*
After having dropped off the kids at their schools Ludwig and I were heading for the Winters’ book shop in the CBD.
“I’m glad I don’t have to write that exam today,” I said. “Being an exchange student has lots of advantages.”
“Sometimes a day in real life teaches you more than a month in school,” Ludwig replied.
“I never thought it a good idea to lock up kids and force selected bits of information down their throats.”
“A Revoluzzer always stays a Revoluzzer,” Ludwig grinned.
“I’m not a Revoluzzer. I’m only fighting for small and personal things. For example the right to choose what kind of panties to wear to school. Real revolutionaries are people like that white woman Helen Joseph. She is involved in the struggle and she was the first person in South Africa to be placed under house arrest. Or that black lawyer Nelson Mandela. He said in court he’s prepared to die for what he believes. They sentenced him to life imprisonment. He and some of the other guys who worked in the underground for the ANC have been in the can for over 10 years already and they haven’t given up hope. I find it’s absolutely amazing. Takes strong people to react like that. They are trying to study when they don’t have to labour in the quarry, and they…”
“How do you know all this, Mathilda?”
“I read it in a book I found in the boat shed. In that big box where you keep all the plans and some tools. It’s about South African history from a black point of view.”
“Do you know that that is a banned book?”
“How do you mean?”
“I mean if the authorities find out that there is banned literature in my house we could all end up at the same place as the underground guys from the ANC.”
“In jail? For reading a book?”
“For reading the wrong book. There are stacks of books banned in this country.”
I suddenly had an inkling that the ‘Dark Side of the Rainbow’ could be one of them.
The bookshop was in a narrow street with brick face office blocks and anonymous concrete buildings. Ludwig’s shop took up one of the few old houses in the street. It had been somebody’s home a long time ago. There were still flowerbeds and a palm tree in the front garden. We walked down the gravel path past an ancient fountain. 2 goldfish were swimming in the greenish water. Edda Pearsons, who did the accounts, had won them in a lucky draw at the Seafarers Club.
The house dated from the 1920s. The former lounge had been transformed into the main section of the shop with shelves designated to various themes and a corner for the kids. There were some tables in the open plan dining room where people could sit down and have a cup of coffee. When there wasn’t too much wind the French doors to the stoep were kept open and kids could swing in a tyre suspended from a jacaranda tree.
One of Ludwig’s employees, Mrs Siobhan O’Reilly, lived in a flat without a garden. She spent a lot of time on the upkeep of the 2 flowerbeds in the back garden of the shop. Siobhan O’Reilly’s ancestors had come from Ireland where her aunt Sheilagh still grew ‘the best potatoes the world has ever seen’. On the return flight from her last visit to Ireland Siobhan had just about tripled her luggage allowance to revolutionize South Africa’s vegetable crop with a supply of aunt Sheilagh’s seed potatoes. Ludwig thought this whole manoeuvre hadn’t been kosher – countries were quite strict about things being schlepped across the borders because of germs and other pests – but he had allocated Siobhan a part of the back garden for agricultural purposes.
Ludwig’s office was in the former main bedroom. It had a bathroom en suite with tiles of a mossy green, a bathtub on feet with big claws, massive taps with lion heads on them and a toilet like a throne. There were 3 other bedrooms used for storage and as office for the 3 – white – ladies who worked at the shop. There was a second bathroom that looked like the first, only its tiles were pink.
The cleaning lady arrived dressed in golden shoes, a purple dress and a green beret. She had a faded bath towel wrapped around her waist to keep the morning chill off her kidneys. She walked unhurriedly down the passage and said: “Molweni.”
“Molo Albertina,” Ludwig handed her a plastic packet. “Here’s a clean uniform for you.”
Albertina took the packet and went to the servants’ quarters behind the garage. When she reappeared in her light blue working outfit Miss Edda Pearsons and Mrs Jeannie Grobler had arrived. Edda was in her middle 30s, tall and dark haired, with a little rabbit nose and big feet. She never read anything but the agony aunt’s column in the magazines. Ludwig said she was an excellent accountant and that was all he was asking for. Jeannie was as wide as she was high and had been working in the shop since time immemorial. In spite of her bulk Jeannie moved swiftly, especially her tongue. She practically never stopped talking.
