Jackal's Dance

by Beverley Harper

  Christmas spent with his daughter became quality time which had him re-evaluating his priorities. When his ex-wife arrived to collect the child, James invited her in and calmly announced that he was gay. That immediately dissolved the friction between them and the three of them ended up spending New Year’s Eve together. Encouraged, if surprised, James then came out at work and was totally unprepared for the understanding and acceptance he received. Now it was time to tell his mother and father.

  James kept Mal informed with daily visits to the cemetery. Despite winter’s chill, he would sit beside the grave and talk to his friend as if he were still alive. Passers-by grew used to the sight of a good-looking young man speaking to thin air. They understood. Regulars made their own pilgrimage down the long, winding road, each seeking acceptance at the loss of a loved one.

  His parents had retired to a suburb on Long Island. James, unable to put it off any longer, made the journey on a Sunday, after telling Mal. He gently removed his mother’s arms, held her face in his hands and smiled. ‘I’m fine, Mother, really.’

  ‘But you’ve lost so much weight.’

  ‘I’m eating well. It’ll come back.’

  ‘Leave the boy alone. You can see he’s perfectly fit. Come, son. I want to hear all about it.’

  James sat in the chair indicated. His mother brought them each a glass of not very good Nappa Valley cabernet-shiraz then sat with them, anxious to hear her son’s story.

  ‘Hostages,’ his father said suddenly. ‘In my opinion, those who capture people and hold them for ransom are the scum of the earth. I remember one case I presided over. Five men held a woman hostage for three weeks.’ The judge was off and running. James had heard the story half-a-dozen times. It was one of his father’s favourites, an opportunity to shove his importance down the listener’s throat. James switched off. His father would eventually run out of steam, probably at lunch.

  When it became obvious to his mother that the only thing she was likely to hear would be the sound of her husband’s voice, she rose and disappeared to the kitchen. She had a special relationship with her son. He’d tell her when he was ready, preferably without the judge being there.

  Food being the love of his father’s life, silence prevailed save for the satisfied slurping of a lobster bisque. Talking at the table had always been frowned upon. Good conversation, so the judge firmly believed, was when he talked and everyone else listened. Busy eating, the no talking rule saved James from the arduous task of listening. As his mother rose to clear away empty soup plates, he spoke. ‘Please sit down. I have something to tell you both.’

  ‘Can’t it wait, my boy? We’re having my favourite, home-made chicken pie.’

  ‘No, I’m afraid it can’t.’

  ‘Oh, well do hurry up then.’ The judge threw down his napkin, sipped wine and glared at James.

  ‘What is it?’

  The moment he’d always dreaded had come. James cleared his throat. ‘I’m gay. I thought you should know.’

  He registered the sudden intake of breath from his mother. The judge’s bemused look was one of sheer incomprehension.

  ‘I’m sorry if that’s a disappointment to either of you but that’s the way it is.’

  Mrs Fulton gave a quick shake of her head.

  ‘Mal was my partner.’

  ‘Oh dear.’ His mother’s eyes filled with tears.

  The judge spluttered a single word. ‘What?’

  James turned to look at him. His tone level, eyes steady. ‘I am homosexual. Mal was my boyfriend, my lover.’ That should be plain enough.

  A deathly hush descended on the room. The judge’s face turned bright red and he seemed to stop breathing.

  James too held his breath.

  ‘Get out of my house.’

  Folding his napkin, James slowly turned to his mother. ‘I knew this would happen. Sorry. I’ll keep in touch but if you want to see me, it’ll have to be in the city.’ He looked back to his father. ‘Mal was right about you. You’re a pompous bully. Goodbye. Don’t bother to see me out.’

  He rose and left the house.

  The judge scowled at his sobbing wife. ‘Where’s the chicken pie?’

  It was a long drive back to the cemetery where his lover lay. ‘No more secrets, Blackie. Now everyone knows. I miss you. Our cat misses you. I will always love you.’

  Two days ago James had been diagnosed as HIV positive.

  A breeze rustled leaves overhead. James fancied he could hear Mal’s voice. He tilted his head and let the soft wind caress his face. ‘I’m not far behind you.’

