"Pedro lost his temper then, and the beating began. It did not stop until long after Jade had lost consciousness and Pedro had run out of breath..."
Alone in the world, Johnny Roberts has to face his worst fears, and overcome his greatest obstacles...
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Johnny slumped down next to the river and threw his bag to the ground. Bone-tired and weary, he closed his eyes and put his hands to his face, his blonde hair falling over his fingers. He sat like that for a few moments before his shoulders started to shake – slowly, imperceptibly, like the trickle that signals the first cracks before a dam bursts; and soon gut-wrenching sobs wracked his young frame.
He fought the tears like a wild animal ripping at the bars to its cage, clenching his teeth in shame and frustration. But still they came, and in the end, he surrendered to the pain, and let the tears stream down his face.
He could imagine his father's voice in his head as he wept, 'Stop crying you damn baby! I swear, I've had enough of you and your bloody crap! I'm counting to three! One ... two ... three!'
Still the tears came.
Over the years, Johnny had taught himself to control the pain and rage that stormed within when his father hit him, or shouted and swore at him, and called him names. He thought himself inured to the abuse, but where there should have been the warmth of love and security, Johnny just had a big, dark hole.
He raised his head, wiped his nose on his sleeve and dried his eyes with the back of his hands. The sun would be down soon, and at this time of the year it would be cold at night. He worried about wild animals too. The old hunters had driven elephant, lion, rhino and leopard out of South Africa over a hundred or more years ago, but the forest can be a big, lonely place for a thirteen-year-old boy on his own at night.
His thoughts wandered to earlier that morning. He had been so excited he had hardly slept that night. They were going fishing again!
Every year, Johnny and his father would go away on a two-week fishing trip to the Eastern Transvaal, known officially as Mpumalanga, or 'the place of the rising sun', home to some of the best trout fishing in the world. Some still called it the Eastern Transvaal though, usually those who had a hard time accepting the radical changes in the country, and his father, Hendrik "Robbie" Roberts, was definitely the latter.
Early that morning they had packed all their gear into his father's old Ford bakkie and hooked up the equally squalid little Jurgens caravan his parents had spent their honeymoon in twenty years ago. Caravanning was highly popular amongst South Africans during the apartheid years, and although in severe decline these days, one could still find the odd caravan park hidden away, sometimes in the most charming little places.
Robbie had looked Johnny in the eye and said, 'Ja, my boy, so it's off on another adventure, just you and me. Maybe this year you'll finally catch the big one, hey?'
Robbie Roberts loved Johnny in his own peculiar way, and there were the odd moments when Johnny felt a sudden stab of feeling towards his father, but it never lasted long. The moment he started drinking, he turned nasty – real nasty – and then all the frustrations of a failed career and the loss of his wife would find focus in Johnny, and Robbie Roberts drank every evening without fail.
