The Soldier who Said No (13 page)

They followed the track for most of the day. There was evidence of recent traffic and they knew they did not have to skirt the road for fear of landmines, so they made good time. By De Villiers’s calculation, they had covered about twenty-five kilometres, well short of his target, but they had to conserve their energy. It would be a full day before they would be able to dig for water again. It was still too early to hunt for food. They had to be sure that they were safe before they could hunt.

At daybreak they made camp well clear of the road in a guarri thicket known to be favoured by lion. The guarri would provide shade and shelter, being nearly impenetrable to anything larger than a rabbit. In the evening they would start east again. They drank the last of their water and took turns to sleep during the heat of the day.

De Villiers thought of Verster’s parents. What was he going to tell them? And would they believe him when the official version was certain to be different?
Lost in combat, he gave his life for his country in the fight against communism.

De Villiers was awake at first light, as usual, a deeply rooted remnant of his past. It was his sister’s birthday, but back in Pretoria it would still be the evening of the 27th. He would have to wait until the evening before he could send a text message to congratulate her on her fortieth. In the last two days, he had become mobile. Since the blood transfusion and the removal of the catheter, he had felt able to take charge of his body again, even though it was only in a limited way.

The surgeon did his rounds early and Emma came to fetch De Villiers before morning tea. Sister Appollus insisted on carrying his bag to the car. She wanted De Villiers to use a wheelchair and scolded him when he objected.

‘Jy’s nie nou by die hys wa jy ka loep wa jy wil nie! Ek issie baas hiesô. Hie ry jy in ’n rolstoel as ek so sê.’
You’re not at home where you can walk where you like. I’m the boss here. Here you ride in a wheelchair if I say so.

De Villiers mimicked her accent. ‘Ek loep hie in, en ek loep hie yt.’
I walked in and I’ll walk out.

‘There are regulations, you know.’

She took the bag from De Villiers and chided him. ‘It won’t be my fault if you fall over.’ She walked next to him and kept an eye on every step he took.

The security guards who had dispatched Henderson and Kupenga a few days earlier were smoking outside the front entrance. De Villiers shook their hands.

‘See you, mate,’ they said in unison.

‘Not if I see you first,’ De Villiers said.

They laughed as he eased himself into the passenger seat. Sister Appollus leaned into the car and gave him a hug. ‘Do your exercises,’ she ordered.

De Villiers nodded as he carefully fastened his seatbelt. He hooked his thumb in the lap-belt and held it away from his abdomen.

Emma steered the car into the traffic in Gillies Avenue and headed south. For once Zoë was quiet, leaving De Villiers to contemplate his homecoming. Emma turned left into Greenlane and right onto the Motorway South a few minutes later. She picked up speed to keep up with the holiday traffic. De Villiers looked out of the window at the graffiti-covered walls and the dismal backs of factories and small industrial premises. There was no reason for him to be alarmed when Emma ignored the Ellerslie–Panmure turn-off, but when she stayed in the centre lane as the South-Eastern Highway turn-off came up, he indicated with his hand for her to go to the left.

‘We’re not going home,’ she said.

‘Where are we going?’ De Villiers asked.

‘It’s a surprise!’ Zoë shouted from the back seat, unable to hold the pose any longer.

‘No, seriously, Emma, where are we going?’

‘I’ve booked a room in the country for the weekend,’ she said.

De Villiers turned to look at Zoë. Behind Zoë the station wagon was packed with their luggage.

Zoë tinkled on her xylophone. ‘You’re not allowed to guess. You’ll see when we get there, Mom said.’

He didn’t like the idea of being treated like an invalid, but reconsidered his position. What would he do at home, anyway? And the two had conspired against him. Slowly he relaxed and looked around at things he wouldn’t normally see if he was doing the driving. It was a relief not to have to take any responsibility or to make any decisions.

They crossed the Tamaki Estuary, the furthest reach of the Pacific onto the North Island, and quickly found themselves next to the Auckland Botanical Gardens. They had spent Emma’s birthday in the Gardens a few years earlier, when she was expecting Zoë, but had not been back. A few minutes later they crossed the Pahurekure Inlet where the Tasman Sea reaches into the North Island from the west and stops just short of cutting it in half.

On the downhill stretch after the vegetable stalls at the crest of the Bombay Hills, De Villiers had to remark, ‘I’d forgotten how beautiful this country is. We should get out of Auckland more often.’

