*
On the beach a few scattered groups of students played volley ball and touch rugby and the smoke of 2 or 3 braai fires curled up into the sky. A couple of people were swimming and a group of divers in full gear waded out of the sea.
Denzil waved at 2 guys building a big sandcastle. “Architecture students at their best,” he grinned. “Let’s join them.”
We dropped our stuff next to their braai fire and 3 well oiled chicks, who were tanning on bath towels. Denzil introduced them as Sue, a draughts woman, and Charlize and Ann, girlfriends of John and Richard the sandcastle builders. None of the girls felt like a swim and the guys were at a critical stage with a star shaped turret, so Denzil and I hit the sea by ourselves. We tried to do a bit of surfing but the waves were small, and we ended up horsing around clinging tightly to each other. When we came out of the water the turret had collapsed due to a wrong weight to height ratio or something like that and Richard and John were fortifying themselves with Castle Lager. The girls hadn’t stirred and were still busy working on their tan.
I opened a bottle of Tassenberg, which raised the girls’ interest enough to lift their heads; they accepted a plastic mug each.
“I feel like joining the sandcastle gang,” I said to Denzil.
“Ok, let’s do that.”
We threw some wood onto the schlapp looking fire and took a second bottle of wine to the sandcastle. Denzil, Richard and John got stuck into reconstructing the turret, throwing scientific sounding formulas around. I did my own thing outside the fortification walls.
The sand was fine and white with little shells in it; small birds scampered on long legs along the water’s edge and the silvery waves rolled with a soft murmur. The sun burnt hotly out of a perfect sky and I suddenly remembered to put sun block on.
The girls had moved into the shade of a beach umbrella and were discussing why they shaved their legs up to or also above the knee – what a fascinating subject!
I dug the sun screen out of our basket and listened how they changed the topic to the most efficient methods of fighting wrinkles.
Phhhh
They all agreed that imported stuff – especially from France – was the best, and that it was worth paying a packet to keep one’s skin youthful. I could have told them the number one measure against wrinkles is to stay out of the sun and, that according to my gran, cucumber peel worked better than any lotion; but as I didn’t give a shit I kept quiet.
“Gee Mathilda,” Charlize suddenly cast a critical eye on me. “You look like my kid brother when he’s been playing for too long in his sand pit – pale in front and burnt on the back. Come and sit with us.”
“I first want to finish what I’m doing.”
The 3 chicks shrugged their shoulders in total incomprehension.
“Tell the guys to get cracking with the braai,” Sue said to me. “We’ll butter the rolls in the meantime.
Hells bells. It must be so boring to be a tame, leg shaving, wrinkle fighting, roll buttering chick.
I added a bit more of the fine, white sand to my oeuvre, strengthened it with seawater and stuck shells on significant points.
The guys planted a flag made out of a Tassenberg label on top of their tower and invited me to celebrate the triumph of architecture over the natural elements. We finished the wine and went over to my creation.
Richard whistled. “Nice curves!”
“Altogether very arty,” Denzil said.
“I like the boobs best,” John declared.
A fat tannie with 2 small kids walked up to the sandcastle. “Dit is baie mooi…” They admired the sandcastle from all angles and then approached to have a look at my opus. When she saw what it was, the tannie’s smile dropped, and hissing a disgusted “sis man” she grabbed the kids by the shoulders and turned them round. Her last comment was something about ‘unbehoorlik eksibisionisme’ and ‘polisie’.
“What does that mean?” I asked the guys.
“It means if you don’t cover up the ‘indecent’ parts of your creation, she feels like reporting this to the cops.”
“Hell, I’ve never heard of a mermaid with a bra on,” I said.
“No bare boobs in this country,” John said. “Especially not white ones – mermaid or not. The only acceptable bare boobs around here are black boobs on postcards for tourists.”
We didn’t stay for the braai because Denzil had ‘stuff to do’. I was glad. The chicks were now discussing the best method to weave bands of cotton wool between their toes to beautify their feet, and it didn’t look like they were interested in more thought provoking matters.
Back at the Fenessey house we carried the 2 boxes from the university onto the stoep.
“Mighty heavy,” I observed. “What’s in there?”
“Books,” Denzil said.
After the glare outside it seemed dark inside the house. In the dining room 4 people were sitting around the table having an animated discussion. One of them was Harriet, and the other 3 the men and the woman dressed in the gear of the African church, who we had met in the street.
I couldn’t believe my eyes. During all the time I had spent in the country I had never seen white people having black guests.
Gosh, this must be highly illegal.
I felt an uncomfortable sensation creep up my spine, similar to the feeling one has travelling in a train without having bought a ticket. This feeling shocked me even more.
Bloody hell. Some months ago I was falling around laughing hiding banned books in Ludwig’s book shop and now I get the creeps because of this. What has happened to me? Bloody apartheid! Fucking Nats!
