The Circassian. "Wrong Side" Read online

  2.2

  Taylor’s vision was blurred when he next opened his eyes, he couldn’t work out what he was looking at. Slowly his vision cleared and he saw his boots caked in dried mud and covered in blood. As he lifted his eyes he felt a pain shoot across his head, like boiling hot water pouring down the back of his neck. Taylor slowly became aware that he was in an upright position with his arms secured behind him. As he pushed his feet into the ground the blood began circulating back into his arms. They had been taking the weight of his upper body for some time, he grimaced, opening, and closing his fingers for several minutes as the blood returned. He heard a low groan from his right hand side. He turned his head and looked into the bearded face of a civilian tied next to him, locks of long black hair and a thick beard obscured most of his blood-spattered face. The man hanging from the fence had almost collapsed, panting, lifting his head was a huge effort. He was staring, transfixed on something behind Taylor.

  Taylor turned his head slowly to the left and he looked in horror at what the civilian could see. A large Zulu stood with his left hand cupped behind Sapper Jones head, forcing him to look at his face, he stared into his eyes, their faces almost touching. Jones pursed his lips as if to kiss the Zulu, blood dribbled out and down his chin, the warrior pulled his head back as Jones projected a stream of blood out. Taylor forced himself to look away from his face, as he dropped his gaze he looked at the Zulu’s right arm moving back and forwards in a sawing motion. Then pulling his arm back the black warrior stepped back revealing his work. He had cut Jones stomach open from just above the pelvic arch stopping at the ribcage, his insides spilling out over his legs as his body went into shock and shook fiercely. The crowd of Zulus watching screamed insanely as the bloodlust took them over. The black warrior pushed his forehead against Jones again, looking into his eyes, searching for his soul, watching life leave him.

  Jones took one last breath and his body stopped moving. His killer stepped back and placing his hand inside the cavity he had created, placed two fingers around the heart and ripped it out with his strong bare hand. Biting into it the blood poured over his chin and he then turned to the hysterical crowd and threw it to them. Placing his knife inside Jones body again, he cut the gall bladder out and lifting it in the air turned to face the others. He then lifted it to his mouth and drank the bile, running around the crowd waving his hand in the air.

  Then the drumming began.

  Ten men were now nine. Each one deep in his own thoughts, wondering if he was next. Taylor tried to rationalise what had happened. He could not become hysterical, he was an officer and needed to stay calm. He silently recited poems in his head. His father, also an officer used to love to sit with him each night and read poems until he fell asleep, he could recite some perfectly from memory. They were a great comfort to him in difficult times. His father always added.

  “Always remember why you are there son, you are there for a good reason and you must always endeavour to complete your duty for Queen and Country, no matter what.”

  For the whole of that first day and late into the night he drifted in and out of consciousness, each time he awoke to the sight of the Zulus dancing, eating the slaughtered goats and horses, laughing, or getting into loud arguments involving many warriors. At the end of each of these arguments a different warrior leapt up triumphantly and another man was killed.

  2.3

  By dawn the next morning only five men remained tied to the fence. The main Zulu party were gone, leaving behind only two older men and a boy. The young one was getting impatient with the older two who kept laughing at him.

  Taylor’s lips were parched, he tried to moisten them with his tongue but had no spit. A fly landed on the wound, he shook his face and blew feebly to get rid of it, the skin cracked and a trickle of blood appeared. The three Zulus were arguing again, the youngest of them, was shouting and waving his knife in the air wildly. He stood up and pointed to the drummer boy. The two older warriors spoke excitedly and within minutes they were all screaming at each other. As Shaka walked towards him, Josh Andrews the regimental drummer boy started to become hysterical. He had seen the older men beside him killed and now knew it was his time. He tried to free himself and as he struggled the vibration along the fence shook the others awake and they looked on in horror. Sergeant Major Bill Sinclair a thickset bull of a man screamed at the Zulu. His moustache, already caked in dried blood seemed to stand out from his face as he unleashed every swear word he had ever learnt in twenty-four years of service. Shaka stopped in front of Josh then turned and looked at the angry red face of the Sergeant major. The young Zulu was frightened of the raging big man with the hair on his lip and wondered if he would have been brave enough to fight this man if he had come face to face with him in the battle or turned and ran. The thought of being a coward angered him and he turned and walked along the line of men teasing them with his razor sharp spear, enjoying the feeling of power he had and bolstering his own confidence. Although already an experienced hunter, he had never killed a human before. He had not been allowed to join the main party for the fight and had to stay at the back with the older men in reserve. They even made him sit with his back to the battle, a Zulu custom to stop bloodlust. It had not worked on him and he was eager to get his first kill. The two older warriors that were left behind had been instructed to keep the last five men alive.

