by Peter Rimmer
“Who are you?” asked the girl who had first seen the bus coming.
“Tinus Oosthuizen. From Rhodesia.”
“Is she your girl?”
“We’ve never had the time to find out.”
“You’ve known Genevieve a long time? Since before?”
“Before what?”
“Before she became everyone’s property, by the look of that mob. Why do people only behave like that in a crowd?”
“It’s like a swarm of locusts except they don’t eat the grass.”
“We’re going now. Have a nice day.”
“Did they ruin your day?”
“Only a little. We have the rest of our lives together. You’d better go rescue your girl before they eat her alive. Good luck.”
Looking from the togetherness of the couple’s departing backs to Genevieve surrounded by pushy people made Tinus envious. The girl didn’t have to finish what Tinus knew was left in her mind; ‘you’ll need it’. The girl and boy were arm in arm. Patiently, Tinus waited, forgotten, just a young man on the fringe of a crowd in whom no one was interested.
“Get me out of here, Tinus,” Genevieve mouthed.
Genevieve broke away from the crowd and stood next to Tinus.
“Why do you do it?”
“My job. They pay a few hard-earned cents at the box office to see me. That’s the only way I meet my audience. Private Lives was different every night. I felt the audience. You connect in a live theatre.”
“They think they own you!”
“They do, Tinus. Something I must never forget. Take my arm. Firmly. Now walk the long walk back to the hotel if we can’t find a cab. It’s over. I might as well pack. That’s how it really is. I’d hoped to forget for an hour.”
“This is madness.”
“This is my life. Mother said they’d tear me apart. The way booze is tearing her apart. I can’t even help my mother, let alone myself. I’m sorry, Tinus. For a moment it was lovely.”
“I can’t ever compete with this.”
“I know. Everyone has their price. Before all this I was a discarded girl with unmarried parents, with a mother who preferred to get drunk. Ostracised by everyone for none of my own fault. The butt of my parents’ mistake. This was my way out. I can’t go back now. If I told any of them I was a bastard they couldn’t give a damn. Silly, isn’t it?”
With a broad smile on her face, waving at the crowd, they made their slow way out of the small park. A taxi was waiting. The girl, still arm in arm with her companion, gave Tinus a wave.
“She called us a cab.”
“Aren’t we lucky? And cheer up, Tinus. Smile. You’ll get used to it.”
After he bundled Genevieve into the back of the cab, Tinus stood up to his full height to look around. To see if there was any more trouble. The girl from the grass was still watching him. Tinus waved his thanks. The girl gave him a sympathetic smile. Tinus ducked down and got into the cab. The crowd, if anything, was getting bigger. They sat at opposite ends on the back seat, saying nothing, looking at the back of the cab driver’s head. A dark cloud had taken away the sun.
When they reached the Independence they separated to go to their own rooms.
“This is goodbye, Tinus.”
“I know.”
“At least you’ve come face to face with the problem.”
“So they’ll never leave us alone.”
“Probably not. Say goodbye to Uncle Harry. I’m going to pack and go.”
“You can always call me. Like you do, sometimes.”
“I’ll try.”
“Why are you crying, Genevieve?”
“Don’t be such a bloody fool.”
Opening the door to his own room, Tinus went inside. He was smiling. Always the most difficult in life to attain was the most worth having.
Then he climbed into bed and fell asleep.
When he woke in good time to go to the airport, his hangover gone, Genevieve had also left. Jean was back at the desk when Tinus went downstairs with his one small suitcase.
“Any messages, Jean?” The door to Genevieve’s room had been open, a girl inside cleaning the room.
“Not this time, Tinus.”
“Russo’s was a real gas.”
“Have a good trip. Your cousin and uncle are outside with the cab. Thank you for staying at the Independence. You’ve still got your key in your hand.”
Tinus put the key on the desk, his last physical connection with Genevieve. By then Jean was busy talking to someone else. Like in the park, he was no longer important.
7
When Tinus woke the next morning the sun was shining into his room. Feeling normal after yesterday’s hangover he got up and stood at the window. Lily Water, spread out in front of the house, was as pretty as its name. In the small garden were children playing, their treble voices music in the morning air. The same huge woman he had met briefly the previous night was sitting in a solid-looking rocking chair watching her children. A man came out of a long, long cabin with four windows down the side and looked up at the sky, much the same way Tinus looked up at the sky first thing in the morning on Elephant Walk; everything on a farm was regulated by the weather. The man said something that Tinus could not hear. Two more men came out. They all walked off together. There was no sign of Cousin George or Uncle Harry as far as he could see.
They had arrived at Lily Water after midnight, all of them tired. The old pickup truck had been left at the airport by Cousin George when he flew from Richmond to New York to meet his Cousin Harry. The three of them had sat in the cab with Cousin George driving, the gear lever firmly stuck in Tinus’s crotch. By the time they reached Lily Water after a long drive he was stiff in both buttocks. His right foot had gone to sleep. All the way, Tinus had found it strange driving on the wrong side of the road. The first set of headlights coming at them on the wrong side had sent Tinus into a panic. By the time they reached Lily Water he was used to it. The huge lady had given them supper round the fire. The fire made the small room look cheerful. There was no ceiling, only rafters and a wooden roof. The woman was twice the size of Cousin George with hands the size of hams.
