Master of the Game

“Well, I have some wonderful news for you, Mrs. McGregor,” Dr. Teeger beamed. “You’re going to have a baby.”

Margaret felt the shock of his words and did not know whether to laugh or cry. Wonderful news? To bring another child into a loveless marriage was impossible. Margaret could no longer bear the humiliation. She would have to find a way out, and even as she was thinking it, she felt a sudden wave of nausea that left her drenched in perspiration.

Dr. Teeger was saying, “Morning sickness?”

“A bit.”

He handed her some pills. “Take these. They’ll help. You’re in excellent condition, Mrs. McGregor. Not a thing to worry about. You run along home and tell the good news to your husband.”

“Yes,” she said dully. “I’ll do that.”

They were at the dinner table when she said, “I saw the doctor today. I’m going to have a baby.”

Without a word, Jamie threw down his napkin, arose from his chair and stormed out of the room. That was the moment when Margaret learned she could hate Jamie McGregor as deeply as she could love him.

It was a difficult pregnancy, and Margaret spent much of the time in bed, weak and tired. She lay there hour after hour, fantasizing, visualizing Jamie at her feet, begging for forgiveness, making wild love to her again. But they were only fantasies. The reality was that she was trapped. She had nowhere to go, and even if she could leave, he would never allow her to take her son with her.

Jamie was seven now, a healthy, handsome boy with a quick mind and a sense of humor. He had drawn closer to his mother, as though somehow sensing the unhappiness in her. He made little gifts for her in school and brought them home, and Margaret would smile and thank him and try to lift herself out of her depression. When young Jamie asked why his father stayed away nights and never took her out, Margaret would reply, “Your father is a very important man, Jamie, doing important things, and he’s very busy.”

What’s between his father and me is my problem, Margaret thought, and I’ll not have Jamie hating his father because of it.

Margaret’s pregnancy became more and more apparent. When she went out on the street, acquaintances would stop her and say, “It won’t be long now, will it, Mrs. McGregor? I’ll bet it’s going to be a fine boy like little Jamie. Your husband must be a happy man.”

Behind her back, they said, “Poor thing. She’s lookin’ peaked—she must have found out about the whore he’s taken as his mistress…”

Margaret tried to prepare young Jamie for the new arrival. “You’re going to have a new brother or sister, darling. Then you’ll have someone to play with all the time. Won’t that be nice?”

Jamie hugged her and said, “It will be more company for you, Mother.”

And Margaret fought to keep back the tears.

The labor pains began at four o’clock in the morning. Mrs. Talley sent for Hannah, and the baby was delivered at noon. It was a healthy baby girl, with her mother’s mouth and her father’s chin, and black hair curling around her little red face. Margaret named her Kate. It’s a good, strong name, Margaret thought. And she’s going to need her strength. We all are. I’ve got to take the children away from here. I don’t know how yet, but I must find a way.

David Blackwell burst into Jamie McGregor’s office without knocking, and Jamie looked up in surprise. “What the hell—?”

“They’re rioting at the Namib!”

Jamie stood up. “What? What happened?”

“One of the black boys was caught trying to steal a diamond. He cut a hole under his armpit and hid the stone inside it. As a lesson, Hans Zimmerman flogged him in front of the other workers. The boy died. He was twelve years old.”

Jamie’s face filled with rage. “Sweet Jesus! I ordered a stop to flogging at all the mines.”

“I warned Zimmerman.”

“Get rid of the bastard.”

“We can’t find him.”

“Why not?”

“The blacks have him. The situation’s out of control.”

Jamie grabbed his hat. “Stay here and take care of things until I get back.”

“I don’t think it’s safe for you to go up there, Mr. McGregor. The native that Zimmerman killed was from the Barolong tribe. They don’t forgive, and they don’t forget. I could—”

But Jamie was gone.