  They were waiting for the younger boys to arrive from the village. These five soldiers were to be the young Zulu’s first victims. They were coming to take a life with their own assegai, the razor sharp knife named after the sucking noise it made when pulled out of a body. Those boys who performed this ritual slaughter without hesitation would be allowed to join the main party of older warriors, to be called a man, and Shaka had been taught that the braver the enemy he killed the stronger he became. Shaka stared at Josh trembling and crying hysterically. He wished Josh had been braver. He turned away from Josh and slowly walked past the Sergeant Major. He stopped briefly and looked at a tall skinny man known as Reilly a nasty piece of work with a thin face and narrow eyes, a conman and thief who lied about his name and chose Army life to avoid prison. Taking another step he looked into the blue eyes of Taylor, strands of his blond hair waving up and down as he panted for breath. Taylor tried to keep his composure and show no fear but behind him his hands were trembling. He had also fought bravely but he wasn’t the one Shaka wanted. He stood finally before the civilian. Head bowed down and barely alive Shaka poked him with his knife to get his attention. The civilian raised his head. Green eyes looked out from his long unkempt jet-black hair and full beard. Shaka had never seen a man with green eyes before and he was transfixed. At first he could not understand why they looked so different but slowly he realised.

  ‘He stares at me with strange eyes, they show no fear, like a wild animal.’ Shaka shouted to the other men.

  ‘He is to be killed last for good luck,’ the older Zulu stated simply to Shaka. ‘Your brother ordered it.’

  As Shaka’s stared into the man’s eyes he watched them slowly closing, slipping into unconsciousness. He began to panic, this man would be dead before the younger boys arrived.

  The blood pumped in Shaka’s ears drowning out everything around him. He began to feel nervous even though he knew the man with green eyes was bound with his hands behind him he was frightened of him. He had a raging blood lust. This was the one he had to kill.

  2.4

  Shaka had made his choice. The man with green eyes would make him a brave warrior. The older Zulu told him again to wait until the other boys got there, but he was impatient and the adrenalin was making him crazy.

  ‘No I will kill him now I am the chief’s son you cannot tell me what to do.’

  ‘Kill the boy then and stop his noise, his screaming hurts my ears.’ Shouted the older man getting angry with Shaka.

  ‘I want green eyes power not the cub.’

  ‘You will wait for the others to come later, now y
ou can kill the boy.’

  ‘Green eyes will be dead before they get here, look at his wounds.’ Shaka screamed. In a rage he walked back to the other men by the fire and they argued for some minutes. Still furious he walked again towards Josh who by now was shaking uncontrollably with fear. The Sergeant major started screaming again trying to divert attention from the boy onto himself.

  ‘Fuck him Josh, fuck him to hell.’ Josh tried to form spittle but his mouth was too dry, he pursed his lips and spat air into Shaka’s face. Sinclair spat at him too.

  ‘Well done Josh, that’s my boy, fuck him.’

  Shaka drew his assegai and held it to Josh’s throat. He screamed at Josh, his face inches from the boy. Sinclair screamed at Shaka and Josh screamed hysterically. Sergeant Major Sinclair was still screaming when the blood and pieces of brains hit him in the face.

  There was silence, Sinclair watched stunned as Shaka fell forward onto Josh and then backwards to the ground. He looked at the drummer boy and saw that none of the blood was his. The two older tribesmen stood up slowly from the fire not believing what they were seeing. As they gazed out onto the veld the second Zulu fell back with blood spurting from his chest. Sinclair smiled as he saw the stain appear on the man’s chest.

  ‘Sniper,’ he laughed, then cried, then laughed again. ‘The boys are here, Josh.’

  He watched as the last of their captives grabbed his spear and ran towards the exit of the mission screaming out a war cry. Forgetting about the prisoners he sprinted in the direction he knew the young men from his village were coming from, to stop them walking into danger. Before he got to the gate and in mid stride the largest dog he had ever seen leapt up, gripped his throat and knocked him to the ground. Shaking his head violently the dog snapped the warrior’s neck. He still had the lifeless body of the man by the throat when a horseman appeared behind him.