“Good morning, my girl,” she greeted me. “Ah, you start to look like a real South African. A bit of a tan makes a world of a difference. You people from Europe are always too pale around the face. It’s that horrible weather, of course. Can’t be healthy for man or beast to live under a grey sky in sub-zero temperatures most of the time.” She waffled on about the terrible German eating habits that didn’t include enough meat to feed a sparrow. “A person needs a lot of protein to go through life, not so Edda?”
Edda nodded absentmindedly and lit a cigarette.
Albertina began to vacuum the rooms. The phone rang. It was Siobhan to say that she would be late because she had to drop off her maid at the hospital, because the poor thing had a cheek like an Irish potato, due to a vrot tooth that threatened to poison her whole system.
I got the job to make coffee and to buy some stuff at Beulah’s Bakery round the corner. The street climbed up the hill and turned at a park with a fort built in the 1800s. A dozen municipal workers were fixing up the flowerbeds around the cannon. 2 of the workers were engaged in some serious digging while the others stood leaning on their shovels taking it easy. Down below the ocean sparkled and a huge tanker stood black against the silvery blue of the bay. At Beulah’s whites were served first like everywhere, and because Ludwig had asked me to hurry up, I didn’t say that the black lady had been first although she had entered the shop before me. It made me feel shit immediately.
Siobhan was busy parking her beetle when I got back to the bookshop. “That maid of mine is crazy,” she sighed getting out of her car. “I’ve been telling her for a week now that this rotten tooth must come out. Her cheek is so swollen that she can hardly look out of her eye but she won’t listen. She can get free dental care at the hospital and what does she do?”
I shrugged my shoulders. “We used to tie a piece of string around the tooth and attach a brick to the other end of the string and stand on the balcony and throw the brick down. One can also tie the string to the door handle and…”
Siobhan gave me an exasperated look. “That might work for milk teeth but not for a Bantu’s molar. You know my girl, these blacks have strong teeth. Comes from eating mielies all the time.”
“Oh really?”
“Ja. Well anyway, some days ago I noticed that my Modesta smelled of liquor. That’s funny, I thought, because my Modesta is a Zionist, you know, with a silver star on her chest, and Zionists don’t drink.” Siobhan kicked some gravel from the lawn back onto the path. “And then I caught her in the act.”
“Huh?”
“I caught her with a bottle of methylated spirits. My bottle of methylated spirits. And you know what she told me?”
“I haven’t got a clue.”
“Madam, she said, it’s muti. I pour it on my tooth.” Siobhan snorted like a horse and turned her eyes to heaven. “Well, I trust my maid. I don’t think she’s all of a sudden hit the bottle. But can you believe it. She’d rather live in agony than get it over and done with. This morning I said to her she either goes and has this tooth pulled out or I’ll fire her. Of course I wouldn’t have done that but every now and then one has to force these people a bit. They don’t always kn
ow what’s best for them.”
I spent half the morning putting books on the shelves back into alphabetical order and reading Jock of the Bushveld, the story about the adventures of a dog during the times when transporters hauled goodies in ox waggons from the coast to the gold mines. Ludwig said it would give me some insight into the history of the country, which it did. Jeannie said the book had first been published in 1907 and was still an absolute hit, and all South African kids just loved Jock. I guessed she was talking about the white part of the population.
I had just got to the point where a guy steps on the back of a sleeping crocodile instead of a rock when Ludwig called me. “Do you want to come to the post office, Mathilda? I’ve got to fetch a new consignment.”
We crossed half the CBD to get to the main post office. In some of the clothing stores they were changing the decoration in the windows. Mannequins draped in sheets dominated the scene and Ludwig said that by law you couldn’t have a naked mannequin in your shop window because it was ‘indecent’.
When we got out of the car Ludwig mumbled: “Well, I’ll be damned,” and grabbed a middle-aged lady, who was walking past. He smacked 2 kisses on the lady’s cheeks.
The lady first turned grey in the face and then red. She looked like she was going to scream, but all of a sudden she smiled. “Ludwig Winter, you bastard. If you do that again I’ll kill you.”
