The covenant - James A. Michener [422]
The Van Doorn women, with Ouma Sybilla de Groot enthroned at their kitchen table, had prepared enough food for a commando. An ox was roasted on a spit opposite the barn; nearby were tables of bredies, vegetables, sweet dishes: tarts, koekies, pumpkin fritters, konfyts, and Jakob's contribution, the crock of bread pudding sensibly flanked by two bucketfuls of the same. Of course, there was a determined group who praised the pudding but passed it by in favor of the barrel of peach brandy.
It was a day the people of Vrymeer would not forget, and children bounded through the paradise like a troop of frisky baboons. Nothing was more exciting for a dozen robust little Boers than their encounter with the offspring of the Nxumalo family. Together they explored the secrets of Vrymeer, running screaming from the barn to the cave where the Bushmen's rhinoceros galloped. After a shouting circuit, they ran to the lake, tossed aside their clothes, and jumped in.
At nightfall the tallow candles along the walls of the barn were lit, the ant-hill floor gleamed, and a noisy trio of guitar, violin and concertina went to work. Even Ouma Sybilla managed, just once, to step out and do a few turns, not with her husband, who was tending the peach brandy, but with a young man who had his eye on Johanna van Doorn and thought courtesy to the old queen-buffalo would improve his chances.
The dancing was really for the young couples, and the floor was continuously crowded, for if the violin grew tired, the guitar and concertina kept going; and sometimes the squash-box performed alone. Johanna had agonized for some days over what to wear, and her efforts had proved most successful: she had donned a long skirt whose bottom hem was filled with kernels of corn to give it weight and make it flare out when she pirouetted.
'Watch your millstone, young fellow!' De Groot roared suddenly. 'You're grinding too rough.' He meant that the partner swinging Johanna had her dress so nearly parallel to the floor that bits of grain were flying loose.
It was past midnight and the concertina played a little more slowly as groups talked quietly or hummed old songs and Jakob mentioned the one sober question of this festive day: 'How long have our families lived here, Paulus?'
The general reflected: 'Fifty-eight years.'
'We should be grateful.'
'What for?' the old warrior asked.
'Many things, Paulus. Mostly we've been able to hold on to our ways ... keep the Englishmen from changing us. But with so many Uitlanders moving in . . .'
'Oom Paulit's his job to watch the English. If he wants to see you, like the telegram said, it must be important.'
'Ja, my Generaal!'
Earlier that week Jakob had been summoned to meet with President Kruger in Pretoria; he would take the train Monday morning, for he knew that something serious was brewing.
Jakob found the great man on the stoep, deep wrinkles in his face, a black top hat perched on his head and a tightly buttoned coat covering his enormous belly. He did not rise to greet one of his most trusted burghers but showed his pleasure at the visit.
Jakob, there are troubles, there are dangers we must face,' he said, indicating a chair.
'The English, Oom Paul?'
'Always the English. They mean to steal our republics, them and the Uitlanders.'
'Not while this Van Doorn has a breath. We'll never allow that.'
'Nice words, Jakob. Nice words.' He spat over the edge of the stoep. 'I have a task for you, broeder. You have family at the Cape, not so? Van Doorns of Trianon. I want you to visit them. Hear what they have to say. What's on their minds if the English take up arms.'
'There's been talk of rebellion down there. Against the English government.'
'Ja, ja. But what do the people really think?' He rocked back and forth. 'Talk isn't enough. Where will the Van Doorns, the Du Preez, the Hofmeyrs stand the day we have to fight for our lives?'
'We'll need them all,' Jakob said.
'You are visiting family