Residue

By André Ferero

It is a sunny, peaceful Saturday afternoon, 1936, in the Union of South Africa. Jacques Wolfe, a fifteen year old white boy, witnesses an act of aggression by Bradley Ratcliffe and his gang, against a black boy he does not know. Will Jacques ignore the incident, walk away from it, back to his life of safety? Or will he help the black boy, and tell the truth of what happened when required to do so?
How will Jacques' decision change the course of his life? Will it enable him to become friends with the black boy while fighting a common enemy? Or will society deny the possibility of friendship between two boys of different races and cultures?
Residue is the latest novel by André Ferero, the popular author of A Thief Of Notes.

• Language: English
• Publisher: André Ferero
• Release date: Dec 4, 2013
• ISBN: 9781311802293

André Ferero

André Ferero is a South African writer who has been living in France since July 2006. Even though his love for Africa hasn't diminished during that time, he is not complaining about living in the kingdom (well, Republic) of food and wine.His interests include photography, reading, (good) movies, hiking, wine tasting, traveling and trying to figure out this experience called life. Music is one of his biggest loves and he listens to almost anything, from old to new.He writes as often as possible. He describes his fiction as speculative, with a focus on the characters in possible futures. He has also just finished a South African guidebook that is different from all other guidebooks on the topic and will be very helpful to travelers who want to plan their own trip to Southern Africa.

Book preview

Residue

André Ferero

Published by Ferrero Books at Smashwords

Copyright 2013, André Ferero

Smashwords Edition, License Notes:

This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you are reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please return to http://www.smashwords.com/ and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

Note to the reader:

This book is based on true historical events and all dates referred to are correct. However, certain creative liberties were taken to make the story work.

Dedicated to:

The real Simon. I miss you my friend.

and,

Renier, a true brother in arms. Thank you for your inspiration and support.

Chapters:

1: Confrontation

2: Accusations

3: Weapons Of Choice

4: Reconnaissance

5: The Match

6: Eloise

7: Target Shooting

8: Weapons Training

9: Adversary

10: The Dance

11: Altered Future

12: Investigation

13: The Note

14: The Caracal

15: Rumours Of War

16: The Big Decision

17: Training

18: The Voyage

19: Entering The Darkness

20: Helwan

21: Desert March

22: Finding Eloise

23: The Tank Hunters

24: Tobruk

25: Escape

26: Desert Death

27: Treasure

28: Farewell

29: Home

30: Residue Of Life

About The Author

Residue

PART I: Before The War

1936 - 1939, The Union of South Africa

1: Confrontation

Bradley Ratcliffe and his four friends stood in a semi-circle outside Sam's Store, waiting for someone, telling jokes to each other to pass the time. Bouts of hollow laughter issued from their cruel throats every now and again. They often looked up at the store's entrance, but did not dare to enter, as if they needed space or secrecy for what they intended to do. From my hiding place I noticed Bradley holding an empty cold drink bottle. He held it by the neck with his right hand, hitting it with a regular rhythm into the palm of his left hand. In Bradley's hand the bottle looked like a weapon. What was he planning to do with it? I wondered. And who were they waiting for?

Again the five boys exchanged a few words, followed by shrill laughs. Their laughter did not express joy, only viciousness, with a promise of cruelty, as if they were taunting a helpless victim, mocking him mercilessly. It reminded me of the laughter of hyenas before they tore their prey apart.

The afternoon sun was hot. Its brightness reflected off the boys' pale skins and filtered into their clothes. They were all dressed in a similar fashion, wearing outfits resembling military uniforms. The heat forced them to wipe sweat from their brows and eyes, using their shirt sleeves, or handkerchiefs dug from trouser pockets. The longer they waited in that ruthless summer sun, the more their irritation and anger grew. They clenched their fists and kicked up dirt with their dusty boots. Even their laughter ceased after a while. A silence descended upon them, infected with indignation.

The shop's door finally opened and the five white boys turned as one to face it. A black boy exited, carrying a small brown bag in his one hand. I did not know his face, had not seen him before. When I saw him I instantly knew who Bradley and his gang had been waiting for. From the look on the black boy's face it was obvious that he knew he was in trouble. He hesitated for a moment and shot a glance at the door behind him, as if he wanted to slip back into the safety of the shop.

But he lifted his head and walked down the four steps that led up the store's porch. He did not look at Bradley and his friends, as if ignoring them would make them lose interest in his presence. It was clear that he didn't want any trouble, that he only wanted to leave. From where I hid he looked brave, even proud, as he approached the five white boys. I was unable to find any traces of fear on his features, but I sensed a tension in him, like that of a wild animal who knew somebody was trying to trap him.

