Chapter 1

“Midnight
Not a sound from the pavement
Has the moon lost her memory?
She is smiling alone
In the lamplight
The withered leaves collect at my feet
And the wind begins to moan...”

(CATS: Songwriters: Andrew Lloyd Webber / T.S. Eliot / Trevor Nunn.)

The evening shadows were getting longer. A fresh north wind promised some rain later. The clouds already building on the horizon. The wind brought some relief from the summer heat, but here, inside the steel structure of the hangar, it was still unbearable hot.

I have just secured the Cessna 402 inside the hangar. Using a little electric mobile tractor, I pushed the 402 into a space between the Cessna 210 and the Pilatus PC-12. All parked in a neat row down the west wall of the hangar. Near the back of the hanger sat the McDonnell-Douglas 530 helicopter. Not used so often, she is still maintained at peak level. She still has about 400 hours until her next major service.

I walked back to my office, up the steel stairs at the back of the hangar. Oh, sorry, let me introduce myself. How rude of me. I am John David Granger, thirty-eight years young and stand one point nine metres tall in my socks. In the old language that would be about, say, 6 feet 2 inches?

I own the planes in this hangar. Okay, right, the PC-12 is still owned by the bank, but she’s registered in my name. That makes her MINE, and she is nearly paid for. So, let’s not quibble about small little details, okay? Good! Let’s get back to the story.

As it was about closing time, all the operations at the airport were coming to a standstill. I knew I had some paperwork to attend to. Yes, my auditor was due in tomorrow, so I have some loose ends to tie. As I walked past the little table next to the stairs that were used by the personnel to sign in and out, I stopped. I was sure I placed my supper there, just before I parked the 402.

I looked around. Nothing. I retraced my steps to the hangar doors. Looked on the wings of the parked aircraft. I looked under the wings and on the noses of the aircraft. Nothing. I walked back to the table. Scratching my head, you know that impulsive not meaning anything little thing we all do, when baffled? Well, I was doing it. Not realising I was doing it.

So, I’m not getting old. Memory serves me well. I did place my supper, supplied by the San Georgia’s restaurant here on the airport, on the table. I clearly recall doing it, while I paid the waiter who brought it over. As a matter of fact, there are the books that I moved, still in the spot I placed them. Only, no supper. Oh, well.

I went up the stairs to my office. I sat down at my desk, thinking. Someone could have slipped into the hangar and swiped my supper. Yes, it’s possible. I did, before I went to park the 402, went to the right-hand side outside the hangar, that’s the western side, to feed the stray cats.

I had been feeding them for a few months now. There’s about seven of them. They also keep the rats and mice out of my hangar. So it’s an ecological question. They keep the rats and mice absent, the occasional snake as well, and I feed them. I save on “Rat-ex.” One could say that Rat-ex would be cheaper than cat food. Come on, where’s your heart? Just think of those cute, adorable bundles of fur. There’s a difference between stray and feral cats. Although they seem wild, by feeding them, they accepted me and are friendly towards me. Even let me touch them. That means they are stray cats, not feral, wild, untamed, and savage cats.

I phoned the restaurant and re-ordered my supper. I was really into getting all the few loose ends tied together, when the waiter from San Georgia’s came up the stairs with my replacement supper.

“You really are hungry tonight, or is the food that good?” He asked.

“You wouldn’t believe me, but I think someone swiped my supper, while I was parking the 402.” I said.

“The case of the missing supper ... Boo!” He said.

“I know this hangar ain’t haunted. So, a food thief!” I said.

“Well, you are paying for someone else’s supper, so I won’t insist on a tip.” He said.

“NAH, you came all the way. Here.” I said and gave him a hundred.

“Thanks Boss, maybe next time I’ll swipe your supper myself...” He said and laughed. I know him well and know that he won’t do what he said.

“Yeah, yeah.” I said. “Let me finish up and get home.”

“Okay. You stay safe. Can’t trust these security nuts these days.” He said and left. I was still wondering about my disappeared supper. That’s why I opened the packet and started to eat straight away. I was hungry.

I finished about nine PM, closed and locked my office. I then closed the heavy hangar doors. Okay, they don’t close completely. There’s about a gap, for if I twist sideways, I might get in. Well, no-one could get an aircraft out, the doors won’t open unless you had a key for the motors that drive the doors.

I left for home, a shower, some relaxing music, and bed. I drove out of the airport, half around the traffic circle at the airport entrance. I greeted the security officer on duty and carried on towards Onderstepoort and home, the stolen supper forgotten.

The next morning I got up around five AM. Good practice. I left around six AM, thus dodging the early morning traffic into the city. I live on a small holding about forty minutes outside the city. I have my business at the airport, well outside the city. So, about twenty minutes after leaving the small holding, I arrived at the hangar.

Walking to the hangar, I saw the seven stray cats lazing around the outside of the hangar, drinking up the early morning sun. The moment they saw me, they were around my feet, meowing.

“Okay, you cute bundles of fur, breakfast will be served.” I told the cats.

