*
On Sunday, Denzil had an important architectural project to do. I went to the Yacht Club with Ludwig and Joshua and the improved Spray II.
The club house had changed quite a lot in the last months. The floor was tiled, all the walls shone with white wash and were decorated with sailing trophies. The stoep had a roof and walls going up to convert it into an office.
Sam, the architect, greeted us standing on the bar counter from where he was checking on something. “Guess what,” he said between 2 puffs on his pipe.
“The harbour master has finally decided to close us down,” Steve, the stocky restaurant owner, said.
“Don’t be so negative,” Sam said. “It’s actually splendid news. It’s got to do with a case of brandy.”
“We got an official booze license,” Ludwig guessed.
Steve frowned. “Didn’t even know we applied for one.”
“We didn’t,” Sam said, “but I reckon my news calls for a celebration, so get a couple of beers out of the fridge.”
He kept us in suspense until everybody was supplied with a drink.
“You know what, Sam,” Ludwig said, “why don’t you come to the theatre for our next audition? I’m sure you’d make an excellent actor.”
“The whole world is my stage,” Sam grinned from the height of the bar counter. “Listen up guys,” he raised his bottle. “I herewith proudly announce that the V.B. Yacht Club will be connected to the municipal electricity next week. Hip hip hooray!” He threw his head back and gulped down big schlucks of beer.
“Good show,” Ludwig said. “Our little old generator wasn’t always quite up to the job.”
“I only believe it when I see it,” Steve said. “That grumpy old harbour master never wanted a yacht club in the first place. Don’t let people have fun has always been his motto. Why should he be cooperative all of a sudden?”
“That’s where the case of brandy comes in,” Sam said.
“But the old boy is an obedient member of the Kerk and doesn’t drink,” Steve pointed out.
“And the chief harbour electrician likes his dop better than anything else,” Sam observed. “He wanted a case of brandy, he got it, and I don’t ask any questions. It’s his indaba now to get organized.
Heidewitzka! What else can one get for a case of brandy in this country?
”If he really does connect us up, he’ll probably extort a case of brandy from us every month,” Steve grumbled. He pointed to several bulging plastic packets. “Has anybody seen Gordon? I brought some grub for his animals.”
“He’s probably trying to fix up that sinking tub of his.” Sam descended from the countertop. I offered to give him a hand yesterday and I wanted to lend him one of our black guys to do the heavy stuff, but Gordon refuses any help.”
Steve took his glasses off and wiped them on his shirt. “Gordon won’t make old bones. Mark my words; he’s bound to drown in his sleep while his boat is sinking.”
We spent most of the day on Sam’s boat. It was called Hakuna Matata, No Problem, in Swahili. While we motored out of the harbour Joshua explained to me that Hakuna Matata was a 26 foot Bermudan rigged cutter.
Ludwig showed me 3 knots: a clove hitch, which can come in useful in lots of situations in life; a reef knot, which is used to reef a sail and a bowline.
There was quite a breeze blowing and the waves had white crests. We went for 15 minutes straight towards Antarctica and then turned parallel to the coast. I felt like one of those early explorers. There was only the sea and beaches, bush and mountains and us. Space seemed unlimited and civilization far away.
“Now you take the tiller,” Sam said to me after a while.
I steered the little boat through the big ocean.
“You’ve got a grin on your face as if you like what you are doing,” Ludwig smiled.
“This is great. I absolutely love it.”
Ludwig spotted a school of dolphins. A group of pelicans in V formation soared effortlessly above a river mouth. By the time Sam suggested to have something to eat I was totally ravenous. Fortunately the rolls were already buttered; otherwise, without the trace of a doubt, it would have been my job to butter them, because I was the only female on board.
“Mathildaaa, your lover is here,” Greta yelled through the house.
I grabbed my raincoat and raced to the Chev. By the time I got there half of me was sopping wet. The rain came down like a curtain. The windscreen wipers could hardly keep up.
