A Twist of Sand

by Geoffrey Jenkins

  "Now you've really made me feel uncivilised," she exclaimed. "My face must look like one of those jagged rocks there, from the feel of it. Come on now, food. No more lovely fairy tales until tomorrow."

  She took my hand as we slithered down to the sand basin; it was hot and sticky and I could feel the tiny grains of sand between her fingers. Where the sweat had soaked through her sweater there was a line against the general dustiness of her breasts, emphasising their curve. The cheekbones were flushed — from the filing of the windblown sand, I thought. We trudged back to camp.

  The grey monotony of the sand changed to white, white so dazzling that when I looked through my binoculars, my eyes crimped up under the magnification. I was leading the four of us next afternoon, Anne behind me, silent, lost in her thoughts, Stein next and Johann bringing up the rear. Occasionally he cursed softly in German at the weight and heat of the Remington. Stein had pocketed the Luger now; I was safe inside the sand prison.

  "What is it?" said Stein coming up to me.

  I gestured towards the whiteness.

  "See that extra whiteness of the sand?" I said, moistening my lips and feeling the grate of the sand on my teeth.

  "That's the river."

  "Ah!" he exclaimed with deep satisfaction.

  "Give me your glasses, Captain."

  He took them and gazed for a long time at the whiteness about five miles away, below the level of where we were standing. The unbroken, savage ridge of hills and cliffs on our left as we slogged all day in the burning heat never repented. At the closest we must have been five miles from the sea, and at the farthest eight. We followed the hard track, sweating blindly. Once in the far distance ahead we saw an elephant — or thought we saw one — but otherwise the remorseless countenance of the Skeleton Coast remained unrelaxed.

  "I don't see water," said Stein.

  "And you're equally unlikely to," I said. "The Cunene is dry at this time anyway. It's probably dry all the year. About once in five years it comes down in full spate and it's twice the width of the Orange."

  "How far inland are we hitting it?" asked Stein.

  "About ten miles from the mouth, I reckon," I said.:' There's a cataract a few miles above. I've not seen it, though. I don't know if we can get by. But for some unknown reason, the course of the river widens below the cataract — it looks just like the advertisements you see for colonic irrigation."

  Stein ignored the sally.

  "Why shouldn't we get past the cataract?" he asked. "What do you know that you are keeping up your sleeve, Captain Peace?"

  "Oh, for God's sake!" I said. "I've simply never been there, that's all! I know the river bed is there because I've walked across it. Every bit of three miles wide, but it's hard and much easier going than this. All I know is that if it had been as easy to get into the Skeleton Coast by using the dry bed of the Cunene as a track, lots of people would have tried it already. I don't know why they haven't."

  "We'll find out," he replied tersely. "Nothing is going to stop me now."

  I looked at the cruel face, sweat-stained. I believed him. I took the lead again. We marched towards the river.

  I thought at first they were elephant or buffalo, but they were trees. Glorious, welcome shade after the lidless blaze of the past two days. I am a sailor and I suppose one's eyes get used to the endless monotony of the sea, but desert is different. The sand fretted at the eyes. It seeped into every crack, it made its presence known at every footstep. Anne had plastered her face with cream and she looked like an Everest climber in reverse. She was limping a little, but still game.

  No word had been spoken since we first sighted the river. Now, although the cataract was not in sight, we were at the wide sweep of sand, still unbearably bright, which is the Cunene. There was no sign of water. In a shallow bay of sand were half a dozen huge trees whose roots, on the edge of the sand, were eroded like primeval things. By some sort of tacit consent, Anne and I flopped down under one and Stein and Johann under another, about thirty yards away. They were near enough to guard us, but far enough away not to be able to hear what was being said.

  Anne stretched herself back and faced away from the sun.

  "I couldn't care less whether there are half a dozen suns this evening," she exclaimed wearily. "You'll have to rustle up real magic to make me interested in anything at this moment."

  "Gin." I said, tasting the metallic bite of the mica dust on my palate. "Gin. And lime. And lots of ice."

  "The penalty for that sort of talk on this sort of day is to be made to take off my shoes," she grinned. "If they come off, I'll never get them on again."

  Stein strolled over. "Let's get some wood together for a fire, Captain. This is game country all right. I think we should dig for water, too."

  It was better now than later, I decided. I got uncertainly to my feet. Stein was almost friendly as we broke off dry branches and gathered them in a heap.

  "We'll start a little later tomorrow morning — a late breakfast won't do any of us any harm," he said amiably. "Miss Nielsen has kept up very well. Now that we're at the river, the going should be easier."