  ‘Heel boy.’ He called to the dog. It let go of the man and ran towards him as he dismounted from the horse. He walked briskly towards the bound men and ignoring the drummer boy he spoke directly to the biggest man there, Sinclair.

  ‘Are there any more?’ He asked.

  ‘No I don’t think so,’ answered Sinclair staring at the dog. ‘Who the fuck are you?’

  The horseman ignored him. He turned on his heel and kicked over the still body of Shaka and then checked the body by the fire, the dog trotted behind him and sniffed the bodies. Once the horseman was sure they were both dead, he produced a knife and cut the straps to release Sinclair.

  ‘Call me Mikael, Sir.’ Sinclair rubbed his wrists to help the blood circulate, his hands had no feeling but he held one out anyway.

  ‘Thank you Mikael.’

  Mikael shook his hand quickly and freed Josh. He turned and saw the Sergeant Major walk over to the dead Zulu and stamp on his face several times in anger.

  ‘He is already dead.’ Said the horseman, shocked at the action.

  ‘Well now he is fucking deader.’ Replied Sinclair walking back to Josh and untying him. He cradled the lads head in his arms like a father and said softly ‘Alright son it’s over now.’.

  ‘I am Lieutenant David Taylor of her majesties Corps of Royal Engineers, thank you.’ He croaked weakly.

  ‘I am Mikael Buitekant and your welcome.’ replied the horseman as he cut the straps holding him. Taylor fell forward as soon as his hands became free, his legs unable to hold his weight, Mikael caught him and lowered him slowly to the ground. Taylor watched the man who had saved him hand the knife to Sinclair and walked back to his horse to fetch his water bottle. They were the same height, five feet ten inches. He guessed his age to be middle twenties, with short black hair and a clean-shaven sun tanned face. Blue tinted glasses protected his eyes from the burning African sun and he had a ready smile as he spoke. He accepted the bottle from Mikael and drank thirstily, water spilling down his chin in his haste.

  Sinclair hesitated as he stood before Riley but then cut him free.

  ‘I should leave you here, you worthless piece of shit.’ He spoke with contempt as Riley slumped onto his haunches. Sinclair stood in front of the civilian. He was hanging limply from the fence, his body bowed over, only the thick rope keeping him upright. His long, dirty, unkempt hair blowing in the wind the only movement. As the knife sliced through the straps he toppled forward. Sinclair, held his shirt with one hand and lowered him to the ground where he lay still.

  Taylor passed the water bottle to Sinclair who took one mouthful and then held it to Josh’s mouth encouraging him to drink. Taylor knelt down and placed three fingers on the civilians neck.

  ‘I think we were too late for him.’ He said feeling for a pulse. Mikael joined him.

  ‘Looks like it.’ He replied as he watched his dog slowly sniffing the civilians hair.

  ‘I found a few of your horses, in fact that’s what brought me here, I thought they had got loose and was bringing them back.’ Mikael explained. Taylor stumbled as he tried to stand up and Mikael held him as they walked over to Sinclair and Josh.

  ‘Are there any more of your men here, Lieutenant?’

  ‘No the Zulus killed everybody, even the animals got slaughtered. I have never seen such a mad killing frenzy, but I don’t understand why they killed everything except us.’

  ‘No time to explain now.’ Mikael was anxious to leave. ‘The main party could come back at any time. It’s possible they heard the shots, I think we should get out of here as quickly as we can, they will be on foot so the horses will give us a good lead but we need to go now.’ He refilled the water bottle and handed it to Taylor.

  ‘Can you walk to where I hid the other horses, it is just over the small hill there? Mikael pointed to the position he had fired from.

  ‘I doubt it.’ said Taylor as he drank gratefully.

  ‘Stay here then I won’t be long.’ Mikael said as he swung into his saddle. He was back within minutes. ‘One of the horses is missing and the other two had been cut loose, luckily they didn’t go far and I caught them again.’

  ‘So is that bastard Reilly.’ said Sinclair.

