Whitethorn (52 page)

The afternoon was drawing to a close and we were all due indoors. Several guys noticed I'd been crying and said, ‘What's the matter, Boots?', which was what they called me because I was the only kid in school who wore boots and not shoes. Which was another thing, my boots were my pride and joy in Duiwelskrans but not at the Bishop's College, here they all wore shoes. So I had to invent a dose of weak ankles to cover up my boots. I didn't tell the guys why I'd been crying because a plan was beginning to hatch in my brain, and it was the kind of plan that is best not shared with anyone.

The school was near the highway to Pretoria. In fact, it ran right past the cricket ground and if I walked for an hour or so I could be more or less on the open road. The habit of getting up early had followed me to the Bishop's College and I'd often wandered across the cricket ground to the school fence at five o'clock in the morning to watch the traffic. In a boarding school you don't get out of the grounds and I liked to see the world going by. Especially all the cars and trucks, you've never seen so many makes and, of course, cars and trucks were a bit of a hobby of mine. I'd be back at the School House before the wake-up bell went and we had to take our shower. I don't suppose it was allowed, leaving the dormitory early, but Big Porridge, the night-watchman who spoke Xhosa, a language very close to Zulu, liked me a lot and he wouldn't say anything. Besides, as he explained to me, his job was to prevent anyone coming in and not to prevent anyone going out, and also because a native boy can't tell a
Kleinbaas
where he can and can't go early in the morning.

That night at supper I managed to put four slices of bread in my pocket, and just before evening prep I went through to the house library with a pencil and piece of paper and looked up the map of the Transvaal in the atlas. I reckoned Duiwelskrans was approximately 300 miles from Johannesburg. I wrote down the names of the places you would pass heading back to Duiwelskrans: Pretoria, about 40 miles away, then all the bigger towns: Nylstroom, Potgieterus, Pietersburg, and then off the main highway onto the road to Tzaneen about 70 miles away, and finally Duiwelskrans. If I got lucky and got some long lifts, I could do it in two days, maybe even less. Two slices of bread was enough each day to keep me going. The trick was to get to Pretoria early enough before the big trucks left for the north. I was quite familiar with hitchhiking, though only for very short distances, as sometimes walking back to The Boys Farm from town you'd hitch a ride from a timber truck or a farmer. But I told myself it was still the same thing, whether it was a short or long ride.

When everyone was asleep, I got out of my bed and knelt down beside it. Usually, if I wanted to say a prayer I just did it lying down in bed. I meant no disrespect to God, but kneeling down to say your prayers wasn't what you did. We had evening prayers after prep, always the same prayer and read by the duty master pretty quick so as to get it over with as fast as possible. For a God's-place school they weren't very fussy, and Meneer Prinsloo would have left them in the dust for so-called godliness. The guys probably thought that was enough so you didn't go on your knees later and say your prayers for everyone to see, you just did it lying down, hoping God didn't mind. But now I asked God to keep Tinker's heart from breaking into pieces before I got there to rescue her. I also asked Him to look after me tomorrow. ‘I know it's asking two things, which is quite a lot at one time, God, but you must understand this is an emergency and I'll make it up to you later in good deeds.' If it was possible to feel a bit better after speaking to Him, then I did.

I woke up with a start, and could see it was pitch-black outside, even more so than usual, so I knew it was earlier than five o'clock. Then shortly afterwards the clock on the school tower struck four. I got dressed very quietly, leaving my blazer and tie behind because they would be a way of identifying me, and crept downstairs and left the School House. Big Porridge was fast asleep at the front gate as I tippy-toed past him, not using the gravel path but walking on the lawn beside it. I crossed the cricket ground that was wet with dew and it wasn't long before I found myself on the main road to Pretoria. The idea was to walk far enough to leave the suburban houses behind and find myself on the open road, how far this would be I really couldn't say.

