Four months later
Derek had always been fascinated by large ships, moved by their sheer scale and ambition. To him, they were the imaginings of a child made real. Evidence of the good that man was sometimes capable of. Ever since he was a boy and had first laid eyes on one of the great vessels, he had harboured dreams of boarding one. He would spend hours roaming the docks, wishing his were among the many privileged faces that looked down from the gleaming decks. He could recall the intensity with which he yearned to be on board, could still feel the heat of his jealousy. It was the seething, petty envy of a child at great odds with both the world and himself. A child missing the calming influences of a father.
But today, so many years on, it was finally his turn. Standing on the upper deck of the grand SS Balmoral Castle, the pride of the Union-Castle Mail fleet of ships that sailed fortnightly between Southampton and Cape Town, Derek fought hard to contain his excitement. To his utter amazement, he noticed that many of the passengers around him appeared almost bored to be on deck, more interested in the lunch bell than in the journey that lay ahead. He wondered how that could be. It seemed unfathomable to him. On the dock below, hundreds of people waved and clapped exuberantly, as if to compensate for the passengers’ indifference. Derek tried to imagine his younger self in that audience, gritting his teeth, his hands gnarled into fists, but could not summon the image. He was no longer that bitter boy with the poison in his blood. He had made his peace with the misfortunes of his childhood and was now just grateful to be alive and could barely wait to be out on the open sea.
As the twin funnels of the SS Balmoral Castle bellowed to life and its cavernous red-and-white hull swayed gently on the deep black water, Derek reached into his pocket and withdrew Edward’s letter. He filled his lungs with the rich harbour air and unfolded the page.
Derek,
I’m writing to you from under the shade of an immense baobab, which the Shangaans call the ‘upside-down tree’ owing to its distinctive branches which resemble something of a root system. They believe that when the earth was young, the gods grew so angry at man for his failings that they tore the baobabs from their celestial garden and cast them down at earth where they landed upside down and continued to grow.
I consider it a blessing that you were not among these early inhabitants as you would have presented an obvious target for the gods and almost certainly would have been crushed by one of these flying trees.
That aside, I must confess that the longer I am here, the more I find myself lending credence to the beliefs of the local tribesmen – even their folktales seem rooted in at least some version of the truth. It is difficult not to be swept away by Africa’s rich mystical charms. As the bushveld seeps into my veins, I have grown uncertain of many things. What seemed important to me before, now holds less sway in my life.
I am relieved to hear that Father Gabriel remains in good health and will admit that I am intrigued by your charge that ‘we have a score to settle’ following some revelation he has shared with you.
I have searched my mind and can think of no worthy score that requires settling. However, given the porous nature of your memory, you will no doubt have forgotten all about it by the time you dock in the Cape.
I cannot begin to tell you what it is like working with the elephants. Whatever you have imagined it to be, it is beyond that. Sadly though, their numbers continue to fall. The poaching is relentless. The details of which I shall share with you when you get here. There is so very much to discuss.
Before my ink runs out, I have an admission to make.
As you know, I was never particularly fond of ships, but I would be lying if I told you that I was not mesmerised by the marriage of dark ocean and starlit night. To this end, may I recommend that you look out for the majestic Southern Cross – a distinctive kite-shaped constellation – which shall come into view in the second half of your voyage. If you can’t find it, ask an adult to point it out to you.
I can see you smiling from here, little brother. Let us hope the gods do not share my prolific eyesight. A baobab could easily sink a ship.
God speed.
Edward
Derek had read the letter more than half a dozen times and it still made him laugh. Shaking his head, he reached into his pocket and withdrew a grainy black-and-white photograph that had accompanied the letter. It was a picture of Edward sitting on a flat rock with a large elephant wading out into a river behind him. A polished sky, smooth as marble, framed the image. He smiled at his brother’s unkempt beard and absurd shoulder-length hair and again began to laugh. He turned the photograph in his fingers and reread the note on the back for the umpteenth time.
I have grown a beard so the gods can tell us apart.
As the SS Balmoral Castle finally slipped its tethers and raised anchor, Derek knew that, like the great ship, there was nothing left holding him to England. His place had always been with his brother.
And, after almost two years apart, he was finally going home.