Thokozani S.B. Maseko - Like a Lily on a Mountain, Love Grows on Rocky Terrains

After what I’ve been through, I have earned it, she thought.

Turning a bit, she tried to get more than just a glimpse of her abductor. He looked more formidable than the horse if that was possible. Maybe it was just her angle that made him appear colossal and terrifying; Or maybe it was the bleak contrast of the child’s smallness pressed against his chest in the makeshift sling. The man stared at his hand again, opened it and then clenched it into a fist as though he tested it.

‘For heaven’s sake,’ she thought. ‘It was a little nibble. It wasn’t as though she was rabid.’

She hoped it hurt him as much as this ride hurt her.

“I guess you could hold your own with old Thabani, after all.” He chuckled, putting his hand in his mouth and sucking on it.

Excellent, she thought. I hope it stings him like hell.

At least his hand in his mouth made him stay quiet for a while. Only the horse’s feet produced a harassing noise as they rode, higher and higher, up the mountain. The baby slept against the man’s chest, and Hannah waited to see what would happen next. The rocking motion of the horse was lulling her into a dazed trance when the man spoke again, startling her.

“You got a name?” he asked.

The effort of turning to look at what kind of an idiot would ask a question like that seemed too much. She stayed where she was.

“Want me to guess? I’d bet from the facial looks and that pretty little way you had of screaming at me that it’s Rosie. I think that gives a picture of a pretty girl a Zimbabwean, doesn’t it? Yup, Rosie is my guess.”

He paused for some reaction from her, but she gave him none. What was the point of screaming? She’d hardly gotten a word out before he’d clamped his hand over her mouth and shut her up. And she didn’t care how many of her relatives had said it. She didn’t sound anything like her mother when she was angry.

“No? Not Rosie? Then how about Hannah something? Hannah Ruth? Hannah Abigail? Hannah Precious? You Zimbabwean girls have more than one name.”

She grimaced, as much from the pain as from listening to the stranger who straddled the horse behind her. Her skin tingled where the firmness of his thighs rubbed against her side, despite the layers of clothing she wore. The gentle resting of his rein hand was an added indignity. If it wasn’t for his incessant chatter distracting her, she thought she might have gone mad.

“Well, if it isn’t Hannah something, it’s something Hannah, right? Close enough. So, Hannah Love, which Dlamini is it?”

She wretched herself sideways and probably would have fallen right off the horse if he hadn’t pulled her firmly against him. She had a choice: the saddle pommel or the inside of his thighs and what lay between them. Talk about being caught between a rock and a hard place. If she hadn’t been so terrified about what their captor planned for her and the baby, she might have found the thought amusing.

“Whoa there,” he ordered, and she wasn’t sure whether he was commanding his horse or her. He secured her squirming form, tucking the skirt she had borrowed from Thandi beneath his leg to hold her in place. “Don’t like talking about the Dlamini’s, then?” he asked, and he gave the horse a kick. “Too damn slow with all this weight.” Well, she surely hadn’t asked to come along. The first ripples of anger began to build within her, replacing the terror and giving her strength. “I don’t really blame you. I loved a Dlamini once myself, and with what outcome, a bum leg.”

He was silent a moment, and Hannah treasured the silence. She had noticed that his leg protruded at an odd angle for a rider. She had a good view of it, cast over the saddle the way she was. It was weirdly straight, as though he were a Halloween monk with only one knee. “A crippled leg and my son,” he added.

Hannah stiffened. So, this was it. He was the dead father who Thandi and her brothers spoke about. At least he probably meant no harm to the baby. As for her, well, time would tell.

She was pressed up against the saddle edge, and she found it difficult if not impossible to relax her body to ease her aching hip off the protrusion. Her captor’s hands moved her like a little doll once again, mildly relieving her discomfort. How long had they been on horseback? The sun didn’t shift more than a millimetre in the sky. It was still morning. She felt as if she’d been in this position for hours; days; forever.

The baby stirred, probably disturbed by the change in position. She felt the horse come to a halt, despite the fact that the man had not ordered it to. She refused to look behind her.

“Damn,” he muffled a curse, shifting in the saddle. “I don’t know what I was thinking. I suppose I can’t put this off forever, can I, Hannah Love? Or should I call you ‘Something Hannah’? Sweet Hannah? How would that sound?” He placed his hand on Hannah’s bottom, squeezing gently. She stiffened with fear. “I’m really sorry to do this,” he admitted, and she held her breath. “Particularly not even knowing your name, or anything, but I’m afraid I have no choice. I don’t think waiting would make it easier.”

He caressed her slowly down her hip and followed a line on her inner thigh. This was absurd. He couldn’t. Not with a baby tied to his chest, on a horse, out in the open. He reached the sole of her foot and he began to slightly pull her skirt up. Oh, God in heaven! He intends to! The audacity which had stood in such good stead over the previous week disintegrated as the cool air tickled her skin and sent shivers up her legs.

Hail Hannah, full of Patience, she prayed. I know it’s been a long time. She felt his warm hand just above her knee, and the breath caught in her throat. No! No! No!

His hand crept even higher, burning the path upwards until it stopped suddenly, and she heard the cloth ripping beneath his hands. All those years at St. Aidan’s School, and she couldn’t remember the words. She remembered nothing except for the memory of nights in the dark and groping hands. Hail Hannah, full of patience … Hail Hannah … Oh dear God!

She turned awkwardly and she stared at him with disgust tears threatening. The snotty-nosed numbskull looked at her, and he shook his head pityingly. She couldn’t believe it. Quickly, she looked away, faced back at the ground, refusing to give him the satisfaction of seeing her cry. She could still feel him still busy behind her and pictured and imagined what he did. Just like the last time, she had to imagine and suppose in the dark. Granted, her knowledge of men and women was narrow, but she was certain he’d have to get her off the horse and put down the baby.

She shook all over. Even the stallion was aware of it as he stomped his feet disgruntled. Well, he’ll have to untie her to have his way with her, and then she could find her way out. She could run. She felt exceptionally stupid and helpless. Where could she run to? How could she defend herself? The man and the horse were in their element, doubtlessly; and she was at their mercy.

“Now there, sweet Hannah, it’s just fabric. Nothing to cry over. I’d offer to get you another, but I suppose we won’t be together all that long. Besides, my memory tells me that it isn’t even yours, is it? You couldn’t wait long before laying a hand on everything she had, did you?”

A soiled napkin hit the ground with a thud, its urine stink rose up her nostrils and choked her. Relief cuddled her body, and she slacked against the horse, surprised to find that she had been as stiff as a corpse.

“It’s fortunate we brought Sweet Hannah, huh son. Sweet Hannah and her supply of these fabrics looks like providence, and your mama’s going to provide just fine for you.”

The baby, unaware of everything going on but his own comforts, made happy baby noises. His happy screams reassured Hannah that the circumstances hadn’t harmed him, so far. For a fleeting moment, it came to her to warn their captor what was soon to happen now that the crisp April air bathed the baby’s little groin. But a string of muffled curses told her that she was too late, even if she had been willing or able to alert him.