A Twist of Sand

by Geoffrey Jenkins

  "Why not?" he retorted, his eyes wary for some trap. Anne drank a little of the water from the mug. She sat up. I faced Stein. If only I could get him to remain near the beach until nightfall, when the tide would roll back the secret of the causeway, he'd get the surprise of his life. Anne and I were both merely expendable ciphers in his master-plan, whatever that was.

  "You've got on a perfectly good pair of boots. Your clothes will do, even if the occasion isn't as nautical as they would seem to indicate."

  I cast round: "I can't go far without a hat /of some sort. Within twenty miles I'll have sunstroke."

  Stein laughed. "Keep him well guarded," he said to Johann. "Shoot him if there's any monkey business — him or the woman." He'd put her firmly on my side now.

  He walked over to the boat and came back with my cap. He was about to hand it to me when he paused. There was a ghastly stain across the white.

  "How these kaffirs bleed," he remarked indifferently. He bent down and waggled it to and fro in the surf. Then he tossed it at my feet.

  "Wear that," he said. "We'll start right away."

  I glanced at my watch. It was nearly midday.

  "Aren't you going to arouse suspicion aboard Etosha if all of us are seen trekking away from the beach? Garland will be watching through his glasses."

  Stein wheeled round. "I'm giving the orders from now on, Captain. We start at once. You know where this beach lies, and you know my route. You'll give Posto Velho, near the mouth of the river, a wide berth." He didn't know it was the best part of twenty miles away. "You'll aim to strike the main river flow away from the mouth somewhere near the first cataract. No nonsense."

  I looked round despairingly at the desolate beach, with the grey gloom over it all. Through the murk to the north I could see the hilly plateau which runs westward from the high northern hill which was one of my landmarks. Macfadden and I had tried that way after the wreck of the Phylira. We returned exhausted after ten miles, for the jagged hills came right down to the beach and, if one wanted to get by, it was a question of dodging between the tide as it came in and a narrow strip of soft sand in which one sank halfway up to the knees. We had probed the back of the beach like two hounds tufting up a scent, and after two days we had found a narrow gap about four miles south and east of the causeway through which we had floundered. We had almost given up at the sight of the high shifting dunes on the far, or landward side of the neck, but our salvation was a path, hard and compacted by elephants' feet, leading northwards.

  Stein still held the Luger and kept his distance. Once away from the beach, he could let me run away — to certain death. The only water was in a couple of canteens he had. I was his prisoner — if he could get me away from the beach.

  "The loads are divided into thirty-five pound packs, and twenty-five pound for the girl," he said briefly. "You first, Captain."

  I glanced at Anne and saw the misery in her eyes. I shrugged my shoulders and found a series of parcels — but no water — neatly marked "Captain Peace."

  I shouldered it. It felt like lead. The wet cap on my head added to my general discomfort.

  "There's no water," I said.

  "Not for you," grinned Stein. "When they take a man prisoner in war, they take away his pants. Metaphorically speaking, water is your pants. You won't get far without it."

  There was nothing to say.

  "We strike south for a couple of miles," I said harshly. "There's a track on the other side of these hills. And sand. The track is hard."

  "Why not north?" demanded Stein.

  "I've tried that way," I smiled grimly. "There's no way through."

  "I'll keep the compass until we get on to our main line of direction," said Stein. "Get the boat's compass," he told Johann.

  "We go south and then almost due east through a gap in the hills," I said again. "You'll just have to take that on trust."

  Stein looked wary.

  "I trust you only when you are away from the sea," he said. "The sea is your ally, somehow. I don't feel safe when you and the sea are near. You've won together too many times, Captain Peace. So we'll get away from the sea as soon as possible."

  Anne and I fell in together with the other two behind. Our feet crunched on the gravelly shingle. The boat, well above the tidemark, left a trail in the sand culminating in the forlorn figure of the Kroo boy. The strange nocturnal prowlers of the Skeleton Coast would leave nothing but his bones by morning. The day after, his bones, too, would be gone. Etosha was screened from view out in the anchorage.

