Category Archives: Draft novel – Uprooted Ch20

Story postcard – the hat and the giraffe (3)

by

Rudd pushes through the swing doors into the dining-room and pauses. The noise and chat of the wedding party is gone. All he can hear is the eery, raindrenched echo of an empty room. He switches on his torch, its reach no more than a few yards now, and crosses the empty space towards the stairs up into the reception area. On the top step the storm shake is louder. Rudd can feel the wind chasing in through the broken doors, its scent wet and wild, but he cannot hear anyone. He is about to shout out when the front door bangs.

“Who’s that?” he calls.

A bright light angles over the floor towards him.

“Hey Rudd?”

“Tim?”

“Ja. Just been outside. Climbed round to where the gate used to be.”

“Just now?”

“Ja. Apologies hey. Suddenly wondered if Fred might have been in his car for some reason.”

“But it’s chaos …”

 “Don’t tell me. I found the car. It’s a write off. The good news is they weren’t in it.”

 “Eish … We were out there too. Never saw you.”

Tim’s glasses glint in the dark as he comes closer. “I was right up at the top end. Where Fred’s car was parked.” He shines his torch into the corners. “Where’s everyone?”

“Search parties I reckon. Or getting warm clothes and stuff.”

 “Hope they’ve found Fred and Bernard. This is terrible.”

“Telling me. Listen we should probably get out there and look as well. I’ll get Tonderai. I’ll leave Innocence with the staff. They’re freaked out by that landslide. Give me two minutes. We’ll meet you at the door.” 

*

As soon as they step out on to the front verandah the wind shoves into them, pushing them first to one side and then back to the other. They try to press on into the thick of it, but their progress is slow, and cluttered by chairs and tables that shift unpredictably.

They are halfway across when the bend and lift of the roof above them, unnerves Rudd.

“I think we should get under cover,” he shouts out to Tim and Tonderai who are ahead of him.

 “… make it dow … rooms …” Tim replies, but Rudd cannot hear him properly.

He forces his way through a few tables, trying to get closer, then shouts again, worried that Tim will try to make it down the stairs to the walkway below. “There … let’s go in …. billiards. Get nowhere in this … your torch.”

He sees Tim hesitate, and then, with relief notices that Tonderai has turned back and is urging the young doctor to follow. Rudd waves the last of his torchlight, beckoning them towards the open door of the billiards room which is swinging wildly to their left. As they reach it, a fresh lash of rain whips into them from behind, collapsing them on to each other like dominoes. Helpless, they heap through the door. As they get back to their feet there is a shout, and a torch catches them in its spotlight.

“Who’s that?”

 “Marybelle?” Rudd calls.

“Hi. Yes. It’s me. And Fred. And Simi. Bernard and Jambee have gone to fetch stuff.”

“How’s Fred?” Tim shouts.

“Not so good. Any chance you can shut that door?”

Copyright Georgie Knaggs & The Phraser 2023

Story postcard – the hat and the giraffe (2)

by

Rudd puts on the hat. It is still too big for him. He holds it down with one hand, while the other shines the torch after Tonderai and Innocence, who are making their way along the lodge wall towards the kitchen, their heads down into the wind. He steps out from under the shelter of the entrance, and sets off after them.

The path is sodden, and his veldskoens thick with mud. They struggle for grip as the wind shoves and tugs, slapping at the hat, and flicking the brim down over his eyes so often, that after only a few yards he’s forced to pull it off. He stuffs it under his arm and hurries on, anxious to catch the others. By the time he reaches the kitchen they are already inside. He follows them in and shuts the door behind him. It’s only then that he realises the hat is gone.

No!

He shines the torch over the floor around his feet, but sees no sign of the hat. Distraught, he wrenches the door open again and swings the beam back down the path, and up and around the remains of the garden to see if it has been caught there. But he sees no bright flare of yellow, and his torch cannot reach as far as the destroyed carpark beyond. His heart urges him to keep searching, but his head warns him that it would be futile to try. He hesitates, his shoulder blocking the door open, but then it starts to rain again, and great sheets of wet block his view. Shielding his eyes, he gives the torch a final, stuttering loop. Its batteries are failing, and the rain getting heavier. Reluctantly, he turns and goes back into the kitchen. The door bangs closed behind him.

