhaps too he may have felt the wind, only the slightest movement of air, as the coach door opened behind him. Perhaps too his instincts, usually so finely attuned to any change in the atmosphere around him, may have warned him.
His awareness of the danger was too late for him to avoid the knife entirely. It was almost touching his throat by the time he moved. In that instant Dlomo knew that Hall was upon him and he knew where the danger would be coming from. He slid down in the seat and to his left, taking his carotid away from the direction from which he knew the knife would be coming. Some part of the blade touched his neck, but it was too small a touch to have a serious effect. He was down on his hands and knees, moving into the aisle and turning towards the danger at the same time. Some part of his clothing, probably his jacket, hooked against the seat, slowing him. He felt the knife enter, low down on the right, and this time it went in deep.
By now he had turned, but Hall was upon him, holding the knife low. Again Dlomo anticipated where the strike would be coming from. He grabbed for Hall’s wrist, but caught the blade instead. He felt it slice through the tendons of his left hand as Hall pulled it back to strike again. His fingers were not reacting to his commands. He used the hand to deflect Hall’s forearm, driving the knife aside. Then he drove a stiff right arm into Hall’s face, the flat of his hand crashing into his assailant’s teeth.
They were apart, perhaps twice the reach of either of them, and facing each other. Hall was in a crouch, still holding the knife at below waist level. Dlomo knew that he would move to exploit any sign of weakness. And he was fast, too fast for a man whose left hand was not working and who had just been stabbed in the back, maybe in one of the kidneys. He knew his weakness, but he also knew that he dared not let Hall see it. And he knew that Hall would have felt the stiff arm. He had made contact just too low. A bit higher, and with the timing right, the nose would have been shattered and some of the bone may even have entered the brain. Hall would be careful to avoid that now. Dlomo guessed that his next strike would probably be aimed at the damaged left hand, or even the heart.
Dlomo was right about the direction, but it came much lower. He warded it off with his left and felt the blade enter the palm again, pushing right through until the haft was pressed into the flesh. Without consciously planning the move, he twisted his left hand hard enough to snap the blade. Hall moved back, well out of range this time. Both men knew that without the knife he was much less dangerous. But now there was almost nothing worth keeping of Dlomo’s left hand and the pain in his back was like a spear thrust.
Dlomo backed towards the coach door. Hall was following, but not so close as to risk further contact with Dlomo’s right hand. Dlomo stopped with his back against the door. The world around him was unsteady now, weaving as if the train was a roller coaster. You bastard, he thought. You’re waiting for the cut to bring me down.
Hall’s approach stopped as Dlomo reached the door. In that moment Dlomo reached for the push button he knew was there. Hall was again moving in. The sound of the train’s alarm reached Dlomo faintly, from far away.
He saw Hall turn to hurry down the corridor of the dining hall, and pass through the door at the far end. The coach itself faded around him and he sank to his knees. A voice that he recognised as belonging to one of the conductors spoke close to him. The bland professional tone was gone this time. ‘Reverend,’ the voice said, ‘who did this to you?’
YUDEL
knew he was close to a complete understanding of what Enslin Kruger was doing and he thought he knew where to find the rest of what he needed to know. He had Jacky April brought to the library for April’s protection. He had brought Elia Dlomo to the infirmary just a few days before for the same reason and hoped he was not overdoing it.
The officers who brought April had been carefully chosen for their discretion. ‘It’s all right, gentlemen,’ Yudel told them. ‘I need you to wait outside.’
This was in breach of regulations, but then things Mr Gordon did were often in breach of regulations. They glanced at each other before going out and closing the door.
April had been woken from a sleep that had never slipped far below the surface of consciousness. He looked older than he had a few days before. He tried to smile at Yudel, revealing the gap where Enslin Kruger had his front teeth smashed out. The expression was little more than a ghastly grin of fear.
‘Did Kruger have that done to you?’ Yudel asked.
‘Sir must know I never saw who did it.’
Of course not, Yudel thought, but he did not want to subject April to more than he had to. ‘Am I in shit, sir?’ April wanted to know.
‘No. I want to ask you a few questions, then you can go back.’
