Max had no taste for slaughter. The hunter's instinct, which makes so
many otherwise humane men cruel, was not in him. He therefore felt it
no privation that he was unable to leave the shop and join the hunters
as he had done in previous years when the trek had taken place. On the
other hand he felt with satisfaction that he could now see more of
Susannah, her uncle being out of the way, and he made the most of his
opportunities in this respect.
Max was rapidly developing from a boy into a man, and many of the little
traits specially characteristic of modern Israel began to show
themselves in him. Of Old Schalk he stood in awe; the brutal directness
of the way in which the old Boer uttered all his thoughts frightened
him. Mrs Hattingh, however, had ceased to impress him since the day
she had obtained the dresses for her granddaughters fraudulently and on
the strength of his attachment to Susannah. Max felt that he held her
at a moral disadvantage, and she tacitly acquiesced in this.
Max spent every evening while Old Schalk was away at his sweetheart's
side. He told her of his legacy, and around this nucleus they began to
weave plans for the future. Max had saved a little money out of the
small salary which his brother allowed him. He thought seriously of
leaving Nathan's service as soon as the latter returned, and setting up
on his own account as a hawker.
His first notion was to buy some stock and set up as a Trek-Boer, but
Susannah put a decided veto upon this proposal. The prospect of being
married to a man who spent most of his life in wandering about with a
cart and four donkeys was almost equally unattractive. The latter
alternative might, however, lead to something better eventually.
Susannah was in no hurry; she told her lover plainly that although she
was prepared to wait indefinitely for him she would not marry until he
could give her a proper home.
Late one night, after Max had returned home to the shop, he heard a
knock at the door. He found Gert Gemsbok standing before the threshold.
The old Hottentot stepped in, and, as usual, sat down on the floor.
"Baas Max, I want to tell you a secret."
"Yes; what is it?"
"Baas Max, when I was living down on the bank of the river I one day
picked something up."
"Yes; what was it?"
"You have been kind to me and I can trust you. Here is what I picked
up."
Gemsbok handed over to Max the smallest of the six diamonds. He had,
after careful consideration, determined to trust his master so far, with
the view of realising part at least of his valuables.
Max took the stone and looked carefully at it. He knew well enough that
it was a rough diamond; as a child in Cape Town he had often seen
illicitly obtained stones of this kind handed round among the Jews who
frequented the lodging-house where he stayed for a short time upon his
arrival in the colony. The gem weighed about eight carats; it was of
good water and perfect shape.
"I found it," continued Gemsbok, "hidden in a boot which came down in
the flood, just above the Augrabies Falls. I know, for I have worked at
the diamond fields, that I should be sent back to the tronk if that
stone were found on me, so I thought you might sell it and give me half
the money. If you will do this it will satisfy me."
Max considered for a while, and then decided that this was a matter for
his brother to deal with. He knew well enough that the possession of
diamonds which could not be satisfactorily accounted for was a criminal
offence severely punishable. The law was to Max a thing very dreadful.
He had never seen its manifestations, but he had heard of Willem Bester
and others who had broken the law and suffered grievously in
consequence. Nathan, however, as was proved in his ostrich-feather
dealings, held the law in sovereign contempt. Nathan was the man to
deal with a matter such as this; Max would have none of it. In the
meantime, however, he agreed to keep the stone in the small iron safe
and to advance Gemsbok some coffee, sugar, and tobacco, for the
delectation of himself and his "Old Woman," as the latter always called
her, upon its security.
But the "Old Woman" had no long enjoyment of the luxuries, for two days
later, when Gemsbok came in from the veld with his flock, he found that
she was dead. She had passed away in her sleep. Gemsbok expressed
himself to Max as being glad that the poor old creature had breathed her
last. She had, he said, suffered so much of late, and now she would
never feel pain or privation any more. He dug a hole in a sandy gully
behind one of the smaller kopjes and there the poor, unlovely corpse was
laid. In spite of her physical sufferings the quaint old creature had
spent a very happy time at Namies. She had enjoyed a sufficiency of
fairly wholesome food, besides the occasional trifles in the way of
coffee, sugar, and tobacco which Max's bounty supplied her with. These
had afforded her the keenest and, perhaps, the only enjoyment she was
capable of feeling.
Gemsbok, in spite of his repeated declarations that he was glad the "Old
Woman" was gone, did not appear to be happy. No matter how bright the
fire of candle-bushes, the scherm was lonely at night--even an old woman
so broken down by rheumatism and poverty of blood that she could not use
her limbs and was hardly capable of carrying her food to her mouth, was
better than no human companion at all.
Gemsbok had now no companion but his dog, which was an animal as
friendless as its master. All day long alone in the veld, under the
changeless Desert sky; all night long alone in the scherm, under the
unregarding stars. Man is a gregarious animal, and the burthen of one's
own presence galls as only those burthens do which carry as dead weight
the broken shackles of one of Nature's disregarded laws.
Sleep was difficult to get. It had been usual for the old couple to
remain awake talking half the night through. Lying awake alone proved
to be a very different thing. He moved his scherm to another spot; that
did not improve matters, so he moved it back again. He no longer
enjoyed his coffee or tobacco. The average man almost invariably gets
to love anything totally dependent on him--no matter how unlovely it may
be. Some loves are not recognised in anything like their fulness until
the removal of the thing loved leaves a void which can never be filled.
A Hottentot is naturally among the most sociable of beings; Gert Gemsbok
was no exception to the rule of his race in this respect. He had,
however, made no friends among his own race at Namies. He could not
visit the scherms of the other Hottentots; all were in the service of
Trek-Boers, and the boycott against him was strict. As a protest
against Max's unheard-of conduct in keeping such a man in his service,
all the Boers had given strict injunctions to their servants to have
nothing to do with the informer against Willem Bester. Besides, Gemsbok
was; morally and intellectually, far in advance of all with whom he
might, under other circumstances, have associated. Aristotle's aphorism
as to the effect of solitude upon man is very true, and Gert Gemsbok had
not become a beast in his exile.
Max noticed that now the old man never lost an opportunity of being near
him. In the evenings, whenever Max happened to be in the shop, Gemsbok
would come in, sit on the floor, and tell of his experiences. He thus
told the true story of his life in detached fragments. And what a tale
it was! what a lurid record of long-drawn, strenuous suffering made
bearable, at first by the memory and afterwards by the companionship of
a kindred mate! One night the old man told Max that he did not expect
to live long; he felt his time had nearly come and he had no wish to
prolong an existence which was now more than ever a weariness.
He did not, he said, care much whether he obtained any of the proceeds
of the sale of the diamond or not; he had no desire now except to get
enough food for himself and an occasional bite for his dog. The "Old
Woman" was gone, and the sooner he too went the better.
His music now was all in a minor key; no more reels and jigs that made
one long to caper. The old, stock melody ran through all he played,
making it like an endless, barbaric fugue--weird and melancholy. His
nocturnal performances sometimes made the dog leap out of the scherm and
howl despairingly at the stars. In accompanying Oom Schulpad his hand
seemed to have lost his cunning. The old fiddler would, however, sit
for long periods, astonished and uncannily fascinated by the eerie tones
scattered by the saddened strings of the ramkee.