It’s only a hat.

But it’s not. It means so much to him. The fact he made it back. That this is his chance to fill the wound. That once upon a time he saw his father happy.

He stands by the door, breathing deeply and waiting for his heart to calm. Around him shadows hip hop on the wall, as jumpy as the nervous chat of the staff. He tries to listen to what is being said, but the voice that climbs into his head is his father’s. It taunts him for the loss of the hat. Loser. Bedwetter. He flinches under the assault, but as he cowers, the wind rises, pounding and shaking against the door. Its threat, real and not imagined, forces the voice back, hammers it flat, and brings in the storm, thudding it over the roof, swallowing the lodge.

Rudd’s senses regather. He stands straight. He listens. The jibes of his abuser are gone. Swallowed. Drowned. Shrunk to nothing, by the now and the real. He switches off his half-dead torch, and heads past the small group gathered around Tonderai, Samere and Innocence. He catches a few words. Some are in English. Some not. One or two in the group acknowledge Rudd as he passes, but most are too intent on the news they share to notice him.

Copyright Georgie Knaggs & The Phraser 2023

Story postcard – the hat and the giraffe (1)

by

Rudd, Tonderai and Innocence stand in the entrance to the lodge. Shoulder to shoulder they look out in silence, their torches picking over the mud-filled chaos beyond. They find rocks, branches, damaged cars, tangled wires, and gate posts.

Rudd feels sick. It’s Tonderai who speaks first, his head shaking slowly from side to side.

“Eish! The gomo … we are lucky, very lucky.”

“Maiwe!” whispers Innocence.

 “Digging too much. Always clearing, cutting. These young trees, they don’t hold the soil.” Tonderai’s anger tails away.

“Umhmm,” Innocence nods.

Rudd’s failing torch reaches as far as it can. “The kopje is gone?” It’s a question but his eyes already know the answer.

“Yes.” Tonderai swings his light across the carpark again. “It is here. In front of us. We were very lucky … the kitchen … the garage …”

Rudd circles his torch slowly over the debris. Large rocks are tumbled together, and even larger ones have bounced further. Amongst them two tree trunks stand snapped and sharp, with their branches like nets on the ground, soil piling against them and through them.

A long, high whistle slips through Rudd’s teeth, but it is barely out before it is snatched away by a sudden gust of wind that slams the lodge door closed behind them, shaking them all from their shock. He swings around, and his eye is caught instantly by a yellow gleam. He lifts his torch beam towards it.

The hat!

Somehow the hat, tight into the corner by the front door, still clings to its post on the head of the wooden giraffe, the one Rudd’s godfather gave him when he was five. The flare of yellow draws him towards it. He walks over, unable to resist, not noticing that Tonderai and Innocence have headed off in the opposite direction.

He lifts the hat off the giraffe and memories fall out of its thick oilskin. He sees his uncle, just back from his sailing trip around Norway, presenting it to his brother. He remembers his father laughing, properly happy, when he tried it on – his new ‘lucky’ hat. Rudd loved the hat for making his father laugh. Now here it was. Still surviving. Standing in the spot he’d taken it back to when he returned. The place where the hat and the giraffe had been when he’d last seen them as a child.

Years ago now. He’d been kneeling up on the truck seat, peering through the back window as they lurched out over the culverts and away from the lodge, his father in one of his violent, unpredictable rages. He’d slammed the lodge door and flung the hat on to the giraffe in the corner, and then dragged the heartbroken Rudd away from them both and into the truck. Rudd remembers his tears. Hot. Silent. Private. He’d cried until the lodge had disappeared behind their dustcloud, and he’d promised he’d come back. He’d promised. And he had. And when he did, he’d found the hat and the giraffe in a cupboard, and he’d moved them straight back to the entrance. Markers to a promise kept.

Copyright Georgie Knaggs & The Phraser 2023