What the hell are you doing here, boy? Bradley shouted across the courtyard. Don't you know this is no place for you people? Why don't you go back to your hut in the bush where you belong?

I have the right to be here. My money is as good as yours for buying eggs and flour, the black boy answered.

Buying? Bradley said, spitting the word at him. You probably came here to steal something.

I don't steal. I'm no thief.

You must be joking, boy. I reckon you're a thief and a liar.

Bradley handed the empty bottle to one of his friends and moved forward. He did it slowly, as if to prove that he was in complete control of the situation, that he was the only one with the authority to decide what was going to happen next, and how. With his right hand he made a tight fist, hitting the white knuckles into the palm of his other hand as he walked. He did not take his dark eyes off the black boy as he closed in on him. The moment he stood in front of the black boy he raised his fist and pulled it back as if to strike him down. The boy did not flinch, nor did he look away from Bradley. That only angered Bradley even more. Both his hands shot up to the black boy's chest and he shoved him back. Not nearly as far as he had intended to.

You trying to be a tough guy, boy?

The black boy did not respond to the question. He only took a few steps back and set his bag down on the shop's porch without taking his eyes off Bradley. Then he stood up straight and stepped closer to Bradley, facing him. I again was unable to find any evidence of fear on the black boy's face. All I saw was something savage lurking in his eyes, an expression I had seen before in the eyes of wild animals, moments before they pounced. I wondered if Bradley also noticed it and what effect it had on him. What I found surprising was that the black boy did not raise his fists. His arms dangled by his sides, not responding to the threat in front of him.

You wanna fight? Bradley asked, but took several steps back.

The black boy didn't budge, nor did he utter a sound. He only watched Bradley with an expression of contempt as he returned to the safety of his friends. His eyes leapt from one white face to the next, waiting for their next move.

Or are you too scared to fight? Bradley continued.

I believe I'm not the scared one, the black boy answered.

What are you trying to say, boy?

That you're the one who's frightened. Or do you think it's brave to hide behind your friends?

Are you getting cocky with me, boy? Bradley said with a voice coated with bravado.

My name is Simon, not boy.

Is that a fact, boy? Bradley shouted and ran straight at Simon. His four friends were at his heels, like obedient dogs following their master.

Bradley tried to shove Simon backwards, but Simon expected it and was too quick for him. He sidestepped Bradley, grabbed his right arm with both his hands, and used Bradley's momentum to pull him forward. Bradley lost his balance and fell to his knees and hands on the hard red ground. He was up in a second, wheeling around to face Simon again. Bradley's fists were raised. From where I stood it seemed as if they shook. I wondered if it was from fear or anger. Knowing that Bradley was about to attack him, Simon finally raised his fists.

You're in trouble now, you piece of shit, Bradley screamed, spit flying from his lips. This is assault. The police will hear about this incident. But before I report you, I'll teach you a lesson that you'll remember the next time you dare to raise your fists to a white man.

Bradley pulled his fist a few inches back and struck out with a straight right. Simon blocked the blow with his palm. His hand folded over Bradley's clenched fist and he forced him back with great strength. Bradley stumbled and nearly lost his balance. When he regained his composure he was livid, like a small boy who was denied something he really desired.

What are you pricks waiting for? Bradley shouted at his friends. I need some help here.

The four other boys didn't wait. They immediately encircled Simon. Bradley stood in front of Simon, facing him. One of his friends took in position to Simon's right, another one to his left. The remaining two stood behind him. Without warning the two boys at Simon's back jumped forward. They pushed him towards Bradley with all their strength, as if he was a helpless animal, something they were allowed to torture and play with. The push from behind was unexpected. Simon staggered and nearly fell. But the boy to his right pulled him back up again, tearing his shirt in the process.

Stay on your feet, you coward. Now you're going to pay for attacking us. Grab him, Bradley ordered.

Bradley's four friends swarmed over Simon, like lice. Two of them grabbed Simon by the arms. He struggled with all his strength against them but they were too strong for him and he was unable to free himself. The two other boys got hold of Simon's legs. He kicked them but they managed to grip his ankles in their arms. Together they lifted him off his feet. They carried his wriggling body away from the shop's entrance with great effort.

They were heading to the back of the building where nobody would see what they were about to do. I flanked them in the tall grass that grew beyond the boundaries of the clearing surrounding the shop. I stayed low and moved as quietly as possible, hiding my presence.

