Afrika (11 page)

The train suddenly slowed, jerked, and shuddered along for a minute or two, and finally came to a complete stop. Kim listened to the wheezing and
sighing deep in the train's underbelly. Riana stirred in the bunk below.

Kim hoped that this trip wasn't a mistake for her mother. At the Cape Town station, shivering and pale, she'd looked like a lamb being led to slaughter. Andries hauled their bags onto the train. “Man, you exaggerate,” he had chided, obviously put off by Riana's behavior.

Kim leaned on her elbows and looked out the window, her eyes probing the dark for signs of life. There was no platform, no village – only a field. Shadowy forms moved in the half-light from the train's interior. One woman had wrapped a baby on her back with a blanket.

A minute or two later, the train gathered up its strength and chugged off. Riana breathed heavily and sank deeper into sleep. Kim's thoughts returned to Themba. She had never liked a boy as much, except what a nuisance he could be! She recalled his face whenever he insisted he was right. Like the day he had told Lettie not to take herbal medicine or seek the advice of the
sangoma.
“You throw your money away on witch doctors and rubbish,” he told Lettie. When Kim had tried to tell him that herbal medicine was used in Canada, he turned on her. “Kim! Kim! Herbal medicine is not the same for us as it is for you!”

Kim snapped off the yellow light. Suddenly, she could see out into the night clearly. A million bright stars embroidered a pinpoint pattern on the black sky. Cocooned by the gentle rocking of the train, Kim heard African singing, soft and melodious, like a church choir, coming from the next car.

That night Kim had a strange dream. She was seated in front of a covered wagon. Her mother lay in the back, sick with malaria, and it was Kim who drove the wagon through the empty veld. Suddenly the wagon was blocked by a circle of black youths dressed in traditional outfits. At first, Kim was surprised. Then fear took over: there were so many black youths with shields and spears. They drummed with their feet around a fire and their voices rose up into an aggressive chant as if they were preparing for an attack. One of the youths left the circle and turned to face her. It was Themba, dressed only in a leather apron with fur wrapped around his ankles.

In the morning Kim tried to shake the frightening dream from her memory. Trying not to wake her mother, she slipped into her clothes and opened the door of the compartment. In the corridor, she snapped her noisy belt buckle in place and then plunked her elbows against the ledge of the open window and leaned out as far as she could. Her feet were bare and with one foot she dragged down the
bottom cuff of her jeans to stand on it rather than the cold floor of the train.

The sun had been up for hours and it was already hot. The landscape was a barren semi-desert, empty except for the odd, rightside-up pineapple bush or pile of jagged rocks – or was it an anthill? The beauty and vastness of the Karoo (her mother had promised they would wake up in the Karoo) took Kim's breath away. The sky was way too big for the land that was way too big for the sky. And there was a smell to the place! A dusty, dry, dead-leaf smell.

That smell reminded Kim of the San people displayed in the glass cases in the museum in Cape Town, their skin as yellow and dry as clay. And the image of those bushmen reminded her of Cape Town Harry. She remembered her reaction when she'd seen him and felt ashamed. Why had she rejected Cape Town Harry from the moment she laid eyes on him? It was wrong to judge people by the color of their skin, yet she had done just that. Would she judge her father the same way?

“Koppies
,” came Riana's voice from behind her. Kim was relieved that her mom had emerged from the compartment to distract her from her thoughts. She saw the black and blue hills that her mother pointed at – round forms with flat tops. Although this land, or veld as her mother called it, had once
belonged to the San tribe – and to antelopes, lizards, rock-rabbits, and tortoises – today it appeared to be empty as if there was not a single human being for miles. Kim squinted. Now and then a buck or an ostrich flitted off in the distance creating small dust-clouds of life.

Riana moved slowly toward the window grasping the railing, her eyes on the veld. Then she turned to face Kim. “What do you say we have a good old-fashioned breakfast in the dining car,” she said, smiling.

Riana pushed the sleeves of her blouse up past her elbows so that the full warmth from the sun could reach her skin. Her pants were rolled up to her calves like a fisherman's. Her blonde hair cascaded down her shoulders. For a moment she was the carefree mother Kim had known in Calgary.

“Let's go,” Kim said not wanting to break the spell. Riana grabbed her purse and they made their way down the corridor swaying from one side to the other. “It's all exactly as I remember it,” sighed Riana as they entered the dining car. The tables were covered with white linen cloths with vases of spring flowers placed on top.

“I'll have egg on toast and a chocolate milk shake,” Kim said to the waiter who arrived almost immediately. “And could I please have some ketchup?” she added.

“Tomato sauce,” explained Riana with a smile.

“Yes, madam,” he said, as he poured Riana's coffee from a silver coffeepot. He set out two little silver pitchers: one with cold milk and the other with hot.

“It's been years since I've had anchovy toast,” said Riana when the food arrived.

“When was the last time you were on a train?” Kim asked.

Riana ran her fingers through her hair. “Your
ouma
was sick and I had to go back to the farm to see her,” she said after a moment.

Kim stopped drinking her chocolate shake. “I forgot about that.”

Her mother looked away. “She was dying. I didn't know if I would get out to the farm in time. The train was crowded because strikes and boycotts earlier that week had disrupted travel. Hardly a bus passed that didn't have its windows smashed in. There was a particularly bad patch just outside Cape Town where trains were disrupted by school children throwing stones, because two of their classmates had been shot to death the day before by police.”

Kim remembered her dream and asked, “Were you scared? Were you scared whenever you saw black people in the street?”

Riana hesitated and took a long time to answer. “Sometimes. Those were very difficult times.”

Kim blurted out her question. “Was Hendrik with you on the train?” she asked.

Riana looked at her, alarmed. “No,” she answered quickly. “No, he was not.”

