by Ruth Hartley
Lara yawned and stretched. When Oscar was back at the camp she didn’t get much sleep and she didn’t get very much work done either.
Chapter Three
Fred and Bernie
The first time Lara met Bernie and Fred she was rather put out at the idea of sharing one of her precious evenings with Oscar with two old men, both over seventy.
“We have an arrangement to play chess together.” Oscar told her. “Sometimes Bernie takes Fred and me on together in the same evening on two boards. He’s very good. I didn’t think you’d want to play chess so I’ve arranged for us all to play bridge.”
“I’m not much good at cards.” Lara tried not to seem peeved. “Why these two men, Oscar?”
“Bit of shared history.” Oscar looked amused by Lara’s expression. “Fred’s wife is German. Bernie is Polish and speaks Russian and German.”
“Won’t they disapprove of us – of me, I mean?”
“Should they?” Oscar asked. “Do you mind if they do?”
Bernie and Fred were both short men but quite different from each other. Lara was conscious of how far she had to bend down to shake hands with them. Bernie wore a neat grey three-piece suit with grey shoes so polished they shone like enamel. Fred wore a jacket over a patterned sweater and corduroy trousers. His shoes were brown suede and his tie of faded wool. He was somewhat more reduced in height and every other way than Bernie. Bernie’s smile and manner were charming but Fred kept his mouth clamped shut. He tilted his head up to talk to Oscar and Lara which made his clenched jaw look even more forbidding.
Bernie immediately started a conversation while Oscar organised whisky and ice for the men and white wine for Lara.
“My name’s Solly Berman – but call me Bernie – everyone does.”
In answer to Lara’s question, he said, “I was taught to play chess in the army. The Russians had some idea that chess showed strategic intelligence but no! If you’re good at chess – you’re good at chess. Doesn’t mean you’re good at anything else. Not at all!”
Bernie confided that he and Oscar liked to get together and talk German to each other on occasions. Though he was a Jew, he had enlisted in the Polish Army before Hitler invaded.
“Many of us soldiers ran away when Poland fell.” Bernie continued his story. “We ended up with the Russians – then I got taken prisoner by the Nazis but because I spoke German and Russian I managed to escape again and join the Polish 2nd. Corps who fought with the British.”
Lara was fascinated. “How did you end up living in Chambeshi?” she wanted to know.
“It was a British Protectorate that took in refugees after the war. In fact before the war it accepted German Jews who were refugees from Hitler.”
“It must have felt very strange and dangerous coming to the centre of Africa from a city in Europe!”
“After what we left behind?” Bernie said, his eyebrows going up and down in sequence. “Here was good, let me tell you!”
“What about you, Fred?” Lara turned to the smaller man with his suspicious eyes.
“Have you got a story too?”
Fred chuckled, his face relaxed momentarily, then, in a broad Yorkshire accent, his face dour again, and he began his story.
“It was t’Depression. No work, no money. I went to seek a fortune in South Africa. They said it were wonderful. Didn’t like it a bit. Me – I’m a union man meself. White people carrying on like lords and slave owners. Treating Blacks like dirt. I got back on the boat not sure what to do next. Any road the boat sailed via New York – land of opportunity and equality they said. I had no papers so I jumped ship. Lived rough for a bit then got a job with the Consolidated Edison Company in New York. Married – the wife’s German – lass had immigrated to States afore the war. We had kids. Then McCarthy got going chasing Jews, spies – immigrants – communists – us in Trade Union – you name it – I was still an illegal so we decided to leave. All the news from England was bad. No way we’re going back to Germany. So we tried South Africa again – me thinking to go north. They needed electrical engineers in Chambeshi – so here I am.”
“We’re flotsam and jetsam – all washed up here – war debris. Living the good life.” Bernie nodded at Oscar. “Same as Oscar – only he’s the one who made it big.”
Oscar grinned as he set up the card table but Fred was dissatisfied.
“It’s not the good life any more. Not for the whites now colonial rule is finished. We’ll all be gone soon – or dead.” Fred jutted his lip out. Lara assumed he referred to his own life expectancy rather than a general possibility of life ending for all white people,
“But colonial rule finished ages ago.” she said. “About 25 years ago wasn’t it?”
Oscar handed round oily amber whisky and brittle ice in cut-glass tumblers.
“There’s still lots of opportunity here.” He disagreed. “It’s a better place since it’s been run by Chambeshians for Chambeshians. It’s just now that there are worries about who will succeed President Chona,”
“Maybe, Oscar – but you like to keep in with all those people – all on the make – all wanting to be top dog. No – politics is not for me. I want my pension. I want to feel safe. Monika and I – perhaps we will end up in South Africa after all.”
Fred raised his glass. “Slainte Mhath, Oscar!”
Bernie answered, “Na zdrowie!”
“Prost!” Oscar responded.
“Oh well!” Lara joined in. “Cheers then! Aren’t we a gathering of polyglots here?”
