Leopard Hunts in Darkness - Smith Wilbur - Страница 68

"Wrap up, dear, it will be dark before we get home," Helen cautioned her.

The first sixty-two miles were on the main road, and then they turned off on the farm track, and Josiah jumped down to open the wire gate and let them through.

"Home again," said Nigel contentedly, as he drove onto his own land. He always said that and Helen smiled and reached across to lay her hand on his leg.

"It's nice to be home, dear," she agreed.

The abrupt African night fell over them, and Nigel switched on the headlights. They picked up the eyes of the cattle in little bright points of light, fat contented beasts, the smell of their dung sharp and ammoniac al on the cool night air.

"Getting dry," Nigel grunted. "Need some rain."

"Yes, dear." Helen picked little Stephanie onto her lap, and the child cuddled sleepily against her shoulder.

"There we are," Nigel murmured. "Cooky has lit the lamps." He had been promising himself an electric generator for the last ten years, but there was always something else more important, so they were still on gas and paraffin. The lights of the homestead flickered a welcome at them between the stems of the acacia trees.

Nigel parked the truck beside the back veranda and cut the engine and headlights. Helen climbed down carrying Stephanie. The child was asleep now with her thumb in her mouth, and her skinny bare legs dangling.

Nigel went to the back of the truck and lifted Alice down.

"Longile, Josiah, you can go off now. We will unload the truck tomorrow morning, "he told his men. "Sleep wellP Holding Alice's hand, he followed his wife to the veranda, but before they reached it the dazzling beam of a powerful flashlight struck them and the family stopped in a small compact group.

"Who is it?" Nigel demanded irritably, shielding his eyes from the beam with' one hand, still holding Alice's hand with the other.

His eyes adjusted and he could see beyond the flashlight, and suddenly he felt sick with fear for his wife and his babies. There were three black men, dressed in blue denim jeans and jackets. Each of them carried an AK 47 rifle.

The rifles were pointed at the family group. Nigel glanced behind him quickly. There were other strangers, he was not sure how many. They had come out of the night, and under their guns Josiah and his two labourers were huddled fearfully.

Nigel thought of the steel gun safe in his office at the end of the veranda. Then he remembered that it was empty- At the end of the war, one of the first acts of the new black government had been to force the white farmers to hand in all their weapons. It didn't really matter, he realized. He could never have reached the safe, anyway.

"Who are they, Daddy? "Alice asked, her voice was small with fear. Of course she knew. She was old enough to remember the war days.

"Be brave, my darlings," Nigel said to all of them, and Helen drew closer to his bulk, still holding baby Stephanie in her arms.

The muzzle of a rifle was thrust into Nigel's back. His hands were pulled behind him, and his wrists bound together. They used galvanized wire. It cut into his flesh.

Then they took Stephanie from her mother's arms, and set her down.

Her legs were unsteady from sleep and she blinked like an owlet in the flashlight beam, still sucking her thumb. They wired Helen's hands behind her back.

She whimpered once as the wire cut in and then bit down on her lip. Two of them took the wire to the children.

"They are babies," Nigel said in Sindebele. "Please do not tie them, please do not hurt them."

"Be silent, white jackal," one of them replied in the same language and went down on one knee behind Stephanie.

"It's sore, Daddy," she began to cry. "He's hurting me.

Make him stop."

"You must be brave," Nigel repeated, stupidly and inadequately, hating himself. "You're a big girl now." The other man went to Alice.

"I won't cry," she promised. "I'll be brave, Daddy."

"That's my own sweet girl," he said, and the man tied her.

"Walk! commanded the one with the flashlight, who was clearly the leader of the group, and with the barrel of his automatic rifle prodded the children up the back steps onto the kitchen veranda.

Stephanie tripped and sprawled. With her hands tied behind her she could not regain her feet. She wriggled helplessly.

"You bastards," whispered Nigel. "Oh, you filthy bastards." One of them took a handful of the child's hair and lifted her to her feet. She stumbled, weeping hysterically, to where her sister stood against the veranda wall.

"Don't be a baby, Stephy," Alice told her. "It's just a game." But her voice quavered with her own terror, and her eyes in the lamplight were huge and brimming with tears.

They lined up Nigel and Helen beside the girls, and the flashlight played back and forth into each face in turn, blinding them so they Could not see what was happening out in the yard.

"Why are you doing this?" Nigel asked. "The war is over we have done you no harm." There was no reply at all, just a beam of brilliant light moving across their palekices, and the sound of Stephanie weeping, a racking *eous sobbing. Then there was the murmur of other Voices in the darkness, many subdued frightened voices, women and children and men.