I rushed to the huge avocado tree that grew in the bush behind the shop, knowing that I would have a clear view from one of its top branches. As I started climbing a flock of mousebirds flew noisily from the tree. Nobody paid attention to the birds, nor to the silence that fell after their departure. I continued my ascent, in haste, knowing I had little time in which to help Simon.

I stopped climbing when I reached branches high enough to offer me a view, and strong enough to hold my weight. It was a good place to be. I was hidden from below, but a small opening in the leaves allowed me a view. Two branches grew at a ninety degree angle from the tree's main trunk, giving me a stable platform on which to stand. After finding secure footing I removed my air rifle from my back. It was already loaded and I lifted it to my shoulder.

Below me on the ground, barely twenty yards from the tree, two of the white boys had let go of Simon's feet. The other two held him upright by his arms. Bradley stood in front of him, ready to lash out at Simon. Simon steeled himself in preparation for the inevitable blows he knew he was about to receive.

So here we are, boy, with no witnesses around. And I believe it's about time to punish you for your insolence. What do you think, boy?

As I've already told you, my name is Simon, not boy.

Shut up, you fool.

And I'm still not scared of you.

You will be when we're finished with you. And that's a promise.

Bradley pulled his arm back. His raised fist flashed in the sun for an instant, shot forward and connected with Simon's stomach. Simon uttered no sound, but the impact of the blow doubled him up. Bradley's friends didn't give him the chance to get his breath back before they forced him upright again. Bradley lashed out once more and Simon staggered a foot forward, dragging the boys who held him with.

Not so strong now, are we? I thought you'd be able to handle more punishment than this, Mister Tough Guy. Or do you want me to end it quickly? Yeah, maybe that's what I should do. But I'm having so much fun here that I don't want it to end just yet.

Bradley hit Simon again, with quick straight punches from both fists.

It seems like that has softened you up, Bradley said as he took a few steps back. He looked at Simon with disgust. Now it's time to rearrange your proud face a little bit. Hand me the bottle, John.

John hesitated for a split second, apparently considering something, then passed the bottle to Bradley. Bradley looked at it appreciatively, as if it was something truly beautiful. He threw it from hand to hand for a while, pretending that he found it difficult to decide what to do with it. A smile formed on his thin lips the moment he took the bottle by the neck. Without warning he charged at Simon, raising the bottle above his head and striking out at him. It happened so quickly that I didn't get a clear shot on the bottle and refrained from shooting. An inch before the glass smashed into Simon's forehead, Bradley pulled it back. He burst out laughing. So did his friends. Their laughter echoed in the still afternoon air, as if reaching me from somewhere within a dark cave.

Do you fear me yet, you piece of shit?

No, Simon said.

Let's see if blood flowing over your ugly face and into your eyes will change your opinion.

Bradley took several steps back. He lifted the bottle and held it still. The tension between him and Simon increased. It became so strong that it was nearly visible. The afternoon sun reflected off the bottle for a few moments. I knew from Bradley's stance that he was about to run forward and break the bottle against Simon's head. That wasn't something I was prepared to allow. My finger tensed around my air rifle's trigger and I squeezed it. The bottle exploded in Bradley's hand, filling the air with shards of glass. I reloaded as quickly as possible and aimed at the back of Bradley's neck. I pulled the trigger once again. Bradley shouted out in pain. His hand shot up to his wound and he rubbed it furiously.

What's wrong? What happened? one of the other boys asked.

I don't know, Bradley whined. It feels like something has bitten me.

I wanted to laugh at Bradley's presumption that he had been stung by an insect. To confirm his belief I raised my rifle again and aimed it at the chest of the boy who stood to Simon's right. He was still restraining Simon when I shot him. He yelled and let go of Simon's arm as he attempted to open his shirt to see why it was burning so much on his chest.

While I reloaded, Simon tried to pull himself loose from the boy who still gripped his left arm. The boy fought hard to hold on to Simon. I took aim and shot him on the shoulder. That convinced him to give up his attempt to keep Simon under control and he released his arm. Simon saw his opportunity to escape and backed away from the white boys. He did it with determination, but didn't run.

We'll get you for this, you piece of black shit, Bradley shouted after Simon.

I did not like his angry words, nor his attitude of superiority, and punished him for it with a shot right at the centre of his back. He whimpered and ran blindly away, followed by his friends. As they ran I reloaded as quickly as possible and peppered them with pellet after pellet. The five boys fled down the dirt road passed Sam's Store, flailing their arms, trying to slap away the invisible wasps that didn't want to stop stinging them. It was such a funny sight that I could no longer control my laughter. They were anyway out of rifle range and I stopped shooting at them. Still chuckling to myself, I climbed out of the tree.