“Meow, me-row” And “marroww...” Came back. I unlocked the hangar, opening the doors and went to my office. Collecting the packet of dry cat food I went outside and fed them. I then noticed a bundle of rags laying against the hangar back wall. I’ll get one of the guys to remove it. It can be a fire hazard.

After feeding the cats, I went back to my office. The coffee machine was woken up. Yes, coffee, the nectar of the gods, will be ready when the staff come in later.

The day dragged on. The auditor came by, did his thing and left with a big smile. He better be smiling, he gets a big chunk of change for his job. This left me with the normal to-do-list of running the operations.

The PC-12 will be going out to Emthembeni Lodge in Limpopo Province, returning at about six PM. I’ll wait. Another San Georgia’s supper tonight. Ah well, life could be worse. At least I get to eat real cooking, else it would be a sandwich at home. So be it.

I was in my office at just past five when the rain started. A real downpour. Coming down by the buckets full. The PC-12, about twenty minutes out, was in no real danger, as it is fully instrument rated. Both the pilots, qualified in instrument meteorological conditions, will be okay. Only, I did not need hail. This could prove very unwelcome to both the PC-12 and my health.

The rain continued with flashes of lightning and crashing thunder. The world outside is obscured by the driving rain. This downpour will continue for about an hour or an hour and a half. Typical Highveld electric storm. Then, the clouds would disperse, leaving a wet and dripping scenery. The moon will cast its ghostly light, and the air will smell fresh, washed clean by the thunderstorm.

I heard the air-band radio break squelch with a call to the tower. Jake and Pat were home. A few minutes later they taxied up to the hangar and shut down the bird. The rain, now only a drizzle, was reflecting light from the floodlights off the white and dark blue fuselage of the PC-12.

I helped them to hangar the PC-12 next to the 402. Logbooks completed, the two went off home. I switched off the hangar lights. There was no need for the surgical bright floodlights, down on the hangar floor. The completion of the mission report needed to be done, so I went to my office. I’ll invoice the client in the morning. He has paid the deposit upfront. This was a returning costumer, so no problems about paying the bill.

While I was writing up the after mission report, I heard a sound down on the hangar floor. Something falling, something metal. The clanging vibrating through the almost empty hangar. I placed the sound as coming from the ablution facilities near the back of the hangar. The rain outside had picked up a notch or two. Coming down hard.

I got up and slowly walked down the metal stairs, trying not to make a sound. The rain hitting the roof and sides of the hangar, masking any sound I could make. As I went past the long table at the end of the stairs, I grabbed a broom. My only weapon readily at hand. I had no idea what to expect. It could be anything, or anyone with ill intend.

I scanned the dimly lit floor of the hangar. No sign of any movement. The rainwater on the PC-12, dripping down the wings and fuselage, pooling under the aircraft. I cautiously proceeded to the toilets at the back, under the stairs. I found the source of the noise. A jack handle, carelessly left standing next to the back wall, now laying on the ground in front of a tool bench. I’ll kill someone in the morning.

Then I noticed wet patches on the floor. Light from the office windows, reflecting off the wet patches on the hangar floor near the toilet doors. The patches, like footprints, leading to the female facilities. I stopped, clutching the broom like a club, tight in my hands. Why would Jake or Pete go to the ladies’ toilets? Or isn’t there toilet paper in the men’s room, again!

Feeling somewhat uneasy, I opened the door, switching on the light on the inside. Nothing. There was nothing to be seen, except the normal tidy, clean interior of the ladies’ room. Nothing out of place. All seems to be in order.

I was about to turn and walk out, when my eye caught the faint movement of the door on the last cubicle. A slight movement. Could be the wind, I thought. Better check on it. I crept up to the door, not making a sound, holding my breath. I read on the door: “OCCUPIED”. Someone has locked the door from the inside! Someone was inside!

“You better come out, or I’ll break the door down.” I bravely said. No answer. No sound.

“Okay! You had your chance! Now I’m going to break the door down!” I said and tapped the broom handle on the wooden door.

“OKAY, OKAY! I’m coming out. Just ... Just don’t hurt me!” a very young sounding female voice came from within. I heard a rustling sound, as if someone was struggling to get dressed. Then the toilet flushed.

Oh, boy! What now! The toilet door opened and standing facing me was a petite, skinny little young lady. Dressed in dirty torn jeans, dirty frayed t-shirt and running shoes, one shoe was missing laces. And overall she was drenched. Sopping wet, right through. Her dirty hair sticking to her dirty face. Water dripping out of her all over the floor.

“Who’re you?” I asked sternly. I think I must have been looking quite threatening to her. She slid down the cubicle wall and covered her eyes with her hands. She started to cry. God, must she cry? I sat down on the floor, opposite to her, afraid to touch her.

“Hey! Don’t cry. I’m not going to hurt you. I just want to know what you’re doing here.” I said, as calm as I could, at that stage. She kept sobbing and shivering.

“Okay.” I said. “My name’s Dave. I’m not going to hurt you. So stop crying and look at me.” She gave a few sobs more, then some sniffling. She wiped her nose and eyes with her hands. I reached past her and ripped the roll of toilet paper out of the holder. I rolled off a big part and handed it to her.