  ‘He was heading for a court-martial when we got back, he had been locked in the mission all night, then the Zulus found him hiding and tied him up with us.’ explained Taylor

  ‘That dog you have, frightens the shit out of me. What is it doing?’ asked Sinclair. They all looked towards the dog. It was standing over the civilian licking his down turned face and trying to turn him over with his huge paws. Mikael stared in disbelieve. He had have never seen the dog let anyone except himself and his family near him and it never went to strangers. He walked up behind the dog, it was whimpering like a puppy. Hearing someone approach the dog turned and adopted a guarding position over the body growling.

  ‘It’s me boy what the matter?’ he whispered to the dog. The dog stopped growling immediately and ran towards Mikael jumping up and wagging his tail frantically. He turned to walk back to the horses thinking the dog was with him. After a few steps he looked back to see the dog standing over the civilian again. Calling him again the dog took only a few steps and returned to the man refusing to leave him lying in the dirt. Mikael walked back to the dog, kneeled down, turned the body of the man over and held his fingers on his neck feeling for life. He felt nothing for several seconds and was just about to take his hand off when he detected a weak pulse.

  ‘Good boy.’ He said stroking the huge dog he had never named. With no time to check the man further, Sinclair helped Mikael to lift the civilian onto the back of his horse.

  ‘Who is he Sergeant Major? One of your scouts?’ Mikael asked as he tied a small rope from his saddle to the man’s belt to stop him slipping off.

  ‘No he was on his way to the gold fields but he got lost, he bought some provisions from the Mission to take with him but it was late and he decided to sleep in the grounds and leave the next morning.’

  ‘Bad decision on his part.’ Said Mikael. Sinclair mounted the second
horse with Josh sitting behind him and with Taylor on the third they left. Mikael led them out of the Mission and immediately broke into a canter. Taylor, an excellent horseman called out to him.

  ‘Change to a fast trot,’ he told Mikael. ‘It is less painful for the civilian and the horses will not tire so quickly.’ For the next thirty minutes Taylor rode next to Mikael forcing the pace they rode, putting as much distance between themselves and the Mission as they could. When they were far enough into the flat land they slowed the horses to a walk. Mikael knew that it must have been extremely painful for the civilian tied across the back of his horse but he had no choice. Running natives could catch up to a walking horse very quickly but they now had a clear field of vision around and behind them and felt it was safe enough to slow down.

  They continued travelling at walking pace glancing back often towards the Mission, but the natives were nowhere to be seen. They had escaped and felt safe enough to talk while they rode. Taylor told him what happened at the mission.

  ‘We are Royal Engineers sent here to fortify the missions and Army outposts. The Zulus are getting more warlike and most of the buildings are falling to bits. We had just completed three years of service in India and were on a ship on our way home, when they diverted our ship to Durban. We have already repaired several outposts but we had only been at this one for three days. Normally we just patch up existing walls, but we had to rebuild these ones completely, they were so old they had started falling down. We decided to demolished the first wall and then build a new stronger one. We had just knocked down the first part and erected our tents in the gap, so when they attacked we had no cover to fall back to, they over ran the whole mission through that wall.’

  ‘It’s strange but if you had finished building the wall I could never had got a clean shot, they weren’t expecting a sniper.’ Mikael explained.

  Sinclair spoke up,

  ‘Yes and what a fucking good shot, it must have been two hundred yards. That bastard was right next to me. What rifle did you use?’

  ‘It’s a Lee-Metford .303. I have only had it about a week. So I only had time to set the sights for short distances. Luckily I used the rifle earlier this morning at about the same distance and I knew it fired a bit low and to the left, so I aimed at your nose Sergeant Major.’ Taylor smiled as he looked at Sinclair’s face.

  ‘It was an excellent shot. I wish my men could shoot like that.’ Taylor stopped suddenly as he realised what he had just said. His men were dead. Sinclair spoke.

  ‘They tied us up so they could torture us, the evil bastards.’ Mikael decided to explain.

  ‘Actually it is a bit more involved than that Sergeant Major, Zulu’s believe that they inherit the strength of the man they kill by drinking the bile from his gall bladder and the stronger the enemy is, the stronger they become, they remove the heart to stop the victim from haunting them as a ghost. You were kept alive by the luck of a straw. They picked one each time and that decided which one was killed next, they left five of you alive for the young men of their village to prove they had the courage to take a life, prepare them for battle, an initiation to manhood. Normally they have to show courage by facing wild animals or living alone without the protection of the village, but in times of war they use their enemies. You were to be their first kill so they could claim their place around the fire with the men and be allowed to join a battle.’

