The Triangle and The Mountain: A Bermuda Triangle Adventure

by Jake von Alpen

  “Which we withheld and for good reason!” Braam could feel his blood pressure building. “Those bloody roads. The damage to my tyres. I had to get the money back somehow!”

  “I don’t think you should give them that argument.”

  “So what do I say?”

  “I don’t know what they will show you, but you simply say that you have always left it all to me.”

  “Simple.”

  “Simple.”

  “Have you spoken to my daughters?”

  “SARS will have meetings with them before they see you. The three of us have been strategizing every day.”

  Braam stayed over at his daughters’ luxury townhouse without getting any wiser. The next day he flew back and was in bad humour for a week. At the end of that week he had his first meeting with the tax authorities.

  They confronted him with thick sheaves of documents. He must have said ‘I don’t know’ and ‘I don’t remember’ hundreds of times. He walked away not knowing how he had fared. The Kimberley meetings were apparently a battle and blood flowed on both sides. The SARS people were not always nice and his daughters retaliated in ways that they did not inherit from their mother.

  More meetings followed. Braam had confidence in his people and stuck to his ground. They owed SARS nothing. SARS disagreed and Braam received a letter from them informing him that he owed a hundred and sixty five million rand in back taxes, fines and interest. He had better pay up or face the consequences - which was going to be a hefty jail term. He could look forward to fifteen years, the letter stated.

  Braam’s sensed that his world was threatening to come down crashing about his ears. But he was a fighter. He instructed Jimmy to find him the best tax lawyers in Cape Town and took the case to them.

  The lawyers informed SARS that they had a battle on their hands and requested copies of all documents. Before they had gone through half of them they informed Braam that his case rested on shaky legs. He did not take the news well. New pains in his chest made him believe that he was a candidate for that cardiac unit in the clinic. He had it checked out but it transpired that he was not going to die. There was no easy out.

  Braam Malan had spent his whole working life in blustery self-sufficiency. Now, for the first time, he did not shake his fist at the heavens, but bowed his stocky frame, rested his head in his hands and prayed. Because he did not have a hundred and sixty five million rand. He did not have a tenth of that. He would have to give the state all he had and still go to jail for the balance.

  In his advanced age, without the means to generate more funds, he was in serious trouble. With his new attitude he became a serious churchgoer for the first time. Where was his help going to come from? He prayed but there was the doubt. What he had done, was wrong. Why would God help him? He searched the depths of his soul, focussed on things spiritual, pleaded with God, but still the doubt was there.

  Then, during the most desperate moments of his search he began to sense something. Auntie Juliana. She was spiritual. But - with the keenness of intuition that he had developed over many years in dealing with people, cutting through layers of pretence and sentiment to find the core, he knew that her spirituality was not from the light. It was from the dark side. Did it matter? No. He needed help and he did not care where it came from. She had something. He could sense its power and he wanted it.

  ***

  Grant closed his mind to the wind that shrieked and screamed in the rigging, sending a vibration through the entire boat. He no longer saw the solid mass of water that hit the yacht from the heavens, interspersed with paint-removing blasts of hail that mercilessly pummelled the coach roof and pinged loudly whenever it hit a metal part. He no longer noticed the occasional flash of lightning. He paid no attention to position or course. Not once did he glance down at the compass. All his focus was on the wave, its energy, its power and on his efforts to harness that power, to use it and at the same time to prevent it from becoming a fatally destructive force. He felt it come, lift the stern and sensed the boat speeding up. At the right moment he angled the rudder and the ride was on. He moved to the side of the wheel, keeping a close eye on the wave and their forward progress at the same time.

  Wave after wave overtook them from the rear and he rode them all. He was aware of his heart pounding in his chest while he tried to get as much feedback as possible from the small doghouse wheel, until at last the wave passed in the usual welter of boiling foam. Although he only had one cup of coffee since daybreak he was not hungry. Apart from checking the clock to time the rides, he paid no heed to time at all. It was with a surprise therefore, that he noticed Madeleine back in the cockpit.

