Cry, The Beloved Country Part 27

31.

k.u.mALO BEGAN TO pray regularly in his church for the restoration of Ndotsheni. But he knew that was not enough. Somewhere down here upon the earth men must come together, think something, do something. And looking round the hills of his country he could find only two men, the chief and the headmaster. Now the chief was a great stout man in riding breeches, and he wore a fur cap such as they wear in cold countries, and he rode about with counsellors, though what they counselled him to, it was hard to understand. The headmaster was a small smiling man in great round spectacles, and his office was filled with notices in blue and red and green. For reasons of diplomacy k.u.malo decided first to go to the chief.

The morning was already hot beyond endurance, but the skies were cloudless and held no sign of rain. There had never been such a drought in this country. The oldest men of the tribe could not remember such a time as this, when the leaves fell from the trees till they stood as though it were winter, and the small tough-footed boys ran from shade to shade because of the heat of the ground. If one walked on the gra.s.s, it crackled underfoot as it did after a fire, and in the whole valley there was not one stream that was running. Even on the tops the gra.s.s was yellow, and neither below nor above was there any ploughing. The sun poured down out of the pitiless sky, and the cattle moved thin and listless over the veld to the dried-up streams, to pluck the cropped gra.s.s from the edges of the beds.

k.u.malo climbed the hill to the place of the chief and was told to wait. This was no strange thing, for if he wished a chief could tell a man to wait simply because he was a chief. If he wished he could tell a man to wait while he idly picked his teeth, or stared out day-dreaming over a valley. But k.u.malo was glad of the chance to rest. He took off his coat and sat in the shade of a hut, and pondered over the ways of a chief. For who would be chief over this desolation? It was a thing the white man had done, knocked these chiefs down, and put them up again, to hold the pieces together. But the white men had taken most of the pieces away. And some chiefs sat with arrogant and blood-shot eyes, rulers of pitiful kingdoms that had no meaning at all. They were not all like that; there were some who had tried to help their people, and who had sent their sons to schools. And the Government had tried to help them too. But they were feeding an old man with milk, and pretending that he would one day grow into a boy.

k.u.malo came to himself with a start and realized how far he had travelled since that journey to Johannesburg. The great city had opened his eyes to something that had begun and must now be continued. For there in Johannesburg things were happening that had nothing to do with any chief. But he got to his feet, for they had summoned him to the presence of the ruler of the tribe.

He made his greetings, and put as deep a respect into them as he could find, for he knew that a chief had a sharp ear for such things.

And what is it you want, umfundisi?

Inkosi, I have been to Johannesburg.

Yes, that is known to me.

Many of our people are there, inkosi.

Yes.

And I have thought, inkosi, that we should try to keep some of them in this valley.

Ho! And how would we do it?

By caring for our land before it is too late. By teaching them in the school how to care for the land. Then some at least would stay in Ndotsheni.

Then the chief was silent and alone with his thoughts, and it is not the custom to interrupt a chief who is thus occupied with his thoughts. But k.u.malo could see that he did not know what to say. He commenced to speak more than once, but whether he checked himself, or whether he could not see to the end of the words that he had in his mind, k.u.malo could not say. Indeed a man is always so when another brings heavy matters to him, matters that he himself has many times considered, finding no answers to them.

But at last he spoke, and he said, I have thought many times over these heavy matters.

Yes, inkosi.

And I have thought on what must be done.

Yes, inkosi.

Therefore I am pleased to find that you too have thought about them.

And with that there was more silence, and k.u.malo could see that the chief was struggling with his words.

You know, umfundisi, that we have been teaching these things for many years in the schools. The white inspector and I have many times spoken about these things.

I know that, inkosi.

The inspector will be coming again soon, and we shall take these things yet further.

The chief ended his words in a tone of hope and encouragement, and he spoke as though between them they had brought the matter to a successful end. k.u.malo knew that the interview would now be quickly finished, and although it was not altogether proper to do so, he summoned up courage and said in a way that meant he had other words to follow, Inkosi?

Yes.

It is true, inkosi, that they have been teaching these things for many years. Yet it is sad to look upon the place where they are teaching it. There is neither gra.s.s nor water there. And when the rain comes, the maize will not reach to the height of a man. The cattle are dying there, and there is no milk. Malusi's child is dead, Kuluse's child is dying. And what others must die,Tixo alone knows.

And k.u.malo knew he had said a hard and bitter thing, and had destroyed the hope and encouragement, so that the matter was no longer at a successful end. Indeed the chief might have been angered, not because these things were not true, but because k.u.malo had prevented him from bringing the matter to an end.

It is dry, umfundisi. You must not forget that it is dry.

I do not forget it, said k.u.malo respectfully. But dry or not, for many years it has been the same.

So the chief was silent again and had no word to say. He too was no doubt thinking that he could have brought this to an end with anger, but it was not easy to do that with a priest.

At last he spoke, but it was with reluctance. I shall see the magistrate, he said.

Then he added heavily, For I too have seen these things that you see.

He sat for a while lost in his thoughts, then he said with difficulty, for such a thing is not easy to say, I have spoken to the magistrate before.

He sat frowning and perplexed. k.u.malo knew that nothing more would come, and he made small movements so that the chief would know that he was ready to be dismissed. And while he was waiting he looked at the counsellors who stood behind the chief, and he saw too that they were frowning and perplexed, and that for this matter there was no counsel that they could give at all. For the counsellors of a broken tribe have counsel for many things, but none for the matter of a broken tribe.