Ludwig grinned. “There is nothing like a kiss for the upkeep of your health, my darling.”
The lady embraced him. “Looks like I could still teach you a thing or 2.”
They both burst out laughing. When they got their breath back Ludwig turned to me. “Mathilda, meet Joelle Gorman, South Africa’s greatest director.”
Joelle Gorman protested a bit, but Ludwig insisted. “Come on Joelle, every single play you’ve done has won an award.”
Joelle pushed a grey curl behind her ear. “Well, I’ve had the privilege to work with some of South Africa’s best actors – and that includes you, Ludwig.” The curl fell back into her face. “By the way, my darling, the next thing I’ll do is A Funny Thing Happened on the Way to the Forum. I’ve got a part for you in mind. You’ll hear from me when we start with the auditions.”
Joelle Gorman left us and Ludwig said: “She is a hell of a talented director. She should move up to Jo’burg where everything happens and turn professional. If I didn’t have a family to support I’d try that myself as an actor.”
I bought some stamps from an unsmiling, fat postal worker with a towering false blonde perm and tons of make up on her face. She grumbled an irritated “môre” – which means good morning without the good in Afrikaans – and klapped the stamps and my change on the counter, as if I’d just taken the world’s last ration of food away from her. I thought the equivalent of ‘unfriendly bitch’ in German, but when I walked past the tellers for the non-whites, I realized that the false blonde must be the most amiable employee on the premises. Her all white colleagues treated their dark customers like worms, especially those customers who couldn’t speak Afrikaans.
Ludwig emerged from a special office with a black guy carrying a postbag full of books for him. As we climbed into the car my host father smiled happily. “That prick from Customs and Excise let me take the bags.”
“What’s so extraordinary about that?”
Ludwig scratched his head. “My girl, you’ve still got to learn a lot about this country. Remember we were talking about banned books this morning.”
“Ja.”
“Well, the Nats set up a thing called Publications Control Board. There is a bunch of public servants working full time to keep South Africa’s morals intact. And they don’t only look at books. They check posters and postcards and mags and movies and records – amongst other things, and then they either let them through or they place them under embargo or classify them as undesirable.”
“What’s the difference?”
“Undesirable means something is banned and it’s a criminal offence to have it, and under embargo means they haven’t made up their minds yet and one is not allowed to sell it until they come to a decision.”
“But how do they know which books to check? They can’t possibly read every new publication. It would take an army to do that.”
“If Tannie van Jaarsveld phones up and tells them a book should be banned because there is too much swearing and kissing in it they’ll put it on the under embargo list before you can say cock Rubinstein. And then there are titles which are immediately suspicious, like Black Beauty.”
”You mean the story about the horse?”
“Yep.”
“What’s wrong with that?”
“They first have to find out who that black beauty is and if she behaves properly. They are especially touchy about colour issues. And sex, of course. Ever read Noddy by Enid Blyton?”
“Ja.”
“There is a Mr Plod who has a big head in there. They first had to investigate what that big head is. Could’ve been porn.”
“I don’t believe this.”
Ludwig shrugged his shoulders. “I guess only sick minds can work out things like that. Just imagine there are people out there, with 18 year old sons who are sent to Angola with a license to kill in the border war. And when these same people read the Playboy and look at photos of the tools which have made those sons, it’s a criminal offence.”
So Hannes did not only hide his Playboys from Marieke…
We drove into a petrol station and while one attendant was filling up the car with petrol and another one cleaned the windscreen Ludwig carried on. “Another thing is politics. They are shit scared about the Rooi Gevaar of course.”
“The communists.”
“Ja, doesn’t make much sense if one knows that we have so many public servants that it makes Russia look like a kindergarten, but if they catch you with anything advocating leftist stuff, you are in big trouble. I got hold of the Communist Manifest and The Capital because I ordered them for the university. That’s about the only place where you are allowed to read these books. For study purposes. Under supervision.”
“There is one thing I don’t understand. If all that banned literature is corrupting everybody’s morals, what about these public servants who spend 5 days a week looking at the stuff. If it’s really so filthy, these guys must be the vrottest lot south of the equator.”
