The Sound of Thunder(4)

He found him selling a bag of coffee beans to a gentleman who was plainly sceptical of its quality. The discussion of the merits of Mr Goldberg’s coffee beans as opposed to those of his competitor across the street was becoming involved and technical.

Sean leaned against a shelf full of merchandise, packed his pipe, lit it and while he waited he watched Mr Goldberg in action. The man should have been a barrister, his argument was strong enough to convince first Sean and finally the customer. The latter paid, slung the bag over his shoulder and grumbled his way out of the shop, leaving Mr Goldberg glowing pink and perspiring in the flush of achievement.

‘You haven’t lost any weight, Izzy,’ Sean greeted him.

Goldberg peered at him uncertainly over his gold-framed spectacles, beginning to smile until suddenly he recognized Sean. He blinked with shock, jerked his head in a gesture of invitation so his jowls wobbled, and disappeared into the back office. Sean followed him.

‘Are you mad, Mr Courtney?’ Goldberg was waiting for him, quivering with agitation. ‘If they catch you …’

‘Listen, Izzy. I arrived last night. I haven’t spoken to a white man in four years. What the hell is going on here?’

‘You haven’t heard?’

‘No, damn it, I haven’t.’

‘It’s war, Mr Courtney.’

‘I can see that. But where? Against whom?’

‘On all the borders – Natal, the Cape.’

‘Against?’

‘The British Empire.’ Goldberg shook his head as though he did not believe his own statement. ‘We’ve taken on the whole British Empire.’

‘We?’ Sean asked sharply.

‘The Transvaal Republic and the Orange Free State. Already we have won great victories – Ladysmith is besieged, Kimberley, Mafeking—’

‘You, personally?’

‘I was born here in Pretoria. I am a burgher.’

‘Are you going to turn me in?’

‘No, of course not. You’ve been a good customer of mine for years.’

‘Thanks, Izzy. Look, I’ve got to get out of here as fast as I can.’

‘It would be wise.’

‘What about my money at the Volkskaas – can I get it out?’

Izzy shook his head sadly. ‘They’ve frozen all enemy accounts.’

‘Damn it, God damn it!’ Sean swore bitterly, and then, ‘Izzy, I’ve got twenty wagons and ten tons of ivory parked out there on the edge of town – are you interested?

‘How much?’

‘Ten thousand for the lot; oxen, wagons, ivory – the lot.’

‘It would not be patriotic, Mr Courtney,’ Goldberg decided reluctantly. ‘Trading with the enemy – besides I have only your word that it’s ten tons.’

‘Hell, Izzy, I’m not the British Army – that lot is worth twenty thousand quid.’

‘You want me to buy sight unseen – no questions asked? All right. I’ll give you four thousand – gold.’

‘Seven.’

‘Four and a half,’ countered Izzy.

‘You bastard.’

‘Four and a half.’

‘No, damn you. Five!’ growled Sean.

‘Five?’

‘Five!’

‘All right, five.’

‘Thanks Izzy.’

‘Pleasure, Mr Courtney.’

Sean described the location of his laager hurriedly.

‘You can send someone out to pick it up. I am going to run for the Natal border as soon as it’s dark.’

‘Keep off the roads and well clear of the railway. Joubert has thirty thousand men in Northern Natal, massed around Ladysmith and along the Tugela heights.’ Goldberg went to the safe and fetched five small canvas bags from it. ‘Do you want to check?’

‘I’ll trust you as you trusted me. Good-bye, Izzy.’ Sean dropped the heavy bags down the front of his shirt and settled them under his belt.

‘Good luck, Mr Courtney.’





– 3 –

There were two hours of daylight left when Sean finished paying his servants. He pushed the tiny pile of sovereigns across the tailboard of the wagon towards the last man and went with him through the complicated ritual of farewell, the hand-clapping and clasping, the repetition of the formal phrases – then he stood up from his chair and looked around the circle. They squatted patiently, watching him with wooden black faces – but reflected back from them he could sense his own sorrow at this parting. Men with whom he had lived and worked and shared a hundred hardships. It was not easy to leave them now.

‘It is finished,’ he said.

‘Yebho, it is finished.’ They agreed in chorus and no one moved.

‘Go, damn you.’