“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

“Who’s in the helicopter?” Bernard asks Rudd.

“Three went. Katania, Simi and the young doctor.”

“Simi?”

“Ja Fred. The doctors are worried about her hand. Got a cut on it that’s infected. They want her in Harare to check it out properly.”

“Wish I’d said goodbye. I liked her.”

“And she can sing,” says Bernard, closing his eyes and starting to hum Swing Low, Sweet Chariot.

“That’s the one!” Fred smiles.

“She can sing,” Rudd agrees, as Marybelle arrives. He helps Marybelle set her tray of coffee mugs down in the middle of the table. As she starts to hand around the mugs he notices the sweatshirt tied around her waist, and tilts his head to try to read the lettering. “Marybelle, what does your sweatshirt say?” he asks, straightening up.

She looks down. “Oh this? Came out of the school lost property. Old stuff that’s been there a couple of years. Says Mutorashanga Triathlon. And, before you ask, I did not take part.”

“What?” winks Fred.

“Fred!” Marybelle cautions, waving a finger at him.

As they drink their coffee they discuss the clear up – some of it done while others were cooking, much of it still to be done.

 “Weird thing is that looking this way, over the golf course, almost looks normal. Most of the trees down there are fine. Must have been sheltered in the valley. The rest is a mess though,” says Rudd.

 Father Norman’s gaze lands on Rudd like a magnet. “What are you going to do Rudd? Gave me the impression you might not be staying.”

Rudd looks at the priest. “No. Not staying. I’ve had enough. Taken a while to figure it out, but watching that helicopter take off, I wanted to leave. Spent way too much time hoping it’s going to get better. I need to try something else.”

“Oh Rudd …”

“Marybelle, please don’t give me a hard time. I need a break.”

 Fred coughs and clears his throat. “Good for you, young man. Go and have some fun. Find a place that works, and learn how it’s done.”

Bernard shakes his head. “Eish. Harsh, but true. Zimbabwe needs a new engine, for sure.”

“And the lodge?” asks Father Norman.

“The tea estate perhaps? They might be interested. Tonderai could run it for them I suppose. Don’t know. Have never asked.”

“But what will you do?” asks Marybelle.

“Might go to the Med – to work on the boats,” Rudd says, knowing it’s only a sticking plaster idea. He takes a sip of his coffee, and then places the mug down carefully. He smiles at Marybelle. “Time to start again, while I’m still young enough.”

 “Oh! Makes me so sad, Rudd. But maybe Fred’s right. Let us old bones stay here. I don’t even want to think about you going though.”

Fred coughs again. “Yes. I think it’s a good move young man. Go and take a look. Get out before you get corrupted, that’s what I say. Then come back. Come back when there’s more sense at the wheel.”

“For sure,” says Bernard, nodding his head. “Too much easy easy one side … too much nothing other side.”

Copyright Georgie Knaggs & The Phraser 2023