Looking out the bedroom window, Tinus thought he remembered her name was Thelma though he could not be certain. Cousin George, in the middle of his introduction, had disappeared into her arms along with his words. She had briefly held him out at arm’s length to get a look at him before enfolding him again. Cousin George had made strange sounds of affection before being put back on his feet. Without doubt she was the largest woman Tinus had ever seen. She wasn’t so much fat as big. If everything about her had shrunk in half she might have looked more normal. Looking at them together the first time the previous night had made Tinus want to giggle. When he had looked at his Uncle Harry, his uncle would not make eye contact in case he too burst out laughing. Then she shook their hands and Tinus felt her strength. A practical woman, she had fed them and let them go straight to bed. Cousin George must have phoned her from New York as everything was ready.
Outside all the colours were browns and reds as far as he could see down a valley. Only the fir trees still had all their pine needles looking green. Right in the front of the garden lawn, not twenty yards from the woman, was a large natural pond full of lilies. They were different to the lilies in Africa by the look of them. Further down the valley was a series of ponds fed by rain water down the slopes of the hills. If he had not seen the msasa trees on Elephant Walk in the spring, the same reds and browns of new growth, not the falling leaves, he would have said he was looking at the most beautiful place in the world. Best of all there was not one ugly sound of man, not even a dog barking. Just the treble sound of the children’s voices until the woman clapped her big hands and they all ran to go inside. Surprisingly easily for such a big woman, Tinus watched her get up from the rocking chair in one smooth movement to follow her brood. Only then could Tinus see her face, a face of total content and happiness making Tinus envy his Cousin Geo
rge.
Then he put on his clothes and went to look for everyone, hoping to find himself a cup of tea, or failing tea, a breakfast cup of American coffee.
By then Tinus knew he was going to enjoy his stay with Cousin George. The old grandma had to be somewhere to complete the family picture.
“Hello, I’m Cousin Tinus.”
One by one the children came and gave him a hug. Grandma smiled a toothless smile. It seemed to Tinus, drinking coffee in the morning did not require grandma’s false teeth.
“What’s your name?” asked Tinus surrounded by the children. He had sat down at the breakfast table next to grandma. Without asking, a mug of coffee was put on the table in front of him by the big woman.
“My name is Henry,” said the boy Tinus thought to be between six and seven. With such a big mother it was difficult to tell by the boy’s size. “I’m named after Sir Henry Manderville, our illustrious ancestor.”
“Who told you that?”
“Grandma.”
Smiling, Tinus ruffled the boy’s hair.
“I’m George the Fourth,” said the boy next to Henry, which did surprise Tinus, his mind thinking of the kings of England, George IV long dead. Then he realised the boy was more likely to have been named after his father, his grandfather and great-grandfather.
“So you got your father’s name. And what’s your name?” Tinus said to the third boy standing next to the girl.
“Bart. Henry got the first part of our illustrious ancestor’s name. I got the last part. Sir Henry Manderville Bart.”
Looking at the satisfied look on grandma’s face Tinus understood where the names came from. Grandma had still not said a word.
“And you, little lady?”
“I’m Mary-Anne. I’m going to marry a duke.”
The children all stared at him before going off outside to play with an old dog that wagged its tail. The facial hair around the muzzle of the dog was white with age. The backdoor to the kitchen was open to the morning despite the chill wind blowing up the valley. The stove fire that had boiled the water for the coffee was giving out heat with the fire door open. Following his look out the door to the children surrounding the dog, grandma gave him a toothless grin, put down her empty coffee cup and left the kitchen, pulling herself up by her hands with the help of the kitchen table. When Tinus looked round he was alone, the woman whose name he thought was Thelma having walked out the door and followed the children. Not sure what to do, Tinus stayed sitting at the kitchen table drinking his coffee.
Not long after, Tinus heard Uncle Harry and Cousin George come back from an early morning ride. He could hear the jangle of bits and the neigh of the horses. Then he heard his uncle talking.
“So from what I understand, the first tobacco seed came to us from Virginia before the war, in 1913. You were a child then. My grandfather planted that first seed on instructions from Cousin George, your father. Back a few years ago we got some more, better seed, that doubled our yield of tobacco in the lands. That was you, I am assuming? My memory is a little hazy. Grandfather Manderville was running the tobacco on Elephant Walk.”
“Let Grandma tell you, Harry. That’s if she’s had her first cup of coffee and put in her teeth. She doesn't talk till then.”
“Morning, everyone,” said Tinus standing at the outside door to the kitchen. “This is such a beautiful place, Cousin George.” The children by then had gone off somewhere with the dog and were nowhere to be seen.
“How many hands you got, George?” asked his Uncle Harry.