  Johannesburg, South Africa: 18 January

  ‘You what?’ Yonina Leah’s voice always managed to sound as if she were pinching her nose. She turned dramatic eyes to her husband. ‘Ozzie, the girl is mad in the head. Talk some sense into her.’

  Ozzie was at a loss for words. Josie had just told them she would not be going back to complete her university degree. Instead, she intended to accept an invitation from Walter Schmidt and travel to Stuttgart. The letter had arrived yesterday, Josie slept on the idea and was now telling her parents. Walter had been blunt.

  Dear Josie,

  I said you would hear from me and I always keep my word.

  As you know, I am not a well man. My heart condition is worse. Events in Africa have taken their toll and it is time I retired. It was always assumed that Jutta, my only child, would take control of the family business. Alas, that will no longer be possible. I do have a married sister but we stopped speaking to each other many years ago. It is my responsibility to ensure the ongoing wellbeing of over three hundred employees. The company manufactures motor vehicle components. We have customers who would very much like to buy the business but that would mean many redundancies. In fairness to all I therefore intend transferring my entire shareholding into your hands. All you have to do is agree.

  The company virtually runs itself. Production, marketing and administration have excellent managers, all of whom have been with me for more than ten years. There are legal matters which must be dealt with as soon as possible. I enclose an air ticket.

  Sincerely yours,

  Walter Schmidt

  Josie had to read the letter five times. Even then, she wondered if it were a rather sick joke. It couldn’t be. Walter wasn’t that kind of man. Nor was he the type to act impulsively. Okay, for one brief moment in the bush they had experienced an understanding far beyond that of two individuals. Sure, she had helped him with Jutta, but so had others. True, Walter had seemed touched that she visited him in hospital. That was all. There was no rational reason to walk away from his business and hand it over to a virtual stranger. Hard-headed businessmen didn’t act that way, no matter how old or sick they may be.

  Arrival of the extraordinary offer coincided with some serious soul-searching on the part of Josie. The entire Etosha experience had left an indelible scar but drama and self-pity were not her style. Instead, as many of the hostages did, Josie re-evaluated her priorities. Life was short, corners appeared in front of you when they were least expected. It could not be plotted. As much as she loved university, Josie needed a change, a new challenge. Who knew what lay around the next bend? If Etosha had taught her anything, it was that life should be lived.

  Her mind made up to at least learn more about what Walter had in mind, Josie broke the news to her parents. As expected, she encountered objections, disbelief and suspicion.

  Ozzie stared at her. ‘Who is this man?’

  ‘I told you about him.’

  ‘He’s German.’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘So why make an offer like that to a Jew?’

  ‘It’s his conscience,’ Yonina cut in. ‘He thinks it will buy forgiveness.’

  ‘That’s not what it is, Mommie.’

  ‘How would you know? A twenty-one-year old girl yet. You don’t remember. The man has something else up his sleeve. He is alone and needs a nursemaid for his daughter. That’s what all this is about.’ Y
onina tucked a strand of frizzy hair behind her ear and nodded knowledgeably. ‘Or something else,’ she added darkly. ‘I’m telling you, my girl, he’s up to no good.’

  Josie hadn’t told her parents about Walter’s sincere apology or her acceptance of it. She knew they wouldn’t understand the raw emotion which had stripped the hostages bare of everything but honesty on that terrible second day. And Walter was not lying now, Josie would stake her life on it.

  ‘If I find there’s some hidden agenda, I’ll come straight home.’

  ‘What’s the man thinking?’ Ozzie queried out loud. ‘Giving everything away to you. A Jewish girl with no business experience whatsoever. It’s insane.’

  ‘I can learn, he knows that.’

  ‘That doesn’t change what you are. I don’t trust it.’

  ‘Look, Dad, what harm is there in going?’

  Josie’s father was weakening. This man, Walter Schmidt, seemed to have more money than sense. ‘How long would you be away?’

  ‘I don’t know.’

  ‘Do you promise not to sign anything without consulting us first?’

  ‘I promise.’

  ‘Agree to nothing.’

  ‘Okay.’

  ‘And have an accountant check his books. He might be bankrupt. A fine thing that would be, inheriting nothing but demanding creditors.’