  I took a line on the three-topped hill. We struck into the Kaokoveld.

  XIII

  500 Years of Love

  "HALT!" ordered Stein.

  The cup of thick white sand, protected from the perpetual south-westerly gale, looked a good spot for the night. It seemed like a gigantic child's sandpit about a quarter of a mile each way, nestling against the westerly side of the peak which I had used as my northerly bearing to bring Trout and Etosha into Curva dos Dunas. The trails of naras creeper would provide some sort of fuel for a fire. The hard-packed game track we had followed all day branched off to the right, skirting the cup, but I felt sure that the soft sand must have been used by the elephants as a giant dry-cleaning shop. There had been no sign of a living animal all day, but that didn't mean to say they weren't around. Passing a low group of shrub some miles back, our noses had been assailed by a tangy game smell, and the elephant droppings along the track did not appear to be more than a day old.

  Stein and Johann had marched behind us all day. Stein still kept the Luger ready, but every mile we drew away from the beach, he relaxed. He still kept his distance, however.

  I slid the heavy pack from my shoulders and dropped it on to the sand, flexing my stiff shoulder muscles. Anne sat down with a sigh, releasing her pack too.

  "A good day's run, as they say at sea," grinned Stein. He must have been in training, for although his face was streaked with sweat, he looked pretty fresh. Far too fresh to try any consequences with. "How far do you think we've come?"

  "About fifteen — maybe eighteen, miles," I replied wearily.

  "Good," he said.

  He took the map from his pack and studied it.

  "You're sure we're not near Okatusu?" There was a note of deep suspicion in his voice, for what he didn't know was the point we had started from.

  "It's only a geographical expression, anyway," I replied, feeling utterly weary and frustrated.

  "We must be somewhere between Okatusu and Otjemembonde," he said.

  I sidestepped his little trap.

  "I'll tell you when we hit the Cunene," I said offhandedly. "Now go to hell."

  He hesitated a moment and then shrugged his shoulders. He knew he was wasting his time. He strolled off to collect some naras bush for a fire. I noticed that he had tucked the Luger away in his waistband.

  I sat in the comfortable sand. I couldn't say where my thoughts were. Anne jerked them back to the moment.

  "Geoffrey," she said, "can you manage another couple of steps?"

  The use of my Christian name made me roll on to my elbow and gaze at her in astonishment.

  She looked at me levelly.

  "From that hill we might see the sea."

  "It's not far away," I agreed cautiously. "A few miles as the crow flies, maybe."

  "Shall we have a look-see?" she persisted. "One never knows."

  I nodded and rose stiffly. I called to Stein, for I didn't want a bullet following us. "We're going to have a look at that hill over there."

  He grinned and waved his hand in a wide gesture. He's damn sure of himself, I thought. I knew myself that we couldn't get far. The only escape road was the way we had come. Even if I made a break for the beach, he'd find me there before the next tide revealed the causeway.

  Anne said nothing. We trudged together across the deep sand. Before we reached the western edge we were blowing like two spouter whales. We lit a cigarette each to still the pounding of our he
arts and climbed up the gnarled flank of the hill. We reached the top. There, about five or six miles away, was-the sea. There seemed to be a bank of cloud far out.

  I waited. She fenced for her opening.

  "So near and yet so far," she said, twisting down the corners of her mouth.

  "Very far indeed," I said. She'd come to say something. She'd kept up magnificently all day, despite Stein's blow. There was a faint mark under her cheekbone. Let her make the opening herself. I pointed to the jagged fret on. the seaward side of the hill. "Those projections are like razors. All summer the south-westerly gale eats away at the solid rock, and then in winter the easterly wind comes scouring down from this side. It's quite remarkable, really — it's not a high altitude wind. It sticks close to the desert, picking up the warmth of the sand as it goes. I've felt the grit in my mouth miles out to sea. When it hits the cold sea — fog, nothing but fog. You saw for yourself."

  "Geoffrey Peace," she ruminated. "Those two names go well together. Peace is ironical for a man of war and violence, though."