Once I stood on solid ground I wondered what had happened to Simon. There was no sign of him. He must have gone back to the shop to retrieve his bag. Then, I believed, he would return home, to a safer place. At least Bradley and his friends would no longer be a threat to him this afternoon. They must still be running, and wondering what had attacked them.

I did not want to go home and walked off into the bush. I barely had enough time to disappear in the long grass when I heard movement at the avocado tree. I squatted, turned around, and tried to see what was responsible for the sound of rustling leaves from underneath the tree. The density of the tree's overhanging leaves prevented me from getting a clear picture. I waited without moving or making a sound.

A short while later someone pushed the curtain of leaves aside and stepped into the sunlight. It was Simon. There was an expression of puzzlement on his dark features, as if he, too, was wondering what had saved him from the worst beating of his life. He surveyed the area, looking for clues. His eyes swept over the place where I hid and I crouched down lower. I did not want Simon to know that I helped him. I longed it to remain a secret and a mystery, knowing that I would be in trouble if Bradley and his gang found out that I was responsible for their pain. Simon did not see me, shook his head, turned around and walked off, away from me.

2: Accusations

I watched Simon as he left, wondering what he thought of the afternoon's events. During Bradley's assault on him I didn't see fear on his face once. Was he really not scared, or did he just hide it to prevent Bradley from feeling satisfaction over his predicament?

What did Simon think of the white boys who dared to attack him only because he was black? I was convinced he hated them, that he would also have wanted to hurt and humiliate them. Did he believe all white people were the same? Or did he know that there were many white folk who would never attack a black man, that they would rather help him when he required their help. I hoped he knew that, that he didn't believe all white folk were evil.

Maybe I should follow Simon and tell him that I, a white boy, had helped him against the other white boys. And that I detested white kids like Bradley and his friends as much as Simon did, that I had nothing in common with them, apart from the colour of my skin. Maybe it was my duty to convince Simon that some white people still believed in justice, for all, not only for whites. But would he believe me? Wouldn't he think it was just another white man's lies?

I decided that an attempt to tell Simon about my help might only lead to an awkward situation, and did not follow him. Maybe an opportunity to show him that there were still some good white people in South Africa might arise at some other stage. When, if ever, that would happen was another question.

But often, when you're reluctant to do something, you're forced into doing it, given the chance to do what is expected of you. And when that chance appears, you know you shouldn't deny it, that you have no choice but to obey the voice of destiny, and to do the right thing, even if it exposed and endangered yourself.

That's how it happened to me as I turned my back on Simon and Sam's Store and walked off in the direction of our farm. I was in no hurry, scouring the trees for mousebirds to shoot, and moving at a slow pace, often looking down at the path in front of me for snakes, knowing it was the time of year for puff adders. I stayed on the footpath that wound its way through the tall grass. When I reached our barbed-wire fence I looked up and down it, from north to south. All was quiet. No humans, nor any animals, were in sight.

I lifted my air rifle through the fence and leaned it against a wooden fence post on the other side. I was about to climb through when I heard the sound of a siren. It wasn't very loud and I didn't pay it much attention at first, believing that it came from the main road, several hundred yards away. I thought the noise would fade as the vehicle passed by the front gate of our farm. But, its incessant wailing only became louder, as if it were approaching Sam's Store. I wanted to see what was going on and grabbed my rifle again, pulling it carefully past the sharp barbed-wire tips.

It was difficult to tell if the siren came from a police car or an ambulance. Maybe somebody got hurt. Was it possible that Bradley and his mates had returned after all, and carried out their thwarted attack on Simon? Was he lying somewhere in the road bleeding? I ran back on the path that I had just used, anger filling my head and rising in my chest, listening to the siren as it grew louder.

I was out of breath as I reached Sam's Store at the same moment as a police car shot past, driving as fast as possible on the uneven dirt road, kicking up dust. Only yards behind it another vehicle followed. It was obscured by a thick cloud of dust and I was unable to see the driver or the occupants of the car. Where were they headed?

I followed the vehicles, to find out what was going on, staying in the bush, unwilling to reveal my presence. The density of trees and grass slowed me down, but with the siren still wailing it wasn't difficult to keep track of the small convoy. Only minutes later the vehicles came to a stop. The siren wasn't switched off immediately and its noise led me to the place where the cars were parked.

I wanted to see what was going on first and did not step from the cover of the bush. I had no view of the cars yet when I heard a loud accusatory voice, screaming like a small child who had lost his pride after falling off a horse. I instantly recognized the angry, frantic voice. It belonged to Bradley Ratcliffe.