  ‘Stuttgart’s so far away,’ Yonina whined. ‘Why can’t you stay here? Find a nice Jewish boy and get married?’

  Josie’s parents had no idea their daughter was gay. ‘I’m still too young to even think of that. I want to travel, see the world, get out there and really live my life.’

  ‘But why now? At least wait until you’re through university?’

  ‘I can’t explain. Etosha has changed everything.’

  Yonina threw her hands in the air. ‘I don’t understand. We give you everything. Education, a nice home, money, security, and you want to give it all away.’

  ‘My mind’s made up,’ Josie stated firmly. ‘I know you have doubts but I’d at least like to count on your support.’

  ‘Our support,’ Ozzie said, horrified that his daughter might think they’d withdraw it. ‘You’ll always have that. Go and do what you must. Just don’t sign anything.’

  A week later, Josie flew to Stuttgart. Walter met her at the airport and took her straight to his home. From then on the two of them spent every waking hour together, Walter explaining the workings of his business, introducing employees, cramming her head with facts, figures and advice. They met with accountants and lawyers. The staff, if surprised to learn that a young South African Jewish girl was to become the major shareholder and technically their new boss, made no reference to it. Josie, with their help, picked up the ropes quickly. It was as Walter had said, the company virtually ran itself.

  Despite her father’s advice, Josie signed the share transfer papers.

  Jutta was rarely seen. She stayed in her room, cared for twenty-four hours a day by nurses.

  Whenever Josie tried to find the reason for Walter’s generosity, or ascertain his plans for the future, all he would say was that he and his daughter would be well taken care of.

  Devon Valley, South Africa: 3 February

  Caitlin McGregor missed Thea when she left for Botswana with Sean. Nature Conservation had paid out Caitlin’s ranger contract in full and had nothing to offer her. Logans Island Lodge was to be closed down and dismantled. In time, it would go back to how nature intended. Although a successful venture, it was decided not to establish a similar facility for the time being. New construction was put on hold until the Angolan situation resolved itself. Caitlin didn’t plan to hold her breath for that. Namibia’s northern neighbour had been in a state of unrest since 1961.

  Keen to stay in the country, Caitlin picked up every brochure she could lay her hands on and wrote to any privately owned nature reserve advertising accommodation and guided safaris. There were dozens, most of which were family-run guest farms. She was back to square one. Qualified, experienced, but no-one wanted a female ranger. About to give up on the idea, she heard back from the operators of a tented camp and wildlife sanctuary in Damaraland, just south of Etosha. An interview followed and the job was hers. Like Logans Island, it too was closed for the summer. Caitlin couldn’t start work until the last week in February.

  Fed up with her own company – Dan had left for South Africa to see Norman Snelling – Caitlin decided to head for Johannesburg and see a friend of her own. Shauna had been delighted to receive Caitlin’s call from Windhoek. ‘Stay as long as you like.’

  ‘Thanks. I won’t impose for more than a few days.’ Caitlin, now that she’d set the wheels in motion to get off her backside and do something, suddenly had doubts that this was what she wanted to do. Company she needed, that much she knew. Why was she now hesitating? ‘Um, can I call you back?’

  ‘Sure. Is there a problem?’

  ‘No . . . yes . . . I don’t know.’

  ‘Caitlin, you need to get away.’

  ‘I know.’

  ‘This is not like you. Come to Joburg and we’ll take it from there. You’ve got three weeks before you start the new job. What are you planning to do?’

  An idea had been forming. Of course! Caitlin now knew what it was she needed. ‘Look, sorry. I don’t mean to mess you about. I’ll call you back, okay?’

  Shauna’s voice carried concern. ‘You’re stressed, I can hear it. Understandable, but I don’t like it. Call me straight back or I’m getting on a plane to come to you. You shouldn’t be alone.’

  ‘No, no. Don’t do that. I’m okay, really. It’s just that there’s something . . . I need to think it through. We’ll get together, I promise. A little sun and surf would be nice. Could you manage that?’

  ‘Sounds good. I could squeeze some time off.

  Why don’t we drive down to Durban, pick up a couple of hunks and indulge in a little horizontal exercise?’

