Two Moons by J. Raymond Ractliffe - Part Two- Chapter 1

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 1

    Matthew, you can come in now!"- The deep voice called out from behind the wooden door. Matthew sat quietly on the polished dark wooden bench outside the headmasters office, a single cough that he was prone to be heard doing, signalling his presence. His fingertips gliding over the roughly carved initials of past students who had sat nervously waiting for their sentences.

The normally bustling corridors carried only the echoes of last terms' fevered youth, gone now into the sun filled confines of long summer holidays. Worn cricket bats and tennis rackets left behind in old wooden trunks, traded in for long waxed boards and bright surfer trunks, hard bronzed bodies eagerly preparing for the onslaught of their summertime dreams.

There were large fortunes to inherit and manage, even those whose fortunes had been lost by the unforgiving tides of trade, their old names the only currency left to barter.

The starched white cotton cloth of the formal dining rooms of the prestigious Lord Nelson and the exclusive Kelvin Grove Club with their manicured greens and restricted membership, matched the summertime afternoon white hats of blue haired bowlers and evening designer dresses cut to reveal what was won by those who had mastered the genteel Art of War.

Old titles and crests emblazoned on white cards opened tall oak doors to twelve-year-old Scotch and blue ashed cigars. Familiar business names traded back and forth like schoolyard gum cards as new introductions shadow-boxed, feeling out their respective pedigrees until deals were struck with firm handshakes and open smiles that belied the cut throat savagery of boardroom military tactics.

Matthew's new Fiat Spider sat under the sprawling shady canopy of gnarled old oak trees that lined the staff car park below the headmaster's office, his matriculation present. A few sporty Alpha Romeo's and sleek BMW's had already graced the car park before terms end, those whose fortunes were not tied to personal accomplishments but to maintaining the family's public persona.

Matthew had wondered over to his old boarding house before coming to the headmaster's office, youthful nostalgia had overcome him as he realized this was the last time he was to venture through the great hallways and classrooms that had filed his days since arriving here to begin to high school. For the last time, he studied the strange windows that offered little light to the old grade eight dormitory. The windows had finally arrived from England to complete the original construction at Bishops in 1849, arriving a foot shorter than ordered and had been installed as delivered.

Like the new young Masai warriors that came forward to begin their journey to be as men, the i-mayat or young warrior compound was divided into separate enkang o sinkira or houses for the newcomers. Matthew's boarding house was called Founders, where the itura - the initiates began their five year journey to join the long procession of their Ancestors.

Each new initiate or mentee as he was now called, was assigned to a group of older boys, three from each successful rank above him, with a staff tutor or oloiboni to watch over them. An olaiguenami or prefect was chosen from each group, leaders with the responsibility to check homework and the daily duties of each new preppy. While strict custom dictated that no senior student could demand chores to be done by the newest additions to their Age Group, it was not uncommon for a select few to remember their years at Bishops without smiling comment.

Not every young male survived the antics of shower time and play of the quiet nighttime hunters. To some of the young initiates the fight for survival or superiority left innocence lost to nighttime bed jumping and physical threats of reprisals if these late night excursions were spoken of.

Years later, these smiling conquests ground down board room opponents or in some cases, opened new doors with overt friendly back slaps as they came to sign their financial deals with gold fountain pens and single malt brandy. Appreciative thanks for the years of silence that kept their own masculinity safe from the queer bashing jokes while enjoying steaming saunas at the end of squash matches with former school friends.

The House Mothers assigned to care for each boy were always unaware of the unthinkable. The sudden quiet natures of a few initiated were misdiagnosed as suffering from homesickness and were joyfully counselled accordingly.

Most young men adapted quickly to their new surroundings, forming long friendships with classmates that would last their lifetimes.

Matthew and the Headmaster's eldest son, Christopher, had been close friends since both arriving as young mantees, completing the friendship begun by their fathers and the brotherhood bond they enjoyed as Freemasons.

To a select few, life was forever polished cars, weekends riding the hunt, bathing on white beaches or enjoying glittering evenings filled with the best Cape wines, international chefs preparing gourmet meals amidst architectural five-star settings at luxurious locations under star filled southern skies.

At special functions, where the barons of finance and trade gathered to congratulate each others latest fiscal quarterly results, sons were introduced by proud fathers, handshakes all around as future prospects were lined up and bartered, the marketplace for the next generation assured.