  I said nothing. She came up close to me.

  "You saved my life this morning," she said, almost accusingly.

  I laughed it off. "It was one of those things," I said.

  "It was not ' one of those things '," she retorted vehemently. "Take it as read that my life did not matter one way or another. I'm looking at it from your point of view. You had nothing to gain at all by doing it. In fact, if Stein had shot me, it would have given you the moment of diversion in which to cope with him — and Johann. You wouldn't be here now. You would have been sitting pretty. You could have made both of them prisoner…"

  I remembered our first encounter.

  "No gain but my gain," I said ironically.

  "No, Geoffrey," she said. She repeated it as if the sound pleased her. "No, Geoffrey."

  It sounded good to me.

  "A person can do many wrong things for right motives, but eventually they get so caught up in the doing that the Tightness of the objective gets lost sight of," she said. "That's the way it is with you. The U-boat, the old freighter, your secret landing-spot — it all fits into the pattern."

  "Anne," I said. "You're just trying to excuse me. You're trying to rationalise away a whole past — and a present — which doesn't bear looking at under a spotlight. It's not very pretty. You may be right about motives. But the means I have used would outweigh the ends."

  "If you'd run true to the general picture you're trying to paint of yourself, you would never have done what you did down there on the beach," she argued. "I refuse to accept it."

  "You're just grateful to me for saving your life," I rejoined. "The confessional makes allowance for the pendulum swinging too far the other way. That's the way it is now. There comes an inevitable levelling-out. But it was nice to know."

  She shook her head.

  "In fact, I'm curiously ungrateful for your having saved my life. I might be a little resentful about losing it if I had something to care about which would make it worthwhile not losing. Even Onymacris has its shortcomings, you know. Does that sound terribly mixed up? But I am curiously grateful for what that incident has shown me of you."

  "I thought you'd seen quite enough," I mocked.

  She rounded on me angrily.

  "What are you — doing wasting yourself — a man like you, chasing some will-o'-the-wisp you won't confide, and some resentment from the past you won't concede? What are you doing here on this isolated coast when, in the great world outside, things could be so full, so complete… " Her voice trailed off and she threw the cigarette butt away savagely.

  "I've adapted myself — like the blind beetle."

  "Oh, for God's sake stop quoting the rubbish I said then!" she snapped. "I still believe you are tough, but you're not 'evil, like Stein. I believe in you, that's what I'm trying to say… " She broke off suddenly and smiled. I saw that the rumple of her eyelid was quite smooth. She came right up close to me and looked up into my face. "You wanted analogies from the great world of nature," she smiled. "I suppose one of those wingless flies down on Marion or Heard would find it damned hard to understand if someone put their wings back again."

  She slipped her arms through mine and ran her fingertips up my shoulder-blades. "I wonder how one sticks wings back on to flies full of prickles?" she asked.

  Her lips brushed mine; as they did so she stiffened as her eyes went seawards.

  "Look!" she gasped. "Either I'm drunk, or seeing double — do you see what I see, Geoffrey?"

  She slipped out of my arms and pointed at the setting sun. There were two. There was a thick layer of cloud, although there was a very narrow band of clear sky between it and the sea's horizon. As we watched in amazement, one sun dropped slowly from the layer of cloud, while the other sun rose out of the west towards it. Like lovers who cannot wait for each other's arms, the two suns, the male sun reaching down and the female reaching up ecstatically, melted together, merging along their lower rims first, and, in passionate embrace, merged wholly together. Then only the one, descending, remained, and it hastened towards its sea-grave, throwing out great bars of triumphant reds, russets and purples.

  "There's pure magic in this Skeleton Coast of yours, Geoffrey," she said. All the tiredness had gone from her face. "No wonder you love it. But how on earth…?"

  "It must be something to do with the temperature and humidity layers," I replied. "I've never seen anything like that before. I suppose I have seen more magnificent sunsets off this coast than anyone has the right to claim, but never two suns, one rising and the other setting."