When Jamie McGregor was ten miles away from the diamond field, he could see the smoke. All the huts at the Namib had been set to the torch. The damned fools! Jamie thought. They’re burning their own houses. As his carriage drew closer, he heard the sounds of gunshots and screams. Amid the mass confusion, uniformed constables were shooting at blacks and coloreds who were desperately trying to flee. The whites were outnumbered ten to one, but they had the weapons.

When the chief constable, Bernard Sothey, saw Jamie McGregor, he hurried up to him and said, “Don’t worry, Mr. McGregor. We’ll get every last one of the bastards.”

“The hell you will,” Jamie cried. “Order your men to stop shooting.”

“What? If we—”

“Do as I say!” Jamie watched, sick with rage, as a black woman fell under a hail of bullets. “Call your men off.”

“As you say, sir.” The chief constable gave orders to an aide, and three minutes later all shooting had stopped.

There were bodies on the ground everywhere. “If you want my advice,” Sothey said, “I’d—”

“I don’t want your advice. Bring me their leader.”

Two policemen brought a young black up to where Jamie was standing. He was handcuffed and covered with blood, but there was no fear in him. He stood tall and straight, his eyes blazing, and Jamie remembered Banda’s word for Bantu pride: isiko.

“I’m Jamie McGregor.”

The man spat.

“What happened here was not my doing. I want to make it up to your men.”

“Tell that to their widows.”

Jamie turned to Sothey. “Where’s Hans Zimmerman?”

“We’re still looking for him, sir.”

Jamie saw the gleam in the black man’s eyes, and he knew that Hans Zimmerman was not going to be found.

He said to the man, “I’m closing the diamond field down for three days. I want you to talk to your people. Make a list of your complaints, and I’ll look at it. I promise you I’ll be fair. I’ll change everything here that’s not right.”

The man studied him, a look of skepticism on his face.

“There will be a new foreman in charge here, and decent working conditions. But I’ll expect your men back at work in three days.”

The chief constable said, incredulously, “You mean you’re gonna let him go? He killed some of my men.”

“There will be a full investigation, and—”

There was the sound of a horse galloping toward them, and Jamie turned. It was David Blackwell, and the unexpected sight of him sounded an alarm in Jamie’s mind.

David leaped off his horse. “Mr. McGregor, your son has disappeared.”

The world suddenly grew cold.

Half the population of Klipdrift turned out to join in the search. They covered the countryside, looking through gulleys, ravines and klops. There was no trace of the boy.

Jamie was like a man possessed. He’s wandered away somewhere, that’s all. He’ll be back.

He went into Margaret’s bedroom. She was lying in bed, nursing the baby.

“Is there any news?” she demanded.

“Not yet, but I’ll find him.” He looked at his baby daughter for an instant, then turned and walked out without another word.

Mrs. Talley came into the room, twisting her hands in her apron. “Don’t you worry, Mrs. McGregor. Jamie is a big boy. He knows how to take care of himself.”

Margaret’s eyes were blinded by tears. No one would harm little Jamie, would they? Of course not.

Mrs. Talley reached down and took Kate from Margaret’s arms.

“Try to sleep.”

She took the baby into the nursery and laid her down in her crib. Kate was looking up at her, smiling.

“You’d better get some sleep too, little one. You’ve got a busy life ahead of you.”

Mrs. Talley walked out of the room, closing the door behind her.

At midnight, the bedroom window silently slid open and a man climbed into the room. He walked over to the crib, threw a blanket over the infant’s head and scooped her up in his arms.

Banda was gone as quickly as he had come.

It was Mrs. Talley who discovered that Kate was missing. Her first thought was that Mrs. McGregor had come in the night and taken her. She walked into Margaret’s bedroom and asked, “Where’s the baby?”

And from the look on Margaret’s face, she knew instantly what had happened.

As another day went by with no trace of his son, Jamie was on the verge of collapsing. He approached David Blackwell. “You don’t think anything bad has happened to him?” His voice was barely under control.