Ludwig grinned. “Lots of people with brains in their heads have made that same observation. I don’t think the government has come up with some logical explanation yet. Just shows you how stupid this whole system is.”
At the book shop Ludwig hooted twice and Eliah, a tall Xhosa, came to help unload.
“You haven’t told me yet why it is so extraordinary that you could take this bag with you,” I said to Ludwig.
“Oh, you see, this bag is still sealed. Normally nobody other than the Customs and Excise guy is authorized to open it.”
Eliah carried the bag into Ludwig’s office. The bag was closed with a thin wire going through all the holes at the top and there was a lead seal on it. Ludwig took a pair of pliers and cut the wire. “Cost me half a crate of brandy to be able to do this,” he said. “First the customs prick wouldn’t budge, but one day he agreed that it would save him some time if I unpacked the books and he would only have to come and check.”
We put the books in little piles on a table. When we had finished Ludwig handed me a form. “Look here, I get a list like that every week.”
The list stated all the undesirable books and the ones under embargo.
“Now let’s see,” Ludwig studied the list. He pointed to a pile of First Blood and a pile of The Quick Red Fox by J.D. McDonald. “We’ll keep these. Just hide them in the cupboard in the bathroom, please Mathilda.”
I put the books in the top shelf of the bathroom cupboard and covered them with towels.
Meine Herren!
Goosebumps shot up along my spine.
I must be committing a crime right now.
>
I started a laughing fit.
Serves these fascists right!
I collapsed on a packet of toilet paper and banged my head on the cast iron bath.
Ludwig rushed in. “Are you all right, Mathilda?”
I couldn’t stop laughing. They say laughter is contagious. Ludwig started with a little ripple, which grew fast into a real roar. After a while he wiped the tears out of his eyes and groaned: “I must finish the job. The inspector will be here any minute.”
I crawled out of the heap of toilet paper and went back into the office.
Might just as well learn how to do the job properly while I get a chance.
“What are you doing now, Ludwig?”
My host father picked up a bundle of papers. “These are invoices that come with the books. The inspector checks the invoices against the banned list.” Ludwig took a pen out of a drawer. “What we have to do is to cross out the First Blood and the Quick Red Fox on the invoices.”
“But anybody can do that. Isn’t the customs inspector going to ask you why they are crossed out?”
“You just tell him that that was already done in London and that these books never got here.”
I didn’t want to laugh again because my tummy muscles were already aching, but I couldn’t stop it. I heard Jeannie announce: “Menheer Duvenage from Customs and Excise for Mr Winter”. I spotted a little man with sandy hair. He wore a safari suit and a comb was sticking out from one of his long socks. As I ran snorting past him out of the room, he uttered “môre”. 15 minutes later Ludwig and Mnr Duvenage emerged from the office. Ludwig winked at me. I couldn’t help it. I ran into the garden and laughed until I cried.
In the afternoon several ladies came to see Ludwig about a ‘private matter’. Each one of them disappeared for a while into his office and reappeared with a peculiar smile on her face.
What the hell is going on in there?
I couldn’t tell because the door was always closed and Ludwig had announced that he didn’t want to be disturbed.
The first one was a tall dark haired stunner in her 20s, maybe a student from the university. The second one arrived half an hour later. She was in her middle 40s, had long, red hair and a very curvy figure. I tried to concentrate on the Bauernmalerei Ludwig had asked me to do on a shelf, but the beatific expression of the redhead when she came out of that office somewhat perturbed me.
Mebbe he is looking for another employee and it’s only job interviews.
I mixed some yellow with some blue and started a garland of heart shaped leaves.
But the smile on their faces…must be something else…mebbe lovers…? Ho ho ho Mathilda… pasop. Is there a trace of jealousy gnawing at your guts?
I added a bit of yellow to the green.
Don’t be stupid. Ludwig and Julie are happily married. He would never do that to her…and not in his office…and not 2 within an hour…
I carefully painted some thorns between the leaves.
He said himself he is a lusty schnorkel…even if he is, it has got nothing to do with you. Pasop Mathilda. Don’t behave like an idiot.
I mixed some white and red for a flower. Just then number 3 walked in; small athletic, big blue eyes, middle 30s. I watched her go towards Ludwig’s office.