I nearly stomped on the floor.
You damn fascists won’t get me.
I was angry, mainly with myself. I took a couple of deep breaths to calm down. I realized that back then, it hadn’t quite sunk into my brains yet, that people in South Africa really went to jail for loving the wrong people, for painting ‘ANC propaganda’ on their tea mugs and for simply being at the wrong place at the wrong time. I also hadn’t known that a high percentage of prisoners met their death by slipping on bars of soap, falling down stairs and by jumping out of windows during interrogations.
I looked inquiringly at Denzil. He didn’t seem worried. He grinned and went to greet the guests. They had all got up to shake hands with him.
“Hello Agnes,” Denzil said. “How are you Moses? Nice to see you Julius.” He turned towards me. “Meet Mathilda. She is from Germany.”
They shook hands with me. It was all quite formal. Moses said he had a brother studying agriculture in Germany, in Dresden – had I ever been there?
“I’ve got family near Dresden but I can’t go there,” I said. “Well, maybe I could but it would be extremely complicated. “
“Why is that?” Agnes asked.
“Because I’m West German and Dresden is in East Germany. I would have to apply for a special permit and that takes at least 6 months, and you never know if you get it, and if you do you can only stay for a limited time…”
“I didn’t realize it is so difficult,” Harriet said.
“Well, Germany lost the war.”
“We are still fighting ours,” Julius murmured. And I wasn’t quite sure if I had heard correctly.
Harriet gestured towards the table, which was laden with notebooks, ashtrays, teacups and a cookie tin. There was also a bible. “We’ll go on with our meeting,” she said. “If you 2 feel hungry, there are plenty of leftovers in the kitchen.”
We had some amazingly tasteless stew with lumpy rice. Whoever did the cooking in the Fenessey household was certainly no born chef. I noticed that Denzil, in his effort to eat more slowly than during his boarding school days, managed to chew his food for a few nano seconds longer.
“I didn’t realize your mom is churchy,” I said.
“Mmh, my mother has a broad range of interests.”
I sprinkled a layer of pepper on my grub. “Couldn’t she get into trouble for having black g
uests in her house?”
Something like a tortured smile crept up on Denzil’s face.
I swallowed a spoonful of stew; it still tasted shit. “You know, I’ve never seen any other whites inviting blacks.”
Denzil’s weird expression intensified.
“Why does your mom…”
The back door opened and Mastermind came in. When he saw us he stopped dead in his tracks. “Hau! Mybobo! The world she is upside down. The young Master and the white Miss are eating in the kitchen and the Kaffirs are sitting at the dining room table. “Aish!” he shook his head. “Hau!”
I looked at his disgusted face.
I’ll never understand this country.
Mastermind had a drink of water and asked Denzil for a box of matches and he also wanted to borrow some sugar, because his own matches were finished and his sugar was finished and his money was also finished.
“All right Mastermind,” Denzil got up. “Just remember to…”
A blast of shattering glass shook the house. Denzil froze. Mastermind’s eyeballs nearly popped out of his head. I choked on a piece of meat. Somebody screamed in the dining room. Denzil leapt through the door. I followed – much more hesitant.
What the hell is going on here?
One big pane of the dining room window was lying in pieces all over the floor. The frame with the ragged bits that had stayed in it gaped like the mouth of a shark. Blood from a cut was running down Agnes’ cheek, dripping on her church cloak. Harriet’s face was as white as snow. Moses and Julius stood expressionless, holding onto their chairs. Time stood still. Nobody said a word. My head was empty except for a bubble of dread.
Harriet broke the silence. “Are you all right, Agnes?”
“Yebo, I’m fine,” Agnes replied with a faint smile.
“Let me have a look at you,” Harriet got up. “Maybe you need a doctor.’
“No no, I’m all right.”
Harriet bent over Agnes’ face. “You were lucky, Agnes, it’s only a small cut…we were all lucky that none of us got seriously injured.”
“Praise the Lord,” Julius said.
“What happened?” I asked.
“It was this thing,” Moses pointed to a brick on the carpet. “Somebody threw it through the window.”
“Who would do something like this?” I asked.
Harriet and Denzil looked at each other.
“I don’t know,” Denzil said.
We examined the brick from all sides but it was just an ordinary brick, revealing nothing.
“It is not wise for us to stay any longer,” Moses said slowly.
“Why…” I had a lot of questions in my head, but suddenly I knew that this was not the moment to ask them.
“I’ll take you up to the main road,” Denzil said to the blacks. “Are you okay here, Mom?”
“Ja Denzil, don’t worry.”
“Then I’ll take Mathilda back at the same time.”
I nearly asked why nobody called the cops. But then I shut up.
