The Diamond Hunter Page 38

  Clementine Grant stood on the path that traversed the lonely graves. It felt fitting that the cemetery was deserted, for it matched her mood. She walked among the haphazard sites: some mounds, most unmarked, others with beautiful inscribed headstones.

  The old baobab stood plump and proud. Each tree was like a person with individual characteristics. She’d been staggered to learn that some were well over a thousand years in age and could triple that. As a youngster she’d called it the bottle tree because its trunk resembled one of her father’s countless beer bottles. She recalled how she could reach around the girth of the one her mother was buried beneath, so long as Joseph One-Shoe stretched his long arms around its bark first to hold her hands. Then they could encircle it together and recite the regular prayers she said for her mother.

  ‘It will look after Mummy,’ she had observed to her friend.

  ‘These leaves,’ he’d said, pointing to the newly sprouted fingers the colour of shamrocks. ‘This wise tree knows the rains are coming and its leaves await heaven’s tears.’

  ‘So even heaven is crying for my mummy.’

  He nodded. ‘They weep for you, Miss Clementine, that you are without her.’

  She’d learned from Joseph that many of the tribes believed this tree to house evil spirits, but he admitted he’d always liked its curious shape and frantic hair-like branches. When naked it appeared like a strange creature reaching in all directions. Clementine agreed; she liked the tree and its comical shape and believed wholly that it would look after her mother as she slept.

  She found the familiar final resting place of her mother, which was also now her father’s. That they shared this space in death’s embrace felt right, but something about the grave unsettled her. She was feeling so disarranged that Joseph was alive but would never know she’d come back for him, and she couldn’t pin down the nagging thought.

  She stared at the headstone. Her father’s name had been added since she’d last stood here. A space had been left for that purpose, she now understood. Maybe her father had always known that he would remain in Africa. That felt like a fresh betrayal, as she closed her eyes to shut out the headstone. Had he lied to her too?

  Was Joseph the only honourable person in her life?

  She let her shoulders drop to drive out the tension that was forming in her neck. A fretful breeze began to blow, this way and that, tugging at her bonnet. She pulled it off and let Nature stir her hair the way it used to when she was little.

  Clem knew this wind. It was an old visitor that brought with it the ever-welcome smell of rain. It was hard to describe and yet she knew it as it blew around her, carrying tiny, earthy motes of the Karoo on its breath, the smell of Kimberley itself, picked up as it passed over the mines, bringing the taste of the disgorged blue ground. The air felt heavier, damp, coming from many miles away where the rain already touched the land. She closed her eyes and listened to the wind that had chased the birds to safe roosts; they had known for some time that the lightning bird was coming.

  Beyond the graves and out across the flat wilderness wildebeest were on the move; their dust was picked up by the breeze as pillars of clouds formed towering mountains over the flat landscape. A fresh faraway rumbling sounded. Normally thunder was like a warning but the storm had brought a new mood to Clementine as it began its early dance.

  She felt a longing now. A yearning for her past, a wish to revisit it – a single brief glimpse. Just one chance to hold her mother’s hand, to tip her head back and laugh with her father, and perhaps most of all, a chance to hear the gritty, melodic voice of Joseph One-Shoe, to see his smile as bright as the lightning and to hug him again.

  ‘Once more,’ she whispered to the wind that flicked her hair across her face and swept her skirts to one side.

  The gods rumbled their discontent at her plea. The lightning bird responded to their grumbles with a gleeful crack, its plumage streaking across the distant sky.

  I’m coming for you, Clementine, it threatened as the skies behind it lit and faded, lit and faded.

  Africa was tuning in to her frustration, reflecting her hunger for deliverance. It wasn’t atonement but she now felt only guilt for missing Joseph – only by days, it seemed. If she could just hear his voice or look upon him, she could return to her life in Britain feeling rescued somehow for seeing him alive and strong.

  A thunderclap exploded; the storm had stolen closer. The whole sky brightened to a ghostly white and then returned to its brooding puddle colour as the lightning bird arched her back and danced nearer.

