Valley of Weeping by Clive Truter

Author:Clive Truter
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: Valley, Weeping, Zulu, KwaZulu-Natal, 1994, farm, tribe, apartheid, culture, racial, South Africa, dagga, AK47
ISBN: 9781783337552
Publisher: Andrews UK Limited 2014
Published: 2014-07-03T00:00:00+00:00

Chapter 20

Pat had refused to accept any of his excuses. He genuinely had not been feeling well, but he also knew that he had been trying to avoid meeting up with the Porcelain Doll again. Anyhow, here he was, standing in the sun in the small crowd on the low mountain spur, while they gave the speeches. Phineas had remarked that up here on the ridge was where they buried the white people, and pointed out to him down on his, Kiam’s, farm where the sacred forest was where they buried their people. Apartheid [41] even in death, it appeared.

From up here one could see the rest of Hlozeni, the part that was tucked in a little valley behind the spur that they were on. The vineyards were three times the size of Jacksen’s, and every bit as neat. The tomato fields could also be seen, and they were bigger still. Then there was a large section that must be a citrus orchard. Phineas had pointed out an orchard of huge pecan nut trees alongside the river. He had had no idea the place was so extensively developed. For the first time, too, he could see the packhouse. It was massive.

They changed speakers. They had lots of kind things to say. It appeared that Gert had been a gruff and tough Afrikaner, a go-getter with a big heart. He had transformed a wilderness into a productive farm. He had employed a lot of the local people. There was a large contingent of farm workers present, but they did not mix much with the others. The Porcelain Doll had been careful not to cross his path in the crowd, or to look in his direction. This gave him a strange satisfaction. It helped him to relax. But he wasn’t feeling well. The night before, having dinner at the hotel, he had been nauseous. It had been such a pity since it was the first time in a long while that he had seen a decent spread of the kind of food he liked.

The view of his own farm was also good from up here, and now that he knew what to look for, he could see where the fields had once been. On his farm, too, there was a section he had not noticed behind a low ridge. There was a pattern of dark green patches, not fields, but deeper-coloured patches that looked like cultivation. The patches tilted and lifted, and grew bigger as they flew up spiralling into the sky.

He managed to stop himself falling. Things had been spinning. He made a great effort to steady, and stand straight. There was a dull ache in his lower back. He would focus on the large elaborately carved ebony casket across the open space as a point of reference. The speaking voice droned. It had big shiny bronze handles and a blaze of white flowers on top. The Porcelain Doll stood next to it in black lace with tear-lined cheeks. She had shaved all her hair off, which at least got rid of that lob-sided look.

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