David tried to sound convincing. “I’m sure not, Mr. McGregor.”

But he was sure. He had warned Jamie McGregor that the Bantus neither forgave nor forgot, and it was a Bantu who had been cruelly murdered. David was certain of one thing: If the Bantus had taken little Jamie, he had died a horrible death, for they would exact their vengeance in kind.

Jamie returned home at dawn, drained. He had led a search party of townspeople, diggers and constables, and they had spent the night looking without success in every conceivable place for the young boy.

David was waiting when Jamie walked into the study. David rose to his feet. “Mr. McGregor, your daughter has been kidnapped.”

Jamie stared at him in silence, his face pale. Then he turned and walked into his bedroom.

Jamie had not been to bed for forty-eight hours, and he fell into bed, utterly exhausted, and slept. He was under the shade of a large baobab tree and in the distance across the trackless veld a lion was moving toward him. Young Jamie was shaking him. Wake up, Papa, a lion is coming. The animal was moving toward them faster now. His son was shaking him harder. Wake up! Jamie opened his eyes. Banda was standing over him. Jamie started to speak, but Banda put a hand over Jamie’s mouth.

“Quiet!” He allowed Jamie to sit up.

“Where’s my son?” Jamie demanded.

“He’s dead.”

The room began to spin.

“I’m sorry. I was too late to stop them. Your people spilled Bantu blood. My people demanded vengeance.”

Jamie buried his face in his hands. “Oh, my God! What did they do to him?”

There was a bottomless sorrow in Banda’s voice. “They left him out in the desert. I—I found his body and buried him.”

“Oh, no! Oh, please, no!”

“I tried to save him, Jamie.”

Jamie slowly nodded, accepting it. Then dully, “What about my daughter?”

“I took her away before they could get her. She’s back in her bedroom, asleep. She’ll be all right if you do what you promised.”

Jamie looked up, and his face was a mask of hatred. “I’ll keep my promise. But I want the men who killed my son. They’re going to pay.”

Banda said quietly, “Then you will have to kill my whole tribe, Jamie.”

Banda was gone.

It was only a nightmare, but she kept her eyes tightly closed, because she knew if she opened them the nightmare would become real and her children would be dead. So she played a game. She would keep her eyes squeezed shut until she felt little Jamie’s hand on hers saying, “It’s all right, Mother. We’re here. We’re safe.”

She had been in bed for three days, refusing to talk to anyone or see anyone. Dr. Teeger came and went, and Margaret was not even aware of it. In the middle of the night Margaret was lying in bed with her eyes shut when she heard a loud crash from her son’s room. She opened her eyes and listened. There was another sound. Little Jamie was back!

Margaret hurriedly got out of bed and ran down the corridor toward the closed door of her son’s room. Through the door, she could hear strange animal sounds. Her heart pounding wildly, she pushed the door open.

Her husband lay on the floor, his face and body contorted. One eye was closed and the other stared up at her grotesquely. He was trying to speak, and the words came out as slobbering animal sounds.

Margaret whispered, “Oh, Jamie—Jamie!”

Dr. Teeger said, “I’m afraid the news is bad, Mrs. McGregor. Your husband has had a severe stroke. There’s a fifty-fifty chance he’ll live—but if he does, he’ll be a vegetable. I’ll make arrangements to get him into a private sanitarium where he can get the proper care.”

“No.”

He looked at Margaret in surprise. “No…what?”

“No hospital. I want him here with me.”

The doctor considered for a moment. “All right. You’ll need a nurse. I’ll arrange—”

“I don’t want a nurse. I’ll take care of Jamie myself.”

Dr. Teeger shook his head. “That won’t be possible, Mrs. McGregor. You don’t know what’s involved. Your husband is no longer a functioning human being. He’s completely paralyzed and will be for as long as he lives.”

Margaret said, “I’ll take care of him.”

Now Jamie finally, truly, belonged to her.