Elevation 1: The Thousand Steps. Helen Brain
never tasted anything as wonderful as this fresh tomato, warmed by the sun and grown in the earth.
Leonid comes past then, pushing a wheelbarrow along the dirt path. “Like gardening?” he grunts.
“It’s the best thing in the world,” I say, and his brooding face almost shifts. “Please can I help?”
“Fine. Vegetables need picking, and stake the tomatoes.”
We work together all morning, and I’m happy with my hands in the dirt, happy under the sky and in the fresh air. If only Jasmine and the twins were here with me, it would be perfect. Leonid seems more cheerful, and I think maybe we can be friends after all. Maybe he’s shy, or was in shock, and now he’s getting used to me.
“I wish I could take a basket of your vegetables to my sabenzis in the colony,” I say as we go towards the kitchen at noon. “Let them see what real fresh vegetables ripened in the sun look like.”
“They say food’s running short there,” Leonid says.
I stop in my tracks. “Really? But we’ve been dehydrating the excess and sending it to the storage galleries. There must be a massive stockpile.”
“That’s what I heard.”’
I ponder this. They lied to us about the outside world. Could they be lying about the food too? Why?
“What will happen when it runs out?”
He’s pumping water at the well, but now he stops and shrugs. “Who knows?”
“They’ll have to elevate everyone,” I say.
“Pah! Table Island can’t feed thousands more. Won’t elevate them.”
“Then what will happen?”
He’s scrubbing his hands like the dirt has gone down to the bone. “How’d I know?”
I don’t ask him any more.
He’s probably got it wrong.
I go inside to shower. Mr Frye is coming, and I’m filthy.
I’VE JUST FINISHED showering when I hear Mr Frye’s nasal laugh in the hallway. There’s another voice too – a male’s. I quickly check myself in the mirror on the front of the wardrobe. My robe is too dirty to wear again, especially if I’m meeting the High Priest’s son, so I pull on a robe I find in the wardrobe. The colour is astonishing – a deep indigo blue, with yellow embroidery around the neck. I smooth back the tendrils of hair escaping from my plait, take a deep breath and open the door.
“Ebba!” Mr Frye says, giving me a hug. “You look stunning. Doesn’t she, Haldus?” He releases me, and pushes forward a guy a year or so older than me. “This is my godson, Haldus Poladion.”
“Hal, please.” The guy takes my hand and gives it a triple shake, looking into my eyes all the while. “All my friends call me Hal,” he says with a cheeky smile.
He’s gorgeous. A strong nose, square jaw, large black eyes, and skin like burnt butter. All the boys I’ve ever known have worn the same clothes as me – the off-white tunic and pants. Even Leonid wears a grey version of it. But Haldus is wearing a flowing crimson robe and pants, and he looks like a king.
“I am here on behalf of my father,” Hal says. His grin is gone, and he’s looking me in the eye. “He would like me to extend his sincere apologies to you for the unfortunate incident in the colony. Had he known who you were, he would have elevated you far sooner. He hopes you can forgive him and the Council.” And he smiles again. “Friends?”
For a moment I pause. He’s calling almost murdering me an “unfortunate incident”? But Hal is so cute with his dimples and the mischievous twinkle in his eye, that I can’t resist. “Of course,” I say. “Apology accepted.”
“All good, all good,” Mr Frye beams. He snaps his fingers. “Leonid, don’t just stand there. Fetch some tea.”
Leonid hurries to the kitchen and Mr Frye turns his electric grin to me. “Let’s go into the sitting room and have a chat.”
His hand on my back guides me through the door.
“Have a seat, Ebba,” Mr Frye says, gesturing to a deep sofa. I sink into it, and he and Hal sit opposite in armchairs. The walls are lined with paintings and I keep staring at one on the far wall. Something about it is so familiar.
Leonid comes in and puts a tray on the low table.
“We have a lot to discuss,” Mr Frye says, ignoring him. He pours the tea and passes me a cup.
Hal is so … so … then I think of the word: polished. Everything about him gleams – his teeth, his eyes, his nails, even his skin. I feel rough next to him. Mr Frye is talking about investments, developments, making the best use of my windfall, relinquishing the burden and adopting a new lifestyle, about doing what’s best not just for me but for the settlement as a whole, etcetera, etcetera, but I stop listening. It’s all too complicated. My eye falls again on one of the paintings on the far wall. It reminds me of something, but I can’t think what.
Suddenly I see what the picture represents. It’s the forest – the forest where I walk in my recurring dream.
“Who painted that?” I blurt out.
“Try to follow, Ebba,” Mr Frye says. “This is important.” Then he smiles benignly. “I suppose this information is overwhelming for you. You’re so young, and you’re a girl. Much better to leave it all to me. The picture – yes, that is one of your great-aunt’s works. She was a famous painter, before the Purification.”
My great-aunt? How on earth did she paint what’s in my dream?
He talks on about art and investments and income and how he will look after my money for me, and pay the servants’ wages, and anything I want, I just have to ask him. I’m half listening, trying to work out what’s going on.
“You can’t live here alone,” he says, “with nothing to do all day. We’ll have to sort something out for you. Hopefully it won’t be long before you can move to a settlement, nearer to the rest of the citizens. You could move to Newlands settlement, or even Woodstock or Vredehoek would be fine. This farm is so far away from everything, you’ll be lonely here with no neighbours. It was alright for an old lady, but you’re a young girl with your whole life open before you, and you’ll want to go to parties and entertainments and mix with young people your own age, and maybe the High Priest will select a husband for you …”
I’m transfixed by the painting. It’s my dream exactly – the forest, the path where my mother disappears.
“I hope you’ll be alright here with Leonid for a day or two. I’ve warned him that if he so much as lays a finger on you …” He sees the alarm in my face. “Don’t worry about it, my dear. He wouldn’t dare, but you never know with these rough boat-people. Perhaps I should send over a maid or two from my house to cook and clean for you until Aunty Figgy gets back. Leonid looks after the kitchen garden and the maintenance on the house. He’ll also drive you anywhere you want to go.”
“Drive me? I can go anywhere I want?”
He and Hal laugh as though I’ve said something really amusing. “You don’t seem to understand, my dear. You’re an heiress. Of course Miss den Eeden had a buggy. And yes, you can go anywhere you want. You’re a citizen now.”
He snaps open his briefcase and takes out a sheaf of papers. He puts the papers on the table and takes a pen and a bottle of ink out of his case. “I’m going to need your signature on these, please.”
“Um …” I begin. I have to tell him I can’t write, but it’s so embarrassing, especially in front of Hal.
Leonid knocks on the door. He’s come to clear away the tea tray. Mr Frye barely acknowledges him.
I