  "It's the most beautiful thing I have ever seen," she replied, radiant. "I can forgive your Skeleton Coast, Geoffrey, its brutality, its primitive cruelty — like that killing this morning." She dropped her eyes. "I might even rationalise the whole situation and forgive — you."

  I turned and faced her, but the moment was gone.

  "Look!" she cried. "It's becoming more beautiful still. Look at the sea, there out beyond the surf! It's the loveliest yellow I've ever seen! Where can that shade of lemon come from a red sun?"

  She was on her feet now, smiling like a girl.

  I smiled too.

  "That isn't light, even refracted light," I said. "That's fish."

  "What!" she exclaimed. "I simply don't believe you!"

  "Well," I grinned back, forgetting all about Stein and the unholy adventure we were engaged on. "Not exactly fish, but bloom on fish."

  "You're just teasing me," she replied. Her face had caught something of the afterglow; I never saw it lovelier.

  "If you want science to step in and ruin beauty, well then, here it is," I said. "You know the plankton — the minute things the fish live on — come up with the cold current from the Antarctic. In autumn and in early winter they bloom, just like grapes. It's called gymnodinium, and it's deadly poison. The plankton get that exquisite lemon-flush on them — I think someone told me once that the gymnodinium organism is five thousandths of an inch long. But when you get millions of plankton together…"

  "I just don't want to hear any more of your dull scientific stuff," she said smilingly. "All I see is that it is lovely beyond description." She came close up to me so that I could smell the sweet sweat of the day's march, mingling with the acrid tobacco. She ran one hand inside my reefer jacket.

  "If I'd never met Geoffrey Peace, I would never have seen such beauty," she said. "You'll remember that, won't you?"

  I didn't touch her. She seemed as intangible as the bloom on the plankton.

  "Yes," I replied slowly. "I'll remember that. I'll remember that you forgave Curva dos Dunas and the Skeleton Coast. I'll remember, some future day at sea when the plankton bloom, that you forgave me too."

  She stepped back and looked long and quizzically at me.

  "Food!" she said with a complete change of mood. "I need food if I'm going to tramp all day tomorrow again." Then she stopped impetuously and came back to where I stood, for I had not mov
ed.

  "No," she said. "To hell with food. I want to know about this great secret love of Geoffrey's, the Skeleton Coast. Give me another cigarette."

  She sat down and blew a burst of blue smoke seawards. She pulled me down by her side.

  "Come on," she said. "Wave your magic wand. Make your plankton bloom for me again. Make one sun into two."

  I caught her mood.

  "It's really all very simple and easy to explain scientifically," I said. "You see, this is the only place in the world where the Antarctic and the Tropics meet."

  "If you told me this hill was solid diamond, I'd probably believe you," she replied.

  "It might be," I responded. "If the diamond pipes of Alexander Bay continue up here, there's no reason why you should not become a sort of female Dr. 'Williamson."

  "I have no intention of sublimating myself into diamonds," she smiled back. "I always felt sorry for Williamson — every golddigger in the world after his money."

  "It's quite a simple explanation, although it sounds a paradox," I said. "You see, the Benguela current conies straight here off the ice. The Skeleton Coast is tropical, with a desert thrown in. One day, when I was close inshore, I saw a lion tackling some seals on the beach north of Cape Cross. Can you imagine — a tropical hunter like a lion living off an Antarctic creature like a seal?"

  "Cape Cross," she frowned. "Why Cape Cross?"

  "One of the earliest Portuguese navigators — I think it was Diego Cao — made his landfall there, way back before Diaz. He took one look at the Skeleton Coast and said to himself, if this is Africa, I'm on my way home. So he beat it back to Prince Henry the Navigator without going for the Cape."

  "Is it the same sort of climatic mix-up which made us see two suns?"

  "Yes. If we'd been lucky we might have seen some flamingo this evening too. You get huge flocks of them at sunset. Just think, a red sun, lemon sea, flamingo sky."

  "You sound like something in Vogue," she replied. "Think what a seller it would be — Skeleton Coast black, with a flamingo stole."

  We laughed and she threw down the butt of the cigarette.