I immediately understood what was going on. After not succeeding to beat Simon up, and being attacked by something invisible on top of that, Bradley must have decided to blame everything on Simon. Because of their wealth, and his father's influence in the area, the police were summoned. I knew Simon was in trouble, that the authorities would believe Bradley, take his word as the truth against Simon's protests of innocence. For the second time that day I knew I had to help Simon, that if I didn't he would be taken to the cells and flogged. Then, Bradley would get his revenge. He might not be doing the hurting himself, but would find Simon's pain as satisfying as if he administered it with his own hands.

I found a hiding place for my air rifle under a thorn bush and put it down on some old leaves, out of sight. I stood up and wound my way through the trees and grass, doing it as silently as possible. Bradley's high-pitched voice was still continuing its tirade and nobody heard my approach. I found a place from where I was able to see what was going on without being noticed.

Barely twenty yards away a group of people, mostly black, had congregated in front of the police car. The sirens no longer sang but the light on the car's roof still flashed on and off. It cast a strange blue light onto the faces of the excited onlookers. Simon stood to my right, rigid with tension, sweating from nervousness. A few feet behind him at least another fifteen black people stood staring at what was happening. At their back ten thatched-roof huts were huddled together. A few chickens ran on the hard ground and disappeared behind one of the huts. A mangy dog lifted its head to see what was going on, but didn't look at the activity for long before going back to sleep.

Bradley, his father, Roger Ratcliffe, and Sergeant Brink had taken in position to my left, several feet away from the group of black people. There was no sign of Bradley's four friends. Bradley's arms hung at his sides and ended in two clenched fists. If the police officer wasn't present I knew Bradley would have liked to use those fists to take revenge on Simon. I was certain that his father would have allowed him to do so.

As I watched Bradley he actually lifted his fists and stormed forwards. Simon did not react to Bradley's attack, didn't even retreat. Before Bradley had the chance to hit Simon, Sergeant Brink stopped him, pushing him back to his father's side. Bradley was livid and ignored the policeman, trying to force his way past him.

Control your son, Mister Ratcliffe, Sergeant Brink said in a loud voice. If he continues like this I will handcuff him and put him inside my patrol car.

Bradley, his father shouted at him and grabbed him by the back of his shirt, pulling him backwards. Stop this right now. Behave like a civilized human being, not like an animal.

He hurt me dad. Why wouldn't you allow me to hurt him back?

We have no proof that this black boy is responsible for your wounds. So be quiet now. Maybe we can find the truth, Sergeant Brink said.

He won't tell you anything but lies. I don't know how you can even believe that he's capable of speaking the truth.

Be quiet, Bradley, his dad said and lifted his hand as if to slap Bradley into obedience. Bradley cowered back and kept his mouth shut. Roger Ratcliffe lowered his hand, but kept hold of Bradley's shirt with his other hand.

What's your name, boy? Sergeant Brink said, addressing Simon once everything had fallen quiet.

Simon Majoze, sir.

Do you live here, Simon?

Yes, sir. In that hut over there, he said and pointed out the hut.

Do you live on your own?

No, sir. I live with my mother.

Where is she today, Simon?

She's working, sir. Missus Meyer needed her help this afternoon, so she's at their house.

I see. So, Simon, can you tell me what happened earlier at Sam's Store? Why is Bradley accusing you of attacking him and his friends?

Yes, sir, I can tell you. I didn't attack anybody. They tried to attack me.

He's lying, Bradley shouted.

Be quiet, Bradley, Sergeant Brink said. I want to hear Simon's version of the story. Continue, Simon.

I went to the shop to buy some flour and eggs. When I went outside, Bradley and four other boys were waiting there for me. I tried to ignore them, but they confronted me. Then they started pushing me around. After a while they picked me up and carried me to the back of the shop. Bradley hit me many times in the stomach.

I did not. He's still lying.

Then two of his friends held my arms. Bradley had an empty bottle. He wanted to hit me against the head with the bottle. Just as he was about to do it, the bottle exploded. Then something started stinging him and his friends. I was unable to see what it was, sir. I didn't wait around, but ran away. I didn't want to be beaten up by Bradley, nor did I want to get stung.

What do you say to Simon's story, Bradley? Did you beat him up? And were you planning to break a bottle against his head?

No. I would never even consider doing something like that. He's lying. He's the one who confronted us.

Really? Then tell us your side of the story.

Sure. Sure I will, Bradley said, but fell quiet for several seconds as he tried to make up a story. "Me and my friends were on our way into Sam's Store to buy some candy when this boy here walked out of the front door. We didn't even pay him any attention. But he pushed his way through us, shouldering my one friend George out of the way.