Daughters were regulated to bright dresses, pink-lipped smiles and genteel idle chatter during these golden dinners. The end of their scented evenings filled with music and brilliant lights, allowing them to gaze over at the by then clustered matriculates and first year university students huddled tightly to hide the smokers among them, the young bulls staring openly back at the timid does with wide eager smiles.

Great feminine beauty guaranteed the best choice of the still pimpled baritoned prospects.

Here on the shadowed slopes under aged oak trees, promising careers were exchanged for hope chests filled with pressed linen and childhood dreams of white veils and flower laden pews as the surrounding girl schools gave birth to the next generation of beauty trophies.

Those not blessed with ample breasts and long blond manes, traded their bronzed bodies and flashing smiles, satisfying the fumbling fingers of those seeking the opiate of their long dreams. A few years of such play while their future selections continued their formal studies, parties and family gatherings between old friends watched as promise rings gave way to solitaire diamonds and wedding dates were announced by gold leaf and scented mail, their own survival assured.

Matthew had walked back to the administration building, past the long glass doors that housed the ornate Victorian silver trophies of the past and present. He stopped to peer at the young faces gazing back at him as white puffs of blazing smoke had frozen their smiles and pride. Cricket teams and rugby finals, chess champions and swimmers, teachers with their striped coloured degrees signalling their own pedigrees. Now these former champions' grandchildren sat inscribing their own initials in the benches as they sat waiting as he did now, for his own nervous butterflies to be set free.

"Come in Matthew" the voice repeated, this time more firmly, irritated that the first commend had not been heard and obeyed.

Matthew rose quickly, a second cough and stumbled footing signalling his immediate coming. A quick single tap on the door, as tradition demanded upon entrance. Matthew did not wait for further approval but walked in briskly, headed directly to one of two wooden chairs perched in front, one to the left and right of the large polished desk that had for years commanded the respect and fear of all who had ventured within the walls of this command post.

Matthew smiled as he sat down without waiting for permission. It would have been unthinkable to have done so during the regular term, but as this was not a summons for academic underachievement or other misdemeanors, he felt the pull of youthful rebellion tug at his spirit. The national results of his matric finals were still to be published in the New Year, but he was confident enough to know he had scored with enough marks to speed him past these high school goal posts and into the university of his choice.

He himself had been summoned to this seat a number of times during his five-year tenure here. The long record of his test scores before the headmaster were silently scrutinized for understanding with knitted brow, but they held no further clue as to the reason for their continued fluctuations.

Matthew's scholastic career was at best unremarkable. He, like many other students who survived each term with the correct amount of dutiful study , sidestepping the rebukes or detention for inattentiveness or lack of personal working discipline. Matthew's work ethic was based on "effort equaled what was required."

Nothing more.

Since returning from his uncle's farm in Kenya after nearly being killed by the charging rhino, Matthew's story had been the stuff of school boy legends that was told and retold, ever growing by the younger kids that filled the primary schools from Cape Point to Blouberg Strand, north of the Mother City.

Little did they know that after all these years, he still dreamt of the charging rhino and the swirling face of the Old Milk Eyed Woman would come to him, waking him suddenly in a cold sweat while the midnight stars and the blue light of the moon blinked back at his fears.

The Dream Visions seemed to come out of the thick mists from the back of his regular dreams. A single withered finger crooked at him, the Old Woman would step out of the swirling darkness that bound them both, mumbling incoherent words as she slowly shuffled towards him. She would clap her withered hands as pungent powders sprayed about him, causing him to cough even in his sleep.

All around his sleeping darkness, Majura would be bathed in a peculiar light that would recede as she finally stepped back to her own world at the end of her visit and his regular dream would continue on before his natural waking.

In the hours that came before the first light of the new day, thinking that he was experiencing lucid dreams, Matthew tried to dismiss their coming as nothing more than indigestion or hormones.

But these Dream Visions continued to came and find him.

At first, like running bits of film, the visions came to reveal small scenes of people and places that Matthew did not know or had been to. Some lasted five or six seconds, others came when he thought he was dreaming, and he naturally allowed himself to walk into their story and become part of what he though was his own unconscious mind projecting the most awe-inspiring scenes and adventures.

After a while, the Dream Visions came whether he slept under the stars or in the middle of the day in the fullness of the sun.

It was when Matthew began to actually experience the places and people that he had first seen in his Dream Visions, that he began to understand that he was remembering visions, but now in real time.

