The Visitors (25 page)

We step inside and find the floor half destroyed by fire, littered with charred and splintery remains of furniture. A sad piano has been smashed into two pieces, useless, its bronzy strings splayed out against the blackened walls. As we pass into the next room, once a kitchen with ruined range and trampled crockery spilling from the axed dresser, we see a huge wildcat perched on the windowsill, fearless and eyeing us with belligerence. Lottie calls out, ‘Shoo, shoo!’ and we stamp our feet and wave our arms. This is my patch, it seems to say, but like all cats it is too lazy to argue. It leaps down and trots away across the yard.

We scout the devastation. A cow barn stands behind and we go in, buckets up-ended and strands of straw afloat on warm currents. No cows here now, no sign of the people or animals who lived and made it their home. Just desolation, neglect and the wind whistling through the broken beams. A movement in the corner of my eye and I wheel round, looking for that wildcat. A white-blue light emanates from behind a cow-stall. A small head pops up – eyes staring – then retreats.

‘What is it?’ says Lottie, who has seen me turn.

‘A Visitor,’ I sign back, and step forward. I look down behind the stall and there is a boy crouched on the floor, his body fringed with a vibrant halo, as if he has only just passed.

Hello
, I say to him in my mind.

You are English?
he replies.

I am. We are friends. We come alone.

No soldiers?

No soldiers. I am very glad you speak English.

Mamma taught me.

He stands up, proud.

‘Who is it?’ Lottie asks.

I am going to guess your name. Do you think I can?

No.

It is Jurie.

How do you know it?

I know everything.

Do you know about the man?

Which one?

The soldier who hurt Mamma. He is dead now.

Yes, I know about him.

‘Who is it, Liza?’ insists Lottie.

‘It is her boy, Jurie.’

I did not mean it.

You did not mean what?

He walks out around the stall and stands in the doorway to the barn.

I am sorry for it. I did not mean to do it.

Do what, Jurie? What did you do?

Lottie shoves me. I spin around to see a woman holding a shotgun aloft, aimed squarely at us, shifting it from one head to the other, finger poised on the trigger. Lottie and the woman are shouting at each other.

I see the woman say, ‘Hands up! Hands up!’

‘Maria …’ says Lottie.

‘Shut up! Who are you? You are English. How do you know my name? What do you want?’

‘I am Caleb’s sister.’

The gun stops. Maria’s eyes widen as she stares.

‘I can see it. You are his twin. You look like him. Who is she? The deaf and dumb one?’

The gun nods towards me.

‘I am not dumb,’ I sign in disgust.

‘Hands up, I say! What are you doing here?’

I have to watch Lottie speak, but find it difficult to drag my gaze from that gun.

‘My name is Charlotte Crowe and this is Adeliza Golding. We come on Caleb’s behalf. We have no weapons. We are alone. We cannot hurt you. Can you please lower the gun?’

‘Outside,’ she orders and we obey. We are led towards our cart and told to stand near it. There is no sign of Jurie’s ghost.

Maria stands before her front doorway, slowly lowering her gun. Now I can see her fully, I see how pretty she once was. She is thin and scrawny, her feet bare, her nails blackened, her hair felted with dust, wild seeds sown in her fringe. But her face is still beautiful, her eyes dark blue and compelling. She reminds me of my gypsy Visitor, all those years ago, bold, feral.

‘What do you want here?’

‘We want to talk to you.’

‘To turn me in? You think you can take me back there and turn me in. Well, just try it!’ She raises the gun again.

Lottie holds out her hands in supplication. ‘No, I promise you. We come in peace. We just want to talk to you about what happened. We have come a long way, all the way from England, and we have found you at last, and we just want to talk to you, please.’

The gun comes down. ‘Go on.’

We lower our hands. Lottie begins, ‘We want to talk to you about what happened. My brother says he killed Jackson. He’s in hospital now.’

Maria asks, ‘Is he all right?’

‘He’s recovering from dysentery. He has been very ill. He needs time to recover. But his trial has been moved forward and he goes to court in a matter of days. They mean to convict him, Maria. They mean to make an example of him. He will be shot.’