  Sinclair looked at Taylor, neither spoke, they both realised how lucky they were to be alive. They owed their lives to this young man and his huge dog.’

  ‘That is a magnificent dog, I have never seen one that big before, what breed is it?’ Sinclair said trying to change the subject. He looked at the dog walking next to the horse, its muscles rippled along its scarred back as it moved.

  ‘It is a mastiff, Sergeant Major these dogs were brought here by the first European settlers, the locals call them, Boerboel, it means farmers bulldogs in Dutch. They are bred to protect their owners without regard of their own safety. My father brought two of them home five years ago, one stays at the farm the whole time to protect my mother and sister and this is my dog. I spend a lot of time away from the farm, we have many sheep and cattle. At first I didn’t want a dog hanging around with me slowing me down but my father insisted. Then when the dog was about a year old I was walking out to one of our fields and wandered away a bit too far from the farm, straight into a pack of baboons raiding our crops. They turned on me but the dog took on the whole pack. He killed one of the biggest males and chased them off. That scar across his back is a result of another couple of males that attacked him from behind but he shook them off and the whole troop ran. From that day I took him with me everywhere, I realised my father was right.

  ‘These baboons are dangerous to men?’ Sinclair asked, he had no idea what a baboon was.

  ‘They could have killed me easily, they attack in packs, the large males have teeth like this.’ Mikael explained, holding his finger and thumb five inches wide.

  ‘He has a lot of scars.’ said Sinclair, his admiration for the dog growing.

  ‘He has protected me many times, Sergeant Major, my mother normally sews him up, but I do as well if we are too far from home.’

  ‘He would make a great war dog, how did you teach him to kill?’ Sinclair was fascinated with the dog.

  ‘Oh I never taught him to kill a human he was bred to kill wild animals, but we were attacked one night when I was out checking the cattle. It was too far from the farm so we slept out that night, there are some small buildings scattered around the areas where we can use if the weather turns bad. The dog was asleep outside when some natives crept up to us, they must have been hunters as they came from downwind and were so quiet even the dog didn’t hear or smell them until the last second. He was startled and one of them managed to hit him with a spear he threw, but the dog just leapt up and attacked the man that threw it. They were so shocked they lost their surprise and I woke up and ran outside to see him with his teeth around the man’s throat. I managed to shoot another before they had time to do any more damage. They turned and ran.’ Taylor turned to Sinclair,

  ‘Well Sergeant Major, if a dog didn’t hear them sneaking up then it explains how our sentries were overpowered.’

  ‘Indeed it does Sir, do you think we could get one of these as a regimental mascot Sir?’

  ‘Not a bad idea, Bill.’

  ‘He is a magnificent species,’ Sinclair was completely taken with the dog. ‘But why did you never name him?’

  ‘I don’t know really, I couldn’t think of one that suited him. He will attack anyone trying to harm me. Well any adult, he is totally placid with children, they can ride on his back or take food out of his mouth, he turns into a big teddy bear, I don’t know how he knows but he has a sixth sense, he only gets aggressive when somebody wants to harm me.’

  They travelled for four hours. It was almost twenty miles from the Mission when their paths spilt. Mikael stopped, dismounted carefully and drew the directions the others had to go in the sand with his knife. He stood and Taylor shook his hand.

  ‘Mikael we are in your debt and that is a debt that you can guarantee will never be forgotten. One day if I can ever help you I will.’ Sinclair also dismounted and offered his huge hand to Mikael, encompassing the whole of Mikael’s smaller one.

  ‘I am also grateful to you, thank you for your selfless act and courage, will your dog let me stroke him.’ Mikael laughed slightly embarrassed at the affection shown to him by these complete strangers.

  ‘I doubt it.’ he answered. Sinclair moved his hand slowly to stroke the dog’s head, and a low growl rumbled from the dog’s chest. He pulled it back slowly. ‘Maybe another time.’ said Sinclair. Josh remained motionless silently staring behind towards the mission looking for the Zulu.

  ‘Can we go Sergeant Major, they might come back.’ Josh begged, his voice trembling. Mikael watched Sinclair put his arm around the boys shoulder and g
ently help him onto the horse, he called out to them as they were about to leave.

  ‘Sergeant Major,’ Sinclair turned his horse back towards Mikael. ‘I have just thought of a name for my dog, can I call him Bill, after you?’Sinclair laughed as he rode away.