Mebbe the cops are the last thing anybody wants to rock up…or am I getting all schizo? Or what? Kids smash windows sometimes…but then…
I didn’t know what to think anymore, but I felt the bubble of dread burst and a major wave of being pissed off taking its place.
Nothing is ever simple in this country.
The blacks picked up their things and Moses said: “There are many bushes out there in the garden. People can hide behind them. Sometimes it is better not to have too many plants close to the house.”
On the way out all 3 of them glanced at the boxes from the university.
“I’ll drop them off at Victoria’s,” Denzil said to no one in particular.
They climbed into the back of the bakkie. Denzil and I sat in the cabin. At the gate Denzil scrutinized the road for a while. There was no one to be seen. At the mainroad we dropped Julius, Moses and Agnes off. The sun floated like a huge red balloon on the western horizon, dipping the world in a mysterious glow.
“Did you know,” Denzil said negotiating some heavy corrugations, “that glass is not a solid, but a molten liquid of sand with limestone and sodium carbonate added to it? In the old houses in the Cape you can see that the glass has sagged down over the centuries. In some places they are taking the windows out and putting them back upside down, so that the glass can ‘flow’ back again.”
I put my hand on his thigh and could feel his hard muscles under his shorts.
“Denzil, it’s a fascinating subject – and no, I didn’t know – but right now I’d rather talk about something else. What was this whole window smashing business all about?”
Denzil shrugged his shoulders. “It has happened once before. The last brick had Kaffirboeties written on it – means something like nigger lovers. You know how some people are, they just can’t stomach it when blacks are treated like human beings.”
That night I lay awake for a long time debating with myself if I should tell the Winters about the incident. I was sure Ludwig had an explanation and I needed to know. I also knew that Denzil hadn’t told me everything. That thought hurt as if someone had stuck a dagger in my belly. Did Denzil not trust me? Or did he want to protect me from something – but what exactly? I hardly slept. In the morning I had made up my mind: I wouldn’t mention anything to my host parents. Mebbbe if they learnt that weird things were happening at the Fenesseys, Ludwig and Julie would not let me go there anymore.
After our final performance of the ‘Funny Thing’ we had a farewell party. Thank God the acting bit was over, but I was going to miss some of the people and the creative vibe of the theatre. This party was not as hyped up and full of adrenalin as the first-night do by a long shot. Everybody was relaxed and smiling and agreed that we had had a splendid run. Joelle and some of the actors were discussing the next play they would put on.
“It will probably be Come Back Little Sheba in August,” Joelle said.
It suddenly hit me.
I won’t be here for that anymore.
I had to sit down to digest the thought. During the last few months I had grown roots here. I knew that I would have to go back to Germany one day, it was part of the student exchange regulations, but I kept that knowledge in some back recess of my brain. I sometimes wondered if it was normal that I didn’t miss Riedberg or my family very much.
Ludwig said something about Doc in Little Sheba and exploded into one of his roaring laughs and everybody around him joined in. That made me even more miserable. I felt totally excluded. Shit! As far as I was concerned my life was here in V.B. now, but it felt like some glutinous current of bureaucratic regulations would carry me away, and there was nothing I could do about it. And what would life be like without Denzil?
Ludwig came over and sat down next to me. “Everything all right my girl? You are a bit pale around the schnorkel.”
“I don’t want to go back to Germany. I’m happy here.”
“I’m glad you like it here. It’s a great compliment to us, my girl…whoa, whoa, don’t cry.” He put an arm around me and pulled a hanky out of his pocket. “Take this.”
I wiped my cheeks.
Ludwig smiled. “For somebody who just said she is happy here you do a mighty lot of crying.”
“It’s because I have to leave all this and everybody soon.” Sniff. “I’ve only got a few months left.”
“Ag my girlie,” Ludwig gave me a one-arm hug. “We all get the blues every now and then, but you have a choice.”
“No, I haven’t. They won’t let me stay longer than a year… and my ticket expires. It’s all horrible and complicated.”
“No, it’s not.”
“Really?” I straightened up a bit. “Why not?”
“Because you do have a choice. You can either mope around for the next few months and feel sorry for yourself, or you go out there and enjoy every second of it. It’s completely up to you. And remember, the only constant thing in life is change. Maybe you’ll be glad to go back when th
e time comes, maybe not. Who knows? But don’t live in apprehension. It’s not worth it because it’s all only in your head and might never happen. Just go out there and grab life by the knaters.” He squeezed me and grinned. “Talking of knaters, here is the guy to cheer you up.”
Denzil was walking towards us, his hair all tousled, with a big smile on his face. My heart lurched. I jumped up and kissed him with everything I’d got.
Ludwig is right. I mustn’t loose the tiniest little moment of it.
Zebra Horizon Page 42