Max Steinmetz stood in the doorway of the little iron shanty at Namies,
which was built near the foot of a kopje about three hundred yards from
the Hattingh camp. Above his head was a signboard bearing the legend:
"Nathan Steinmetz, Allegemene Handelaar." [General dealer.] He looked
out over the wide, wide Desert and watched the smoke-like courses of the
violent gusts against which a thunderstorm was labouring from the
north-east. The unsavoury odour of half-dried hides assailed his
nostrils; the ramshackle iron roof rattled to the blasts over his head.
The season was February, and the tortured plains glowed with absorbed
heat like Milton's burning marl.
Over the intermittent moaning and howling of the wind could be heard, at
intervals, the mutterings of thunder. The Desert now became a roaring
blast-furnace, fanned by the sand-laden gusts which raged fiercer and
ever fiercer. Max closed the door and barred it from the inside. A few
gouts of rain began to thud on the roof. Then a jagged shaft of
lightning shot from the zenith, shattered itself into coruscating
splinters against some tempest-packed sheaf of air, and seemed to fill
the universe with a blinding blaze. At the same instant the winds were
stunned by a crash so awful that the solid earth reeled from the shock.
Then came the rain in dense, white, lashing waves, and in a few moments
the wide plain became a hissing sea.
The storm-cloud rolled away as quickly as it had come, leaving only a
few torn wisps of fleecy cloud to mark its wake. Through these the
purified sky seemed to open in vaults of azure that pierced the
infinite. For a short time the sun flooded the plain with gold and
rubies; then it sank, and the cool, quickening evening died in peaceful
splendour in the transfigured west.
The storm over, Max opened the door and stepped outside. His first
glance was towards the Hattingh camp. Then he brought a chair and a
book out of the shop and sat down where, pretending to read, he could
look over the top of the page in the same direction. Soon afterwards
Susannah came out of the mat-house and superintended the lighting of a
fire by the Hottentot maid in the kitchen-scherm, the bushes of which,
scattered by the storm, had been rearranged. She had discarded her
cappie, and her luxuriant black hair was blown about by the moist
breeze. She gave one hurried glance towards the shop and then stood
with her back towards it. Max saw this and, in his inexperience, felt
saddened.
Max had a face which, had Raphael seen it through the bars of the Ghetto
gate at Rome, would have made him take pains to secure the young Jew as
a model. It was one of those faces which one only--and that but very
rarely--sees in the youth of Israel. Its shape was a pure oval. The
skin was a clear olive, and the eyes were large, dark, and melting. His
jet-black hair clustered over a broad, low forehead, and his full, red
lips were arched like the bow of the Sun-God. As yet the stress of
trade had not awakened the ancestral greed which would one day dominate
his blood and modify his physiognomy. Small in stature and of perfect
symmetry, he did not give one the idea of possessing either strength or
activity; in feet he looked like a languorous human exotic who had
strayed from the canvas of some "Old Master" whose brush was dedicated
to physical beauty. His age was twenty-one, but he looked several years
younger.
Max was a clerk at a very small salary in the employ of his brother
Nathan. The business was a paying one, but the carrying of it on
involved extremely hard work. Nathan spent most of his time in moving
about from camp to camp among the Trek-Boers and the half-breeds who
dwelt among the saltpans in the central and southern portions of the
Desert. He travelled with a small, strong cart, which was drawn by six
hardy but debilitated-looking donkeys. His practice was to leave Namies
with a load of hucksters' merchandise and to return, generally about two
months afterwards, with a quantity of ostrich feathers. The Desert
abounded in wild ostriches which, although protected by law, were
ruthlessly hunted down for the sake of their feathers. There was, of
course, a certain risk of discovery involved, and this would have been
followed by heavy penalties, but Nathan was prepared to take this risk
for the sake of the large profits which he made. The feathers of the
wild ostrich fetch a much higher price than those of the domesticated
bird. In many of the waste places of South Africa the protecting law is
often but a name. Nathan knew that the risk of his being convicted was
very small. Just now he was absent upon a trip, but his return was
daily expected. In the meantime Max had charge of the store.
Nathan and Max were orphans, and had been brought up by an uncle--a
pawnbroker of the East End of London. Their parents were German Jews
who had settled in England. They had no brothers or sisters. Eight
years previously the uncle had given Nathan a hundred pounds and sent
him to the Cape to seek his fortune. Four years afterwards Max
followed. In the meantime Nathan had made a little money as a "smouse,"
or hawker. With Max's assistance he was able to extend his operations
considerably. For the first two years the younger brother had worked
without any salary; then, at the instance of the uncle, who made
particular inquiries upon the point, Max was given a small stipend.