‘There is nothing I can do about that.’

‘He loves you,’ I sign. ‘How can you forsake him?’ But Lottie will not translate for me.

‘What is she waving her stupid hands around for?’ scoffs Maria and I want to rush over and take hold of her, throw her to the ground and stamp on her insolent face.

Lottie continues, ‘Please, Maria. You and I both know that Caleb did not shoot Jackson. He was a bad man, the worst. We know … we know what he did to you. We know. I am sorry, Maria.’

‘You are sorry? Sorry?’ she spits, her face contorted. ‘You silly English women on your little trip overseas, to prance about in your petticoats and tend to your precious brother. What about me, my husband, my family, my country? My son?’

‘We know your son has died,’ I sign and Lottie speaks for me now.

Maria’s eyes fall. ‘You saw the grave.’

We do not answer.

‘He was eight years old. He had a life before him. I am broken, but he had his life to make, after this war and madness have gone. He had a fever. I could not help him, I had no medicines. He went quickly. He was weak from the last time. And from the walk here, the long walk. I should not have left. I should never have come here. It is all my fault. Poor Jurie! My poor son!’

She is weeping now. Her tears are large and heavy, they stream down her face, drop into the dirt and stain it.

Jurie is here. He stares at the doorway behind Maria, then looks back at me and cocks his head, as if listening.

Can you hear something, Jurie?

It sounds like my mother. It sounds like she is crying, very far away. Across the veldt. Is it my mother? Is she crying?

You can hear people?

Only you and Mamma. I cannot hear others. I have heard no others since some days ago. When I was sick. Only Mamma’s voice.

I did not know you could hear the living.

What is the living?

Your mother is well, Jurie. Do not worry.

Ag moet nou nie huil nie, Mamma. Do not cry.

‘What is she doing?’ Maria is staring at me. She grips the rifle and holds it to her breast. ‘Is she mad?’

She is crying because of me. If you see her, tell Mamma I am sorry. I did not mean to do it. I am sorry.

‘Jurie killed him,’ I sign. Lottie stares at me. ‘He is saying he’s sorry, he didn’t mean to do it. Tell her!’

Lottie says, ‘Was it your son? Did he shoot the gun at Jackson? It was an accident, wasn’t it? He didn’t mean to do it.’

Maria lifts up the rifle. I think for one mad moment she will kill us both. She has nothing to lose.

‘What witchcraft is this? Who is she looking at? What do you know about it?’

‘If it is true,’ I sign and Lottie speaks, ‘you have nothing to fear.’

‘How do you know about Jurie?’ She is shouting now. The gun flicks wildly between us. ‘I promised him no one would ever find out what he did.’

‘But now that does not matter,’ says Lottie. ‘Your son has died.’

‘It does not matter?’ Maria’s eyes narrow, her mouth is cruel. I fear she will shoot us now, this moment.

‘We mean that no one can hurt him now. You did your job, you protected him the best you could. Now, you can come with us and explain to them that it was not you who killed him, it was not my brother, but your son. And your son is gone now, may he rest in peace. But you can help the living, you can save Caleb, you can free him. If you come with us and tell them, tell them the truth.’

‘Are you crazy? I am not going back there. They will lock me up again and punish me for escaping. I’m never going back to that hell, never.’

‘But what about Caleb? He helped you. He is going to die for you.’

‘He loves you,’ I sign and want to scream, I want to fall down and weep into the dusty earth. I hate this woman. I pity her, but I hate her more. I want her to do what we want, then turn into a pillar of salt and never exist or breathe again in this world.

Lottie steps forward, her hands out, pleading now. ‘They will understand. They will take into consideration what happened to you, what Jackson did to you. He committed a crime under British law. His crime cancels out your escape. You will not be prosecuted for it, I guarantee it. This lady’s mother has powerful friends, they will see to it that no harm comes to you, I promise you, Maria. I promise you on my mother’s life.’

‘Lies. All lies,’ says Maria, her eyes glassy.

‘Please,’ cries Lottie and falls before her feet. I cannot see Lottie’s lips now, but I know she is begging, pleading for Caleb’s life. She lifts her head and I see her say, ‘Save him.’