  Rain fell in the distance, looking like a wall carried on the shoulders of an invisible army marching towards her. It would pelt her soon. It was time to leave. Clementine stepped around the grave and, using the tree for support, its bark smooth beneath her ungloved hands, she kissed the cool, pale marble of her parents’ headstone.

  ‘Farewell, my darlings. Hold hands forever.’

  The rain arrived to drown her words; large drops, like glass marbles, lightly denting the dust with their long-awaited impact. It was marvellous to feel relief from the heat, but it was time for her to make a dash.

  She turned and caught her breath.

  Standing only a few strides away was Joseph One-Shoe. She didn’t need to see his face, which was shadowed by a large umbrella. Clem knew his figure, the slight give of the hip on the side he leaned into, the tall shape that stood broad. In his hand were bright flowers, a tiny bunch, and the nagging thought fell into place. The withered flowers in a glass jar on her parents’ grave were his.

  ‘It is you, Miss Clementine,’ he said, his voice thickened with the same sort of wonder as she also felt.

  ‘It is, Zenzele.’

  The smile broke. ‘All grown up.’

  She nodded through helpless tears that swelled and tipped over her lids to run down her cheeks, where they become indistinguishable from the raindrops.

  ‘You are getting wet, Miss Clementine. Please?’ He opened his arms and she ran to him like a child.

  Neither of them cared whether it was seemly. This was love regained. This was family reunited. This was Zenzele’s daughter returned.

  ‘Oh, Zenzele,’ she wept.

  He hushed her and held her. ‘I am very glad Impundulu kept me from travelling today,’ he murmured close to her ear as he hugged her tighter.

  Sitting beneath the brick shelter of the cemetery’s keeper, who had graciously allowed them privacy, they listened in comfortable silence to the thrum of the rain pelting on the iron roof.

  ‘Just like our days in the hut,’ she said, smiling.

  He nodded. ‘You were just as beautiful then.’

  They held each other’s gaze and she took those moments to study the new lines in his face that attested to the passage of time, as did the peppering of grey at his temples and around his ears. To her he looked ever wiser. ‘Are you really leaving?’

  ‘Yes. And you know why.’

  ‘Won’t you miss the life here?’

  ‘It is not good for the black man here right now, Miss Clementine. I think I must go home.’

  ‘Will you find a wife?’

  He gusted a laugh. ‘Perhaps. I would like a family.’

  ‘You deserve one. Thank you for keeping their grave so tidy. I will organise for its upkeep.’

  ‘It is already done, Miss Clementine. The grave will be swept each week and fresh flowers will be put in the jar. They sleep soundly.’

  She nodded her thanks.

  ‘How is your uncle?’

  She hesitated and then wondered why. She told him everything.

  ‘That is a pity.’

  ‘I know. He really was a good father to me and —’

  ‘No, I mean it is a pity that you have cut him off.’

  She blinked with surprise. Of all people, she hadn’t imagined Joseph would take his side. ‘I’ve provided for him, but I don’t wish to see him.’

  ‘Do you not miss him?’

  ‘Every day.’
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  ‘Who benefits from this?’

  She shook her head, unsure of how to answer. ‘Well, I’m not sure that either of us does, but he betrayed me. He didn’t tell the full truth about my father, the diamonds, his intentions. But I am angry mostly because he lied about you. This is his punishment.’

  ‘Hmmm,’ he murmured as they stared out of the hut, where they could see the rain was lessening. ‘What if I told you that I have watched you grow up, in photographs and in letters? Would you believe me?’

  ‘How could you have done that? You didn’t know where I lived, or how to reach me. Will Axford has known me for only a few months.’

  He waited, staring out at a sky that was promising a spectacular sunset now that the rage of the storm had passed through. She sensed he was trying to make a decision and she held her tongue. He reached it with a sigh.

  ‘I have known where you were for over twenty years, Miss Clementine.’ He recited her addresses in Northumberland and London. She shivered despite the humidity of the late afternoon.

