Watch out for the next episode! Ros contacts James, but doesn't get much joy.

Wanderland Ch 1

Episode 1: In which it all begins to unravel

Ros stood at the window looking towards the mountain. She was not looking at the mountain, nor at anything else that could be seen through the window, for that matter. What she was examining with such intent was in her mind. The images were vague and foggy. She couldn't identify them, but they made her uncomfortable in an equally vague and foggy way. A deep sense of longing and sadness surged through her. Longing for what? She couldn't say.

She sighed deeply and shook herself out of her reverie, looking into her coffee mug for that last mouthful. 'I drink too much coffee!' she scolded herself and turned towards her desk. The computer with it's bright and eager LCD screen was waiting. 'I hate you…' she told it. They had spent the night together in a long and unpleasant sort of coupling which she resented. A desperate deadline had been thrust upon her by an annoying client who expected miracles which she inexplicably agreed to perform.  

She needed to deliver the job to her client in an hour, and there were still a few minor details to check through, which she had not had the strength (or the courage) to do the before falling asleep at 3 am. Sitting down on the sofa, she picked up seven pages of frantically typed text, double-spaced as required. She rubbed her eyes, reached for her spectacles and began to examine them systematically. A raspy, tinny and monotone American voice sounded from the computer 'It is now ten oh clock.'

Oh shut up Albert!' she scolded. 'I really don't need to be reminded.'

She continued to scan the pages. 'They had better be satisfied with that!' she told Albert. 'It's all I can manage.' She took the sheets of paper and slipped them into a folder on which was written 'Langa Work and Study Centre. Deadline: 21 October', in her curly handwriting. Today was the 18th. She had been asked two days ago if it might be possible to have the work finished by today. Being an optimistic person, she had, after a moment in which she mentally reorganised her schedule, said that it was possible. However, not being a particularly organised person she had forgotten the fact that she had an important meeting that evening and would not be able to put in the extra hours. Hence the long night in which she and Albert had had their battle of words. 

'Invoices...', she mumbled, 'Bloody invoices! They will have to pay for a rush job!' She was normally too generous with NGOs. Tapping at the computer keyboard, she filled the details into the invoice stationary which her brother-in-law had set up for her. It miraculously added and subtracted and divided in the necessary ways and gave her a total at the bottom of the page. This was all that really interested her. When she had finished tapping, she looked at this figure, and it cheered her up. 'Hmm,' she said allowing a slow smile to play across her face,. 'Not bad, Albert, not to shabby' She patted the top of the computer screen as she leaned toward the printer to pick up the invoice. She attached the it to the front of the folder and left, locking the door behind her.

It was some time later that she returned home, with a cheque in her hand. She made herself a cup of coffee and sat down for a moment in an easy chair. She closed her eyes, trying to find some hidden corner of herself in which a little energy remained. She did not do well after late nights (or early mornings). Years before at university she had somehow managed to party hard and work hard, but these days it was one or the other, and it was inevitably work that got the upper hand. What would Sensible Woman do? she asked herself. Sensible Woman would not take on too much work. Sensible Woman would have the sense to say 'no'. She wished that she was Sensible Woman, but yet not. Sensible Woman was too perfect, too good and Ros felt that she would not like her if they met.

It was at this point that the office phone rang and dragged her out of her pointless reverie. Ros hoisted herself out of the chair and went wearily back into action. 'Roslyn Summers, may I help you?'

'Dahling!!!! I have a job that might interest you.'

'Magda! How are you? I'm sorry, but I can't take on any more.' said Ros, feeling Sensible Woman rise to the fore. That wasn't so difficult she told herself, smiling proudly.

'You won't be able to resist,' continued Magda. Ros pushed back her shoulders and affected a defiant stance. Magda, who was unable to read body language over the phone went on, 'I thought of you immediately. You're just the person to do this story.'

Flattery won't work. Ros told herself

'I remember you talking about your childhood in the Eastern Cape, how wonderful it was …'

Nor will nostalgia.

'…and so on, so when a story based in Alice came up I …'

'Alice… good heavens where did you drag that up?'

'Interested? I happened to see a small article on the land restitution process in the Eastern Cape, and read the name of an unlikely claimant. I want the story.'

'Look Magda, I meant it, I'm snowed under, and I simply can't take on any more.' Ros protested.

Magda ignored her. 'I've done a little bit of sniffing, and it certainly sounds like a big story. Does the name Melton mean any thing to you?'

'Well vaguely…'

'There's a claimant James Mel—'

'Oh yes, I was in primary school with a guy by that name. Clever boy. Farmer's son. He liked hunting and once gave me some bilt—'

'See!' interrupted Magda, 'I knew you'd be interested. Look, I've emailed you what I have, and I thought you might be able to track down your old contacts and get the whole story. Read it and I'll get back to you in the morning. Thanks my dear.'

