Highveld Story

by

Kortpeel

Goudplaas, Transvaal, 1951

Hendrik Bester belched and gave a contented grunt as he eased his huge frame into the rocking chair on the stoep of his farmhouse. He'd had a good meal, now he wanted to relax and watch his mealies grow as he smoked a pipe and enjoyed a dop or two of brandywyn.

All in all, he reflected, things weren't too bad. There was going to be a good crop this year and he'd be able to pay off his debts, well most of them. You couldn't ease off though. The main problem was the labour and getting them to do their work. But they were a lazy bunch! Only that morning he'd had to take one of them into the barn to sort him out with the sjambok. Which one was that? Ah yes, Sam, a trouble maker if ever there was one. Hmm, what he got this morning should stop his nonsense for a while.

Another belch brought the taste of his supper into his mouth again. Delicious. His wife, Joanna, was a good cook who always saw that her husband and six children were well nourished.

He'd been lucky to marry Joanna. He'd always fancied her but Andries van Niekirk had been calling on her in those days. He was a wimp of a man but there'd been something about him that Joanna liked. Hennie smiled to himself. He recalled the night that he'd seen Dries van Niekirk dressed in his Sunday best and smelling of mothballs on a week day. He had a bunch of flowers and was walking to Joanna's house. Hennie had tied him up and put him on a goods train that was about to leave for Johannesburg. Hennie himself had given the flowers to Joanna who, disappointed at being stood up by Andries, accepted Hennie's proposal. The rest was history.

Ironically enough, Andries went on to become the Domini at their local Reformed Church and now he tapped Hennie up for his annual tithe.

Hendrik remembered how it had been when they were first married. Joanna, until then an innocent naive virgin, as all good boeremeisies were in those days, had taken to nookie like a duck to water. She would scream so loud in her passion that once he'd chaffed her that she'd wake the neighbours. A town girl, she'd believed him for a second until she remembered Hendrik's boast that the nearest house to theirs was so far away that you couldn't see the smoke from their chimney. After that she'd scream louder than ever.

These past few years Joanna had changed. She was still a fine woman and in good shape but she didn't want him even to touch her any more. Some weeks ago he'd been feeling really horny and had demanded her services. He'd forced the issue but afterwards Joanna complained to the Kirk elders about it. As a result Domini van Niekirk called and told him to behave himself. He quoted something from the Holy Book about 'plucking your eye out' that Hennie hadn't quite understood. Hennie was quite happy with his eyes and would never do anything so verdomde stupid.

Hennie thought that a man had his needs and it was his wife's duty to meet them. And for sure it was fok all to do with the Kirk elders. Especially Domini van Niekirk. Any more of his kak and he'd be on the train to Johannesburg again. Just to assert his point Hennie had taken Joanna again that same night.

And now the blerry bottle was empty. Magtig but brandywyn doesn't last like it used to.

The world seemed a little unsteady as Hendrik pulled himself to his feet. Earth tremors, no doubt. That was all the fault of the English and their bliksemse gold mines, stealing a man's land from under his feet. He made it and headed for the door.

A little nookie with Joanna would round the evening off nicely. Ja, a man needs a pomp after a good meal, a smoke and a few drinks. Real entertainment, like the good Lord intended. None of that blerry wireless nonsense.

"Joanna," He called lurching into the kitchen. "Where are you, vrou?"

"The missus has gone to bed, master," Prudence the maid told him. Prudence was just finishing the clearing up after their meal.

"Kak!" Joanna slept in her own room these days and she locked the door. Hendrik could easily have pushed the door open but then he'd have to repair it afterwards.

Prudence was putting some pots away in a bottom cupboard. Hendrik found himself looking at her arse as she bent over. It was quite shapely in a black sort of way. "Ag nie, man," he told himself.

Prudence straightened up and became aware of the master looking at her.

Hendrik had been ashamed of himself for what he'd just been thinking. His first reaction was to get out of the kitchen. Then he saw that look on Prudence's face. Her eyes had gone big and round. She was trembling, running her tongue over her lips.

It didn't occur to Hendrik that she was scared. "The bitch fancies me," he thought. A man's judgement is never at its best when there is alcohol in his blood. And it's even worse when his groin is stirring. He advanced on Prudence.

*****

It was dark as Sam Malingwe stealthily made his way from his quarters to the farmhouse. He'd spent all day honing the blade of the knife that he carried and each stroke of the honing had increased the hatred that he felt in his heart for the oubaas. It was one thing for the oubaas to use the sjambok on him for not working hard. Maybe he even deserved it although he didn't think so. But for the oubaas to fuck Prudence: that was something no man could tolerate and still live with himself.

It had taken Sam a few days of careful thinking to reach this conclusion. Prudence had cried when she'd told him what the oubaas had done to her. It was a very wrong thing but she'd urged Sam not to do anything. She knew that whatever happened it would not stop there. The police would come and there'd just be more trouble. They would take Sam away and hang him.

Sam had consulted the spirits of his ancestors on this. They had said that there are limits to the wrongs a man can undergo and still be a man. This wrong should be avenged.

And vengeance was but moments away. The plan was simple. The oubaas would sit on his stoep until the bottle was empty. Sam would creep up from behind, put a hand over the mouth and let the knife do its work.

But now, as he inched his way along the hedgerow toward the stoep, Sam could hear voices. Something was wrong. There were never visitors at this time of night. Did the white man have a way of knowing what he planned? Someone lit a hurricane lamp and Sam could make out the oubaas in his chair. Other men were standing around. Yaai! They were praying. Sam recognised the thin man in black as the priest from the white man's church. Now he was reading from the bible.

Suddenly the men left. Just walked away. Only the thin one, the priest remained. He tapped on the door. "Dit is gedoen," (It is done) he said and walked after the other men.

Joanna emerged a few moments later. She fussed around the chair and Sam realised that she was untying him. The oubaas did not get up. Joanna called into the house. Prudence appeared and together the two women got the huge man to his feet and, supporting him, helped him into the house.

*****

"You see, there was no need for us to do anything to the master," Prudence told Sam when she got in. "The white people did it for us."

"What did they do to him."

"He is no longer a man." Prudence put her arms around Sam. Maybe tonight they would make a baby. Sam was her man. And he had a much smaller belly and a much bigger prick than the master.

End