‘The others they are looking at me, sir. I’m scared if they find out you want me.’
Yudel knew that his fear was real and that the reason for it was real. ‘I’m sorry about that, but when we’re finished here you can go back and tell Enslin Kruger exactly what I asked you and what you answered. I don’t mind him knowing.’
‘Serious?’
‘Yes, I’m serious.’
‘Then I’m going to tell Mr Enslin.’
‘Good. Now …’ Yudel was searching his face. Somewhere in that mind were clues that April might not realise he possessed. ‘The lady, Beloved. You thought she was involved somehow. Can you think how she might be involved?’
‘I just heard Mr Enslin say she must get looked after.’
‘What does that mean?’
‘They going to do something.’
‘Are they going to do something for her, or are they going to do something to her?’
‘Sir, please. Sir must know I just heard a little bit. I think they going to do something to her, hurt her like.’
‘You’re doing well, Jacky. That’s very good.’
‘Thank you, sir. I’m glad, sir.’ The misery in April’s face suggested that the pleasure he felt at helping Yudel was not pervasive.
‘Jacky, you told me that attacking Dlomo was not Kruger’s game. And you were right.’
‘Yes, sir.’
‘But did Kruger help in planning his escape?’
‘Maybe, sir.’
‘Why maybe? What does that mean?’
‘Sir must know, they can kill me.’
‘No one will know what you tell me now. That’s why I sent the officers out. We’re alone.’
‘But if Sir lets them search Mr Enslin’s cell—’
‘Is there a gun?’
‘No, sir.’
‘Then I won’t let them search his cell. I promise you that.’
‘Mr Enslin’s got a cellphone.’
‘Ah.’ Whatever doubts still troubled Yudel were disappearing. ‘And he let Elia Dlomo use it?’
‘Mr Gordon must know this is just what I think.’
‘And Dlomo used Kruger’s phone to contact his friends to tell them he was being moved?’
‘I think so, sir.’
‘But he couldn’t have known when.’
‘I think Member Dongwana, sir. I think he’s scared. They hurt his wife. Maybe they can come back.’
Yudel leant back in his chair for a moment to consider this new information. ‘Kruger can keep his phone for now,’ he told April. ‘I won’t report it. Just one more thing, Jacky. When you were drafted in here you told me that at least it was a big crime, at least you were not in for a small thing. Do you remember?’
April looked down at his feet. ‘Not actually, sir.’
But this was not the time for Yudel to accept that sort of response. ‘Look at me, Jacky.’
April glanced at him, then looked down.
‘Look at me and keep looking at me.’
April raised his head. His eyes found Yudel’s, flitted away to another part of the room, came back and flitted away again.
‘Now, you listen to me. I need the truth from you, the complete truth. I swear to you I will never use it against you and never tell anyone else. But you have to tell me the truth now.’
The truth was not something April was overly familiar with. In his world you said what you needed to in order to deal with the current situation. But Yudel was looking at him with an intensity that made lying difficult. ‘Sir knows I’ll try to help.’
‘When you had sex with the old white man, did you know your friends might kill him?’
Whatever truth Yudel had needed, April had not imagined that it would have anything to do with him personally. ‘Sir …’ His voice trailed away like the sound of whispering in a blizzard.
‘No one will ever know. If you did you don’t need to say anything. Just nod.’
Truth was one thing, but this kind of truth was like an avalanche descending on him. This time looking at Yudel was impossible. His eyes fixed on the floor in front of him. The movement was almost imperceptible, but it was enough. He nodded once, paused a moment, then nodded again.
‘So you knew this was a big crime?’
April nodded again.
‘Was that important to you when you came here?’
‘Sir knows.’
‘Why was it important?’
‘Sir knows, if you in for a small thing, you nobody here.’
‘The bigger your crime, the greater your stature here?’ Yudel knew it to be true. The question was directed more at himself than at the frightened man opposite him.
‘Sir?’
‘The greater your crime, the more important you are in C-Max.’
‘I’m not a big man here, but I’m not rubbish. Sir knows.’
Yudel did know. ‘Don’t worry about any of this, Jacky. You can go back to your cell and tell Kruger whatever you want. Change my questions and your answers, if you like.’