  “Your four hours are up,” she said loudly in his ear. “I’ve made you some soup.”

  “I’m not hungry,” he said. “In fact, I think I can go on a little more.”

  “I don’t think you should. You are running on adrenaline. At some point you are going to have a low, perhaps exactly at a point when we can least afford it.”

  “Are you telling me now what to do?”

  “Only the facts,” she said. “I know about the adrenaline. I was so pumped up after my session of this morning that I could not sleep.”

  “I love the adrenaline,” he said, taking the soup anyway and allowing Madeleine to the wheel.

  “Not bad,” he said.

  “I thought so.”

  Grant thought it prudent to stay. He wanted to see if Madeleine still had the touch that she had displayed that morning. She took on the next wave with a cool confidence. He wondered how much of her lack of fear had to do with ignorance. He remembered two days ago how she was completely unperturbed by the rough conditions that actually threatened the yacht.

  “I’ve broken your record,” he said.

  “My fifty five seconds?”

  “Exactly.”

  “How long?”

  “Fifty seven.”

  “It’s not that much more. How many times?”

  “Just once.”

  “You had four hours to try. Have you enjoyed it?”

  “I have. I’m really stoked by this kind of stuff. You said that you surf on Bermuda. Tell me more.”

  “I’m out there every week,” she said. “I have a few friends that I always surf with. And we look out for the storms that bring the big ones.”

  “I go for the big waves too. My mates and I don’t surf a lot in summer, but when winter comes, we hit the forty footers near Cape Town. The storms hit from June to about September. That’s when we go.”

  “Forty feet! That’s impressive. What other extreme sports do you do?”

  “Apart from rock climbing and paragliding, nothing much.”

  “You can go and rest now. I won’t roll the boat.”

  “The bilge pumps are working overtime again. Have you noticed anything, before I go and check?”

  “There is a bit of water coming from the roof, I think from around some of the skylights.”

  “Not through the skylights?”

  “No, they seem to be all intact, but there is some water coming through the seams.”

  “That’s disappointing. We have extra heavy-duty skylights on this boat but somehow the guys missed the small stuff, like making sure the seals don’t leak. Remind me before we come out here again to replace the seals.”

  “I will.”

  Grant took himself down the slanting companionway, albeit reluctantly. There was indeed water coming through the roof. The noise made by the pounding rain reverberated deafeningly inside the yacht. No wonder Madeleine could not sleep. He found the leaks. They were from the skylights indeed. He pushed and prodded but let it go when he realised that it was no use. For this kind of weather you needed to add something extra, maybe a layer of grease. Or perhaps another kind of seal. He’d have to enquire. Contrary to logic, down here below he felt the pitch and roll of the yacht much more than on deck. He wanted to talk to the weather router again but decided against it when his fingers moved one way
and the dials in the opposite direction. There would be another time when there was less danger of him hitting his teeth against the navigation table.

  A wave of nausea hit him. Seasickness! Not now. Not now. His next move was toward the medicine cabinet. He hurriedly grabbed some Dramamine tablets and poured water for himself in the galley to swallow them down with. An old sea hound like him coming down with seasickness! He sincerely hoped that it was only a passing attack. He urgently needed to focus on something else. He got himself back to the navigation table.

  The Garmin screen showed their position and how they got there. They were approaching sixty nine degrees west, having sailed extremely fast, a hundred and eighty kilometres in half a day, which was a record for this yacht. It put them deep inside the Bermuda Triangle of course. He wondered how Madeleine was dealing with that fact. To all appearances, she was enjoying herself out there. It was a state of affairs that he would have liked to maintain. He decided to avoid any mention of silly stuff like the Triangle.

  CHAPTER FIFTEEN

  Braam and his wife Katarina became regular visitors on the farm. They bought milk and had a chat. Uncle Henry confirmed that he was up every morning at four to tend to the cows, even at his age. They stayed long, longer than the other visitors who came for milk. As a reward they were made to sample Auntie Juliana’s baking on occasion, which was actually not that bad. Of course, Braam made a point of saying so.

