The Complete Oom Schalk Lourens Stories. Herman Charles Bosman
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knew Hendrik Oberholzer well. He was a good man. Unlike most of the farmers who lived here in those days, Hendrik Oberholzer was never caught smuggling cattle across the line. Perhaps it was because he was religious and would not break the law. Or else he chose only dark nights for the work. I don’t know. I was rather good at bringing cattle over myself, and yet I was twice fined for it at Zeerust.
Hendrik Oberholzer lived on the farm Paradyskloof. When he first trekked in here he was already married and his son Paulus was about fourteen. Paulus was a lively youngster and full of spirits when there was drought in the land and there was no ploughing to be done. But when it rained, and they had to sow mealies, Paulus would be sulky for days. Once I went to Paradyskloof to borrow a sack of cement from Hendrik for a sheep-dip I was building. Paulus was on the lands, walking behind the plough. I went up and spoke to him, and told him about the cement for the sheep-dip. But he didn’t stop the oxen or even turn his head to look at me. “To hell with you and your cement,” he shouted.
Then he added, when he got about fifteen yards away, “And the sheep-dip.”
For some time after that Hendrik Oberholzer and I were not on speaking terms. Hendrik said that he was not going to allow other men to thrash his son. But I had only flicked Paulus’s bare leg with the sjambok. And that was after he had kicked me on the shin with his veldskoen, because I had caught him by the wrist and told him that he wasn’t to abuse a man old enough to be his father. Anyway, I didn’t get the cement.
Then, a few days before the minister came up to hold the Nagmaal, Hendrik called at my house and said we must shake hands and forgive one another. As he was the ouderling, the predikant stayed with him for three days, and if he was at enmity with anybody, Hendrik would not be allowed to share in the Nagmaal. I was pleased to have the quarrel settled. Hendrik Oberholzer was an upright man whom we all respected for his Christian ways, and he also regularly passed on to me the Pretoria newspapers after he had finished reading them himself.
Afterwards, as time went by, I could see that Hendrik was much worried on account of his son. Paulus was the only son of Hendrik and Lettie. I know that often Hendrik had sorrowed because the Lord had given him no more than one child, and yet this one had strange ways. Because of that, both Hendrik and his wife Lettie became saddened.
Paulus had had a good education. His father didn’t take him out of school until he was in Standard Four. And for another thing he had been to Sunday school since he was seven. Also his uncle, who was a builder, had taught Paulus to lay flat stones for stoeps. So, taken all round, Paulus had more than enough learning for a farmer. But he was not content with that. He said he wanted to learn. Hendrik Oberholzer reasoned with him and, very fairly and justly, pointed out to him what had happened to Piet Slabberts. Piet Slabberts had gone to high school, and when he came back he didn’t believe in God. So nobody was surprised when, two months later, Piet Slabberts fell off an ox-wagon and was killed by the wheels going over his head.
But Paulus only laughed.
“That is not so wonderful,” he said. “If an ox-wagon goes over your head you always die, unless you’ve got a head like a Bushman’s. If Piet Slabberts didn’t die, only then would I say it was wonderful.”
Yes, it was sinful of Paulus to talk like that when we could all see that in that happening was the hand of God. At the funeral the ouderling who conducted the service also spoke about it, and Piet Slabberts’s mother cried very much to think that the Lord had taken away her son because He was not satisfied with him.
Anyway, Paulus did less work on the farm. Even when the dam dried up, and for weeks they had to pump water for the cattle all day out of the borehole, Paulus just looked on and only helped when his father and the kaffirs could not do any more. And yet he was twenty and a strong, well-built young man. But there was something in him that was bad.
At first Hendrik Oberholzer had tried to make excuses for his son, saying that he was young and had still to learn wisdom, but later on he spoke no more about Paulus. Hendrik’s wife Lettie also said nothing. But there was always sadness in her eyes. For Paulus was her only child and he was not like other sons. He would often take a piece of paper and a pencil with him and go away in the bush and write verses all day. Of course Hendrik tore up those bits of paper whenever he found them in the house. But that made no difference. Paulus just went on with his sinful, worldly things, even after the minister had spoken to him about it and told him that no good could come out of writing verses – unless they were hymns. But even then it was foolish. Because in the hymn-book there were more hymns than people could use.
Instead of starting to work for himself and finding some girl to whom he could get married, Paulus, as I have said, just loafed about. Yet he was not bad-looking and there were many girls who could have favoured him if he looked at them first. And from them he could have chosen a woman for himself. Only Paulus took no notice of girls and seemed shy in their company.
One afternoon I went over to Hendrik Oberholzer’s farm to fetch back a saw that I had bought from him. But Hendrik and Paulus had gone to Zeerust with a load of mealies, so that when I got to the house only Hendrik’s wife Lettie was there. I sat down and talked to her for a little while. By and by, after she had poured out the coffee, she started talking about Paulus. She was very grieved about him and I could see that she was not far off crying. Therefore I went and sat next to her on the riempiesbank, and did my best to comfort her.
“Poor woman. Poor woman,” I said and patted her hand. But I couldn’t comfort her much, because all the time I had to keep an eye on the door in case Hendrik came in suddenly.
Then Lettie showed me a few bits of paper that she had found under Paulus’s pillow. It was the same kind of verses that he had been writing for a long time, all about mimosa trees and clouds and veld flowers and that sort of nonsense. When I read those things I felt sorry that I didn’t hit him harder with the sjambok that day he kicked me on the shin.
“He does not work even as much as a piccanin,” Hendrik’s wife Lettie said. “All day he writes on these bits of paper. I can’t understand what is wrong with him.”
“A man who writes things like that will come to no good,” I said to her. “And I am sorry for you. It is not good the way Paulus is treating you.”
Immediately Lettie turned on me like one of those yellow-haired wild-cats, and told me I had no right to talk about her son. She said I ought to be ashamed of myself and that, no matter what Paulus was like, he was always a much better man than any impudent Dopper who dared to talk about him. She said a lot of other things besides, and I was pleased when Hendrik returned. But I saw then how much Lettie loved Paulus. Also, it just shows you that you never know where you are with a woman.
Then one day Paulus went away. He just left home without saying a word to anybody.
Hendrik Oberholzer was very much troubled. He rode about to all the farms around here and asked if anyone had seen his son. He also went to Zeerust and told the police, but the police did not do much. All they ever did was to get our people fined for bringing scraggy kaffir cattle across the line. The sergeant at the station was a raw Hollander who listened to everything Hendrik said, and then at the end told Hendrik, after he had written something in a book, that perhaps what had happened was that Paulus had gone away.
Of course, Hendrik came to me, and I did what I could to help him. I went up to the Marico River right to where it flows into the Limpopo, and from there I came back along the Bechuanaland Protectorate border. Everywhere I enquired for Paulus. I was many days away from the farm.
I had hardly got back home when Hendrik called for news. From his lands he had seen me come through the poort and he had hastened over to see me.
We sat down in the voorkamer and filled our pipes.
“Well, Lourens,” Hendrik said, and his eyes were on the floor, “have you heard anything about Paulus?”
It was early afternoon, with the sun shining in through the window, and in Hendrik’s brown beard were white hairs that I had not noticed before.
I saw how Hendrik looked at the floor when he asked about