“Six at the moment. Live in the bunk house. They come and go. Lot of people out of work in the cities after the crash. They come here for food and a place to stay. Do the planting and hoeing. In America we don’t grade the tobacco on the farm. Dry it in the barns. Flue cured. Bale the leaves and send it off to Reynolds. They weigh it and send us the money to the bank.”
“How do you know it’s right?”
“We have to trust them, Harry. Is Grandma in the kitchen, Tinus?”
“No, she isn’t. Went off somewhere.”
“Any coffee? Where’s Thelma?”
“Went off with the kids. There’s plenty of hot coffee on the hob.”
Smiling, Tinus stepped aside to let them in at the door. He was right. The big woman’s name was Thelma. “And here comes Grandma.”
“Grandma, tell Cousin Harry about the first tobacco seed sent to Africa.”
“Your pa of course sent it, George. Having sailed around the world, he returned to me in Canada. I made him find his English cousin, only we found Cousin Henry in Africa and wrote to him. By then his older uncles were dead without producing sons, and your pa was the last of the Mandervilles. Your grandpa had long gone so we headed to Virginia and your father worked as a planter on a tobacco plantation. He told Cousin Henry he owned it. Stole some seed and sent it with all those instructions to Africa. Your pa worked his way up and got his concession. Sadly he’s dead now but now we got our own farm and that’s the truth. Pleased to meet you, Cousin Harry.”
Tinus, watching, saw Grandma had put in her teeth.
“This is Cousin Tinus.”
“We’ve met. Couldn’t speak. Don’t put my teeth in till I had my coffee. Cleans out my old mouth, hot coffee.”
“George and I are going to buy the farm next door, Grandma. George wants to be the biggest tobacco farmer in Virginia.”
“That’s my grandson. Always did say he had good blood in him even if the good blood didn’t show itself for a few generations. You come and have your coffee and tell me all about it, Cousin Harry. So you knew Sir Henry Manderville Bart?”
“He was my grandfather.”
“I want every detail. Don’t you miss out nothing. Not many families got knights in their ancestry. Makes me feel right proud. When you going back to England, Cousin Harry?”
“After we come back from our trip to Africa. We leave the day after tomorrow.”
“Then start talking. Got no time to waste.”
Tinus, not part of the conversation, finished his coffee and went for a walk to get a closer look at the lily ponds he had seen from his bedroom window.
“Now where do I start?” he heard his uncle say from the kitchen.
“From the very beginning.”
“I’m a Brigandshaw not a Manderville. All I know is what I heard on the farm in Rhodesia from Grandfather Manderville.”
“Just don’t leave nothing out.”
“Well, like my first wife’s family the St Clairs, the Mandervilles came to England with William the Conqueror. They were Normans, or Norse Men, originally from what we now know as Scandinavia. They fought the Saxons at the Battle of Hastings and conquered England for their king. In exchange, the Norman knights were given English land…”
Only half listening, Tinus made his way across to the lily pond and dipped his fingers in the water. Just in front was a frog sat on a lily pad. The frog took one look at Tinus and jumped off the flat, round, green pad of the lily leaf into the water. From further down the valley Tinus could hear the voices of the children. The dog was barking excitedly. Tinus, sitting himself down on a small bank, looked out over the water. The white and yellow flowers of the lilies were open to the morning sun. Birds were calling to each other from the surrounding trees. Probably, he thought, all this was going to be part of his future if Uncle Harry bought the farm next door for Cousin George; a tobacco farm in Virginia; a meat canner in Chicago. It was a start, he thought, tossing a small pebble into the centre of the pond and watching the ripples spread and spread. Then Tinus stretched out and lay on his back to look at the sky and think of Genevieve. So far as he could see, there wasn’t a cloud in the sky.
Part 3
It’s Easier to Knock It Down than Put It Up – September to December 1939
1
Ten months later their whole world went upside down.
The mechanised divisions of the German Army powered their way into Poland. As the French and British ultimat
um expired, a state of war between France, Britain and Germany came into effect. Shortly after, the countries in the British Commonwealth, led by Australia, Canada, New Zealand and South Africa, declared war on Germany. America, Sweden, Norway and Belgium declared themselves neutral.
Three days later the Polish Army and air force were defeated. Russia and Germany partitioned Poland between themselves. Shot down twice, Janusz Kowalski, with nothing left to fly, his father arrested by the Germans, began making his way in the ensuing chaos towards the Polish port of Danzig on the Baltic Sea leaving Ingrid behind in Warsaw, all forms of civilian communication destroyed by the German Army.
Riding a bicycle, dressed in peasant clothes, Janusz made his way among the people fleeing the German advance. Alone, frightened, mourning his friends, he arrived in Danzig the same day André Cloete landed his Hurricane in a French field, spearheading the British Expeditionary Force into Continental Europe. In Melbourne, on the other side of the world, Trevor Hemmings boarded a Dutch ship bound for England.
A week later at Hastings Court, Harry Brigandshaw was pacing through the house waiting for his call to be put through to Tinus Oosthuizen in Rhodesia.
“Can’t you see the bloody lines are busy,” the operator had shouted. “Wait in line like the rest of them. There’s a war on. Stop wasting my time.”