I'd been walking for about twenty minutes, not bothering to glance back at the traffic or to use my thumb as I was still in a suburban area. Suddenly there was a screech of tyres and a military jeep stopped right beside me. Two soldiers sat in the front seat of the jeep, and the one on the passenger side called out, ‘Are you all right, son?' I nodded, and he said, ‘Where are you off to?'

‘Pretoria,' I answered.

‘Bit early to be on the road, hey?'

‘
Ja
, Sir, I was hoping to get a big truck, they always leave early in the morning.'

‘Is Pretoria where you live?'

‘No, Sir, I live in Duiwelskrans in the Northern Transvaal.'

‘That's near Tzaneen,' the driver called. ‘I myself come from Pietersburg.'

‘You're a long way from home, man,' the first soldier said.

‘Three hundred miles,' the driver added. They had these white bands on their caps and on the arm of the one nearest me was a red armband and sewn on it were the words ‘Military Police'.

‘
Ja
, but I have to go home, it's an emergency, Sir.' I was suddenly very scared. I'd only been gone for about half an hour, and here I am caught by the police.

The soldier must have seen me staring at his armband. ‘We're military, don't worry, we can't arrest civilians.' He jerked his head to indicate the back of the jeep. ‘Hop in the back, son, we'll get you onto the open road.'

I thanked him and jumped into a khaki canvas seat, and we moved away from the kerb. But at the very next cross street they turned left and drove about a hundred yards and stopped outside a house. The street was quiet and everyone was still asleep in the houses. A dog came to a gate and barked, then stopped.

The soldier in the passenger seat turned around, resting his arm on the back of his canvas seat. ‘So what's going on, hey? You running away from home or something?'

‘No, Sir, I'm . . . I'm only trying to get back to my home, it's an emergency,' I stammered.

‘School? You're running away from school?'

‘
Ja
, but only for a bit, I have to go back.'

‘This emergency,' the driver asked, ‘can you maybe tell us what it is about? Perhaps we can help?'

‘A dog,' I answered.

‘Your dog?'

‘Yes.'

‘What about your dog?' the soldier in the passenger seat asked.

‘She's dying, Sir . . . of a broken heart. I have to go home to mend it.' A smile appeared on both men's faces and I began to despair. Grown-ups, especially men, wouldn't see a dog's broken heart as important. Animals are just supposed to live and die, and because they've not got souls and can't go to heaven they're not important enough for a boy to run away from school to the rescue. I felt sure they were deciding to take me back to school. Then I had a sudden inspiration, and took Doctor Van Heerden's letter from my shirt pocket and handed it to the passenger soldier.

‘What's this?' he asked, taking the envelope.

‘Will you read it, please, Sir?'

He turned away from me and began to read, and when he had finished reading he handed it silently to the driver of the jeep, who did the same. The driver turned and handed it back to me, and looked at the other soldier and said, ‘We're only going to Pretoria, but you're welcome to come along.' He turned back to me and stretched out his hand. ‘My name is Gert,' he flicked his head in the direction of the passenger soldier. ‘This is David. Best not give any surnames, hey? And your name is?'

‘Tom Fit—'

‘No name, no pack drill, Tom!' the passenger soldier cried, cutting me off mid-word.

The driver, Gert, handed me back the letter. ‘Welcome aboard, it's a pleasure to be able to help in such a worthy cause.' With this he started the engine and did a U-turn, and in moments we were back on the Pretoria road heading north.

As we approached Pretoria, David unfolded a map and spread it out on his lap, the wind snapping at its edges because the jeep didn't have its top on. Then he folded it and spoke to Gert, who nodded and turned to me, shouting above the wind and noise of the engine. ‘We're taking you on the ring-road so you'll miss Pretoria and get on the road to Nylstroom and be on your way.'

On the north highway on the other side of Pretoria we passed a military truck, a ten-tonner with a canvas top. ‘This could be your lucky day, Tom,' Gert shouted and put his foot on the accelerator, tooting as we passed the truck. When we'd gone about a quarter of a mile, Gert pulled over to the side of the road, and David jumped out and I saw he was holding a torch, only it had a red light. As the truck approached David waved the torch, and with his free hand he signalled the truck driver to pull over.

