I'm sure we could find something useful for you to do - ha, ha! David
could assure them quietly.
No, thank you. You won't have to worry about me, Cecil, old boy. You
take over from Uncle Paul with my blessing Good Lord, I didn't mean
that, Cecil was shocked, but Mitzi was less devious.
He really will be very good, warrior, and you never were interested,
were you.
After that evening they did not see the couple again, and Paul Morgan
was in Europe, so David fulfilled his family obligations without much
pain or suffering and he could concentrate on the preparations for the
move to Jabulani.
Barney Venter spent a week with them in choosing a suitable aircraft to
handle the bush airstrip and yet give David the type of performance he
enjoyed. At last they decided on a twin-engined Piper Navajo, a
six-seater with two big 3oo-hid. p. Lycoming engines and a tricycle
undercart, and Barney walked around it with his hands on his hips.
Well, she's no Mirage. He kicked the landing-wheel and then checked
himself and glanced quickly at David's face.
I've had enough of Mirages, David told him. They bite!
On the last day David drove out with Debra to a farm near Paarl. The
owner's wife was a dog breeder and when they went down to the kennels
one of her labrador pups walked directly to Debra and placed a cold nose
on her leg as he inhaled her scent. Debra squatted and groped for his
head and after fondling for a few moments she in her turn leaned forward
and sniffed the pup's fur.
He smells like old leather, she said. What colour is he? Black, said
David. Black as a Zulu. That's what we'll call him, said Debra. Zulu.
You want to choose this one? David asked.
No, 'Debra laughed. He chose us. When they flew northwards the next
morning the pup was indignant at being placed in the back seat and with
a flying scrambling leap he came over Debra's shoulder and took up
position in her lap, which seemed to suit them both very well.
It looks like I have competition, David muttered ruefully.
From the brown plateau of the high veld, the land dropped away steeply
down the escarpment to the bush veld of southern Africa.
David picked up his landmark on the little village of Bush Buck Ridge
and the long slim snake of the Sabi River as it twisted through the open
forests of the plain.
He altered course slightly northwards and within ten minutes he saw the
low line of blue hills which rose abruptly out of the flat land.
There it is, ahead of us, David told Debra and his tone was infectious.
She hugged the dog closer to her and leaned towards David.
"What does it look like?
The hills were forested with big timber, and turreted with grey rock. At
their base the bush was thick and dark. The pools glinted softly
through the dark foliage.
He described them to her.
My father named them "The String of Pearls", and that's what they look
like. They rise out of the run-off of rain water from the sloping
ground beyond the hills.
They disappear just as suddenly again into the sandy earth of the plain,
David explained as he circled the hills, slowly losing height. They are
what give Jabulani its special character, for they provide water for all
the wild life of the plain. Birds and animals are drawn from hundreds
of miles to the Pearls. He levelled out and throttled back, letting the
aircraft sink lower. There is the homestead, white walls and thatch to
keep it cool in the hot weather, deep shaded verandas and high rooms you
will love it.
The airstrip seemed clear and safe, although the wind sock hung in dirty
tatters from its pole, David circled it carefully before lining up for
the landing, and they taxied towards the small brick hangar set amongst
the trees.
David kicked on the wheel brakes and cut the engines. This is it, he
said.
Jabulani was one of a block of estates that bounded the Kruger National
Park, the most spectacular nature reserve on earth. These estates were
not productive, in that they were unsuitable for the growth of crops and
few of them were used for grazing of domestic animals; their immense
value lay in the unspoiled bush veld and the wild life, in the peace and
space upon which wealthy men placed such a premium that they would pay
large fortunes for a piece of this Lebensraum.
When David's grandfather had purchased Jabulani he had paid a few
shillings an acre, for in those days the wilderness was still intact.
it had been used as a family hunting estate down the years, and as Paul
Morgan had never shown interest in the veld, it had passed to David's
father and so to David.
Now the eighteen thousand acres of African bush and plain, held as
freehold land, was a possession beyond price.
Yet the Morgan family had made little use of it these last fifteen
years. David's father had been an enthusiastic huntsman, and with him
most of David's school holidays had been spent here. However, after his
father's death, the visits to Jabulani had become shorter and further
apart.
It was seven years since the last visit, when he had brought up a party
of brother officers from Cobra Squadron.
Then it had been immaculately run by Sam, the black overseer, butler and
game ranger.
Under Sam's management there had always been fresh crisp linen on the
beds, highly polished floors, the exterior walls of the buildings had
been snowly white and the thatch neat and well-tended. The deep-freeze
had been well stocked with steak and the liquor cupboard filled, with
every bottle accounted for.
Sam ran a tight camp, with half a dozen willing and cheerful helpers.
Where is Sam? was the first question David asked of the two servants
who hurried down from the homestead to meet the aircraft.
Sam gone. Where to? And the answer was the eloquent shrug of Africa.
Their uniforms were dirty and needed mending, and their manners
disinterested. Where is the Land-Rover? 'She is dead. 7hey walked up
to the homestead and there David had another series of unpleasant
surprises.
The buildings were dilapidated, looking forlorn and neglected under
their rotting black thatch. The walls were dingy, grey-brown with the
plaster falling away in patches.
The interiors were filthy with dust, and sprinkled with the droppings of
the birds and reptiles that had made their homes in the thatch.
The mosquito gauze, that was intended to keep the wide verandas
insect-free, was rusted through and breaking away in tatters.
The vegetable gardens were overgrown, the fences about them falling to
pieces. The grounds of the home stead itself were thick with rank weed,
and not only the Land-Rover had died. No single piece of machinery on
the estate, water pump, toilet cistern, electricity generator, motor
vehicle, was in working order.
It's a mess, a frightful mess, David told Debra as they sat on the front
step and drank mugs of sweet tea. Fortunately David had thought to
bring emergency supplies with them.
, oh, Davey. I am so sorry, because I like it here. It's peaceful, so
quiet. I can just feel my nerves untying themselves. Don't be sorry.
I'm not. These old huts were built by Gramps back in the twenties, and
they weren't very well built even then. David's voice was full of a new
purpose, a determination that she had not heard for so long. It's a