  ‘How can you know that?’

  ‘One of them would be on the back of the envelope that arrived from England each new moon.’

  ‘From whom?’ she asked, astonished.

  ‘They were sent by Mr Grant. He wrote a letter each month without fail, to tell me about your life and what you’d been doing, learning, talking about. Once a year there would be a photograph or a drawing of you – he was good at drawing. So I watched you change from child to woman through pictures and his words.’

  A thrill of shame coupled with disbelief traced through her. ‘Uncle Reggie did this? Why?’

  He shrugged. ‘With who else could he share his pride in you? I think he also sensed the bond we had. I think to preserve your history he would write to me about you so someone from your past knew it all. I could tell he loved you and was raising you in a way that would have made your mother proud . . . and it made me happy.’

  She was openly crying again. ‘No, Zenzele, no. This can’t be right. He’s a dying man and I’ve banished him from his home. Told him I never wished to look upon him again for his treachery.’

  ‘“Treachery” is a harsh word. Sometimes it is how you view the world that allows you to mould it in a good light. From one angle it seems your uncle has behaved in a way you can’t forgive; from another, you could see him as a good man who wanted to look after you, no matter what drove him. I agree that his desire for money was part of it but it was not necessarily about riches for himself. He tried to explain many times that it was to keep your family’s good standing intact – to keep your future secure.’

  ‘Do not do this to me. Do not make me feel I’ve done something wrong when it took all of my courage to do what I thought was right.’

  ‘Last year standing in your shoes that was the right approach, perhaps. Today, standing in your now very muddy shoes, knowing the whole truth, you can find it in your heart to forgive him, can you not?’

  ‘I don’t know. What about my father and Reggie’s involvement in his death?’

  ‘I felt heavy here,’ he said, touching his chest, ‘that you never knew the whole story of how your father died. This is why I stayed; I think I always knew the time would come when my story would be heard, but it had to be told in my words. And as soon as it was told, I felt a freedom. I did not want you to feel responsible for me. You know the truth. How you interpret it is up to you. He did not kill your father. But he did not help your father – that was his sin and perhaps you will forgive him that sin. Your father was on a path to destruction. The diamonds gave him hope but mostly for you. Without your mother he was half the man he wanted to be.’

  ‘Who do I blame?’

  ‘Don’t blame anyone, Miss Clementine. Forgiveness is the key to a light heart.’ He tapped his temple. ‘And to a happy mind. There are two Englishmen who love you and I sense you love them back. Find it in your heart to move beyond the Africa of long ago. You have a life you can enjoy in the company of both Mr Grant and Mr Axford – or you can be lonely and . . .’

  ‘And what?’

  ‘A bit righteous like Mrs Carruthers.’

  She laughed and cried at once. ‘You’ve always known the right way. You always made sense when things felt wrong.’

  ‘Then trust me now. You can’t follow me, but you can follow my way and we can both go back to where we belong. You can make it right with the men you love.’

  ‘I love you, too.’

  ‘I’ve always known that.’ He covered his heart again with his hand. ‘I am secure in this, Miss Clementine, no matter where we are.’ He pointed towards the sky. ‘The Dog Star . . . I have always followed you, and I will continue to follow you all of my days.’

  His reminder was timely. She covered her sniffs at those words by opening her bag and taking out an envelope. ‘This is for you. I have carried it in the hope I could give it to you myself. Uncle Reggie didn’t sell all of the diamonds. I have enough money in my own right that I will never want for anything. I’ve kept one for sentimental reasons, but the proceeds of the rest I want you to have.’

  He didn’t touch the envelope.

  ‘You and my father dug for the diamonds together. Please allow that they be put to the best use possible. There’s money in here. Build more of your school. Hire more teachers. Take on more students, buy books – whatever you need. I will help, and I will gladly send more.’ Clem placed the envelope into his hand. ‘Oh, and I want to give you this too. One diamond,’ she said, looking for a tied handkerchief in her bag.

  ‘I do not want Sirius,’ he said, sounding alarmed.