Emma de Villiers agreed. ‘What more could you ask for? Civilisation and exquisite scenery all in the same place.’

At the foot of the hill Emma took the main road to the east, State Highway 2. Within a few kilometres they ran into slower traffic. The annual exodus to the beaches of the east coast had begun and their pace slowed down to well below the urban speed limit.

Vandals had painted graffiti on every vertical surface within fifty metres of the road, puerile and apparently inconsequential signs and words, a claim of sorts. It angered De Villiers.

‘Where are we going?’ asked De Villiers. He needed a restroom.

‘Ten minutes at the most,’ Emma said.

‘You’re not supposed to tell,’ Zoë admonished from the back seat.

I can hold for ten minutes, De Villiers told himself.

He found Emma scrutinising the names of district roads on the left and helped her by reading them.

‘Graham Road.’ She shook her head.

‘Pendergrast Road,’ he read. She again shook her head.

After a while he read, ‘Lyons Road.’ State Highway 2 curved to the right and there was a shed with a row of old tractors and abandoned cars.

Emma took the turn into Lyons Road. There were several small farms, all well tended, along the way. They passed an archery range and crossed a narrow stream. The vegetation was lush and green, with large trees hiding their destination until the very last moment.

The Heritage Hotel & Spa du Vin came into view at the end of the road. The sun was out, the sky powder blue, the buildings clad with ivy. They were among vineyards at the foot of the Hunua Ranges.

The reception room was decorated in browns and ambers. Maori artefacts decorated the walls and there was a stall which sold local wines, olive oil and chocolates. Boxes of wines stood at the entrance to the stall, ready for delivery. De Villiers wondered whether he would be allowed some wine. The surgeon had said nothing and Sister Appollus hadn’t either. Maybe Emma will stop me, he thought, but I’d have to find a way around that.

De Villiers rushed to the restrooms while Emma checked in. He arrived back in time to hear the receptionist saying, ‘And we have you booked for a Honeymoon Delight at 10 on Sunday morning.’

De Villiers felt himself blushing under the eyes of the receptionist.

Zoë’s initial exploration was over quickly and she came over to his side and held his hand. They watched as Emma punched her pin number into the Eftpos machine.

‘Your luggage is on the golf cart and the driver will take you to your room. We hope you’ll enjoy your stay, and please don’t hesitate to call us if there’s anything we can do to make it more enjoyable,’ the receptionist said in a singsong voice.

Zoë wanted to sit on his lap on the short ride to their room, but Emma made her sit between them. The driver took them along the paths between the chalets, arranged in small clusters of four, like grapes on the vine, past an indoor swimming pool and tennis courts. The view from their veranda was stunning, a manicured vineyard within a few paces of their deck and a herd of sheep on a hillock behind it.

A farmer sat on a quad bike higher up while two sheepdogs below rounded up the herd, moving them towards a narrow gate and into the next paddock. De Villiers was too far away to hear the farmer’s whistled directions, but the dogs darted from side to side, following orders only they could hear. De Villiers watched the interplay between the farmer and his dogs. Each time the farmer brought his fingers to his lips to whistle, the dogs immediately reacted and set off in the direction ordered. It struck him that the dogs operated as a team, a team of two under the command of an officer, like a two-man team of Recces in the field, with their orders coming from higher up. But Verster is dead, he thought.

Emma’s touch, when she took his hand, brought him back to the present. ‘I’m happy here,’ she said.

‘But we’ve never been here before, have we?’ De Villiers teased.

She gave his hand a gentle jerk. ‘I mean in New Zealand. Aren’t you?’

De Villiers had often pondered the question and his answer remained the same. ‘I miss Africa.’

‘But aren’t you happy in New Zealand?’ Emma asked again.

‘I’m happy where you and Zoë are and I’m glad that we’re here, and not anywhere else.’

Emma shook her head. His answer had been a circuitous one, ending in a negative.

‘For the next two days, you’re going to follow my orders,’ Emma announced.

The driver placed their bags inside. De Villiers stood on the veranda, watching the golf cart make its way back to the hotel. ‘I’m going to take my shirt off and sit in the sun,’ he said.

‘Sure, but let’s see what medication they gave you first.’

She looked through his bag. There was a vial with antibiotic capsules and a blister-pack of paracetamol. The antibiotics were to be taken twice a day and the paracetamol when required for pain relief.