I am a thief …

I look at Jurie. He is chewing on a fingernail. He is useless to me now. He killed Jackson, but without Maria, no one will ever believe us.

Go now, Jurie.

A thief is a bad thing. Mother told me that. If you see her, you will tell her? I should not have taken his belongings. I never meant to be a thief. But I thought I could sell them, the watch anyway. And the penknife. And we might get some money for them and buy some soap and candles and some food.

What things? What are you talking about, Jurie?

The man’s things. I stole them. I took them from the tent after. After I found him with the gun and the blood on his shirt and the blood on the ground.

You found him?

Yes, I found him. He was dead. There was so much blood. Like the slaughter pit. But a man, a real dead soldier.

Did you kill him?

No!

Did you shoot him, Jurie?

No, I did not. Who says I did? They are a liar.

Your Mamma thinks you shot him, Jurie. She found you with the gun in your hand.

I was going to steal that too. She found me and I was so ashamed. I had the things in my pocket and I did not tell her about those. I was so ashamed I could not speak. But she said she would not tell anyone. She said she would look after me and we would get away from there and no one would ever know. But I kept the objects. I put them in my treasure box. The watch, the penknife and the book.

What book?

The man’s book. With his writing in it. I can speak English, but I cannot read it. I kept it anyway, his book and his sharp pencil. He wrote in it that day, because I saw the date in it.

When I turn back to look at Maria, my mouth open in shock, she is speaking to Lottie who still weeps on the ground between us. I miss the start of her sentence.

‘… to me,’ she says. ‘Now you know the truth, they will come looking for me. You have ruined everything, coming here. All I wanted was my home. And you two English women have come here with your pity and your lies and you have destroyed my last chance of peace.’

I believe she will do it now. I believe we are about to die. I clap my hands to make Lottie look.

‘Ask her, did Jurie ever say he killed Jackson? Did he ever actually tell her he did it? Ask her!’

Lottie drags herself upright and speaks for me.

Maria listens coldly. ‘No, he never spoke again. I told you that. What difference does it make?’

‘Then how do you know he did it?’ asks Lottie.

‘I found him holding the gun. He had blood on his hands. He never spoke a word afterwards. When I found him, I asked him over and over, what happened? I found him beside the body with the revolver in his hand. He never spoke a word to me after that moment, not one word. I said I would never let anyone get him for what he had done and he nodded and he cried. I knew he had done it.’

‘You’re wrong!’ I sign. ‘He didn’t do it. He stole some items from Jackson. He put them in his special box.’

‘What?’ cries Lottie.

‘Translate!’

She does so and Maria frowns.

‘How does she know about that? How do you know about that? You can read my lips, can’t you? You can understand me. What do you know about my son?’

What was the book, Jurie? Was it a diary?

I think, yes. A book you write in, with dates. Pages and pages.

‘Maria,’ I sign and Lottie repeats. ‘Do you still have your son’s special box?’

‘No one knew about that, not even Caleb. How do you know, eh? Again I say, what witchcraft is this? Tell me, or I will kill you. I mean it, I’ll kill you both. Who have you been looking at, over there? Tell me!’

She is screaming now. Her finger is on the trigger and I feel the blue-white light may come for me soon, very soon.

‘Jurie is here. Your son is here. He is a ghost, a spirit. I can see him, I can talk to him. Nobody knows I can do this, not even Caleb. Only Charlotte. Jurie told me he did not kill Jackson, that he stole some of his possessions, and that is what he cried about, that is what he thought you protected him from. He hid them in his special box, with a book, a diary. Do you have it, Maria? Do you know where it is?’

Maria stares at the space beside me. Jurie has walked away, weary of me now. But is he? He turns and points. There is a small mound of earth behind the cowshed, like a molehill. He points to it again.

I want to walk over there, I want to dig up that earth and look in there. But if I move, Maria might shoot me. I turn and look at her.

‘Jurie?’ she calls weakly. ‘Is he here?’

‘Yes.’

Maria’s face collapses. ‘Jurie? Where is he? Take me to him.’

‘He cannot see you, he can only see me.’

‘Why? Why you?’