“Here. This will do a better job.” I said. She looked up at me and slowly extended her hand, taking the offered toilet paper. Still shivering. I suppose she’s freezing in those drenched clothes.

“You’re going to catch your death in that wet stuff. Come. Get up. I’ll fetch you something dry to put on.” I said, thinking of a new set of overalls that was in my store.

“And how am I to dry myself off?” She spoke for the first time.

“Sorry, little one, I have only that jumbo roll of paper towels here. But it will work. So you stay here, I’ll fetch you something dry, and then you can go about getting dry and warm.” I said.

“With, you’re watching me?” She said, getting back some of her wittiness, I guess.

“Nope. I’ll be upstairs in my office, making some coffee. You want some hot coffee? Before you catch pneumonia?” I asked.

“Y ... Yes, that ... would ... work.” She said, shivering like a leaf in the wind.

“Good! I’ll be back.” I said, and got up.

“Terminator! Arnold Schwarzenegger. Just ... Don’t ... come back and kill me...” She said, a slight smile formed on the dirty face.

“I won’t. There’s not much trash dumpers around here to drop your dismembered body in. You want a hamburger with fries?” I asked.

“Feed me ... Then kill me...” She said.

“I give up! Let me get that overall.” I said, turned and walked to the door.

“My name’s Lucy ... Lucy Richards ... and a hamburger and fries will be nice.” Lucy said. I looked over my shoulder.

“Well, Miss Lucy Richards, let me get you some dry stuff and order us each a hamburger and fries. WAIT before you start. Let me get the overall first!” I said.

“Thank you ... Dave...” Lucy said, the dirty face smiling. She looks young. I wonder how old she is?

I left her in the ladies room and went to the store. I switched on the hanger lights also. I need to see if there was any other surprises for me. Getting the overall, size small, I went back to Lucy in the ladies room. Lucy was wiping her face with the paper towels, wetted in the wash basin. She was not doing well. Just moving the goo around.

“I think you first get a little more, wet. There’s a shower over in the corner. Use the liquid hand soap and take a shower. The water is HOT, so don’t go burning yourself. You’ll feel much better.” I said. “If you’re finished, come up to the office. Supper will be served.”

“Thanks again Dave. I appreciate it...” Lucy said. I walked out, leaving her to do what needs to be done. Going up the stairs to my office, I took out my cell phone and called San Georgia’s.

“TWO hamburgers with fries? Are you expecting your ghostly visitor again? The waiter asked.

“Nope!” I said. “I’m really starving tonight.” I said into the phone. We both laughed. With the coffee brewing, I finished up my paper work. The rain has stopped and through the windows on the west side of my office, I saw the clouds dispersing. Moonlight filtered through the broken clouds. All was wet outside. I suppose Lucy got caught up in the downpour.

(While the moon was shining in Pretoria, it was only slightly covered by the clouds to the East, about 480 kilometres away in the Province of Limpopo.)

“Through the ages: upon the land
Where he belongs to: the elephant
Slowly swaggering: a giant view
The pride of nature, inviolate and pure...”

BZN: Over The Hills: Writer(s): JONATHAN E H JAN KEIZER, JOHANNES JAN TUIJP, JACOBUS I VEERMAN.)

The bush looked and felt ghostly eerie in the darkness created by the overcast. The clouds to the west, starting to break up, letting through the silvery light of the moon. To the east, the ominous dark clouds still loomed, occasionally lighted up with lightning flashing high overhead, inside the clouds.

The bush, typical of the Limpopo and Mapungubwe brush with sandstone cliffs, hills and grassland, glistered in the moonlight. Pools of water were still standing around after the downpour. It will later be absorbed into the dry, thirsty, sandy soil, leaving no trace of its passing.

The dark, leafless Baobab trees, scattered through the area, stood like castles battlements against the dark sky. Little rivulets of rainwater running down the huge trunks, soaking away in the ground.

Not far to the north, the Limpopo River run along the International border between South Africa and Zimbabwe, slowly running its one thousand seven hundred and fifty kilometre course. Starting as the Crocodile River in the Witwatersrand, running first north-east and then east, before it reaches the Indian Ocean.

Two dark shadows stood facing into the wind. They were nearly black against the silvery beige colour of the surrounding grassland, half hidden under a tree. They stood unmoving as if a mode of rest. Two female of the species. Huge, at nearly five ton each. Their trucks at rest over their tusks. The tusks themselves not very large, as in all elephant cows, the tusks weigh about thirty to forty pounds each.

Half hidden under the tree, a little elephant calf, laying down, also resting; tomorrow will be a new adventure. The rain had passed. The moon shining down from above, slightly to the west. All was well. All was relaxed.

The rest of the elephant herd stood deeper into the grassland. They also stood under the infrequent occurring trees, covering part of the savannah. There were eight of them. Only one young male calf of about eight years, was with the herd, still relaying on his mother for the nourishing mother’s milk to make him strong. He was standing next to his mother, resting. Tomorrow will bring more learning, more adventure, now, he too, enjoys the coolness of the night, relieved from the blistering African sun that scourged the past day.