  ‘No you fucking can’t, and get your rifle sights sorted too.’

  2.5

  Hearing Mikael approach, Sarah his mother and her daughter Emma ran outside calling for Joe the foreman. Joe ran over and helped lower the wounded man from the horse, two farm workers carried his limp body into the spare room and laid him on the bed. Sarah had been a nurse before she came to Africa and had stitched the wounds and helped deliver babies for most of her neighbours for the past twenty years. While Sarah and Emma stripped the man down to his underwear to check his wounds, Mikael sat in the large kitchen and ate for the first time that day. Joe, his father’s farm foreman entered the kitchen and smiled at Mikael. He ladled stew from the large pot onto a plate and sat down to eat. After a second helping Mikael finally pushed his plate away and sat back on his chair. He told Joe what happened. Joe was shocked to hear Zulus were so close.

  ‘I will stay here for a couple of days. Joe take two men and check around the farm. Then go over to all three neighbouring farms and warn them there maybe Zulus in the area. Tell them the British know about it and there will be troops here within a day.’ Joe nodded and left.

  Mikael took his first bath for a week and thought back to the day’s events.

  He had been away from the farm checking his cattle and rounding up strays for six days and was on his way home when he spotted the three loose horses grazing.

  Seeing from their brand they were British Army horses he decided to bring them back to the mission where a troop were always stationed to protect the place, it was the last supply station on the way to the goldfields. As he approached he felt something was not right and wisely he tied up the three army horses and approached quietly with his dog. He removed his Lee-Metford .303 rifle, and laid it across his saddle. Unseen by the three black warriors guarding the troops tied to the fence he viewed the battle scene silently. The voice of the young Zulu brought his attention back to the men and as he watched Shaka raise his knife to the young man’s throat he raised his rifle and fired.

  It wasn’t the first time Mikael had taken a life. The Boer life was one of constant danger and Mikael had been in many skirmishes’ with Zulus in the past. He had never taken a life for pleasure or without justification. He felt no remorse or guilt as he laid his head back and fell asleep in the warm bath water.

  Joe returned the next day with news that the Zulus had left the area and it was safe again. British troops had arrived at the mission and were busy burying their dead and patrolling the area. Mikael decided not to wait for his father Abraham to get back, he was impatient to leave and get back to his cattle, he had been at the farm for too long already and was bored. His mother Sarah and his sister Emma were used to being on their own and Joe had plenty of men to help him. He went to look for his sister to say goodbye. He walked across the yard to the low roofed wooden chalet normally kept available for overnight guests and set next to the main house. Abraham had built it before Mikael had reached puberty. Mikael stepped over his dog, lying outside the door. The dog had taken to the civilian and even slept by his bed during the night, which Mikael found strange. He stepped from the bright sunshine into the room and stood by the dresser, it was dark inside and he couldn’t see properly.

  ‘Why do you keep it so dark in here?’ he asked Emma.

  ‘Mum thinks he has sunstroke. He reacted to the bright light when we first put him in here so she said leave him in the dark until he recovers.’ Mikael stood silently and watched his sister changing the dressings and bathing the wounds, a task she had done willingly and patiently twice daily since he had been brought in. She had acquired a sympathetic and caring nature from both her parents. Emma was a young replica of Sarah, her Auburn hair tied up on top of her head exactly as her mother had. Only the lock of hair hiding her mother’s scar was missing, Emma had her own scar, which she received as a young girl falling off a horse that was much too big for her. She had always been a tom boy and with Mikael as a role model she had no fear of all the things a young girl should be, in such a dangerous continent as Africa. The civilian had been delirious for five days, drifting in and out of consciousness. The wounds he sustained in the fight were very serious and he had developed a fever. He was hallucinating all the time and shouting in his sleep in a strange language that Emma could not understand. As Mikael stepped into the room he heard him.

  ‘He is thirsty, he wants a drink of water.’ Mikael said. Emma looked around at her older handsome brother and smiled, he was always playing jokes on her.

  ‘How do you know that?’

  ‘I don’t know,’ said Mikael. He leant forward, ruffled her hair, and turned to the door. ‘See you in a few days, if you need me send one of the boys they know where the cattle are, bye sis.’

  ‘Bye.’ she answered holding a cup to the civilian’s lips. He drank feverishly. ‘You were right brother.’ she said looking around but Mikael had already left.

