Rudd and Father Norman find the car park heroes in the kitchen getting supplies together for their walk to Mutare.

 “Morning all. A big thank you to whoever did that clearing in the car park.” Rudd’s voice quietens the room.

“May I also pass on my own thanks, and tell you that the mission truck has started.” The pulpit tone of Father Norman reduces the noise even more, allowing replies to jostle towards them.

“Good news.”

“Cheers.”

“No worries.”

Hansie comes over to them. “Glad to hear your wheels are working Father,” he says, then turns to Rudd. “How long do you think it will take to get from here to Mutare on foot?”

“Depends. Not sure what’s out there, but two days at least I reckon. Best plan is to stick to the roads, and I’ll try to arrange for our Mutare transport guys to pick you up.”

“Okay, thanks. I’ve got a solar charger for my mobile if you need to call. We’ll head off ASAP.”

A shoulder knocks past Rudd. “Thanks for nothing, hey Rudd. Ruan, can you carry this for me?”

Rudd, his response swallowed, watches silently as Aneke’s back disappears into the thick of walkers heading outside behind Hansie. He and Father Norman follow them out, past the red truck, and on to where the security gate lies meshed beneath boulders. Bright t-shirts and laughter clamber around the blockage and disappear into the distance, with Aneke and Ruan bringing up the rear.

Once they are all out of sight, Rudd and Father Norman return to the lodge, and are making their way back to the verandah when they hear the rumble of a heavy vehicle approaching. From the entrance they see an old tractor manoeuvring slowly down through the trees. The driver is elderly, and there is a teenager sitting on one of the wheel arches. When the tractor reaches the mangle of boulders and wire by the gate, it is forced to stop, and turns around slowly, a grader blade swinging behind it.

“Good morning,” Rudd shouts, striding across to greet the driver, who waves cheerfully, his teeth gappy beneath a frayed sunhat.

Within minutes the clearing work begins. Rudd, Father Norman and the driver’s assistant work on foot alongside the tractor, with others joining them now and then. They work for hours, so many that the whole day is turned into a disjointed tangle of clearing and shifting, with occasional breaks for the food and drink being prepared for them in the kitchen. Rudd abandons the task only once, and that is to message through to Mutare about getting a bus out to the walkers.

By the end of the afternoon both the lodge’s truck, and the mission truck are parked up at the top of the hill, and the car park itself is cleared of all major obstacles, the last being the small tree that was on top of Fred and Bernard’s car.

It is dark by the time the driver and his grandson leave. As the tractor descends the hill, Rudd and the exhausted work party stand at the top wrapped in stars, watching as the headlights sway back down to the tea factory.

Copyright Georgie Knaggs & The Phraser 2023

“Where are you trying to get to?” Fred asks the priest.

“Well, to help around here a bit, then on to Bulawayo.”

“Bulawayo? Why?” asks Marybelle.

“The Lady Rodwell. Ever heard of that?”

“Of course. I was born there.” Marybelle’s voice chimes with pleasure.

 “I know the place,” says Fred. “You weren’t born there, were you Father?”

“No. Not me. I’ve been told it’s an adoption centre. I promised my mother I’d check some records. She died a few months ago.”

“Oh, I’m sorry,” says Marybelle.

“Thank you. Mercifully hers was a peaceful end,” says Father Norman. A respectful pause settles over the group.

Rudd gives it a few moments, then stands up. “Father, let’s go and see if we can find that truck of yours.”

“Right. Excellent. Excuse us everyone,” says Father Norman.

“Hope it’s okay,” Marybelle shouts after them. “Remember that I’m still here, so just let me know what needs doing.”

The instant Rudd steps outside he sees the red gleam of the truck standing in the chaos, free of debris, scarred and partially crumpled, but looking good to go. He turns and grins at the priest. “There’s your chariot, Father.”

“What am I going to do with that?” asks the priest, dismayed.

“Drive it of course,” says Rudd, stepping out into the sunshine.

“But that’s not going to go!”

“Why not?” asks Rudd. “Let’s try it. Have you got the key?”

“Yes,” says Father Norman.

Rudd reaches the vehicle, creaks open the driver’s door, and steps around to hold it wide for the priest. Father Norman peers in hesitantly. “Really? You think this’ll go?” he asks as he folds himself into the driver’s seat.

