Cry, The Beloved Country Part 26

The path is dropping now, from the green hills where the mist feeds the gra.s.s and the bracken. It runs between the stones, and one must walk carefully for it is steep. A woman with child must walk carefully, so k.u.malo's wife goes before the girl, and tells her, here is a stone, be careful that you do not slip. Night is falling, and the hills of East Griqualand are blue and dark against the sky.

The path is dropping into the red land of Ndotsheni. It is a wasted land, a land of old men and women and children, but it is home. The maize hardly grows to the height of a man, but it is home.

It is dry here, umfundisi. We cry for rain.

I have heard it, my friend.

Our mealies are nearly finished, umfundisi. It is known toTixo alone what we shall eat.

The path grows more level, it goes by the little stream that runs by the church. k.u.malo stops to listen to it, but there is nothing to hear.

The stream does not run, my friend.

It has been dry for a month, umfundisi.

Where do you get water, then?

The women must go to the river, umfundisi, that comes from the place of uJarvis.

At the sound of the name of Jarvis, k.u.malo feels fear and pain, but he makes himself say, how is uJarvis?

He returned yesterday, umfundisi. I do not know how he is. But the inkosikazi returned some weeks ago, and they say she is sick and thin. I work there now, umfundisi.

k.u.malo is silent, and cannot speak. But his friend says to him, it is known here, he says.

Ah, it is known.

It is known, umfundisi.

They do not speak again, and the path levels out, running past the huts, and the red empty fields. There is calling here, and in the dusk one voice calls to another in some far distant place. If you are a Zulu you can hear what they say, but if you are not, even if you know the language, you would find it hard to know what is being called. Some white men call it magic, but it is no magic, only an art perfected. It is Africa, the beloved country.

They call that you are returned, umfundisi.

I hear it, my friend.

They are satisfied, umfundisi.

Indeed they are satisfied. They come from the huts along the road, they come running down from the hills in the dark. The boys are calling and crying, with the queer tremulous call that is known in this country.

Umfundisi, you have returned.

Umfundisi, we give thanks for your return.

Umfundisi, you have been too long away.

A child calls to him, there is a new teacher at the school. A second child says to her, foolish one, it is a long time since she came. A boy salutes as he has learned in the school, and cries umfundisi. He waits for no response, but turns away and gives the queer tremulous call, to no person at all, but to the air. He turns away and makes the first slow steps of a dance, for no person at all, but for himself.

There is a lamp outside the church, the lamp they light for the services. There are women of the church sitting on the red earth under the lamp; they are dressed in white dresses, each with a green cloth about her neck. They rise when the party approaches, and one breaks into a hymn, with a high note that cannot be sustained; but others come in underneath it, and support and sustain it, and some men come in too, with the deep notes and the true. k.u.malo takes off his hat and he and his wife and his friend join in also, while the girl stands and watches in wonder. It is a hymn of thanksgiving, and man remembers G.o.d in it, and prostrates himself and gives thanks for the Everlasting Mercy. And it echoes in the bare red hills and over the bare red fields of the broken tribe. And it is sung in love and humility and grat.i.tude, and the humble simple people pour their lives into the song.

And k.u.malo must pray. He prays,Tixo , we give thanks to Thee for Thy unending mercy. We give thanks to Thee for this safe return. We give thanks to Thee for the love of our friends and our families. We give thanks to Thee for all Thy mercies.

Tixo, give us rain, we beseech Thee - And here they say Amen, so many of them that he must wait till they are finished.

Tixo, give us rain, we beseech Thee, that we may plough and sow our seed. And if there is no rain, protect us against hunger and starvation, we pray Thee.

And here they say Amen, so that he must wait again till they are finished. His heart is warmed that they have so welcomed him, so warmed that he casts out his fear, and prays that which is deep within him.

Tixo, let this small boy be welcome in Ndotsheni, let him grow tall in this place. And his mother - His voice stops as though he cannot say it, but he humbles himself, and lowers his voice.

And his mother - forgive her her trespa.s.ses.

A woman moans, and k.u.malo knows her, she is one of the great gossips of this place. So he adds quickly - Forgive us all, for we all have trespa.s.ses. AndTixo , letthis girl be welcome in Ndotsheni, and deliver her child safely in this place.

He pauses, then says gently - Let her find what she seeks, and have what she desires.

And this is the hardest that must be prayed, but he humbles himself.

AndTixo , my son - They do not moan, they are silent. Even the woman who gossips does not moan. His voice drops to a whisper - Forgive him his trespa.s.ses.

It is done, it is out, the hard thing that was so feared. He knows it is not he, it is these people who have done it. Kneel, he says. So they kneel on the bare red earth, and he raises his hand, and his voice also, and strength comes into the old and broken man, for is he not a priest?

The Lord bless you and keep you, and make His face to shine upon you, and give you peace, now and for ever. And the grace of our Lord Jesus Christ, and the love of G.o.d, and the fellowship of the Holy Spirit, be with you and abide with you, and with all those that are dear to you, now and forever more. Amen.

