The Triangle and The Mountain: A Bermuda Triangle Adventure (11 page)

They walked at an easy pace. The king’s kraal was still more
than half a day away but they were made aware that they were in the territory
of the
Chainouqua
. Along the way they came across a few herds of cattle,
goats and sheep in the presence of young boys. Most of the animals appeared to
be in good condition. The sorcerers commented on the shining hides and the fact
that the ribs were not showing, although it was already far into the dry
season. It was the mark of a good herdsman, they agreed. At one point they
passed a group of women who were moving about with their digging sticks and
leather bags, hunting for bulbs and rhizomes. This was truly women’s work,
which they often performed with amazing instincts, finding big bags full of
food where no man would suspect any. Each woman had her own special digging
stick, which she weighted with a ring shaped rock. Hadah knew that the one
thing you did not touch was a woman’s digging stick, lest it lost its magic.
Between himself and the master, of course, they had no woman. He was the one
who grudgingly performed the task, in competition with the baboons on their
mountain. He had an ongoing feud with the animals. Every time he discovered a
new field of fat, edible bulbs a troop of baboons would be there just the next
day to decimate it all. He had a feeling that every step he took outside their
cave home was observed. And also, he refused to employ a digging stick. He much
preferred to do his digging with his spear.

Closer to the king’s homestead they passed more kraals. The
master commented on the quality of the mat work on the houses and on the
sturdiness of the fences that bound the houses in a ring. At midday they felt
hungry again and stepped through the common gate of a kraal. The place seemed
deserted at first. The animals were obviously gone and most of the womenfolk
were out filling their bags. Under a lean-to, however, they noticed some men.
Respectfully they greeted the establishment and approached when the greeting
was reciprocated. The men were doing what they usually do, which was to hone
their weapons. One was working on a throwing stick with a knife and some others
were tinkering with their spears.

“Ah!man,” greeted the elder of the kraal, recognising the
master at once. They had some curdled milk again, thickened with a mix of
finely ground roasted bulbs. The men appeared relaxed but Hadah was aware that
both he and the master were under constant scrutiny by all, albeit mostly from
the sharp corners of the eye, never face to face.

Another hour’s walk down a valley took them at last to the
king’s kraal. It was bigger than any other. Outside the kraal Hadah saw for the
first time how butter was made, exactly as the master had explained it.  From
low hanging branches several goatskin bags were suspended by thongs. A few
woman sat flat on the earth and rocked them to and fro. The master greeted in a
friendly manner. One of the woman understood what he was after and offered a
clay jar. It was buttermilk. After walking in the hot sun for most of the day
it was simply the best. Master and apprentice agreed on this and told the women
so. The ladies appeared pleased.

They approached the entrance to the big kraal that stretched
into the distance. Hadah was intimidated by its sheer size. Like the smaller
ones it was in a circular shape with fences connecting the homes. It differed
in one thing, however. The cattle herds and smaller livestock had their own
enclosures and did not share the central space with the people. There was
activity everywhere. Children and dogs were running around, chasing each other.
Women were at work outside their dwellings grinding away on their flat stones.
A rhythmic thumping noise drew their attention to a house where a young woman
was beating something in a hollowed-out rock with a wooden post. They knew it
was maize. Smoke rose from various corners. They caught the smell of a pottery
furnace and saw the potter stoking it.

The master had already filled his lungs in order to shout
their greeting when they saw a strapping warrior head for them. It was the
king’s envoy that they had seen a few days ago.

“I see you,” he said. “The king knew of your coming since
yesterday. He will see you tomorrow. Meanwhile you can stay here. He took them
to a clean house with fresh mats on top and two sleeping mats already rolled
out. On one side they saw several clay pots with their pointed bottoms wedged
into the soil. They inspected them and saw that they were full of the best
foods in the land. Being sated from their previous stops they left it for later
and stretched out their travel weary bones on the sleeping mats.

CHAPTER SEVEN

The little dust devil, born in the red sands on the border
between Mauritania and Mali reached verdant Senegal within hours. Here the air
was filled with moisture expelled by the rain forests below.  The dust devil
sucked up the forest air in the centre of its swirling vortex. As the moist air
soared up, it started to condensate. With the extra heat thus provided the
Senegalese air went straight to the top, transforming the erstwhile humble dust
devil, because now it carried a crown of cloud on its head.  Left and right of
it similar thunderheads popped up. Since they were all carried in the fold of
the eddy that originated in Ethiopia, they formed a neat line abreast. But they
were also part of much, much more. A great mass of air was moving from Africa over
the Atlantic in the direction of the Americas.  All around the line of
thunderheads massive clouds of dry dust particles, interspersed with the odd
whiff of camel dung, headed due west as well. On the other side of the expanse
of water the Amazon forests were eagerly awaiting their arrival. These dry clouds,
invisible to the human eye but very real, provide essential nutrients for
plants and trees that otherwise could not grow on their washed-out soils.  In
addition, on their way across the expanse of ocean the dry air drops some of
its load. Plankton was waiting below. Small fishes feed on the plankton and
become food for bigger fishes which for the most part end up on dinner plates all
over America.