The chief rose wearily to his feet, and he offered his hand to the priest. I shall go to see the magistrate, he said. Go well, umfundisi.

Stay well, inkosi.

k.u.malo walked down the hill, and did not stop till he reached the church. There he prayed for the chief, and for the restoration of Ndotsheni. The wood-and-iron building was like an oven, and his spirit was depressed, his hope flagging in the lifeless heat. So he prayed briefly, Into Thy hands, oh G.o.d, I commend Ndotsheni. Then he went out again into the heat to seek the headmaster of the school.

Yet there he was not more successful. The headmaster was polite and obliging behind the great spectacles, and showed him things that he called schemes of work, and drawings of flowers and seeds, and different kinds of soil in tubes. The headmaster explained that the school was trying to relate the life of the child to the life of the community, and showed him circulars from the Department in Pietermaritzburg, all about these matters. He took k.u.malo out into the blazing sun, and showed him the school gardens, but this was an academic lecture, for there was no water, and everything was dead. Yet perhaps not so academic, for everything in the valley was dead too; even children were dying.

k.u.malo asked the headmaster how some of these children could be kept in Ndotsheni. And the headmaster shook his head, and talked about economic causes, and said that the school was a place of little power. So k.u.malo walked back again to his church, and sat there dispirited and depressed. Where was the great vision that he had seen at Ezenzeleni, the vision born of such great suffering? Of how a priest could make of his parish a real place of life for his people, and preparation for his children? Was he old then and finished? Or was his vision a delusion, and these things beyond all helping? No power but the power of G.o.d could bring about such a miracle, and he prayed again briefly, Into Thy hands, oh G.o.d, I commend Ndotsheni.

He went into the house, and there in the great heat he struggled with the church accounts, until he heard the sounds of a horse, and he heard it stop outside the church. He rose from his chair, and went out to see who might be riding in this merciless sun. And for a moment he caught his breath in astonishment, for it was a small white boy on a red horse, a small white boy as like to another who had ridden here as any could be.

The small boy smiled at k.u.malo and raised his cap and said, Good morning. And k.u.malo felt a strange pride that it should be so, and a strange humility that it should be so, and an astonishment that the small boy should not know the custom.

Good morning, inkosana, he said. It is a hot day for riding.

I don't find it hot. Is this your church?

Yes, this is my church.

I go to a church school, St. Mark's. It's the best school in Johannesburg. We've a chapel there.

St. Mark's, said k.u.malo excited. This church is St. Mark's. But your chapel - it is no doubt better than this?

Well - yes - itis better, said the small boy smiling. But it's in the town, you know. Is that your house?

Yes, this is my house.

Could I see inside it? I've never been inside a parson's house, I mean a native parson's house.

You are welcome to see inside it, inkosana.

The small boy slipped off his horse and made it fast to the poles, that were there for the horses of those that came to the church. He dusted his feet on the frayed mat outside k.u.malo's door, and taking off his cap, entered the house.

This is a nice house, he said. I didn't expect it would be so nice.

Not all our houses are such, said k.u.malo gently. But a priest must keep his house nice. You have seen some of our other houses, perhaps?

Oh yes, I have. On my grandfather's farm. They're not so nice as this. Is that your work there?

Yes, inkosana.

It looks like Arithmetic.

Itis Arithmetic. They are the accounts of the Church.

I didn't know that churches had accounts. I thought only shops had those.

And k.u.malo laughed at him. And having laughed once, he laughed again, so that the small boy said to him, Why are you laughing? But the small boy was laughing also, he took no offence.

I am just laughing, inkosana.

Inkosana? That's little inkosi, isn't it?

It is little inkosi. Little master, it means.

Yes, I know. And what are you called? What do I call you?

Umfundisi.

I see. Imfundisi.

No. Umfundisi.

Umfundisi. What does it mean?

It means parson.

May I sit down, umfundisi? the small boy p.r.o.nounced the word slowly. Is that right? he said.

k.u.malo swallowed the laughter. That is right, he said. Would you like a drink of water? You are hot.

I would like a drink of milk, said the boy. Ice-cold, from the fridge, he said.

Inkosana, there is no fridge in Ndotsheni.

Just ordinary milk then, umfundisi.

Inkosana, there is no milk in Ndotsheni.

The small boy flushed. I would like water, umfundisi, he said.

k.u.malo brought him the water, and while he was drinking, asked him, How long are you staying here, inkosana?

Not very long now, umfundisi.

He went on drinking his water, then he said, These are not our real holidays now. We are here for special reasons.

And k.u.malo stood watching him, and said in his heart, O child bereaved, I know your reasons.

Water is amanzi, umfundisi.

And because k.u.malo did not answer him, he said, umfundisi.

And again, umfundisi.

My child.

Water is amanzi, umfundisi.

k.u.malo shook himself out of his reverie. He smiled at the small eager face, and he said, That is right, inkosana.

And horse is ihas.h.i.+.

That is right also.

And house is ikaya.

Right also.

And money is imali.

Right also.

And boy is umfana.

Right also.

And cow is inkomo.

k.u.malo laughed outright. Wait, wait, he said, I am out of breath. And he pretended to puff and gasp, and sat down on the chair, and wiped his brow.

You will soon talk Zulu, he said.

Zulu is easy. What's the time, umfundisi?