  Mikael walked a few yards and then stopped and called the dog. It stood and followed him across the yard but then stopped and ran back to the door where it refused to leave.

  ‘What the hell is wrong with that dog?’ Thought Mikael and rode off without him.

  Abraham returned from Durban the following morning. He joined Sarah and Emma at the kitchen table. Sarah brought the food to the table as Emma told her father about the injured man Mikael had brought home.

  ‘The man was calling out in a strange language but Mikael understood him. He wanted a drink of water.’

  she excitedly told him

  ‘Maybe just a good guess.’ Abraham replied smiling at her. Abraham and Sarah looked at each other without speaking. They had told no one Mikael was not their own son. As far as everybody was concerned they came from Holland as a family and some years later Emma was born in Africa. Mikael had never spoken or asked about his childhood and both she and her husband believed he had forgotten it and all of his native tongue. A gifted linguist he had picked up Afrikaans from his friends and neighbours and English from school. Abraham and Sara had stopped speaking Yiddish a long time ago. Being Jewish was dangerous enough without advertising it and they wanted to be left in peace in their new country. ‘I will change his dressings today.’ Offered Abraham and then changed the subject. Leaving Sarah and Emma washing the dishes, Abraham walked towards the guestroom. As he opened the door the dog lying by the bed stood and growled quietly until he heard Abrahams voice.

  ‘Alright boy it’s me.’ the dog stopped and laid back down. If his suspicions were correct he wanted the man out of his house as quickly as possible. He sat on the bed and pulled back the sheets to expose his upper torso and sat back in shock. He stared horrified at the scars on his body. Not the fresh scars that were healing well but old ones. Turning him over Abraham saw even more scars on his back. Trained as a medic in the Russian army he was accustomed to see the wounds of battle but he had never seen so many old scars on such a young body. This man had been subject to terrible pain and it looked worryingly like the signs he had seen before of Russian torture. On his shoulder two initials had been burnt into his skin, he had been branded, but what for?

  This was a poor soul who knew pain. If this was the state of his body what state was his mind in. None of the soldiers at the mission had known this man before he came or even his name, he wondered what type of man carried scars like this with him. Now he understood why the man screamed in the night frightening his wife and daughter, and why when his daughter tried to shave his blood matted beard on the first day he was there he sprang up from a comatose sleep the moment the blade touched his face with eyes wide open, staring wildly and screaming. The action of turning him over caused him to awake slightly and he spoke softly as Abraham laid him back on the
pillow. He spoke in Circassian and although Abraham had not uttered a word in over twenty years he understood the man thanking him for helping him. Abraham had never dared to speak Circassian, the language of Mikael’s real birthplace since he deserted the Russian army and after all these years still had a deep routed fear of Russia and uncertainty of being exposed and returned to Moscow and a firing squad. The British had sent many Jew’s back to Russia from South Africa accused of aiding Boers.

  ‘My son saved your life not I and my family have nursed you.’ he replied in a low voice with words he had dared not utter since he arrived in south Africa all those years ago, Circassian.

  ‘It was not worth saving.’ Replied the man and sank back to sleep.

  Abraham sat with him silently for several minutes deciding what to do, protect the false identity of himself and his precious family or nurse a sick man back to health. He turned to the small table where there were a few belongings were. He opened the wallet to look for a name. Inside was a fragile gold charm, which caught his eye. It was a gold charm given by Circassian mothers to ward off bad luck. Mikael had been given the same charm by his mother, but Abraham had removed it from his neck a long time ago in case anyone recognised it. Africa was a big country but there were many Russians here. Abraham had changed their name from Zlotin to Buitekant when they arrived in South Africa and he destroyed any links that could endanger him or his family but he found it impossible to throw away the only item Mikael had from his real mother and had buried it at the foot of the tree that gave shade to his farm. Now he looked at the same charm in his hands. He sat down next to the injured man and asked him gently.

  ‘What is your name?’

  The semiconscious man whispered only one word, almost too quiet to hear.

  ‘Jaak.’

  Abraham reeled back from the bed, he sat back in the chair panting, his heart beat faster. He needed to stand up and paced around the room several times. ‘No, no, no. It is impossible. It would take a miracle for them to find each other again.’ He was breathless. He lifted the heavy curtain away from the first window and then did the same to the next one, sunlight filled the room. He stood over Jaak and with his left hand pushed the long matted hair away from his forehead. He looked carefully at the man’s face, his nose and lips. Then he called his name out.