  Caitlin frowned at the receiver. It was the last thing she needed.

  Her silence was taken by Shauna as disapproval. ‘I’m sorry, my love. That was stupid of me. We’ll have a girlie time, how’s that?’

  ‘I’m not a basket case.’ God! What’s wrong with me? Shauna’s only trying to help. ‘Can we talk about it when I phone back?’

  ‘You’ve got an hour. If I don’t hear from you I’m calling my travel agent. I mean it, Caitlin.’

  ‘You will, you will. Talk to you soon. Bye.’

  Replacing the receiver, Caitlin had more doubts. She sat alone, curled into an armchair, being brutally honest with herself. The idea had merit but it also carried risks. Was she strong enough? Would it help her or make matters worse? Should she perhaps just turn her back and walk away? No. That in itself could be dangerous. Jesus, Caitlin, get a grip. You can run and you can hide. You can stick your head in the sand and pretend it never happened. Go to Johannesburg, go on, and play a stupid make-believe game with yourself. You know very well that this has to be faced sooner or later.

  Her mind was made up and Caitlin went into action. She called Shauna back. ‘Sorry. Change of plans. I won’t be coming tomorrow after all. There’s something I’ve got to do. I don’t know how long it will take.’

  ‘Are you okay?’

  ‘No, but I hope to be.’

  She would not be drawn to explain.

  Next, she called the travel agent and added a Johannesburg to Cape Town leg to her air ticket. Caitlin packed a bag. Her flight left Windhoek at ten-thirty the next morning but the sight of her luggage standing ready in the hall helped her resolve.

  The following afternoon, Caitlin landed at Cape Town’s International Airport at four – fifteen. She was behind the wheel of a hired car by five and headed towards Stellenbosch. Fletch had mentioned that his parents farmed at Devon Valley, an area just outside the historical university town known for the quality of its grapes. Directions given at the Devon Valley Hotel found Caitlin pulling up outside a large Cape Dutch-style house
a little after six o’clock.

  Now she was here, she felt like an intruder. She had no place being here. She was a stranger, not welcome in this house of sorrow, an interloper who could only bring more suffering. The windows and closed doors seemed like a barrier. ‘Go back,’ they said. ‘We do not want you here.’

  An attractive woman in her forties opened the front door and stood on the stoep to see why the dogs were barking. Caitlin emerged from the car and hovered by it, uncertain. Fletch’s mother approached slowly, the pain of her recent loss still in her eyes. ‘It’s you,’ she said softly.

  ‘Yes.’ Caitlin’s voice caught and she blinked back tears.

  Intense emotion rolled down the older woman’s cheeks as a flood of sorrow was released.

  Caitlin had no memory of how it happened. Suddenly the two women were embracing, holding on tightly, seeking and giving comfort, consoled by the fact that if he had still been alive Fletch would have undoubtedly approved that the mother he adored and the girl he might have loved needed no prompting, no outside influences, to be drawn to each other.

  When they pulled back there was no awkwardness.

  ‘Troy told us how you sat with our son. It was you, wasn’t it?’

  ‘Yes. I’m Caitlin.’

  ‘Maggie.’

  ‘I had to come.’

  ‘I’m glad you did. Come inside and meet Graham.’

  Caitlin stayed with Maggie and Graham Fletcher for ten days. It was strange listening to stories of Fletch’s childhood and hearing him called Gary – it didn’t seem like they were talking about Fletch. For a few days, the feeling that she was intruding on Fletch’s past life continued, and Caitlin worried that maybe he wouldn’t have wanted her to do that. But as time went by she realised that his parents had completely accepted that something special might have developed between their son and Caitlin if he had lived, and that this girl deserved to know all the things she hadn’t had a chance to find out for herself. Their acceptance made it okay to be there. In the home Fletch had grown up in, in the memories, the pennants and trophies won at tennis, his room, his dog, the gardens he played in as a child, the photographs, everything Caitlin saw, heard and touched gave her a piece of the man she would never know. The experience was far from easy, but Caitlin knew it would be so much more difficult to pretend that she and Fletch had never taken that first tentative step towards each other.