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have to climb up into the side drifts or reverse to the last spot wide enough to permit clearance. Gareth was taut.
    The road was below the level of the land. The banks at this point ran even with their shoulders. Nan looked to the rear. The dust plume they were churning up extended as far back as she could see—solid, like a wall. For some time, no one spoke.
    They saw something in the middle distance ahead—a figure, and then figures, on the right bank, motioning. Grim, Gareth said, “
Na lifti
.”
    Nan said, “Nobody is saying give lifts, Gareth. We are quite presentably full up. No fear.”
    The figures grew closer.
    “It’s
bushies
!” Tom said.
    “No, it’s too far south—can’t be,” Gareth said.
    “No, it is, it is—it’s bushies,” Tom said. “They must be clear over from the pan. It must be the drought. I hear the pan is dried up. God, that is a distance to come. Dear God above. It is. There’s a string of them. Want us to stop.”
    “Well, good luck,” Gareth said.
    “Bushmen—Basarwa,” Nan said. “But only women.”
    “Hard to tell,” Tom said, trying to be light.
    Tess said, “Oh, pity—they must want to trade ostrich shells or that beadwork. They want tobacco or salt or anything. Sugar. Too bad. They just give it away if you have what they want. Oh, too bad. I have some lovely things. Oh, pity we can’t stop and see. Well, that is life.”
    The banks were lower here. They drew even with theBasarwa—two young girls and an older woman with an infant caught against her front in a leather sling, all gesturing urgently.
    Tess said, “They look so Chinese—they are all cheekbones; look at it.”
    The women were close to the road. Two of them were holding out pots or cans. The girls were waving the vessels up and down, stiffly, frantically. The mother dropped into an odd posture, like kneeling prayer, but clapping her hands under her chin. They made a tableau. The Rover approached. The women were dressed in skins and rags. They were thin. Nan stared. Arms and legs were like sticks. Their hair seemed to grow in dots on their skulls. One girl appeared to be wearing a kind of cap, but it was a huge scab, Nan saw. All were smiling unnaturally at the vehicle as it passed slowly. They were calling out. Nan opened her window. It was impossible to understand anything.
    “Will you
slow
, Gareth?” Nan asked. “I can’t hear them.”
    Gareth said nothing.
    The faces did look Oriental, except for the hair. The mother got up. The whole group began to trot alongside.
    Nan opened the window fully and put her head out. Tess pulled at her.
    “Can we not slow, Gareth?” Nan asked urgently.
    “They’re trading,” Gareth answered.
    “No,” Nan said. “They’re saying
‘metse.’
That’s it. We must stop, Gare. I have it clear.”
    Tess said, “What on earth is
metse? I
don’t have any.”
    “
Water
, Tess. They want water. I have never heard of this. They don’t do this. Look, they’re keeping up. This is too desperate. We must stop. We have the outer tank. It’s full of water. We must stop. Gare, I am pleading! I am faint. You must stop. Stop this. We have the external tank. You must
attend
. They are all running. One of the girls, Gare—a scabcondition. They are smiling at us, begging. Gare, if you love me,
please stop!
”
    “They can run for miles, they say,” Tess said.
    “That is the men, Tess—when they
hunt.
”
    “Right. They blow poison darts, and that weakens the animal or rhino or what all, and then they just run after it until it drops. Days, sometimes, it takes. They can run.”
    “Tess, be still. Look at them.”
    The Basarwa were reaching to touch or catch hold of the vehicle.
    “Gare,” Nan said. “What do you say? Please, my heart, we
must
stop!” She put her hands on his shoulders. He tensed and bucked violently to reject her touch.
    Gareth said, “There is no chance. We are in sand, Nan. We could be all night.
No!
” He was increasing speed.
    “Then,