‘Stay where you are, Tom,' Gert said, jumping out of the jeep. I watched as they both approached the truck driver's door and started talking to him. I couldn't hear what they said. There was another soldier in the front of the truck. Then David walked over to the jeep. ‘It's certainly your lucky day, Tom, they're two army transport guys, Cape Coloureds. You'll never guess, man! They're going through to Pietersburg!' My mouth must have fallen open, because David laughed. ‘Come, you better get going.'

Talk about prayers being answered! God sure must get up early to go to work. I thanked Gert and David as profusely as I could manage.

‘
Ag
, it's nothing, man, glad to help,' Gert said. He glanced at his watch. ‘
Here
, we better be on our way.'

David shook my hand. ‘We told the two transport guys no names, no pack drill, just first names. Don't worry, they won't talk. Good luck, Tom. If anyone can mend a dog's broken heart I reckon you the man.'

‘
Totsiens, ou maat
,' Gert called as I climbed into the front of the big truck and sat beside the other passenger. We waited until the jeep did a U-turn and sped off in the direction of Pretoria.

‘
Fok
, man! I thought for sure I'm going to have a heart attack on the
fokken
spot. Already the police have found us and we only gone a
fokken
hour,' the driver exclaimed, switching on the ignition.

The other man laughed, his laughter lost in the sudden roar of the engine. Then as it quietened he offered me his hand. ‘Stoffie.'

‘Tom,' I replied, shaking his hand.

‘This is Dippie,' Stoffie said, jerking his head towards the driver.

‘Hello, man!' Dippie said, turning the truck back into the road. ‘Those cops.
Fok
, I shit my trousers so much, if they wasn't open at the bottom they would have filled up.'

‘They're nice guys,' I volunteered. His trousers were not open at the bottom and were held by gaiters around the top of his boots, but it was still a nice picture in my head.

‘You still young, man. When a cop is a nice guy, then Stoffie here is a
fokken
angel with
fokken
wings like a butterfly,' Dippie laughed.

Stoffie turned to me to explain. ‘You see this truck? It's supposed to be in the depot getting a service, it needs an oil change and new brake linings, the drivers they ride the clutch all the time, no disrespect for Dippie here, who is an army driver. Me, I'm a mechanic and these guys who call themselves drivers are always riding the clutch. On a jeep the handbrake doesn't last ten minutes, they forget to take it off. Downhill you use the gears to slow down, these guys use the brake.'

‘
Fokken
mechanics, always
fokken
complaining,' Dippie laughed. ‘It takes lots of energy to change gears in these big
fokken
trucks, the foot is stronger than the arm!'

‘We're
boeties
from Cape Town, District Six,' Stoffie explained, ‘but we stationed in Pretoria where we also got an auntie. Our auntie has a husband who is a drunk, you understand, which for a Cape Coloured is not a hard thing to be, but now she's sick and tired of being beaten black-and-blue, and she says,
genoeg
, finish and
klaar
! She's got a sister who lives in Pietersburg and has a laundry for washing clothes, mostly sheets and towels from the hospital, and she needs some help, so my auntie calls me on the telephone at the mechanic shop in the camp.' Stoffie held his hand up to his ear with his thumb and little finger extended to indicate a telephone receiver, and his voice went up high and shrieky. ‘“Stoffie, that you and you brother Dippie?”

‘“No,
only
me, Auntie. Dippie, I don't know where he is at the moment.” '

‘“
Ja
, well you'll be glad to hear I'm leaving that good-for-nothing you can't even call a husband, because how can you call a piece of shit a husband, hey?”

‘“It's about time, Auntie,” I say, because she's always, for the last twenty years, going to leave him.

‘She says to me, “No, it's true, this time it's for keeps, you hear! No more black-and-blue from you-know-who.” I wait, because I know this is not why she's calling me. “Stoffie, I must have some help to take my furniture to my sister in Pietersburg.”