‘Nothing is due now,’ said Emma, squinting at the small print on the vial, ‘unless you’re in pain.’

De Villiers tried his luck. ‘I’ll have a glass of Chardonnay instead. I am sure it’s as good for pain relief, and far better for my kidneys.’

‘But not for your bladder or your liver.’

He sighed and removed his shirt. He turned a lounger on the veranda to face the sun and lowered himself slowly into a reclining position. The backrest of the lounger could be adjusted.

‘Zoë!’ he called.

Zoë came running out and stood in front of him, blocking out the sun. ‘Yes, Dad?’

‘Do you want to play nurse?’

‘No, I’m going to be a teacher, like Mum,’ she said.

‘Oh,’ said De Villiers, ‘I’ll have to find someone else to play nurse for me then.’

‘Okay, I’ll play,’ Zoë said. ‘What do I have to do?’

‘I’m the patient, and you’re the nurse. You must bring me things and wipe my face and take my shoes off.’

‘Okay. I’ll start with the shoes.’

De Villiers helped by pushing at the heel of the shoes with his toes. ‘Take the socks off, please Nurse, but don’t hold them close to your nose!’

‘Yech!’ Zoë said and pulled a face. ‘What do I do next?’

‘You can fetch my sunglasses and cap, please Nurse.’

‘Where are they?’ she asked.

‘The big bad matron in the room has them.’

Zoë looked over De Villiers’s head. Emma was leaning against the doorjamb, dangling his cap and sunglasses in her hand.

‘That’s the idea,’ she said. ‘Now see if you can keep it so for fortyeight hours.’

Emma insisted on covering his face and chest with sunblock. Her hands were soft on his skin.

De Villiers lay face down on the lounger, his cap on the back of his head. The sun on his back was faint but still reminded him of a place which he missed every waking moment, its dusty smell, the sounds of birds and insects, even the ubiquitous presence of reptiles, from the innocuous to the ultra-venomous. He felt Emma’s hands and smelled more sunblock.

He sat up and did a dozen of Florette Appollus’s exercises.

Later they went for a walk, his wife and daughter on either side of him, holding hands. They walked slowly, following the winding paths between the chalets. When they arrived at the front of the hotel, De Villiers saw that the weekend guests had arrived in force. A wedding troupe was waiting at Reception. De Villiers followed Emma and Zoë to the reading room. Zoë busied herself with crayons and a colouring book while Emma studied one book after the other on the hotel’s bookshelves. De Villiers watched them over the morning paper.

Emma’s slim, almost boyish figure intrigued him. She had excited him from the time he had first laid eyes on her. He had been a bobby in London, walking the beat and had watched her looking after a class of pre-schoolers in the children’s playground in Hyde Park. He had overheard one of the parents saying that they would be back the next Thursday and he had made sure that he would be at the playground every Thursday when the schoolbus arrived. It was a month before Emma had first made eye contact. He had never had the courage to ask her if it had been love at first sight for her too.

But for his troubled past, De Villiers couldn’t have been happier. His cancer had been an unexpected setback.

A cellphone rang nearby and brought De Villiers back to the present. He felt in his pocket, but it was empty. Then he remembered that he had left his phone on his desk more than a week earlier. He wondered what Henderson and Kupenga were doing and smiled.

‘What’s the joke?’ Emma asked.

‘I was wondering what Henderson and Kupenga were doing.’

‘Probably sitting in their car watching our house,’ Emma ventured. ‘Our very own security, courtesy of the taxpayer.’

They burst out laughing.

Laughing, coughing and any sudden movements would have to be avoided, De Villiers realised, for the time being anyway.

Dinner started innocently enough. The staff outnumbered the guests and the applause for the jazz pianist was muted. There was a set menu, a three-course meal, for him and Emma and small portions of main fare for Zoë.

But a large artwork against the far wall had unsettled De Villiers from the first moment.
Liquid Love
, the waiter had said was its title, but it reminded De Villiers of a volcanic eruption. There was a central core of light red rising to the top of the frame, and rough dark red rocks falling down the sides. ‘You can see a kneeling woman in the centre,’ the waiter had said, but when De Villiers tried to find the figure, a painting in ochre and browns on a rock face in the Kalahari sprang to mind.
Liquid Love
was a work of camouflage and disguise and blood and De Villiers felt the bitterness rise in his throat as another image forced its way into his mind – bloodstains on the seats of a car. Zoë said something, but De Villiers was half a world away.