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.
Chapter 38
They had come through the night after the Great Chief had died and his second wife had burned in a fire joining him with honour in his death. They had returned to the compound of the Milk Eyed Woman who was healing the son of their chief when they had found another hut torched and burned to the ground, their own laiboni laying dead in the dust. The young chief was safe, moved in the night by the Old Woman to the side of the quiet river. There they had lain waiting for the new sun to rise.
A young white warrior with golden hair, healing from a wound had joined their own young chief in his healing. He was safe, his body mending with the Old Woman, waiting to return to his people and family.
Claire stood on the shadowed veranda, tearing herself momentarily away from the side of Jeremy's bed as Thomas translated their story. The other warriors stood patiently behind their leader as their story was told word for word as from the very lips of Whahnu the Elder.
The sun would come a few days and their young man would be returned to the village of his people by these same warriors.
As they came to the end of their story, they turned to leave with open palms raised in their farewell.
Claire's mind returned to the wrapped silent form of Konjaru, lying in their cold shed. There had been no time to return him to his wives and join them in their mourning. Jeremy had been unloaded and rushed to the ministrations of Doctor Lombardi who had arrived earlier in the morning.
Thomas translated back to the Warriors, the death they had found under the tree that had hidden Jeremy from the night. Somehow he had been wounded and crawled up the tree for protection, where a hyena and a lion had lain waiting for him. The lion had been killed with the long blade of Konjaru who had found them all, but in killing him, the lion had slashed at him, tearing away his voice and silencing him forever.
The Masai Warriors stood silently as they listened to the great battle that had taken away the father of their young chief. Konjaru's name lived in the hearts of the Chosen People since he had walked with them as a child. Now his light shone beside his father in the night sky, watching over his people with Ngai.
The young warriors turned from the open veranda, their heart's sorrow etched in the downcast eyes searching the horizon for their return. Two great souls of the People had been lost in one night. It was a loss too great to bear.
The blue gum trees waved their farewell, joining them in their sorrow. Their pounding sandaled feat driving hard into the dust as they sped past the white washed walls of the farm entrance, masking the pain that was growing in their spirits.
Claire turned, a new tear falling from her cheek. All around, it seemed death was stalking the living from every quarter. Lives connected not by the dance of the living, but in the mourning songs for the dead.
Man and beast lay torn and bloodied,
Thomas stood alone, watching the proud plumes fading in the simmering heat of the day. He shook his head wearily, this day had broken the hearts of many and for some, the grieving had not yet begun.
He turned finally and walked back out to the Land Rover. The rifle and medicine kit still had to be unpacked, the jerry cans returned to the garage and all the other gear they had taken with them, returned to their places.
The back floor would have to be washed. Blood had seeped from the wounds of Konjaru and had dripped on the floor as they had carefully made their way back to the farm. There had been no need for the winding trail that had led them to that place. Returning, they had searched for the smooth pathways to wind their way home, careful not to jar the injured, or mock the dead as they rolled side to side on their final journey home.
Now the sun was setting, bringing the first coolness of the evening. Wounds had been stitched and bound with fresh gauze. Glass bottles with their feeding tubes hanging above Jeremy's bed cast small rainbows on the walls behind him, bringing merriment that seemed out of place with the stillness of the room.
The rear kitchen had remained quiet for the day, hands working silently as they prepared the needs of the day and the coming evening. Eyes searched each other for solace and words that would not come. Tongues had clicked in wonder as the morning battles had begun to be told and retold.
Simon had returned to the shed and wood pile. His heart heavy with the memory of the fallen under the lone tree. A true hunter feels the death of both man and beast, looking for the greatness in each death that tells the reason of their passing.
Try as he could, he could find none. Only the emptiness touched his heart. His fire, already burning before the coming night sky, could not warm his breast. His eyes searched the flames for the wisdom that lived in the circle of stones but they remained blind to what could not be seen.
