Claire's Prayer (2 page)

Chapter Three

Behold, I am doing a new thing; now it springs forth, do you not perceive it?
I will make a way in the wilderness and rivers in the desert.

(Isaiah 43:19)

TAP Airliner, Flight LIS-7964

Something kept knocking against Claire’s shoulder. Trying and failing to turn over to a more comfortable position in the rigid aeroplane seat, she awoke. Lifting a hand to rub her stiff neck and glancing at her watch, Claire saw she had slept for two hours. Dully, the weight of her situation returned to her: she was on a plane. She was on a plane and alone. She was on a plane and alone because …

Claire’s arm was knocked again. Looking around, she saw that a petite, elderly woman who had been occupying the seat next to her was in the process of stretching up to the luggage rack, trying to stow the hold-all that had rested by her feet. The woman’s handbag hung from her arm and, with the momentum of her frantic efforts, continued to knock against Claire. Observing charitably the small lady’s hopeless attempt to reach higher than she could, Claire touched her elbow gently. “Excuse me,” she asked, “could I help you with that?”

“Oh dear, now I’ve gone and woken you up!” The woman looked flushed under her tangle of snowy-white hair, but her gentle Afrikaans accent was coloured with only warmth and good nature. “I’m terribly sorry. I just can’t seem to reach high enough to get this confounded thing onto the rack.” Twinkling blue eyes peered at Claire from a small, wrinkled face.

Reaching up past the elderly lady, Claire gave the offending bag the necessary shove to settle it securely on the rack, and grinned at its owner as they sat themselves back down.

“I’m Dolores Smith,” Claire’s curious companion began; “I’ve just been in Dublin for six weeks, visiting my son and daughter in law – lovely seeing them all of course, but I’ll be eternally grateful to leave this confounded damp weather…” Dolores Smith’s words tumbled out of her mouth in an irrepressible flurry.

As she paused for breath, Claire got in a few words. “Pleased to meet you, Mrs Smith; I’m Claire O’Sullivan…”

Before she could expand on her introduction, Mrs Smith chattered on. “Good to meet you, Claire – call me Dolly, everyone does – I wondered if you would sleep the whole flight away; glad you didn’t, though – I do so love a chat and one does meet the most interesting people on aeroplanes, don’t you think?”

Gladly letting this contended woman’s words wash over her, Claire gave up trying to contribute to the conversation. Dolly chattered on through lunch, the odd murmured comment from Claire seemingly enough to urge her on. Photographs of the numerous Smith grandchildren were produced and cooed over, and the hours passed swiftly by as Dolly talked endlessly. Claire wondered absently if she were ever lost for words – and yet she really liked the eccentric old lady. Her exuberant personality and endless antics kept Claire’s mind off the melancholy that lurked inside her, and gave a new brightness to the day.

During the travellers’ overnight stop in Lisbon, Dolly appointed herself Claire’s guardian. En route to the hotel, Claire gathered that the older woman was on her way back to her daughter in Harare, that the weather in Zimbabwe was much pleasanter than in Ireland, and that Dolly found the recent changes to all the country’s cities and towns by the new Zimbabwean government (“…not the
Rhodesian
government,” Dolly reminded herself) quite something to get used to. Claire half-listened, quietly looking forward to bright, sunny days. At last, the bus stopped at the hotel entrance. Claire firmly refused any form of evening entertainment and, agreeing to meet Dolly in the dining room for breakfast, headed off for a peaceful dinner in her room. By nine o’ clock Claire was fast asleep – but, without distraction, her dreams were distraught.

Waking early the next morning, fleeting thoughts slipped through Claire’s exhausted mind, denying her attempts to grasp them and make something solid out of them. She took a long, hot bubble bath but even so, eager to get the day started and the travelling over, she was the first person in the dining room. Grateful for Dolly’s continuous chatter, Claire was glad when they all boarded the TAP Airliner again. Dolly provided welcome relief, proving to be absolutely hopeless at sorting out her papers and luggage. Calmly putting the woman’s entry documents in order as the plane landed, Claire wondered amusedly who had been Dolly’s last travelling companion – and if that person had survived the experience. Somewhat emphasising Claire’s point, Dolly fell clumsily against her: once again, the hand luggage that had begun the pair’s acquaintance was proving elusive and, oblivious to the other grinning, disembarking passengers, Dolly had climbed up onto her seat to retrieve it. Stretching to her full but not significant height, she still could not grab her bag. Claire stood awkwardly and instructed, “Dolly, sit down, and I’ll get your bags for you. Have you got your passport ready?”