Matthew would come to a location or time triggering his own first memory of the Dream Visions. His eyes would dart to and fro as his mind watched the scene unfold again before his eyes. He could follow the original memory from his dreams just seconds or even minutes in his mind's eye before they actually happened in real time. His eyes traveling to a particular spot of action in the vision, then he waited. Then the actual scene would appeared before him, it could be something as insignificant as a car's horn and a bird passing overhead.

At first they seemed to have no other meaning other than they existed, but that they were accurate.

After a few months Matthew had come to the point where he had actually come to rely on them. He could never willingly call on them to come, but had found there were times they came more frequently.

When the morning or evening moon and sun both hung in the deep coloured sky, either the nights were filled with these swirling colours or the morning visions almost walked with him as he began his days. In time, they grew stronger, allowing him steer them like a navigator out on the open seas.

Matthew could imagine himself walking in the blue light that came surrounding each vision. In time, he overcame the natural fears of this phenomenon that his Christian tradition and daily sermons told him must have been the work of the Devil or some other diabolical mystery.

Perhaps it was part of the African myth and legend that all whites had heard about from their workers. Although the Pretestant white man teased their workers mercilessly at their foolishness and superstitious natures, you would still not find a white man's fine house displaying any fine traditional sculpture or painting in their art collections that represented the Tokalosie or any other Spiritual Demon of Africa. Even carved gifts brought from friend's excursions around the African continent that held any mythical or spiritual connection were quietly stored and then given away. The white man of Africa had not remained untouched by the mysteries of Africa. He avoided them as much as the black man but scoffed at the idea he was superstitious. His own silver cross dangling from his neck separating himself from the dark primitive fears that firmly held an entire black continent since its birth.

However, like all youth, the hunger to know more of these Dream Visions made Matthew more bold than fearful. In time, he became part of what he saw and experienced.

With each Dream Vision, he became less fearful, and walked out further into this dark blue light. In the middle of these experiences he could walk up close to a Dream Vision and study in detail a part or section of what he had seen. Sometimes they made sense and other times a single scene and detail was all he needed to know the origin of their final setting.

Sometimes the snap shots of his upcoming exams and the details of the teacher's written selection helped his scores whenever the sun and moon came to play together in the sky.

It took a while for him to find this correlation between the stronger and weaker time of these visions and the heavens above that arranged them.

The teachers and finally the headmaster would never know the reason for his marks sometimes wallowing between a C average to his sudden rise to an A plus score. For a time they watched him thinking he had cribbed notes somewhere on his person, written small and held inside a pen or written on an arm or leg. The staff actually checked him a few times as he left a test room but never finding the reason for his roller coaster scores.

Matthew had found a way to limit his efforts and yet still score above his needs or requirements that his smiling parents accepted with pride.

Matthew had never told anyone about his visions and his silent ability to walk between the worlds of time.The closest he had ever come was the night he had his first couple of beers with Christopher, his oldest school friend.

While enjoying the end of a wild beach party a few years ago, they had walked away from the wide open Muizenberg beaches with its multi coloured changing rooms to the endless dunes that stretched out into the darkness to Gordon's Bay on the other side.

As he lay laughing at something said in between the cans of beers being passed back and forth between them, Matthew had gazed up into the stars and the heavens that had by now become the walking space of his dreams. The alcohol brought down his reserved walls and fear that he had carried of it all.

While the fire they had built glowed between the dunes and the rushing sea, Matthew slowly told Christopher about his Dream Visions and how he had found a way to use them all these years to get the test scores he had needed.

When the last words explaining his visions blew away in the salty night, he looked over to find his friend asleep against the side of the dune, his head buried deep in the sand, his hand still clutching his beer can that had spilt out into the cooling night sand.

Matthew never spoke of it again.

"Good morning Matthew, thanks for coming in," a deep voice rose from behind a brown box that sat in the centre of the great desk. Matthew looked up and over the box and at the half empty walls behind the desk and leather chair.

Conrad Le Roux had occupied this office since coming to Bishops as a young teacher. It was actually, young Matthew's father and personal friend who had eased his path here in the boardroom of the trustees.

As a fellow Freemason and old friend, James T. Baldwin had brought considerable pressure and a substantial cheque to cover some much needed improvements that had finally persuaded the holdouts to cast a favourable vote in his direction. Since then they had never had any regrets on his appointment. In truth, his personal reputation and administrative leadership had brought Bishops a collective nod from the parents of the young students.

Conrad was not as tall as the youthful Matthew, but stocky build, broad shoulders and long powerful arms with piercing blue eyes commanded respect, both intellectually and physically. The grey hairs growing on his sideburns and thinning top did nothing to lesson the male strength he carried when he entered a room. His was not the typical physique of the career academic. The years playing rugby in his youth had given him the aura he needed to hold his own in any meeting with the parents of his charges.