  ‘Jaak, Jaak!’

  Jaak opened his eyes and looked at Abraham standing above him, then shut them again and fell back to sleep.

  Abraham looked at the ceiling, he began laughing as tears flowed unchecked down his cheeks. Holding the charm in his hand, Abraham walked slowly across the farm to the kitchen.

  He smiled at Sarah as he sat down. She looked worried as she saw the expression on his face, she wiped the tears away from his face and kissed him.

  ‘Whatever is the matter.’ she asked.

  He opened his trembling hand to show her the charm and after several seconds they raised their eyes and looked at each other,

  ‘He is Circassian and his name is Jaak.’

  Sarah sat down on the wooden rocker by the open hearth that was slowly burning out.

  ‘It was a common name,’ she said quietly. ‘Many mothers gave the same charms.’

  ‘I know,’ Abraham replied. ‘Sarah come with me.’

  They both walked silently back to Jaak. Sarah went to close the curtains but Abraham stopped her.

  ‘Wait Sarah, not yet. Look at his face.’ He said, brushing the thick hair back from his fore head.

  ‘Imagine him without the thick beard.’ Abraham turned Jaak’s face towards the light from the window and lifted the eyelids gently. Sarah looked at his eyes.

  ‘My god, he has green eyes.’ Sarah whispered.

  ‘It’s him Sarah, the dog senses it too.’ They left Jaak sleeping, slipping out of the room quietly. Sarah closed the curtains and left Jaak in the dark. They walked back to the kitchen together hand in hand. Sarah was thoughtful as she said to Abraham.

  ‘Abraham, please promise me not to speak to the children about this man until we are completely sure it is him.’

  ‘I promise.’ He replied.

  Abraham took a bottle of whiskey from the cupboard and poured two large shots, he passed one to Sarah.

  They both sipped slowly and then Sarah kissed Abraham on the forehead and went to bed without saying what they were both thinking. Abraham sat in the wooden rocker chair with the charm in his hand and memories began to flood back to him. He had punished himself for twenty four years for leaving behind a six year old boy he had tried to save. Not knowing if he had drowned or survived. Was it really possible, could miracles happen, had Mikael unknowingly saved the life of his own twin brother?

  He said aloud.

  ‘Dear God I have prayed to you every day to forgive me for letting that little boy go in that river, and today you send me your answer, thank you.’ Thoughts of making him leave disappeared from Abraham’s mind.

  2.6

  The following morning Sarah woke early and stood before the small mirror hanging behind her wash basin. A black ribbon holding back her hair, only a hint of the original auburn left in the curly grey shoulder length tangles. In the reflection she saw Abraham standing behind her. She turned her head towards him and smiled. He kissed a small scar on her upper forehead, as she knew he would. He was in a happy mood and stood behind her smiling.

  ‘My beautiful Sarah with hair the colour of an autumn leave, eyes as blue as a summer sky, teeth as white as winter snow, and lips like a rose in spring, I love you.’ he whispered, his mouth so close to her ear that his beard tickled and she involuntarily pulled away laughing.

  ‘It was corny then and it still is now.’ She laughed and slapped his arm.

  ‘Got me the girl though didn’t it?’ he replied slapping her backside as he left. Abraham had sent her the poem when he wanted to propose to her but he was too shy to ask so he left it by her front door instead. Sarah smiled again as he left the bedroom, she had a captivating smile, her mouth opening wide revealing her white teeth contrasting with her tanned face. She turned back laughing to herself as she thought of Abraham shyly hiding around the building corner peeking at her to watch her reaction to his marriage proposal. As she continued washing, Sarah looked closely into the mirror. She carefully studied the two small lines around her mouth, her nose long and straight with a turned up tip, faint lines starting to show under her blue eyes and thick eyebrows that followed the rim of her eyes but then turned down just before they ended. Her face was long and oval with a flat chin. Healthy pink lips thin top and thick lower she had never lost her good looks. Unable to get fat from a Boer farming life she had kept her demure figure and still had Abraham’s full attention each time she undressed for bed. Finally she looked at the scar her husband had kissed, an inch above her left eye it stretched around to her temple. During the daytime a lock of hair hid it from view. She could remember every detail of the day it happened.