Obeying without comment, Dolly plonked down onto her seat and proceeded to unpack her handbag. Coins, sweets and bits of paper fell to the floor, but finally the passport was unearthed. Sighing resignedly, Claire waited for the last passengers to leave the plane, and then helped Dolly to sort herself out. As they joined the queue at customs Dolly chattered on. Then, fishing a crumpled business card from her bag, she scribbled her daughter’s telephone number onto it. Handing it to Claire, she assured her that she could ‘pop over at any time’, and even stay for a while if the need arose. It was only months later that Claire realised Dolly had, disorganised to the end, written down too few numbers. The last Claire saw of her endearing protectress was as she hurried off, waving her hand in the air, obviously having spotted her daughter. And so, as quickly as she had entered Claire’s life, Dolly vanished from it.

Claire looked around her and took a deep breath. Harare Airport was small compared to other international airports she had visited, but it was clean and efficient, and the Zimbabwean official who welcomed her at customs seemed very friendly. Smiling to herself, Claire waited patiently for her luggage. Only then did she wonder what Mr – Claire glanced at the Impunzi booking confirmation in her handbag – Mr Seth Henderson might look like, and if he had remembered to collect her.

Seth sat in the arrivals hall at Harare. He had been waiting at the airport for most of the morning, concerned not to miss this girl arriving from Ireland with no-one. He leaned forward in the plastic chair that supported him, and tried not to think about the day he had flown back to Harare himself, nearly three years ago – but it was no good. He could recall as though it were yesterday coming through the customs gates that now faced him, dreading the moment he would see Naomi. She had stood off to the side, small and alone. Her face was already swollen from crying but, when she saw him, fresh tears poured out as though a floodgate had been opened, and she ran into his open arms. They were oblivious to the crowds that shuffled past them; Naomi clung so tightly to him that Seth had to loosen her hold.

Sagging against his chest, Naomi sobbed brokenly, “They were coming to Bulawayo to see me … ambushed, they were ambushed at the last gate. Oh Seth, what … what are we going to do?” Seth held her close and let her cry. He had to be the strong one now – but he didn’t, he
couldn’t
reply to her question. He honestly did not know how to carry on without their parents. Taking a deep breath, Seth bent and picked up his suitcase. Wrapping his arm firmly around Naomi’s shoulders, he guided her out of the terminal. Silently, she offered him the Jeep’s keys and he drove them to her flat in Harare. Naomi had not been able to face returning to Impunzi and, until Seth’s return, she had stayed here alone. Tony, her boyfriend of almost two years, was now the only manager left at the ranch and, although desperate to be with her, simply couldn’t leave her family home unguarded indefinitely. Through the night, they drank gallons of strong coffee. They talked, and they grieved for their loss. As the sunrise splashed the sky with wonderful shades of orange and yellow they stood side by side on the balcony, weary but calm; they would draw their strength from each other.

Quietly, Naomi said, “We should go to the funeral home and make the arrangements, Seth. We also – we also need to contact everyone.” Naomi’s voice broke as she imagined the phone calls.

Nodding in agreement, Seth sighed and hugged her tightly. “Later. We’ll get through this together.” Gently, he broke away from their embrace. “But right now I really need a hot shower, and something to eat. You do, too.” Perhaps this was how he could carry on, Seth thought – just taking care of one small but necessary task at a time.

Later that night, Seth switched off the television and willed himself to relax. His body craved sleep, but his mind kept replaying the day’s events. The cremation had been arranged. They had split the list of people to contact, and spent hours phoning and explaining. Most had heard already. How was it, Seth wondered, that lives so full and real could be just snuffed out in an instant? And how did you say goodbye to loved ones at a crematorium? He kept hoping that this was all a terrible dream, that at any moment he would wake up and Mom and Dad would be there. He felt like a small boy again, scared and desperate for someone to tell him that everything was all right – that the nightmare was over. But each person he had broken the news to served only to make everything all the more real. Why was it, Seth demanded of himself furiously, that you thought this kind of thing would never happen to your loved ones? Never to you, only to someone else. Closing his eyes tightly, Seth forced down the urge to weep, to weep without stopping for Mom and Dad, for Naomi and for himself. Life would never be the same. A huge chunk of Seth’s reality had been ripped from him, and it was almost more than he could bear.