  He talked more farming with Uncle Henry. The vineyards were old and needed replacement in some parts but the wine made from it was good. Uncle Henry did not make his own but took it to the local cooperative wine cellar, which had a good name, he added. Had Braam ever been there? They had a very modern visitor’s centre where one could sample all the wines that they bottled. Braam promised to visit. He was sure his children would appreciate a gift of the local wine for Christmas.

  Once they were more comfortable with the two wonder geriatrics Braam made his move. Uncle Henry was required to attend to something away from the house and he had Auntie Juliana for himself.

  “Can I tell you something, Auntie?” he asked.

  “Anytime,” she said.

  “Well, it is personal. It is a problem, so to speak.”

  “Is it something that is bothering you? Tell me everything.” Auntie Juliana’s pale blue eyes expressed an angelic warmth that would have fooled Braam if he was not so astute with people.

  “It is like this. I have a massive problem with SARS.” He continued to tell her the entire story, with Auntie Juliana smiling and uttering words of encouragement all the time. She wanted to know every detail. She seemed very concerned about the fact that they were going to lose the house, the car, the golf membership and the boat. It was terrible. They had become part of the community. Where would they go? It should not happen. With this he heartily agreed. At last he was finished and not surprisingly, felt better for it.

  “What we should do,” said Auntie Juliana, “is pray for you. Why don’t you come to our weekly prayer meetings in the barn on Wednesday evenings? Since Uncle Henry goes to bed so early, we start at seven.”

  “We definitely will,” said Braam. Was this all there was to it? He was sure she had something else up her sleeve, but they would have to wait and see. The couple from Kimberley became even more regular in their visits, seemingly revelling in the simplicity and rusticity of it all but keeping their eyes and ears open for the ‘secret’.

  Meanwhile Braam’s lawyers produced every trick in the book to frustrate the process. They obfuscated what was simple, swore to the innocence of obviously devious schemes, charmed officials who were charmless and who had seen and heard it all before and worried Braam and themselves sick when they reported back. They were worrying for different reasons – Braam about jail and the lawyers about whether there would be anything left at all to pay them for their efforts.

  The important thing was that they kept up a show of defiance. Braam spoke to no SARS official without legal representation and Jimmy and his daughters held things tight on their side as well. Not that the daughters were comfortable either. A local doctor had made some discreet advances before to Laetitia, the younger one. Not with a view to acquire her. He was interested in her Porsche. Under the new set of circumstances she was moved to let him know that she would consider an offer, although she previously declined. She did not tell him why she had changed her mind, but was taken aback by his answer.

  “I don’t think so,” he said, and continued rather plainly. “I am aware of the SARS process against you. I certainly don’t want them to confiscate my car in a month or two.”

  So the town knew. The sisters contemplated the next move. The best would probably be to disappear into the anonymous masses of Johannesburg. What would it be? West Rand, East or South? Where would impoverished women with a father in jail fit in? What could women of their age do? Find sixty year old husbands? At least one of them was secretly going through the romance websites.

  In the shadow of the Kamberg Mountain Braam and his wife of forty five years began to attend the prayer meetings in the shed on the farm. It took a while before Braam realised that these were prayers with a particular slant. Yes, he unpacked his story again before the attendees, albeit not in the same detail as demanded by Auntie Juliana in the one-on-one session he had with her. The prayers on his behalf were fervent. Nobody came with a judgmental attitude. It made them feel slightly better. They came in a spirit of humility and left in the same way but with Braam still searching for that power that he knew was there.