“Quite a storm,” Denzil said after he’d kissed me. “Out our way the lightning hit the power line.” He drove past the Chinese shop and turned into the road to Victoria’s plush suburb. All the cars had their lights on and were crawling. For once there weren’t any blacks selling newspapers at the robots. Denzil told me all about his varsity project and then asked: “And how was your day?”
“Fine. I spent the third afternoon in a row painting Easter eggs with my host siblings. I’d never have thought they’d be so persevering.”
“They are great kids,” Denzil said.
“Ja, I know. They are a great family. I am really lucky.”
“They are a total exception. I guess you’ve got the only host parents in this country, who supply their exchange daughter with condoms. Lesser mortals would freak out.”
“Talking about kids,” I said, “what could I do for iSkolo? I thought mebbe I could teach the basics of reading and writing to the little ones. I’m also quite good in geometry…”
“Mathilda, you’ve seen iSkolo and that’s it. You are not going to get involved.”
“But I want to. I bet you can do with every bit of help you can get, and at the moment I haven’t anything to do anyway.”
“Hell Mathilda, that school isn’t some airy fairy pastime for people who haven’t got anything to do.”
“But I really want to help those kids,” I said hurt.
“You don’t realize how dangerous it is. I’ve told you before, South Africa is a totalitarian state. If you get involved in subversive stuff anything can happen.”
“Denzil, if you can do it, why can’t I?”
“Because I’ve lived here since I was born and I know how to move in this society…oh gosh! Look at that!”
At the bottom of the hill, a tall palm tree hit by lightning exploded into a fireball. We travelled on in silence. The rain abated, burning pieces fell off the palm tree. Land, sea and sky melted into one dark boiling emptiness. It looked like I felt inside. For the first time in my life I could do something meaningful and it looked like I wouldn’t get a chance. Hell, damn and blast.
At the big bend where the little stone chapel stood, Denzil put his hand on my knee. “I’ve been thinking. There are 2 things you can do for us.”
“Oh ja,” I was thrilled. “What?”
“Number one, you come with me to my pal Vincent’s farm. I’m taking some stuff there for his little farm school. It’s a totally harmless trip. Fortunately it isn’t a crime yet to haul some boxes of pens and some old typewriters across the country. There won’t be any danger, but you could keep up the morale of the driver and make it look like a lovers’ trip.” He squeezed my thigh.
“Wow, I’d love to come. I’m sure the Winters won’t object.”
“Of course they won’t…and Ludwig will supply you with an extra large box of condoms.”
We burst out laughing.
“And what’s the second thing?”
“You could help make sandwiches.”
“What?”
“You know, sandwiches for the kids of iSkolo. Wendy, who has taken on the job, stays close to your school.
That’s how I became the most dedicated sandwich maker in the country.
Victoria was throwing a little party before going off to Paris. She had invited her daughter Catherine, Denzil and me, Harriet and Larry, the guy with the disembowelled cat. Victoria’s husband Alistair had to attend an important business meeting and was going to join us later.
&nbs
p; It was supposed to be just a simple do, but a simple do for Victoria meant caviar, champagne, crayfish and the whole tootie. 2 blacks in white uniforms hovered around us, offering snacks, refilling glasses and serving at the table. It was all very tastefully done with lit candles in silver candelabras, and classical music floating through the rooms. We talked mainly about travelling, the arts and Paris. I was amazed to hear that everybody had been there – except me.
Victoria was planning to eat some wild duck au Chambertin in that ‘charming little restaurant’ in the rue des Belles Feuilles, and she wanted to go and see her favourite portraits by Velasquez in the Louvre. Denzil said there was nothing to beat The Kiss by Klimt and everybody smiled.
“You’ll never believe what old Lovemore did today,” Larry said over coffee.
Everybody looked at him expectantly.