Bernie smiled, Fred ignored her and Oscar clinked his glass against hers.
Bernie turned to Oscar, his manner deceptively mild.
“Oscar, do you know this man – Natan, I think he’s called. Not a good person in my judgement. You don’t do business with him do you? Funny fellow that one – came to our Passover meal this year – sat there all night but didn’t say a word to anyone. Why? Can’t see how he can be an observant Jewish man when he is mixed up with those Angolan dissidents. Bad men – very bad – arms dealers I’m told. One of my language students is an Angolan refugee – saw Natan hanging out with this rebel scum – reckons he’s dangerous but loaded with money. His advice – have nothing to do with this Natan! You don’t, do you Oscar?”
Lara hoped her face was neutral and natural. She glanced at Oscar. His expression didn’t alter but she thought he blinked once. She stood up. The way this game of bridge was going she was going to be dummy yet again.
“I’ll get more sandwiches – okay everyone?”
When she got back the three men were relaxed and laughing. They were talking about a local car dealer who had been apprehended for selling a stolen car back to its owner. Fred had tears running down his face and was coughing. Both he and Bernie smoked. Oscar was smoking a cigar.
“So why are you wasting your time with this man?” Bernie asked Lara. “Beautiful girl like you? Must be able to do better.”
Lara smiled. It was such a trite line but Bernie was shrewd and he didn’t seem to mean it unkindly.
“I like Oscar.” she said. “He knows about art and he helps me promote my art too.”
“Ah.” Fred said, turning his sharp gaze on Lara.
“We like Oscar too, he’s a good mate, but he does owt for nowt. Be sure of that Lara. He never loses at bridge, do you Oscar? Only at chess against Bernie and then he doesn’t bet.”
“Pity you can’t get lowdown from Hanne no more. She and Monika they used to talk German to each other. Monika knows all about Oscar – Hanne told her.”
“You must be good at art if Oscar is helping you.” Bernie said slapping his cards down on the table with a quick glance at Lara.
“Lara’s good.” Oscar said unfazed by the conversation. “She’ll make money from her art.”
When Bernie and Fred
had gone home, Lara tried to bring up the subjects of Natan and Hanne with Oscar. Oscar flicked a shred of cigar off his lip, wrapped his arms around her and squeezed her so hard that she couldn’t utter a word.
“First of all, Lara – before we get into the business of talking about business, I want to fuck you! Right here. In the dining room. On the table. Now!”
“Why on the table?” Lara asked breathlessly. “Isn’t that uncomfortable?”
“Probably for you.” Oscar said. “And it’s cold. Let’s go to the bedroom and I’ll tie you up instead.”
“No you won’t!” said Lara.
Lying in Oscar’s arms after they had made love without rope or ties, Lara, sleepless and yawning, frowned to herself. Why did the idea of being in bondage to Oscar give her a sexual thrill? She was far too impatient and self-determined to really want to be at the mercy of another person. It must be something to do with the way sex is – a surrender – a loss of control – or was it to do with the emotional enslavement of falling in love? Would she trust Oscar if he did tie her up? Should she allow him to imprison her for sexual pleasure? The idea made her shudder, not exactly with fear but with a thrill that was excitement. Sexual fantasies were supposed to be okay, weren’t they? Or did they betray your weaknesses and secret fears and give them power over you? Why when they were pleasant did they also make her feel guilty? No matter who her lover was she could not bear to give that person ultimate power over herself. Nevertheless the idea aroused her, sleepy and sated as she was. In any case half the pleasure that she and Oscar had in each other was in their difference and opposition. Perhaps she ought to be more afraid of the imbalance between them in money and resources? Wasn’t she too dependent on Oscar? Also – and this was much harder to answer – she could only make guesses – what did Oscar get from his relationship with her? What did Oscar really want?
Could either Bernie or Fred have advised her about Oscar or told her something useful? There were too many questions without answers or the possibility of answers. Lara yawned again and drifted into sleep.
Part Nine
London 1997
Chapter One
Adam
Lara had already given Brendan a short and simplified account of her life after she and Tim arrived in London. She remembers it as a smudgy time as if she was working on a charcoal drawing in a badly lit studio.
“I was pretty traumatised, I suppose.” she tells Brendan. “The real problem was the way the days became shorter and darker and colder. I had lived through English winters at art school but this time I felt that I was being buried alive – it was as if I was interred like Persephone in a gloomy Hades.”
Brendan and Lara both smile at her exaggerated description. Brendan, Lara has discovered, had begun a novitiate as a Catholic priest and had a classical education.
“Being in bed with Tim was the best thing about it. I was warm there. We talked a lot – made love – became better friends – and laughed – but Tim had a job and when he wasn’t around I was afraid of everything.
“It did get better though and when Adam was born in the summer – we were both so happy.”
In the first trimester of Lara’s pregnancy her physical body had steadily ripened and swelled while her mood fluctuated as wildly as Liseli’s had when she was at her most ill.