“Looks fine to me,” says Rudd, leaning inside to wind the window down as Father Norman digs in his pocket for the key. Then Rudd slams the door shut and stands back. The engine starts on the second attempt.

“Hallelujah!” says the priest, beaming relief.

“Hallelujah,” repeats Rudd quietly. Then he slaps the top of the cab and asks the priest to give it a test drive along the small cleared area down towards the gate. Father Norman revs the engine twice then lets out the clutch slowly, and the truck trundles obligingly over the few yards available.

“A miracle …” says the priest, getting out. “I think those branches must have kept the worst of the storm off.”

“More good news for you. I managed to get a message through to the tea estate this morning, and they’ll try to get a tractor to us today to help clear the road. The other great news is that Jacobus’ truck over there doesn’t look too bad either.”

“Hallelujah, hallelujah,” says Father Norman. “And what vehicle do you have?”

“It’s in the garage by the cottage. Don’t usually put it away, but I did when I heard the forecast.” Rudd pauses, ashamed to be reminded that he’d been worried enough to protect his truck, but had decided not to warn the guests. He feels Father Norman’s hand on his shoulder.

 “We do what we can,” the priest says, as though reading his mind. “Now I want to thank Hansie and friends for clearing this up.”

Copyright Georgie Knaggs & The Phraser 2023

A sudden wave of frustration swamps Rudd. He shoves his mug to the middle of the table. “Why does this country keep falling apart? It’s embarrassing. And it just becomes normal. Then other people fix us. I don’t get it.”

Bernard clicks his tongue against the back of his teeth.

“Oh well,” says Fred, winking, “at least you might get some business out of the Aid gurus who’ll come in now, to help us sort this out. They’re going to need somewhere to stay.”

Rudd gives a half smile, his eyes resigned.

“Oh dear! What a mess,” says Marybelle cheerfully. “Rudd, why not go to Vic Falls? Everyone says it’s brilliant there.”

 “Doesn’t appeal,” says Rudd with a shrug.

“Oh? Not go to Vic Falls? I was told I must,” says Father Norman.

Rudd looks across at the priest with his sleeves rolled neatly to his elbows. “Of course you must go,” he says. “The Falls are amazing. I just wouldn’t want to work there.”

 “Got to see the Falls,” agrees Fred.

“I’ve been once,” says Marybelle. “Went with my mother when I was little. She used to say the Falls were like the Earth pouring out its soul.” She is about to enthuse some more, when the sound of helicopter rotors whines up from the golf course below. “That must be the doctors,” she says, squinting her eyes towards the sound.

“Not going to be an easy day for them,” says Father Norman.

Rudd gets up and walks to the edge of the verandah, and watches the helicopter blades wind faster and faster, sunlight bouncing off them as they lift up and over the trees, and then spin off into the distance.

“At least they’re Zimbabwean,” Uncle Fred calls out to him as he walks back to the table and sits down again. Rudd smiles and tips his chair back, hands linked behind his head, half listening to the conversation, half wondering what it will be like to work on boats in the Med. He hears Fred ask Marybelle about her plans.

“Me? I’m staying here. Not here, here, although maybe a few days more, if I can be some help.”

 “You could do with her help couldn’t you Rudd?” Fred asks.

 Rudd brings his chair straight again. “Of course, but if there’s the chance of a ride back to Harare, I think you should take it Marybelle.” As he says this Rudd realises suddenly how Marybelle will react. He tries to apologise. “No … I … didn’t mean …”

“Don’t want to be a burden,” says Marybelle softly.

“Marybelle, please, you know what I mean. I can’t even begin to tell you how much of a help you’ve been. For a start, you’ve fed us all. You’ve been brilliant.”

Marybelle sniffs, and smiles. “Oh Rudd. Ignore me,” she says. “I just hate this getting old thing. Of course it makes sense for me to go if there’s a chance.”

“Anyway Marybelle,” says Fred, “that wasn’t my question really. I want to know what you’re going to do in the future? Any plans? Off to anywhere?”

“Me? I’m staying in Zim. Can’t go anywhere anyway. No passport. No money.”

“Like most of us,” says Fred.

 “Me too,” says Father Norman, sighing heavily. “I’m not going anywhere until that mission truck gets unburied.”

Copyright Georgie Knaggs & The Phraser 2023