They rise, and the new teacher says, can we not singNkosi Sikelel' iAfrika , G.o.d Save Africa? And the old teacher says, they do not know it here, it has not come here yet. The new teacher says, we have it in Pietermaritzburg, it is known there. Could we not have it here? The old teacher says, we are not in Pietermaritzburg here. We have much to do in our school. For she is cold with this new teacher, and she is ashamed too, because she does not knowNkosi Sikelel' iAfrika , G.o.d save Africa.

Yes, G.o.d save Africa, the beloved country. G.o.d save us from the deep depths of our sins. G.o.d save us from the fear that is afraid of justice. G.o.d save us from the fear that is afraid of men. G.o.d save us all.

Call oh small boy, with the long tremulous cry that echoes over the hills. Dance oh small boy, with the first slow steps of the dance that is for yourself. Call and dance, Innocence, call and dance while you may. For this is a prelude, it is only a beginning. Strange things will be woven into it, by men you have never heard of, in places you have never seen. It is life you are going into, you are not afraid because you do not know. Call and dance, call and dance. Now, while you may.

The people have all gone now, and k.u.malo turns to his friend.

There are things I must tell you. Some day I shall tell you others, but some I must tell you now. My sister Gertrude was to come with us. We were all together, all ready in the house. But when I went to wake her, she was gone.

Au! umfundisi.

And my son, he is condemned to be hanged. He may be given mercy. They will let me know as soon as they hear.

Au! umfundisi.

You may tell your friends. And they will tell their friends. It is not a thing that can be hidden. Therefore you may tell them.

I shall tell them, umfundisi.

I do not know if I should stay here, my friend.

Why, umfundisi?

What, said k.u.malo bitterly. With a sister who has left her child, and a son who has killed a man? Who am I to stay here?

Umfundisi, it must be what you desire. But I tell you that there is not one man or woman that would desire it. There is not one man or woman here that has not grieved for you, that is not satisfied that you are returned. Why, could you not see? Could it not touch you?

I have seen and it has touched me. It is something, after all that has been suffered. My friend, I do not desire to go. This is my home here. I have lived so long here, I could not desire to leave it.

That is good, umfundisi. And I for my part have no desire to live without you. For I was in darkness - You touch me, my friend.

Umfundisi, did you find out about Sibeko's daughter? You remember?

Yes, I remember. And she too is gone. Where, there is not one that knows. They do not know, they said.

Some bitterness came suddenly into him and he added, they said also, they do not care.

Au! umfundisi.

I am sorry, my friend.

This world is full of trouble, umfundisi.

Who knows it better?

Yet you believe?

k.u.malo looked at him under the light of the lamp. I believe, he said, but I have learned that it is a secret. Pain and suffering, they are a secret. Kindness and love, they are a secret. But I have learned that kindness and love can pay for pain and suffering. There is my wife, and you, my friend, and these people who welcomed me, and the child who is so eager to be with us here in Ndotsheni - so in my suffering I can believe.

I have never thought that a Christian would be free of suffering, umfundisi. For our Lord suffered. And I come to believe that he suffered, not to save us from suffering, but to teach us how to bear suffering. For he knew that there is no life without suffering.

k.u.malo looked at his friend with joy. You are a preacher, he said.

His friend held out his rough calloused hands. Do I look like a preacher? he asked.

k.u.malo laughed. I look at your heart, not your hands, he said. Thank you for your help, my friend.

It is yours whenever you ask, umfundisi. Stay well.

Go well, my friend. But what road are you going?

The man sighed. I go past Sibeko's, he said. I promised him as soon as I knew.

k.u.malo walked soberly to the little house. Then he turned suddenly and called after his friend.

I must explain to you, he said. It was the daughter of uSmith who said, she did not know, she did not care. She said it in English. And when uJarvis said it to me in Zulu, he said, she does not know. But uJarvis did not tell me that she said, she did not care. He kept it for himself.

I understand you, umfundisi.

Go well, my friend.

Stay well, umfundisi.

k.u.malo turned again and entered the house, and his wife and the girl were eating.

Where is the boy? he asked.

Sleeping, Stephen. You have been a long time talking.

Yes, there were many things to say.

Did you put out the lamp?

Let it burn a little longer.

Has the church so much money, then?

He smiled at her. This is a special night, he said.

Her brow contracted with pain, he knew what she was thinking.

I shall put it out, he said.

Let it burn a little longer. Put it out when you have had your food.

That will be right, he said soberly. Let it burn for what has happened here, let it be put out for what has happened otherwise.

He put his hand on the girl's head. Have you eaten, my child?

She looked up at him, smiling. I am satisfied, she said.

To bed then, my child.

Yes, father.

She got up from her chair. Sleep well, father, she said. Sleep well, mother.

I shall take you to your room, my child.

When she came back, k.u.malo was looking at the Post Office Book. He gave it to her and said, there is money there, more than you and I have ever had.

She opened it and cried out when she saw how much there was. Is it ours? she asked.

It is ours, he said. It is a gift, from the best man of all my days.

You will buy new clothes, she said. New black clothes, and new collars, and a new hat.

And you will buy new clothes, also, he said. And a stove. Sit down, and I shall tell you about Msimangu, he said, and about other matters.

She sat down trembling. I am listening, she said.