Swimming with Horses by Oakland Ross

Author:Oakland Ross
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Dundurn
Published: 2019-02-09T05:00:00+00:00

THIRTY

Hilary

South Africa, Winter 1962

DAMNED IF THE FRIGGING idea didn’t make sense. Never mind the way it sounded. It sounded mad at first. Of course it did — because it was mad. But that was the beauty of it, its very madness. It was crazy, and yet it made sense, too. Hilary was sure of it. Or maybe not quite sure. It wasn’t a question of being sure. Who is sure of anything? In this frigging life, you have to take your chances.

And this was a chance — hey, was it ever.

She was hunkered down on the broad second-floor terrace of her father’s house in the sunlit coolness of the afternoon. She had worked everything out on a sheet of notepaper, after referring repeatedly to a road map of South Africa, one she’d liberated from the cubbyhole of her mother’s car.

She had the map unfolded on her lap right now, with the notepaper set out on the plate-glass surface of a wicker coffee table. In addition, she had a mug of coffee, now gone cold, and a small china tray about half full of cigarette butts and ashes. She was smoking like a dock hand, but what did it matter? Daddy wasn’t around to disapprove. He would be away for at least a week, on government business of some kind or other. Before leaving, he’d told her he wanted her back in Johannesburg by the time he returned. He wouldn’t stand for this insolence and impertinence. Did she understand? Did she? The school in Joburg — it was costing him a packet. Did she have an inkling how much? At the time, she’d merely nodded and mouthed, “Yes, Daddy.” But that wasn’t what she’d been thinking. Far from it. The man had no bloody idea what was truly going on. This was war. This was revolution. In her mind, it was. Meanwhile, Hilary’s mother was finally up and about again, a circumstance not unrelated to her husband’s absence.

She peered at the map once more. She ran her index finger southwest from Mooi River and then down and around toward the Drakensberg and the rose-hued oblong of Basutoland. This, in its simplest form, was her plan. She had worked out a way to get Muletsi into Basutoland. She was certain this was what his mother had meant by mentioning that word, that day. She’d been putting the idea in Hilary’s head, more by suggestion than anything else. But that made sense, too. That way, nothing could be pinned on her.

Basutoland.

It was crazy, maybe, but there was no choice. There was no other way. And this route was possible, more than possible. Already, she had worked it out.

Fact: Muletsi had to leave South Africa.

That was a given. He was a wanted man, a criminal, and an escaped convict to boot. What was more, he’d been branded a member of the ANC, a banned organization. So there you were. Plain and simple. He had to get out. The only alternative was jail, or worse.

Second fact: He couldn’t get out by car.

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