Kim pulled her straw in and out of her drink. Right here in front of her – with her espadrilles kicked off and her pant cuffs rolled up – was the one person who had all the answers. If Kim approached her carefully she just might reveal some information.

“Did your family ever meet Hendrik?” Kim asked as she drew casual circles in her milk shake.

Just as Kim feared, her mother was clamming up. For a moment, no one spoke. Kim tried another angle, but she had to go cautiously.

“You must've been scared when you found out,” Kim said as she kept her straw busy inside her tall glass. “About me, I mean.”

“I always wanted you,” Riana said quickly. “Knowing I was pregnant made me strong,” she added. “I knew
exactly
what I had to do. So often in my life, I hesitate or fluctuate or can't make up my mind. But not that time.”

Kim nodded, afraid to say anything, wanting her mother to go on.

“You were like a truth drug for me,” Riana continued.

“What do you mean?”

“A serum that brought out the truth. In me
and in others.” Riana paused and after a moment her face stiffened. “I would prefer not to talk about it anymore.”

Kim jabbed her straw against the bottom of her glass. The waiter came and took away the plates. The subject was closed – Riana had made that crystal clear. “Let's go back,” she said, trying to keep her tone even. “I need to ring someone.”

Kim did not budge from her chair. “Who? Andries?” Her tone was icy.

“No. I've told you a million times: Andries is just a colleague.” Riana waved down the waiter. “Come. We'll be arriving soon. I'll ring my producer while you change your top.”

Kim stared at her mom.

“Darling, I want them to see you in a blouse, not a T-shirt.”

This suggestion floored Kim. Riana had never, not once, taken the slightest interest in what Kim wore.

“Why should I change?”

“Because I said so, I shouldn't have to explain everything over and over.”

How about explaining it just once?
thought Kim, thinking about her father. The train was slowing down and coming into a station.

“Is this it?” Kim asked, sitting up straight to see better.

“Not yet,” said Riana as she exchanged money with the waiter. In her fluster Riana dropped all the change he had given her. “It's about an hour from here,” she mumbled.

The train moved at a crawl. Young black children, half-dressed and shoeless, ran beside it. Kim plastered her hands against the window. Something was wrong about the way the children ran so close to the train, their pink palms open to the air.“Hey!” she said. “Are they crazy? If they get any closer they'll be run over.”

“They're hungry,” Riana told her as she stuffed her feet back into her espadrilles. “They're looking for food.”

Only one of the children had shoes on, a long-legged girl, about Kim's age. She wore a torn dress and too-large boys' shoes. She was dragging a cart across the crowded platform. The girl took sloppy steps in her big shoes and Kim was afraid she would trip as she ran after coins tossed from the train.

Kim stood on her chair and pulled on the window with all her strength.“Open it. Quick!” she cried, pounding the window with her fists. “Mom, please, why can't we give them food?”

The waiter rushed to her side. “Come down,” Riana pleaded.

“The windows are locked because of the air conditioning,” said the waiter.

Kim stuffed fruit and bread from the table into her pockets.“I'm going to the door of the carriage,” she said.

“No, wait,” cried her mother.

Kim was about to jump down from the chair when she was frozen by what she saw on the platform. The crowd parted and there on the cart being pulled by the girl in the sloppy shoes was half a boy. Kim looked again: the boy had no legs. Using his hands, the boy gestured up at Kim.

She jumped from the chair.

“It's too dangerous,” pleaded her mother. But in a second Kim was through the dining car and at the door to the next. The train lurched forward and as she forced the doors apart she cracked her elbow hard on the handle.

In the next train car, Kim paused in front of the door. Her elbow was throbbing and her eyes were spiked with tears. Holding on tightly to a bar, she flung open the outside door. No! No! No! The train was gathering speed and the platform was already gone. The last thing Kim saw was a runny-nosed dog, his ribs sticking out of his gray skin. He chased the train with all his might. Kim tossed all the food she had taken from the dining car at him.

Kim's mother was at her side, her face flushed. “I banged my elbow,” Kim said, folding her knees and backing into a corner. Tears were running from
her eyes as if she were a baby. She tasted their salt on her lips. “I missed them,” she gasped.

Bending down beside her, Riana put an arm around her daughter. Kim fought her embrace and then relaxed into it. “Why? Why?” Kim said between sobs.

Riana held her close as the train built up speed. The sky was a dazzling blue, but through her tears Kim could see a dust storm beginning, exactly like one she had seen once on the prairies. After a while she got her breath under control. She felt calmer but her mind was filling up with more questions. “Why doesn't the new government take all the money for the Truth Commission and give it to those kids for food and a wheel chair for that boy?” she asked rubbing her sore elbow.

“I don't know,” said Riana.

The conductor came by, noticed the door was open, shut it, and moved on. The motion of the train was soothing and Kim had to admit it was nice to feel her mother's arm around her.

After a while Kim spoke.“I get the feeling your family didn't approve of Hendrik,” she said.

Riana nodded. “That's true.”

“Maybe,” Kim said as she slowly got to her feet, “they'll feel the same way about me.”

“T
he thing is this,” Kim wrote to Themba the morning after they arrived at the farm, “the Van der Merwes are firmly rooted in another century – the nineteenth, I would estimate.”

Kim put down her pen. She wanted to describe everything to Themba from the moment Oom Piet drove them through the high wire gate, down the gravel driveway, to the stone farmhouse with its green roof and sprawling front porch. A dozen or so people, some black and some white, had been there to greet them. Which one was Themba's grandmother, Kim had wondered. Then a stout old African woman who, the second after they climbed out of Uncle Piet's Land Rover, ambled straight over and folded her arms around Riana. Riana exclaimed with a joy Kim had rarely seen. “My Elsie,” she cried, embracing her. “This is Kim.”