Three days later, Seth, Naomi and Tony had sat together at the front of the crematorium’s chapel; Seth could hear people talking in whispers. His eyes were fixed on the two coffins, lying side by side. It all felt so unreal. The air was sickly sweet with the scent of flowers, and Seth felt suddenly oppressed – by the tradition, by the ceremony of it all, by the need to put on a strong face, by what he suddenly and violently resented as the pointlessly empty words of the minister. There was nothing in this place for him, Seth thought angrily. Nothing. He had to restrain himself from running out of the building. But Naomi gave a quiet sob and he knew he wasn’t there for himself. He took his sister’s hand, holding it tightly. The minister spoke a few words, and then led them in a hymn that Seth only mouthed.

Their family’s closest friend Simon walked slowly to the front and, with halting words, spoke with love of his life-long friends and the land they had shared. That at least, thought Seth, was worth something. Simon was no stranger to death; he’d lost his wife shortly after the war had begun. But Simon was still here, strong and loyal as ever. Seth wondered how he did it. His hope, Seth decided, would lie in people, and in Impunzi – not in the stone around him now, or in an absent omnipotence. As people started leaving the chapel, Seth and Naomi sat silent and still. They watched the coffins as they were drawn behind the curtain. They had decided to scatter the ashes on the ranch: the place where their parents had lived and died together. Impunzi.

Seth kept a close eye on his sister as hundreds of friends approached them and gave their sympathies. She was so worn out from grief that she seemed far older than her twenty years, and looked so fragile and strained. As Naomi huddled into Tony, here with the ranch labourers for a few short hours, Seth noticed dark circles under her wide brown eyes. She had pulled her usually glossy chocolate-coloured hair back tightly with a plain elastic and exposed her face unapologetically to the cold light of the morning: she seemed much paler than usual. Naomi’s clothes, too, which normally drew attention to her curves, were shapeless today, and swamped her. Naomi looked to Seth like the child she’d been when he’d had to give her his own sweets to stop her crying. He didn’t know where he was getting the strength to cope, but Seth did know that, for Naomi’s sake, he had to be strong.

Naomi broke down when some of the ranch labourers took her hands in theirs and unashamedly wept. Many of the labourers had been on the ranch for years; they had been born there, educated near there and then been employed there. Because the ranches near Hwange were so big, so isolated, the neighbours they did have had always been precious. The labourers – farm hands, woodworkers, livestock managers – were almost like extended family. Tony and Simon had driven them over for the funeral.

Kind friends had set up refreshments in the adjoining hall. Throughout it all, though, Seth kept repeating to himself and Naomi, “Just a little longer, then we can go.” He was so sick of everyone saying they were sorry. Sorry was such a stupid word; it did not even begin to fill the void that his parents’ passing had created. Nor could it explain the senseless, cruel way in which they had died.

As Naomi was saying her goodbyes, for now, to Tony, Simon approached Seth. “My boy, you know that if there’s anything I can do, you just need to ask?” Seth looked at the older man in silent gratitude. “I’m staying in town overnight,” Simon continued, “and I’ll take your workers back with me tomorrow.” He gripped Seth’s hand, suddenly serious. “Seth, you need to go out to the ranch as soon as possible. Do you want me to go with you?”

With a sense of dread, Seth knew Simon was right. He answered quietly, “I know. And I’d really appreciate it if you’d come with me, Simon. I’ll ask Tony to spend the weekend with Naomi, and I’ll follow you tomorrow. There’s so much to do, to organise – I don’t know where to start. Dad took care of the ranch business… Now I guess it’s up to me. But –” Seth struggled to assimilate his old life with what he knew his new one would be. “But I also have my finals coming up in Cape Town.” Running a hand through his dark hair, Seth struggled to find the words he needed to express himself. “I don’t understand how… how life can just
change
…”

Pulling Seth into a quick hug, Simon wiped his tear-filled eyes and nodded. “I know, Seth. I know. It feels like the floor has gone from under you. When Gail passed away I felt the same way. Just try to take each day as it comes. You and Naomi will be fine… It’s just going to take time.”