"How are you enjoying the holidays Matthew?" Conrad asked with his head suddenly visible form behind the box.

"Fine sir" came the swift reply.

Matthew was quickly annoyed with himself for falling into the traditional role of student and master. Now that he was no more a senior, he felt he could be less formal as when their families got together on his family farm in Franschoek.

"I have been busy packing for the trip and doing the usual family visits before I go,” Matthew said.

"Have you gone over and seen Christopher today." Conrad inquired. "He said he was not sure what to take and wanted to know what was not needed. He did not want to have to carry tons of gear he did not need in Kenya, or the follow up trip to England and your family there." Conrad said while he removed another certificate off the wall and placed it carefully in the box.

"I'll stop over there on the way home and go through what he has packed so far. Knowing Christopher I'll land up carrying half his gear." Matthew said with a wide smile. "He's the only person I know who takes books into the bush and leaves his rifle behind."

Conrad stopped for a moment, a small bronze trophy of his own ready for the box and looked at Matthew over the brim of his reading glasses. "I'm glad he never developed your sense of study" came the tort reply.

"Carry his gear then, and leave him to his books," the trophy finally disappearing into the box.

Matthew looked down to the floor momentarily, breaking the hard stare that pierced the afternoon sun. Then looking back up, he glanced sideways at the newly emptied shelves, the dust imprints showing where the long standing leather bound books and his personal collection of artefacts Conrad had collected during his years of travel through the middle east had stared down at him during the years he had come to this office.

Conrad's inherited Anglican culture and faith had led him many times to Israel, Egypt and Jordan while enjoying the unique archaeology and architecture of the region. He had ventured down the Nile, explored the ruins at Petra in the narrow sandstone crevasses in Jordan, washed his hands in the Sea of Galilee and eaten the local fish with chilled white wine, dined overlooking the open valley and had sat through an entire Coptic service within the ancient walls of the Church of the Holy Sepulcher in Jerusalem. He had lit a candle at the entrance of Christ's tomb, a small church rebuilt over the centuries within the church, spending the rest of the day outside in the courtyard, studying the Maltese crosses etched on the entrance columns of the fourth century basilica, then walking down to the Garden of Gethsemane, seeing the crosses in iron and stone on the ground between the ancient olive trees and wind blown trash, signaling the end of a crusaders' pilgrimage, the ones who had not made the trip back to their home.

"Come out to the farm tomorrow. Christopher's mother and I are having a few people over, and I would like to see Christopher as much as possible before you both go traipsing off the back hills of Kenya and then to England. God knows if I should trust you both out there on your own. I know your uncle and aunt will be there, but they are no match for two young men continuously competing for the stupid prize." Conrad sighed quietly as he turned to continue his attention at the task at hand.

"I wanted to ask you personally, while you are both gallivanting over God's green acres, to watch out for him." Conrad paused now. He knew he was crossing over the fine line between parental concerns and possibly embarrassing his own son, fearing he might think he did not trust his own son's judgment.

"Matthew, you have strengths better honed than Christopher. Plus the fact that you know the area over there better than he does." Conrad paused now, his softer tone revealing the gentler side of the man Matthew thought he knew, but had never seen.

"Just watch over him, and make sure nothing happens to him. Don't let him do anything foolish, like you do." Conrad paused now, and looked directly back at Matthew, his blue eyes peering straight into his heart, remembering the schoolboy adventure that had almost left him bleeding to death under the hot African sun.

"You had your own problems there a few years ago. I just don't want anything like that happening to my son." he said quietly. "Its taken years for you to forget it, I am sure."

Matthew squirmed slightly in the hard wooden chair, he could suddenly feel the rounded edges burning into his muscles. The nature of his wound still caused him to shirk at the public knowledge the direction the rhino's horn had travelled.

"I can assure you sir, I am quite healed and healthy in every way." Matthew said firmly with more emotion than he ever addressed his Head Master.

Conrad looked back at the desk before him, suddenly aware that his concern for his own son's safety had touched an old wound that somewhere still lingered in the young man's heart.

"Yes, I am sure you are quite fine" he said hoping to end Matthew's clearly uncomfortable moment.

Changing the subject to distract the emotions that had sprung from Matthew's old deep well of fears, Conrad said, "Christopher has always looked up to you, as friend and brother. You both go back a long way. Besides you're the one always getting him into trouble, just pull back a bit, don't bring him back all roughed up like you do." he said suddenly smiling.