The first sailors of the post-hurricane season have reached
the west coast of Africa. Having travelled down the Bay of Biscay or exited
through the Strait of Gibraltar, they were now aiming to catch the trade winds
towards the Caribbean. They looked up and saw the thunderheads approaching at a
speed they could only dream of.

“Line squall,” they said and shortened sail.    

***

Madeleine did not feel tired at all. Once she had updated
her status she checked the Facebook pages of most of her friends. It’s been two
days after all since she had the time. Midnight came before she realised that
she had to call Grant for his watch. She looked at the compass and around the
boat. There was really nothing to tell.

Grant was a little groggy when she woke him.

“I slept like a log. How are things outside?”

“Nothing has changed,” she said. “We are still going east,
according to the compass. It hasn’t rained but there is lightning somewhere.
You can see it light up the horizon.”

“And the wind? What’s the wind doing?”

“It’s just blowing, now a little softer and then a little
harder.”

 “What’s this?” he asked as the boat pitched and rolled.
From somewhere inside came the sound of water pouring, which immediately got
his attention.

“Oh, yes, it’s been doing that as well.”

When he got out of the cabin he realised that everything
that could roll or move, was doing so or had done so. The inside of the yacht
was a mess consisting of office items, Madeleine’s magazines and kitchen
utensils. Clearly they had too many loose things below the deck. A thumping noise
caught his attention. He opened a bulkhead door and jumped out of the way as a
pair of five kilogram dumbbells rolled out and threatened to crush his feet.
Quickly he secured them in their places. Everything else in the gym seemed to
be holding in their positions. His precious carpets were wet in parts. They
were made to take some seawater, but still. Sea salt caused problems. It made
for permanently damp patches and he did not like it below. Quickly, he made a
round of all six hatches and closed off the three that were open. It would be a
bit more moggy inside with only the dorades providing fresh air but that was
the better than seawater and he could always switch on the air conditioning
later on.

On arrival in the cockpit he was not surprised when he saw that the waves had
doubled in size since he went off watch. He could make out the big swells
coming from the east but over these swells came a different set of waves,
criss-crossing from the north east, running before the twenty five knot wind
that still came from that direction. In the patchy moonlight the white crests
rolled on in orderly rows, causing the boat to pitch violently as they passed
through. He estimated twelve feet with breaking tops of three feet high. Every
now and then a wave managed to lap over the weather side and sluiced the deck
with water. No wonder it was wet below.  A shudder ran through the heavy yacht
each time they slammed into a bottom. The automatic steering had quite a task
on its hands as it fought to bring the yacht back on course. He watched the lee
rail go under time after time and shook his head in wonder. How could Madeleine
have said that nothing had changed?  She had the guileless ignorance of the
truly innocent. On the other hand, this was how accidents happened. He
remembered his coaching efforts of the day before and wondered how teachable
she really was.

The energy of the opposing waves as well as the twisting
motion cost them speed. He checked how far they had come and was disappointed.
He had allowed for the Atlantic drift to take off one and a half knots but they
were slower than he anticipated.  He calculated that they were barely managing
three knots over the ground. One day of easting was going to stretch into two.

He dialled the knob that made the autopilot cycle quicker.
It immediately cut out some of the yawing. After watching for a while he was
still not satisfied and took over the wheel himself.     

In order to increase speed he steered to the south-east
every now and then before returning to their original course. A few times
during his watch their slow progress was disrupted as the threat of squalls was
realised. They caught only the edge of a cell of rain and wind as he cut and twisted
through some very large waves at seven knots, trying to avoid it. On two other
occasions, however, he decided to take it on the chin as he saw no easy escape
route from the solid blobs on the radar screen. Every time he decided to let Madeleine
sleep and reefed the mainsail by himself. He did not want his focus to be
interfered with and he felt that he could handle it.

At least the fresh water washed off the salt a bit – on the
outside. As far as the inside was concerned, he was sure that he could get a company
on Bermuda to steam-clean and shampoo his carpets.

As he battled with the sail settings he once again wished that
he had taken a more active part when they were sailing across the Southern
Atlantic. It was simply different if you had to do it all by yourself.

On the other hand, half the fun was learning to sail the
boat.

***

The morning of day three broke blood red, in contrast to the
day before when it was all mellow and gold. The waves were much lower, seven to
ten feet but they were still pounding at the yacht, hissing angrily as they
passed, trying to push the boat off course. Above him in the rigging the sound
effects have not let up either. He looked up to see where the thudding,
crashing and smacking came from that accompanied him all night. He had a
growing sense that something was going to break somewhere but he could not put
a finger on it.

It was time to call Madeleine. “Come see the sunrise!” he
yelled through the companionway. “It’s spectacular.”

There was no answer. “Madeleine!’ he called as he climbed
below. Still no answer. He knocked on the cabin door, the one that she used for
sleeping. After the third knock he opened it. Madeleine was lying fast asleep
in a sleeping bag that she had appropriated from him without asking, tangled hair
all over the pillow and dead to the world. He was not surprised. He wondered
how much she had managed to sleep, given the conditions. But watches were
watches. Duty was duty.

