Two Moons by J. Raymond Ractliffe - Part Two- Chapter 5

Two Moons is a new novel by J. Raymond Ractliffe that explores the inner spirit life of Africa, her people and their powerful faith in the world of the Unseen.

The Rising of the Moons
Chapter 5

       Claire settled the tea tray carefully on the wicker table, her blond and grey streaked hair falling forward as she reached over to hand the boys their cups of sweetened tea, her blue shawl slipping gently off her shoulders. The long shadows cast by the swaying blue gums had cooled the afternoon sun as new voices filled the outer courtyard and long wooden corridors with young laughter and bravado. Each story trying to out do the other as young banter challenged to impress her out on the veranda.

Their antics at trying to impress her, left Claire with a knowing smile. She listened to their tales of true and imagined conquests, a raised eyebrow indicating when the line had been crossed, the rest of their likewise stories to be held in reserve for themselves. Like young cheetah males, they seemed to bound from whicker chair to the outer wall of the veranda as stories and laughter wound them up making sitting virtually impossible.

It was wonderful to hear laughter rolling down the corridor, until the stern clash of pots from the rear told them all that Mavis had had enough and that her charge needed further quiet while he worked.

Jeremy did not come out to join them.

He preferred to remain in his quiet study when the young men had come and poured out of the Land Rover when it stopped in a new hail of dust. Wide smiles and bear hugs had Claire's white hat falling to the ground, her own laughter mingling with theirs as faces peered at each other remembering the small differences between their visits. Christopher eagerly shaking hands as introductions were made amid quick stories of their long friendship.

Claire excused away Jeremy's reluctance to greet them.

Overdue farm paperwork had him unfortunately cloistered for the rest of the afternoon. He would be joining them for evening dinner when he had completed the unavoidable tasks that required his attention. A lifetime growing up in their respective families made Claire's slightly embarrassed excuse more familiar than she would have realized.

Jeremy seldom greeted any who came to visit. The daylight not able to hide the twitching hand that could not sit idle on his lap. His hand held beneath a folded newspaper fared no better. It waved to all as he sat miserably in the middle of their quick stares.

Close friends who dinned with them at night enjoyed a rare smile as wine and food helped forget the teeth that tore into him repeatedly since he had come home.

Jeremy seldom spoke, and when he did his voice carried the weight of his nightmares. The small circles under Claire's eyes an indication the long silences had begun to drain her life. She found the idle chatter in the kitchen did little to fill the long stillness out here in the vast open plains and hills of Africa.

Claire turned to the books that lined their small library. In them, the everyday voices of its characters spoke of their dreams and desires, allowing her own smiles to join theirs as they walked through the simple dramas that shaped their everyday lives.

Her days were filled tending to the farm and the million details that were the necessity of managing a farm. Jeremy had long given up any interest in it. He would walk out with his cane, limping slowly out past the tall trees towards the Kikuyu compound at the end of the driveway. He would sit and watch the children play as they rolled wire wheels around in the dirt, the older children out tending to their small herds that provided their families' own means of barter and trade.

Jeremy would return at the end of day and silently return to his darkening study. A tray of food delivered to him at his desk while the night sky came to hide another tear as Claire stared out over the bush that had stolen her husband.

He had left one day to teach a young man to hunt and returned bloodied and silent, in a far place she could never reach.

Sometimes his warm hand holding hers while they are enjoying a "day's ender" on the cooling veranda brought the colour and smile back to her face. His troubled eyes searching for hers as he squeezed his silent love into her palms which gave her the strength to carry on an extra day.

Most of the old farm hands had left.

Mavis and Joshua all that was left of their original farm family.

Her eyes dimmed as she remembered losing Kashezwe and Thomas. A few months after Jeremy had returned wounded, they had both been killed poaching or so the authorities said. They had tracked them tracked them after the carcasses of two male elephants had been found minus their great tusks. Expert trackers had picked up their spoor. The weight of the tusks unable to be hidden, their sandals dug deep into the earth as they sped towards the markets where each long ivory would have been carefully weighed and shipped to the east where the great masters carved the ivory into priceless works of art.

It had taken a team of trackers three days to find them. Cornered, they had tried to fight their way out. After a handful of returned shots finally petered out, they were rushed and in the ensuing tussle, they had both been shot.

No weapons where found at the scene, or ivory for that matter. However, this discrepancy in the official logbook was never explained. This was Africa and she had her own rule sof play.

The bodies had been left, too far to retrieve for their families. Their white bones scattered as the hungry lived off their defeat.

After Claire's teas and biscuits had disappeared, Matthew and Christopher were given leave to unpack their things and finally rest from their long trip. Dinner would be served in two hours as the setting sun brought the day to a close.

Happy smiles and eager farewell kisses left her to walk down the corridor alone, Claire turned and walked back to Jeremy's study door. A gentle knock, she waited for his reply that never came.

She walked back to her room where she quietly undressed, her bright dress folded over her night chair as she searched for the soft pillow to hide her loneliness.

It was going to be wonderful having the young men here with their endless energy and the clumsy male ability to fall over themselves as they fought to outmatch the others' determination for attention. Their coming and going here would bring much-needed relief no matter how tiresome it may become.

While she drifted off to a short sleep before dinner, Jeremy sat in his office holding a revolver in his hand, pointed at his chest.

The portrait of his father glared at him from across the room. The gun rack's doors ajar, a small box stood open while polished shells lay strewn across the unopened letters and scribbled notes.

He had lost count at the number of times he had come to this moment before the coming darkness of the night, the revolver bruising his chest as it pressed against him. His finger curled around the trigger that would end the nightmares that held the screams and blood.

Claire's soft eyes held his own in his mind, not allowing him to let go and fall into the darkness. Since returning home from that fateful day, her spirit was more tightly bound to his than ever, the power of her love unable to set him free.

A single tear rose and fell down his worn cheek, his hand trembling with the hidden desire that had escaped them all.

Jeremy's face fell to his chest as the last rays of daylight vanished from his walls, the windows inviting the evening's darkness to enter once again.

It was the time of hell, and he was still trapped here to remember it all.

Tears fell without counting as he fought to find the pathway to the release that never came. The beautiful eyes that held his refused to concede, the laughter that he remembered in them the last link to a time of blue skies and young dreams, of running in wide open golden fields that never seemed to end.

Somewhere in his mind he heard the laughter as playtime filled the coming night. The pain subsided for a moment as he became distracted by the sound of roughhouse playing by the young cheetahs in Grant's room. Matthew and Christopher had continued their competitive play instead of rest as had been invited. Their unpacked gear lay strewn across their room, missiles launched as they jumped from bed to bed.

A final wrestling match called to a draw as winded bodies heaved with satisfaction, the long voyage finally catching up to them.

In the dark study across the wooden corridor, a gently wavering pistol was finally laid down on the hard dark wood. A handkerchief found, then raised to wipe away the tears of bitter embarrassment at his own weakness and failure.

The failure to have died then.

The failure to have died now.