Claire walked out of the room behind Doc Lombardi, down the wooden hallway until the coming night air greeted them out on the veranda. A cigarette was offered but declined, the doctor lighting up his own selection, the bright end glowing briefly as they enjoyed the first rest of the day.
"I'll stay on Claire, through the night. There is no point in moving him now. Better to rest and replace the fluids he has lost and let the medicine do its thing while he sleeps."
"I can't begun to know what damage was done to his foot, but whatever grabbed him, made a bloody mess of things." the cigarette glowed once more.
Claire had walked over to the white wicker chair that had been her night bed while waiting for them all to return. She allowed herself to slump wearily into it, her body sagging under the weight of the day.
"The deep bites in his shoulder were lucky. The lion bit clear past all the vital spots, There doesn't seem to be any deep bleeding, and no bones got broken while he was dragged, from what I gather from your story."
"The scars will be there to tell his grandchildren, but the foot's another matter. Too much tearing, ligaments ripped, and I sure there will be nerve damage. We won't know the full extent of it until a specialist in
"So be prepared. We have him back safely now but his journey back from it all, has just begun. If infection sets in, I just hope we don't lose any more than we already have."
The doctor had spelt it out clearly to Claire as they sat together watching the evenings colours spread across the horizon. Not enough to chase away her hopes, clear enough to warn her; there might be more to deal with in the long days ahead of them all.
Claire slowly nodded as she sat staring out past the tall trees waving to her their evening greetings. What had always brought her inner comfort could do little now as her eyes focused past their greetings, seeing only into the dark visions of cold fear that filled her mind.
"Jeremy has always been strong. As long as I have him home, he'll be fine now" she said. Her hand rose and brushed aside a wisp of hair that had fallen across her eyes. It masked the tear that had started falling as her heart begun to unwind from the terrors of the day.
The long held disciplines of
"Doc, I'll be right back. A few last things before I can take my boots off,” she said. He nodded once, knowing what she said to be the evening final activities of every African farm.
Claire walked down to Jeremy's study, her eyes searching her rifle that Thomas had left beside the gun case when they had returned. She walked around the large oak desk and opened the top side drawer, reaching inside to feel for the trap leaver that would open the hidden drawer of keys.
Before she opened the gun case door, she broke open the breach of her rifle and removed the two cartridges within. Her hunting vest had been left on the desk by Mavis, the remaining cartridges still in place. She reached up and grabbed the box she had earlier opened and replaced the six shells remaining from her morning.
Her eyes looked up at the shelf, a faint memory tugging at her. The morning had been a blur, and her mind was tired now from the long brutal day. She could not be sure of her own memory, of a cartridge box that had lived beside the one she had taken. For a moment, the vague image flashed through her mind, but receded into the shadows of the day where she had to cast its memory off as unreliable.
The rifle was replaced beside the still empty slots where Jeremy's rifles would be returned. She closed the door and locked it, returning the key to its drawer. She closed it firmly, hearing the hidden latch click in place as Jeremy had shown her.
She paused for a moment as she breathed in the leather and polished wood that was at the heart of her home. Jeremy had returned wounded and torn, their lives would never be the same. His wide grin filling her days as he walked the land around them, would be replaced for a time with the stoic mask of a man possibly crippled for life and made humble.
Claire left the study, closing the door behind her. Not knowing when Jeremy would return to his study to read the latest journals and business news, her hand gently stroked the wooden door to feel the strength he had left behind.
The wood on the corridor floor muffled her footsteps that led back out onto the veranda. The night stretched out before her like the last. The hours would be long as the stars turned over to disappear in the morning.
The doctor had returned to Jeremy's room, to check a weakened pulse and log it on his clipboard. She stood looking out at the first stars that had appeared knowing she would not know sleep another night.
Finally alone, the tears rose up and began to fall. She could feel their coolness as they slid down her cheeks. As each one fell, another found its place.
From behind the tall blue gum trees, twinkling eyes watched from their darkness as the price for love was measured by the river of tears.
In
The dead stopped bleeding, the wounded lived on.
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