"Magda! You're not listening. I said I can't –' but Magda had already hung up.

'Well done Ros!' she told herself out loud, 'Brilliant! You certainly told her! Well, I'll won't read the email. and I'll simply reply with a strong negative!' That was what Sensible Woman would do and so would she.

'It is now four oh clock.'

'Thank you, Albert.' Ros sat down at her desk. She pulled out some books and papers, and placing them beside the computer screen she began to type. She had another article to finish for tomorrow. It was 11pm by the time she finally shut down the computer. She was too weary for a shower, and so went straight to bed.

She was in her Standard four classroom. It was hot. Airless. The class was very quiet, unusually so, and Mrs Snyman was marking books while the children listlessly got on with work. The new buildings all but blocked out the sky, so they were shaken when a sudden thunderclap sounded, and rain began to beat on the zink roof. They all sat up abruptly and looked outside. One boy jumped onto the top of his desk and yelled, 'Hurrah!' Then everyone followed him, shouting and dancing with excitement. Mrs Snyman shouted ineffectually, and then dark black-clad shapes with hooded faces rushed into the classroom. They rounded up the children, shouting loudly and incoherantly and herded them into a rusty old school bus. Children stumbled, some falling as they were dragged and pushed roughly. Some cried, called out, screamed 'Where are you taking us?. 'Away' rumbled the dark shapes, 'Away! Away…' and they transformed into huge menacing iridescent hadidas which swept the children up in their long beaks and flew south.'I don't want to go away', Ros cried, 'Take me home! Take me home! Take me home!'

She sat up in bed, her heart pounding, and her throat tight with unshed-able tears. She stared into the darkness and tried to breathe slowly. Her mouth was dry, and she was confused. Where was she? The door seemed in the wrong place and her bed was too big. As the remnants of the dream faded she realised that the door hadn't moved. She was in her bedroom at home, not in the room she had shared with her sister as a child. She didn't usually dream, and this one was so vivid and emotionally real that she couldn't shake it off. So she got up and made a cup of cocoa into which she pour a generous tot of rum.

The panic and sadness lingered. Ros sat down at her kitchen table with a frown on her brow. 'Where the hell did that come from?' She asked herself out loud, taking a large gulp. She spluttered. 'Ow!' It was hot. Now she was really awake. Deep in thought she opened the fridge and added cold milk, then she downed the drink in one breath.

The moon was casting an eerie, mystical light over the kitchen, and seemed indifferent to her distress. She was awake now, and the rum had not had the desired effect. Without considering her options, she went to her office, and booted up the computer. The familiar cheerful da-daaah it made as it booted up comforted her, and a familiar tinny voice said, 'It is four oh clock.'

'Morning Albert,' she mumbled, going into the automatic routine of checking e-mails. The documents from Magda had unfairly arrived at this moment, when Ros was not quite herself, and when Sensible Woman was still asleep. Of course, she opened the email and began to read. The researcher part of her brain was awakw and engaged within one sentence, and she read intently – intrigued and hooked.

The first document outlined the land restitution act. In brief, 

 the plantifff was required to prove that he had been 'disposessed', and once that had been established it could be decided whether the land would be returned to the plaintiff, or financial restitution made.

The Melton case, was at the time the only one of a white farmer in the old Victoria East district of the Eastern Cape. The children of Peter Melton had made the claim for restitution of the farm called Diepkraal which their great great grandfather had bought in 1879. The date of the first hearing was still to be set. These documents were public, but told Ros very little other than the bare facts.

Once she had read them she sat quietly. A face, tan and lined from the sun came to her mind, a softly accented voice. She saw a long valley, closed on one side by a high rocky kloof. She saw the green trees and shrubs meandering the course of a small river. She saw hills covered with aloes and wild olives. She felt the heat and smelled the earth. She saw a young black man walking with a stick, whistling shrilly behind a small heard of cows, and running towards him, a small white boy with dark hair flapping across his brow. The boy who had danced on his desk.

She had gone with her father to Diepkraal that day to negotiate the bulk supply of vegetables to his store, and had met Tames Melton for the first time. She had thought him sill, and a show-off, because his grandmother had made him and his brother sing for her dad. It was a year or so later that she ended up sitting in a desk behind him in Mrs Cooper's Sub A class at school.

'Hmm. I'd forgotten.'

Albert brought her back to the present, 'It is now four thirty.'

She looked up. Sensible woman was nowhere to be seen 'Shit!' she exclaimed. 'Now I have to say 'yes' to Magda.'.