She shook her head.
“Like this,” Barney said confidently, and came to his feet. He laid his hat to one side not to step upon it, flexed his knees, and did a back flip in place without touching his hands to the ground. Then, taking a forward step or two, he did a front flip, landing gracefully at Fay’s feet. She was looking at him with admiration; he felt his face getting red. The two men had also stopped their conversation and had been watching. “That’s what a acrobat does,” Barney said brusquely. “Things like this, too.” He made a comic face and went into a bit of his clown routine, staggering about as if he were drunk, dropping into a split and then sliding his feet together to come erect once again. Fay clapped her hands in appreciation. “Stuff like that, too,” Barney said in a tone that deprecated his performance. “Stuff to make people laugh.” He was about to sit down next to Fay when a thought came. It was a golden opportunity to impress the girl, one far too good to pass up. He not only had an audience, but one that was obviously an admiring one. “I also do recitations.”
“Recitations?”
“Yeah. From plays, y’know.” He looked at her, frowning, remembering Andries’ confession of never having seen a play. “You know what plays are? You ever seen one?”
“Oh, yes, of course. We aren’t strict like that. There was an amateur group in Simonstown. My mother belonged.”
“Good. Listen.” He began to strike a pose and then paused. “This is Mathias, in The Bells. You ever seen it?”
Fay shook her head. The men were still watching, but Barney only had eyes for the girl.
“This Mathias, he’s killed a bloke, see, a long time ago. Now he’s the mayor of the town and important, y’know? One day he goes to the theater and sees a mesmerist — he’s a bloke what puts people to sleep, only they’re really not asleep, see, like folks that walk in their sleep. Only they got to tell the truth when they’re like that, see? So this Mathias he goes home and he has this bad dream, see, where he dreams he’s in court for the killin’ and this mesmerist has put him to sleep and makin’ him tell the truth, and he’s tellin’ everybody about killin’ this bloke for his money, and everybody’s listenin’. Got that?”
Fay nodded her understanding. Barney struck his pose again, bent over like an old man.
“ ‘Yers, yers, I ’ave crossed th’ fields!’ ” Barney pointed off dramatically into the distance. “ ‘ ’Ere is th’ ol’ bridge an’ there below th’ frozen rivulet! ’Ow th’ dogs ’owl at Daniel’s Farm — ’ow they ’owl! An’ ol’ Finck’s Forge — ’ow brightly it glows upon th’ ’illock!’ ” He dropped his voice in preparation for the part where he actually does the killing, and then became aware that at least a portion of his audience was somewhat less than appreciative. Fay was laughing uncontrollably, tears rolling down her cheeks. Barney frowned. “What’s the matter?”
“That’s the funniest thing I ever heard in my life! I’m sure you and your brother must have been most successful in making people laugh! Is he as funny as you are? But — please go on.”
Barney clenched his jaw. “That wasn’t supposed to be funny!”
Fay’s laughter stopped abruptly. “Oh, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to hurt your feelings.” She was an honest girl and didn’t believe in lying needlessly. “But... well, it really was funny.”
“What was so funny about it?” Barney glowered. “I seen Sir Henry Irving do it a dozen times and nobody laughed or even felt like laughin’! And I was doin’ it just the same as him!”
Fay looked at him coolly. “Did this Sir Henry Whoever say, ‘Yers, yers, I ’ave crossed th’ fields’? Did he say, ‘’Ow the dogs ’owl’? Or did he say, ‘Yes, yes, I have crossed the fields.’ And did he say, ‘How the dogs howl’?”
“What’s the bloo— What’s the difference?”
“Apparently none to you, but a great deal to me. You make mistakes when you speak but nothing like when you’re doing your — well, your recitations.” She suddenly took pity on the boy standing so angrily before her. After all, he had been nice in trying to take her mind from her mother’s illness, and had even succeeded. She had never thought she would have been laughing that evening. “Why don’t you try saying, ‘How the dogs howl’?”
“Forget it,” Barney said abruptly, and turned away, looking over at the two men who had been silently watching the scene. Gustave Bees came to his feet, knocking out his pipe.
“Fay, bedtime. And look in on your ma.”
“Yes, Pa.” The girl came to her feet gracefully, brushing off her skirt. She looked toward Andries. “Good night, Mr. Pirow.”
“Good night, girl.”
She turned. “Good night, Barney.” She hesitated a moment as if to say something further, and then turned toward their wagon.
“Good night,” Barney said expressionlessly, and watched her go to the rear of the wagon and climb in. The tail flaps were loosened and swung shut, blocking his view of her.
Ah, well, Barney thought as he lay down near the fire and prepared to go to sleep; the poor girl is simply ignorant as to what constitutes good acting. It hasn’t anything to do with accents; even the words aren’t as important as how you say them. And the gestures, and the tone of voice. What could she possibly have learned in some small town called Simonstown in comparison with a great metropolis like London? Or from stumbling amateurs as compared with great men such as Sir Henry Irving? Anyway, how could she possibly have thought he was trying to be funny? Still, he thought as he drew his hat over his face to keep out the disturbing flicker of the campfire, she is really so lovely…! And we’ll be together at least until we get to the river, and hopefully beyond that all the way to Kimberley, or Bultfontein, or whatever. He cradled his head on his arms.
Yes, yes, I have crossed the fields. Here is the bloody old bridge and there below the bloody frozen rivulet. How the bloody dogs howl at Daniel’s Farm — how they bloody howl! And bloody old Finck’s Forge — how brightly it glows upon the bloody hillock!”
Bloody ridiculous, he thought, and found himself drifting off, a bit resentful but not knowing exactly why, with Fay’s unearthly beauty the final thought that came before he was asleep.
The oxen picked up their speed without being induced to by the crack of the sjambok; they were approaching the river although it was still beyond sight. Fay had spent the day inside the Beeses’ wagon, placing damp rags on her mother’s burning forehead, cleaning up the unsightly sputum, trying to get her mother to eat. Barney kept his eyes on the tail flaps of the wagon ahead, occasionally getting a glimpse of Fay, his mind confused. Girls, as such, had never meant very much to him. Oh, there had been the usual fumbling with the barmaids at the King of Prussia; there were the girls that did and the ones that didn’t — and the ones that didn’t were usually ones one didn’t want to do it with, anyway — friends of the family, the ones wanting to get married and raise a bunch of kids right away. Look at his two sisters, both married, both with kids in their early teens, running loose in the East End, probably aiming for trouble if someone didn’t take a hand to them. That’s what marriage meant — kids and responsibilities and trouble.