Larry put his cup down. “This morning I dropped off my car for a general service at the General Motors garage in Duncan Street. A colleague of mine was supposed to pick me up but he didn’t pitch, so I went into the GM dealer and had a look at the new Chevrolets. In walks Lovemore with a suitcase in his hand and a big smile all over his face. He goes straight into the manager’s office and 20 minutes later comes out with an even bigger grin and the manager at his side. The manager looks utterly non plussed. Lovemore greets me and asks if I’m waiting for something; I tell him about my lift and he says, I can have a lift with him. We walk through the exhibition hall and Lovemore stops in front of that brand new, top of the range Constantia and says: “Here we are, jump in.” I think he is joking but the manager opens the door for him and wishes him all the best and safe travelling and so on, and off we go in that splendid vehicle. We have a marvellous ride with a little detour towards Cape Town, just for the hell of it, and then he drops me off. I thank him for the lift and he says: “You know what I had in that suitcase?” Of course I don’t and he tells me: “It was full of bank notes; I bought this car cash.”
Everybody clapped their hands and laughed and said things like: “Lovemore deserves it, I just wish more of them could do it.”
I asked: “Who is this Lovemore?”
Harriet smiled and said: “Lovemore Nyati, a black businessman from the township.”
While the others had cognac, Catherine and I went up to the top floor of the house to have a look at V.B. at night. The rain had stopped and a silvery moon hung between the clouds. The luminous strip of the town stretched along the bay, and out on the water the lights of some ships shone like a string of pearls.
Catherine told me how the town had grown since she had been a kid. Back then there hadn’t been half the lights you could see now. We talked about dolphins and antiques and that Victoria would have a great time in Paris.
“I’m glad she’s going away for a while,” Catherine said. “It’ll give us all some time to relax.”
“Oh.” I wondered what she was talking about. Probably a family matter.
“Ever since I was a little girl I was worried about my mother.”
“Oh.”
“Of course I only started to understand when I was about 10 years old.”
“Huh?”
“You know Mathilda, the number of times I had nightmares that my mom wouldn’t be there anymore in the morning…”
I just waited for more.
“And then of course there was always that suitcase…still is…”
Everybody is talking about suitcases tonight.
“Uh…what suitcase?”
Catherine lit a cigarette and took a deep puff. “Well, the packed black suitcase is the one she wants to take if the Special Branch arrests her.” Catherine took another puff. “You know Mathilda, I’ve always admired women who have the guts to join the Black Sash, but it can really put an enormous strain on their families.”
Victoria’s husband Alistair only arrived when we were leaving. He was a big, grey haired man with glasses and a jovial nature. He kissed the ladies’ hands, told a witty joke or 2 and persuaded everybody to stay for another drink.
On our way home I asked Denzil what Alistair was doing in life.
“He has a die casting factory. Makes alternator cases and handles for cars and fridges…”
“Seems to be quite a lucrative business.”
Denzil looked at me for a second and then turned his eyes back onto the road. “It’s not really supposed to be general knowledge,” he said slowly, “but Alistair has got a contract for war material.”
“War material! For what war?”
“Angola, Rhodesia, Mozambique.”
“So he earns his bucks by making hand grenades and stuff like that?”
“Ja.”
It took me a couple of minutes to digest that. “But that means Victoria is in the Black Sash fighting the government and at the same time it’s government money paying for her lifestyle, trips to Paris and all.”
“Ja.”
“Hell Denzil, I don’t know what to think anymore.”
Denzil shrugged.
“And why doesn’t the government klap Alistair because of her subversive activities?”
“I haven’t got a clue.”
I gave my speeches at the school and at the Rotary Club. It was no big deal. Maybe I was growing in confidence, or I had too many other things to think about – the trip with Denzil to Vincent’s farm for example. Ludwig and Julie thought it was an excellent idea for me to go there; I would see a beautiful part of the country.
First there was the Easter weekend. In good German tradition I bought chocolate eggs for everybody and hid them all over the show in the house and in the garden. I hadn’t reckoned with the dogs. By the time my host family was ready to start the big search, Clochard and Schnappsi had found most of the Easter eggs already.
Zebra Horizon Page 46