Seems a bit nervous. Mebbe she…
A gruesome cry tore the heat of the afternoon. I dropped the brush. It exploded into a pink splash on the floor. I raced outside where the cry had come from. Edda was standing at the fountain yelling her head off. “Get some buckets of water, quickly,” she shouted at me. “There’s a tap in the garage.”
I didn’t ask any questions and organized 2 buckets of water at maximum speed. They were 20 litre buckets and bloody heavy but in an emergency a person develops superhuman strength and Eliah came to help me carry.
“Is the house burning down or what?” I asked him.
He looked at me and said nothing. Edda was still at the fountain, yelling. Siobhan and some customers were standing around her. A fat man grabbed my bucket and said: “This is no job for a lady.”
“I hope they’ll survive,” I heard Edda wail.
I stepped through the circle of onlookers and the drama unfolded in front of my eyes. The 2 goldfish were floating belly up in the fountain. The fat guy was busy pouring water out of the bucket around the fish.
“Not too fast,” Siobhan said. “They need time to adapt to the temperature.”
“You should splash the water around to create oxygen in there,” a grey bearded gentleman suggested.
“Oh no, the poor creatures will die of fright,” a high heeled lady protested.
“Where is that blooming Albertina?” Edda yelled for the umpteenth time.
“I am here, Madam,” Albertina came down the gravel path.
“Now, whose job is it to put fresh water into this fountain every day?” Edda asked her.
“It’s my job, Madam.”
“So why don’t you do it?”
“I forgot, Madam.”
“You see these fish are dying?”
“Yes Madam.”
“This is already the third time that you forgot. How on earth…”
“Calm down, lady,” the fat guy interrupted. “Shouting won’t help. You know what these blacks are like. No sense of responsibility. And when it comes to animals, the saying ‘I don’t even wish my worst enemy to be reborn as a Kaffir dog in the Transkei’, didn’t crop up for nothing.”
“I guess you are right,” Edda said. “One can’t win with these blacks. The shouting just helps me to get my frustration out of my system.”
I didn’t know how to get my disgust out of my system.
This is the most untactful behaviour I’ve witnessed in my life!
I tried a cheering up smile in Albertina’s direction. She was standing there with a totally blanc face. Impossible to tell what she was thinking.
The fish were slowly revived with splashings and fresh water. Edda got some special vitamin food to help them get over their ordeal and asked me to make some coffee for the rescue team.
Inside, I met Ludwig and the blonde. She looked terribly excited.
“What’s all that commotion about?” Ludwig asked me.
“The goldfish.”
“Again,” he sighed. “That is the third goldfish drama in as many weeks. Edda will have to take them home.”
“If she’s looking for a place for them, she’s welcome to put them into our pond,” Blondie offered.
“Maybe that’s the solution,” Ludwig said.
Blondie flashed a dazzling smile at him.
Schmalzliese.
Ludwig grinned back at her before introducing us. Blondie’s name was Bev and she turned out to be the Winters’ vet. I mumbled the usual “pleased to meet you” and that I had to get the coffee going. Bev said she had to move it to be back at the practice for a bowel op on a corgi.
She smiled at Ludwig. Thank you so much for…” She suddenly stopped in the middle of her sentence and glanced in my direction. Her smile dropped.
Heiliger Strohsack, what is cooking here?
Bev looked again at my host father and said: “Thank you Ludwig,” in a business like manner.
Go to hell with your secrets.
I dashed to the kitchen range to make the coffee. Ludwig followed me.
“This has been quite an interesting little afternoon,” he said.
“Oh really.” I filled water into the percolator.
“Yebo, fuck the bureaucrats.”
“Pardon?”
I don’t believe this. He could at least use more romantic language.
Ludwig grinned from one ear to the other. “Did you notice that several ladies came into my office?”
“Ja.”
“Well, each one of them walked out with some of the books you hid in the bathroom cupboard. And I guarantee you that by the end of the month half the town will have read these books, because all of these ladies are members of different book clubs.�
��
I plonked onto the nearest chair.
Ludwig laughed. “Ja, these book clubs are my best customers for banned literature.”
Zebra Horizon Page 19