  Gradually he came to the conclusion that they were in fact in the right place. The prayers were not judgmental as far as they were concerned. They were accepted into the inner circle. But the discussions were breathtaking in their condemnation of others who were on the outside. Before actual prayers they discussed the sins of those who were wayward and those present easily agreed to things that Braam knew was pure slander. Auntie Juliana led them in blackening the sheep whose slaughter was patently deserved and nobody demurred. There was a pattern here, a process that escaped almost everybody but the wily transporter. Once he understood, he became an enthusiastic supporter of everything that came up in the meetings, denouncing people he had never met in his life, following the lead of his Auntie Juliana, wherever it went. That horrible things happened to those people was accepted by all to be the result of a sinful lifestyle or dismissed by some prayer participants as pure coincidence. Braam, however, took careful note. Something was at work here. Something real.

  Their followership paid handsome dividends. Or something did. One night, not long before Auntie Juliana’s hundred and fifth birthday, Braam announced to all who were assembled that his case had taken a new turn. It appeared likely that out of a hundred and sixty five million rand initially owed he now only had to pay a mere six million. This was something he could handle. He was going to keep the house, the car, the boat and the golf membership – on top of his freedom. It was truly miraculous. Everybody rejoiced for him.

  One day in early November a great number of friends attended a splendid birthday party for the centenarian plus five. It was a little overshadowed by the fact that Uncle Henry had had his hundred and tenth birthday a month and a bit before her. The laconic farmer made it to national television, of course, but so did Auntie Juliana. Speculation about the reason for the super longevity was rife and colourful. Braam listened to it all. He had his opinion by now and dared not share it.

  A day after the birthday celebration the usual gathering took place in the shed. At this event the usual bunch of sinners were brought to the attention of the assembly. There was an addition. His name, Braam heard, was Grant Anderson, practically adopted son of Uncle Henry and Auntie Juliana. The young man was more or less heir of the kingdom, deemed a better option to those unworthy ones in the family line with whom those present were already acquainted. But he proved to be no better! How their hopes were shattered! Not only did he choose to go on a pleasure cruise, knowing well enough th
at important birthdays were coming up, but, what added salt to the wound was that so far there was no sign that he remembered Auntie’s birthday! Braam enthusiastically endorsed the chorus of those who roundly condemned the wayward, thoroughly ungrateful rogue. He judged the situation correctly and secretly felt sorry for the poor bugger. He seemed young to die.

  ***

  Grant carefully took off his dripping oilskins, boots and harness and settled on a settee in the saloon from where he could see part of Madeleine as she moved around behind the small wheel in the doghouse. She appeared utterly absorbed in what she was doing, showing no signs of trouble while he hoped that the padding of the couch would dampen the effects of their rough ride and spare him more discomfort. The Sony All-Band receiver was alive with queries from yachts wanting to know the latest movements of the hurricane while they anxiously tried to get out of the way. Many of them already reported from anchorages around the Caribbean. He would not mind trading places with any of these in the latter category. It was so much more preferable to be frantically setting out ground tackle and laying on lines to every tree in the surroundings than to be jolted along at a risk to your dentistry.

  With no regard to the comfort levels, his amazing and un-seamanlike capacity to knock off when things were not at all smooth manifested once more. When he woke up it was to a situation that proved to be the turning point of their journey so far.

  The first thing he realised was that his nose was hurting. He could feel the blood flowing and his first reaction was to take his right hand to his face. But he could not. That hand, as well as the other one was pinned against the hull. Although disoriented, he immediately realised that they had broached to and that the yacht was on its side. Madeleine was screaming, sounding more angry than scared. She had lost it after all. With regret he realised that he had put too much faith in her abilities. She just did not have the experience. On the other hand, it could have been him. He was not that experienced a yachtsman either. He looked out of the porthole not far from his face. It was all green water on the other side of the acrylic. Bubbles passed over the window and then it was quiet. The howling in the rigging that had become their steady accompaniment so far was gone. From inside however, there followed the sound of glass breaking, cutlery and coffee mugs flying and hitting the hull around him and in fact on him. Some missiles were heavier. Those were unopened tins and he quickly folded his right arm over his head to protect himself from serious damage.