“What if it’s Oscar’s child? What should I do? How can I know?” she cried.
“Lara, Lara – it’s not a problem.” Tim squeezed her stiff shoulders.
“Let’s just take it slow! It’s your baby and that’s what matters. We have to wait till the baby is born. Then we can find out the baby’s blood group – but that may not tell us anything for certain. Even if I am not ruled out we still don’t know Oscar’s blood group so we can’t know definitely who the father is.”
There was much more they did not say and more they dared not say at that time.
Life was not slow, however, as Tim and Lara rushed around finding accommodation and settling back into London before her due date. They started by squatting together in the basement flat of one of Tim’s newspaper colleagues and had to move twice before they found an affordable flat with a spare room for a nursery.
Lara didn’t want to tell her parents about her pregnancy till she was settled one way or another. Neither did she want to live with Tim and be a burden to him but she had to accept that she was incapable of coping on her own. Tim knew it was possible that he might be the baby’s father but he did not think it wise to lay any claim to that while Lara was so distraught and traumatised. He shrugged away the idea and concentrated on their survival in London and his change from a risk-taking foreign correspondent to a senior desk editor. When he was with her and they were eating supper, Lara talked on and on endlessly about setting up a place for herself and the baby but they both knew that wasn’t practical. Lara had left Chambeshi with a suitcase and no money and she refused to ask her parents for financial help. In any case Brian and Jane were living out a dream retirement in a villa above the sea in Cyprus and it was easy not to give them any real facts.
At night Lara would burrow into the bed next to Tim, shut her eyes tight and try and exclude all memory of the past months. Inevitably she woke up crying aloud and begging Tim to hold her tight. Inevitably they made love. Lara obliterated the past, burying herself in Tim’s smell and Tim’s arms, in the different feel and texture of Tim’s harder, thinner body until the struggle for orgasm released her into a drugged sleep.
At last, after 20 weeks, Lara’s pregnancy took control of her. Protecting and providing for the baby became her focus. She stopped telling Tim that she must look for a place of her own. Providing for the baby became her excuse for not leaving Tim and her life took on a dreamlike quality. The flat they had found had three bedrooms, a little one for a nursery for a baby, a large double room for Tim and Lara, and another for guests or for a study. The flat was convenient for the hospital, for Tim’s work, for shops, friends and even for galleries. Lara pottered about in the flat, visited an art exhibition or two, showed her portfolio to a few agents and doodled in her sketch books but spent most time drawing up lists of baby clothes and painting a mural in the nursery. It was a mural about wild things, not wild things from fairy stories, but from Africa – night apes, pangolin and honey badgers. Shy hidden secret things, but small creatures, not large predators.
When Adam was born the very thought of questioning his parentage seemed sacrilegious. Such a perfect creature needed no proof of legitimacy. Tim and Lara were both in love with, and enslaved by, Adam. Tim had been with Lara at Adam’s birth. Lara’s labour had not been long and the delivery had been straightforward. The miracle of birth was sufficient for both Lara and Tim to know that they were now a family. When Brian and Jane arrived to meet their grandchild they could see nothing to worry them in their daughter’s life or choice of partner. They thought the baby took after Brian’s side of the family and that was definitely not a problem. Brian’s father had run a successful small business.
“When are you going to get married?” Jane asked Tim with a meaningful look at Brian. She was careful not to catch Lara’s eye.
“Oh soon, probably.” Tim said lightly, glancing at Lara and she nodded back, a hint of wryness in her smile. They had both agreed it would be the best thing for Adam and knew they would like it too. Adam’s birth had to be registered very soon. It was almost two weeks since his arrival. Lara insisted that Tim should be registered as Adam’s father. She needed to put a secure barrier around Adam and exclude Oscar, whom she obstinately refused to discuss or mention after Adam’s birth. Neither would Lara let Tim even try to find out where Oscar was or what had happened to him.
Besides it might still be that Tim was Adam’s father.
“I so want you to be happy, Lara!” Jane said, her eyes moist with longing. Lara understood for the first time how much her mother loved her. She also saw tha
t her kind, hard-working father had perhaps been a rather disappointing husband and that Jane had done her best not to mind too much.
Lara’s world regained its light, its promise and hope. The Tin Heart Gold Mine was forgotten or not mentioned. On rare occasions Lara found herself trapped by her unwashed London windows in a beam of sunlight and a drift of dust motes and her heart would stop as she listened for the screech of cicadas above the Mile End traffic. As she either had the washing or baby Adam in her arms, she would have sooner or later to move on. In any case she still had the irrepressible youthful rubbery quality that allowed her to bounce back. Even post-natal depression only took hold of her very briefly. Tim and Lara knew they loved each other and knew they both enjoyed sex. They talked, they argued, they made up and they laughed. They made love before they ate supper while Adam was a babe and when he became too aware of what they were up to, they went to bed to have sex as soon as he slept and then got up later to watch the late news and documentaries on TV.