Matthew sighed and smiled openly again. Both their parents had long become accustomed to their returning at weekend's end full of dark bruises and new stitches. Their broad smiles and shy laughter made it impossible to remain angry at them.

Conrad's own tenure here at Bishops had come to an end. The offer he had received to join the University of Cape Town had been too good to turn down. As prestigious as it was to be headmaster of the best and the most expensive private school, their retirement package was not as glorious as their reputation.

There were other considerations, the family farm in Franschoek and its drain on his chequebook, and then there was...

A sudden knock on the door, long blond hair and the light scent of Channel #5 swept into the wood panelled room, startling both men as laughter filled the air between them all.

"Con, have you finished yet? I'm done and I need something to eat."

Matthew turned around, the surprised smile froze as it was realized the office had been occupied by more than just the one packing.

"Oh! I am sorry. I didn't know you had company."

Brittany Watkins was a member of the faculty, teaching art and drama, her presence here was to be expected even after the school had closed for the holidays. However, the more intimate voice and body language on her entrance made her presence here now more of a mystery.

She looked down and flashed a white smile that she had long learnt would disarm any male and make them forget the words that had formed behind their eyes. Matthew responded like all, and returned his own broad smile as he had long succumbed to her famous smile and feminine charms during her classes.

Her long hair waving in the gentle wind beneath the old oaks and walking pathways had been the focus of many a young heart in the short years she had spent at Bishops. Matthew himself had spent a few nights in the dorm dreaming of a midnight encounter that would never come.

Conrad looked first at Matthew to read his reaction, then turned his attention to Brittany and in a tone more stern than it should have been, said, "One moment Miss Watkins, I am just finishing my meeting with Mr. Baldwin, thank you." Hoping he had swept away the informal laughter from his office, he turned his attention back to the remaining pieces that still needed to be removed and packed.

"Matthew, thank you for coming down to my office, I know you are on holidays, and I wanted to personally invite you to come over to the farm before you and Christopher both left. I will see you tomorrow at the farm," his manner was now brusque and formal, hoping to conclude what had for no reason become an uncomfortable moment between them all.

Eyes now peered at Matthew over the rim of his reading glasses, signalling the end of the meeting but still not looking up and over at Brittany who had remained still since her boisterous entrance.

"Great! I will see you then. Christopher and I are going out tonight. We might be a little late getting there after a long night out on Long Street, but we will be there," Matthew said with a glint in his eye. His comment was made more for her ears than his, trying to show that far from being just a young student he was actually a desirable young man, even for an older woman like her.

Conrad found himself suddenly irritated by Matthew's youthful charms, his eyes looking finally at Brittany whose own eyes were smiling back at Matthew, and in a mischievous voice she said, "Well, don't do anything I wouldn't do. Have a great time but be careful. Young strapping men are always getting into trouble."

And with a last smile Brittany turned neatly and strode out of the office without looking behind her, her corduroy bellbottoms whispering her graceful departure.

"Let me know when you are done." came the voice disappearing down the echoing hallway.

Conrad's head turned down to look inside the box that had so much been the center of his attention since Matthew had arrived.

"You can go now Matthew, I have a lot to do," he said, not looking up to see the questioning look that Matthew had hoped to leave him.

The door remained slightly ajar as Matthew strode down the long hallway. Behind him, Conrad had stopped packing as he went over the sudden meeting of them all, going over in detail if anything could have revealed the long relationship that had quietly matured within the restricting walls of Bishops.

If the trustees had known of their relationship, it would have been the first and last mark on an otherwise unblemished record.

The move to the university would eliminate any such reproach or condemnation of his long infidelity, an example to the young students that would not have been tolerated.

Outside the blood red sports car roared suddenly to life, tires screeching past his upper office windows, the sound of Matthew's youthful departure quickly faded as he drove off to see Christopher. The chance meeting of Brittany in the headmaster's office already forgotten as the upcoming night filled his mind with events to come.

Conrad sat heavily in his tall leather chair, a framed certificate still clutched in his hands before becoming lost in the brown box that held the rest of his memories. Brittany's Channel lingered in the air as the afternoon sunlight flickered through the giant oaks and danced across the dark walls around him.

He suddenly smiled at the thought of a late lunch and the open smile and long blond hair that had filled his heart since she had waltzed into his office, past a startled personal secretary and pronounced herself ready for duty.

His life had since then, never been the same.

It had become a life of secretes.