“Madeleine!” he called.

For a moment he thought that she was playing the fool with him,
but she was not. He could see that she was breathing deeply. He reached over to
grab a foot. Just then an urge overpowered him completely. It was massive and
took immediate command of all his senses. He put a foot forward toward the
figure on the bunk, realising at the same time that he could not control
himself. Wordlessly, he screamed a protest in his mind and it somehow worked.
He recoiled, staggering back against the bulkhead where he knocked his head. He
was completely shocked. Where did that come from? He had no plans to get
physical with this girl! On the contrary. There were bigger things at play
here, things that were to happen on Bermuda. So what was this all about? He
shook his head to get his mind clear again and then he noticed that Madeleine
was watching him calmly.

“Is it time?” she asked.

“I’ve given you more time as well,” he said. “Looks as if
you needed it. I called several times. If you are quick, you can see the sun
come up. It will be spectacular this morning.” He turned away sharply and breathed
deeply. Did she notice anything?

Ten minutes later she joined him. Together they watched the
sun rise. It was a giant ruby-red disk that pushed itself up over a succession
of wave crests. There was blood everywhere. In the sky. On the sea. Reflecting from
the white tops of the waves. Reflecting from the surfaces of the yacht around
them. They absorbed the spectacle without saying a word. When the sun had
definitely risen and changed to its usual appearance Grant could still not say
a thing. The experience in the cabin was too close. He wondered if he could
trust himself. Madeleine, on the other hand, seemed to be her sweet self.

“Shall I make breakfast for us?” she asked.

“Who is the gourmet chef on the boat?”

Madeleine lifted his empty coffee cup from its holder and
disappeared down the companionway. Grant fixed his eyes on the crest of the
next wave that was rolling in and firmed up his grip on the wheel in anticipation.

***

Master and apprentice were fully aware of the magnanimity
and generosity of the king when they settled on grass mats in the largest house
of the settlement. It was a place built for gathering and discussion and the
smell of fresh grass confirmed that it was very recently constructed. The
master looked out toward the old hut where he used to meet the father of the
current potentate. He remembered the rows of brandy flasks that the old man
kept inside there, a visible attestation to the power of his trade, which was
partly paid in brandy, and to his own alcoholism. He had chided the old man
about his taste for the white man’s firewater and reminded him of the wonderful
drinks that their own women made from the nectar of the sugar bushes that grew
in abundance just behind the king’s residence.  The old king ignored his
comments. Now he was dead.

The son sat on a low tripod at the head of the circle. On
tripods in other parts of the circle sat kings from other tribes. They had
arrived several days before for the ceremony that introduced the old king to
his forefathers and they were still there, even though all of that was now
done. The master found their continued presence intriguing. To find out more,
he went walkabout on the previous afternoon, putting a few casual questions
here and there and by now he had a fair idea of what it was all about. Even he,
however, was to be surprised by the scale of the vision of the new king of the
Chainouqua
.

The master came prepared. While the kings were still
assembling, he grabbed inside his bag and handed each one a small parcel of
carefully bound leaves. The old king of the
Hanqumqua
took his parcel
and immediately tears came into his eyes. The
Hanqumqua
were renowned
for growing the best dagga in the world, some of it on the moist ledges and
terraces of Snake Mountain, an area that was now inaccessible to them.

“Just look at this,” he said, stroking the little parcel.
“Look at the length of the leaves, smell the aroma. Where do you get quality
like this?”

It was a master stroke of the old sorcerer to have harvested
a few bundles of the choicest leaves on the day before they had left. Each one
of the kings appreciated his gift, even the king of the
Chainouqua,
although
he probably realised that his gift was now much smaller than originally
intended.

Once everyone was seated, it was the king of the
Chainouqua
who spoke. Apart from Hadah he was the youngest, but he oozed the belligerence
of a pure warrior. “Sorcerers,” he said, “Welcome in our midst.”

The master smiled quietly, again remembering the little
bundle that he pronounced fit to live and become king one day. That day had
arrived.

“It took the death of my much revered father to bring all
the chiefs together,” he continued. Heads nodded in remembrance of the late
king. “We could not allow such an opportunity to go wasted. I will now ask the
king of the
Cochoqua
, who is the oldest amongst us, to explain to you
what we have in mind.”

The king of the
Cochoqua
waited until all the
attention was on him. “Do you remember,” he asked, addressing his question to
the master, “what happened to us when my father was still king of the
Cochoqua
,
when we lost almost all our cattle?”

“I remember very well,” said the master. “It was hurtful to
all of us.”

“There was a small misunderstanding between us and the
Dutch,” said the king. “Just a small one, but the next thing we knew the
soldiers came and started chasing us around. Our soldiers had no time to get
the fighting oxen together to shield them from the bullets, so the soldiers did
what they wanted and took a lot of cattle.”

“That was not the end of it,” said the master.

“No. Our men were angry. We wanted to take the cattle back,
so there was war. Unfortunately the Dutch on their horses were too much for us
and we lost the battle. Again the Dutch took many, many heads of cattle. Do you
remember that?”