  ‘I understand, and neither do I. He belongs to the world. He is in a bank vault currently, but I am talking to the Natural History Museum in London about exhibiting it next year. I plan to call it the Zenzele Diamond. We’ll keep Sirius as our special secret. This is just one small one because I’m sentimental and need to know you have one.’

  He accepted the diamond. ‘I will use your donation to build more classrooms for the children of my tribe. Maybe my great-grandchildren might study in England and visit the museum to see that mighty diamond one day.’

  She opened her small bag again and took out the beaded panel. ‘I have always kept this close, always felt your affection through it and always trusted that you wouldn’t leave me in spirit.’

  He closed a hand around hers that held the panel. ‘And I have not because I threaded my promise into those beads and I will never break a promise to you. Keep this always.’

  Clem smiled, her heart lighter than it had felt in many months. ‘The sun is setting. We can look upon the stars together one more time.’

  They returned to lean against the baobab above her parents’ grave, cicadas chirping loudly into the early evening.

  ‘Soon everything will turn green for a while. The grasses have been thirsty for a long time,’ he remarked.

  After all the heavenly activity a stillness settled around them; even the insects began to fall silent. The distant clouds that had been so gloomy were now fretted by a golden aura as though the ceiling of the earth was newly gilded. Behind them the sky blushed pink, dipping to violet as twilight descended. Clementine anticipated the moon would rise through the thorn trees, which soon would be silhouetted and then they too would become invisible in the dark.

  A jackal called and its mate answered. A faithful pair, just like Clementine and Zenzele. He was right. Distance did not separate them. Her heart might yearn for Africa but her life had no meaning here. Its meaning was in England, where she could change the lives of many orphans through her charitable work, and where she could gradually welcome Will Axford back into her life. Most importantly, she could demonstrate her ability to forgive – the true measure of a person’s humanity – and find Uncle Reggie, share his life for however long he had left. Maybe they could visit the Holy Land together as they’d always hoped.

  She was grateful that she was in the presence of the one person who always shone a truth o
n everything – the one who had showed her the perspective of forgiveness.

  Clem curled her hand into his large one and stared at his feet. He was barefoot. It spoke plenty. Tomorrow he would truly become Zenzele again but tonight they would share the velvet African sky and take heart that, no matter where she and her Zulu were, Sirius and Little Dog would never be parted.

  AUTHOR’S NOTE

  I grew up in a gold mining camp in Africa, and I had wonderful freedoms that few five-year-olds today might enjoy. The Africans, though segregated, were my friends. This brings me to a beautiful man who was hired in the early 1960s as a 22-year-old to look after Dad, who was busy at the mine, while we were still in England. Adongo learned to cook, tidy, organise fresh laundry, stock the pantry and generally run the household, which he did brilliantly. Then along we came – Mum, Graham and myself. We all fell in love with Adongo, especially me. No one cried harder than I did to leave him as a new decade approached, and no one missed Dad more than Adongo after our family clung to him saying farewell for the last time. He was our family – we loved him. He came into Dad’s life with no English and left fluent. I spent each day helping him to learn our alphabet and numbers, and I only wish he’d taught me his.

  Clementine’s story is fiction, but its context is well-documented fact. The Diamond Hunter is set in the Cape Colony of the late Victorian era. This was a time when fortune-seekers travelled from all over the world into orgies of greed and crime, the most hateful and persistent of which, in thought, word and deed, were committed against indigenous peoples.

  In this story, the relationship of Clementine with Joseph One-Shoe is inspired by my friendship with Adongo Fra-Fra. I have huge respect for all peoples from all nations, and I have a particular fondness for the Ghanaians. However, our attitudes even in the 1960s would likely still shock today. In order to keep this novel authentic, and indeed historically accurate, it’s important to note that it reflects the attitudes, beliefs and language of the time and does not reflect the acceptance and integration we value today. This is a work of fiction but it rides upon extensive research based on the 1870s. Any mistakes it may contain are all mine.