The Burning Shore - Smith Wilbur - Страница 119

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It was O'wa who dropped his hand from his eyes and cocked his head to the tremor on the still morning air, and when H'ani saw the fright in his eyes, she listened and heard it also.

We are discovered, said O'wa, and for a moment H'ani felt drained of even the will to run and hide.

They are close already. The same resignation was in his eyes, and it spurred the old woman.

She pulled him to his feet. On the open ground they will run us down with the ease of a cheetah taking a lame gazelle. She turned and looked to the mountain.

They were at the foot of the scree slope, with scattered brush and loose rock ramping gently up to the mountain's bulk.

If, H'ani whispered, if we could reach the top, no horse could follow us. It is too high, too steep, O'wa protested.

There is a way. With a bony finger, H'ani pointed out the faint track that zigzagged up the vast bare rocky flank of the mountain.

Look, old grandfather, see, the spirits of the mountain are showing us the way. Those are klipSpTinger, O'wa muttered. The two tiny chamois-like antelope, alarmed by the approach of horsemen in the forest below, went prancing lightly up the barely discernible track. They are not mountain spirits, O'wa repeated, watching the nimble brown animals fly almost straight up the tall rock-face.

I say they are spirits in the guise of antelope. H'ani dragged him towards the scree slope. I say they are showing us the way to escape our enemies. Hurry, you stupid and argumentative old man, there is no other way open to us. She took his hand in hers, and together they hopped and skipped from boulder to boulder, climbing with the awkward agility of a pair of ancient baboons up the tumbled rock of the scree slope.

However, before they reached the base of the cliff, O'wa was dragging back on her hand, and gasping with pain, reeling weakly as she urged him on.

My chest, he cried and staggered. In my chest an animal is eating my flesh, I can feel its teeth- and he fell heavily between two boulders.

We cannot stop, H'ani pleaded as she stood over him. We must go on.

She tried to drag him up.

There is such pain, he wheezed. I can feel its teeth ripping out my heart. With all her strength she heaved him into a sitting position, and at that moment there was a faint shout from the foot of the scree slope below them.

They have seen us, H'ani said, looking down at the two horsemen as they rode out of the forest. They are coming up after us. She watched them jump down from their horses, tether them and then come at the slope. One was a black man and the other had a head that shone like sunlight off a sheet of still water, and as they came on to the slope they shouted again, a fierce and jubilant sound, like the clamour of hunting hounds when they first take the scent.

That sound roused O'wa and with H'ani's help he came unsteadily to his feet, clutching at his chest. His lips had blanched and his eyes were like those of a mortally wounded gazelle; they terrified her as much as the shouts of the men below.

We must go on. Half-carrying, half-dragging him, she led him to the base of the cliff.

I cannot do it. His voice was so faint she had to put her ear to his lips. I cannot go up there. You can, she told him stoutly. I will lead you, place your feet where I place mine. And she went on to the rock, on to the steep pathway that the klipspringer had marked with their sharp pointed hooves, and behind her the old man came on unsteadily.

one hundred feet up they found a ledge, and it shielded them from the men below. They toiled upwards, clinging to the harsh abrasive surface with their fingertips, and the open drop below them seemed to steady O'wa. He climbed more determinedly. Once when he hesitated and swayed outwards from the wall, she reached back and caught his arm and held him until the fit of vertigo passed.

Follow me, she told him. Do not look down, old grandfather. Watch my feet and follow me. They went upwards, higher and still higher, and although the plain opened below them, yet the hunters were hidden beneath the sheer of the cliff.

Only a little further, she told him. See, there is the crest, just a little further and we will be safe. Here, give me your hand. And she reached out to help him over a bad place where the drop opened below them and they had to step across the void.

H'ani looked down between her feet and she saw them again, dwarfed by distance and foreshortened and misshapened by the overhead perspective. The two hunters were still at the base of the cliff, directly below her, looking up at her. The white man's face shone like a cloud, so strangely pale and yet so malignant, she thought. He lifted his arms and pointed at her with the long staff he carried.

H'ani had never seen a rifle before, and made no effort to hide herself as she stared down at him. She knew she was far out of range of an arrow from even the most powerful bow, and, unafraid, she leaned out from the narrow ledge for a better view of her enemy. She saw the white man's extended arms jerk, and a little feather of white smoke flew from the tip of his staff.

She never heard the rifle shot, for the bullet arrived before the sound. It was a soft lead-nosed Mauser bullet and it entered low down in the front of her stomach and passed obliquely upwards, traversing her body, tearing through her bowels and her stomach, up through one lung and out through her back a few inches to one side of the spinal column. The force of the impact flung her backwards against the rock wall, and then her lifeless body bounced loosely forward and spun out over the edge.

Opwa cried out and reached for her as she went over.

He touched her with his fingertips, before she fell away from him and he teetered on the brink of the precipice.

My life! he called after her. My little heart! And the pain and the grief were too intense to be borne. He let his body sway outwards, and as it passed its centre of gravity, he cried softly, I am coming with you, old grandmother, to the very end of the journey."And he let himself plunge unresisting into the void, and the wind ripped at him as he fell, but he made not another sound, not ever.

Lothar De La Rey had to climb twenty feet to where the body of one Bushman had wedged in a crack in the cliff face.

He saw it was the corpse of an old man, wrinkled and skeletal-thin, crushed by the fall and with the skin and flesh ripped away to expose the bone of his skull. There was very little blood, almost as though the sun and the wind had desiccated the tiny body while it was still alive.

About the narrow, childlike waist there was a brief loin-cover of tanned rawhide and then, remarkably, a Ianyard from which dangled a clasp knife. It was an Admiralty-type knife with a horn handle such as British sailors carried, and Lothar had not expected to find a tool like this one on a Bushman's corpse in the wastes of the Kalahari. He unlooped the lanyard and dropped the knife into his pocket. There was nothing else of value or interest on the body, and he certainly would not bother to bury it. He left the old man jammed into the rocky crevice and climbed back down to where Swart Hendrick waited for him.

What did you find? Hendrick demanded.

Just an old man, but he had this. Lothar showed him the knife and Swart Hendrick nodded without particular interest.

Ja. They are terrible thieves, like monkeys. That's why they were creeping around our camp. Into the kloof there, amongst that horn bush. It will be dangerous to climb down. I would leave it. Stay here, then, Lothar told him and went to the edge of the deep ravine and looked down. The bottom was choked with dense Thorn growth, and the climb would indeed be dangerous, but Lothar felt a perverse whim to go against Swart Hendrick's advice.

it took him twenty minutes to reach the bottom of the ravine, and as long again to find the corpse of the Bushman he had shot. It was like trying to find a dead pheasant in thick scrub without a good gundog to sniff it out, and in the end it was only the buzz of big metallic-blue flies that led him to the hand protruding from a clump of scrub, with the pink palm uppermost. He dragged the body out of the thorn scrub by the wrist and realized that it was a female, an ancient hag with impossibly wrinkled skin and dangling breasts like a pair of empty tobacco pouches.

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