  I kept silent.

  "You disagree, Captain?" he said quickly.

  "I don't know," I replied. "I can only repeat what I said earlier, that if this had been the easy way in, someone would have done it long since."

  "Baynes did," he retorted.

  "He came in from the other side," I said. "North of Ohopoho there's Swartbooisdrift, but that's a couple of hundred miles upriver from here. There's a hell of a lot can happen in even twenty miles of Skeleton Coast, let alone a hundred."

  "If it weren't so late, I would reconnoitre the cataract now," he said impatiently. "But we've still got to dig for water tonight."

  We gathered up the wood and threw it down in a large pile between the two trees. Johann did not stir. He looked at me malevolently.

  "That man will kill you without any pretext at all," said Stein conversationally, as if my death were the subject of a confidential little chat. "Remember that, if you have any ideas about me, Captain Peace. You wrecked his whole life. It's really a pity you didn't do the job properly."

  I was too tired to argue.

  "Look," I said, pointing out game tracks in the sand. "Those may lead us to something."

  We followed the hoofmarks until they reached the far side of the sand bed. There were deep scratches in the sand, but originally the hole must have been deeper, for fresh sand had blown in. We dug with small folding shovels which had obviously come off the back of a jeep. At about four feet the sand grew damp. By dint of quick shovelling so that the sand did not run back in again, we found a shallow seepage. It seemed drinkable. We filled the canteens, although Stein carried them.

  He put a match to the pile of wood as the sun sank. Facing down river, the great murky mass of the Hartmannberge lay behind me to my left and, although it was already almost dark in the river bed, a peak or two were silhouetted, still.

  The fire threw a troubled, rosy glow over the white sand. There was absolute silence, except for the crackle of the flames. Anne lay where she had first sat, too weary to move. I flexed my knees and propped my back against the huge tree. Had all this been in company with Mark, the utter peace, the remoteness and the age-old quality of the African bush would have held me enthralled. As it was, my mind crawled with fear, fear because of what Stein was after — it couldn't be just a beetle, I told myself — again — even scientists don't go kill-crazy like he had done just for the sake of one lost species.

  The deeper we got into the Kaokoveld, the less became my chances. I was only useful as a guide, a navigator. At what point my usefulness ended was what worried me. Certainly once the beetle had been found. Or was it one of those caches of diamonds real or imaginary, that have lured men to certain death so many times in this wild, untamed region? That was my guess. If so, then Stein must have some notion of the exact spot, but certainly on his map there was nothing to indicate it. He had been q
uite open about our destination — somewhere in the region of the Otjihipoberge, leaving the river at the Nangolo Flats. Such frankness with me meant one thing only — I wasn't meant to come back.

  But why then all this talk about the Onymacris beetle? And why the girl? She obviously wasn't in the plot. Where did she fit into Stein's scheme of things? Looking into the leaping flames, I saw the answer to none of my queries. I only knew that in the Skeleton Coast I must obey the laws of the Skeleton Coast — I must kill or be killed. Johann must be my first objective. To subdue Stein I must have the Remington's range against the Luger's. And to get back, I must have water. I calculated that two days without food or water would see me at the end of my tether. I needed two days from this spot to Curva dos Dunas. Up river there might be more water. It would be suicide to venture from the course of the Cunene. The five-thousand foot peaks of the Hartmannberge were eloquent warning of that.

  On the Angola side the Serra de Chela looked even worse. The outline of the massive range on the map looked like some evil animal clamped along the course of the Cunene for sixty miles, with a tail near the Nangolo Flats, where the river bent sharply northwards, as if stepping out of the way of the creature which sucked at its lifeblood on the other side of the Baynes Mountains. Stein had said there was a seven-thousand-five-hundred-foot peak in the Baynes Mountains not far from where we were headed; God alone knows what height they are in the Serra de Chela — no one has ever surveyed them, not even from the air.

  I brooded into the gloom. Almost as if reading my thoughts, Johann stirred, and the barrel of the Remington gleamed dully in the firelight. Johann wouldn't sleep.

  We ate out of tins, each one of us preoccupied with his or her own thoughts. The water, heavy with minerals, offset the overpowering taste of baked beans and bully beef. Far out in the night distance came the chuffering roar of a lion hunting. Stein looked at Johann and then at me. I suppose the roar of a lion when one is isolated in the bush is one of the most frightening things there is. He must have been miles away. Anne shivered slightly.

  "No watch for you tonight, Captain," said Stein. "We shall guard you. But tomorrow night you'll take your whack."

  "At least there are some compensations for being held hostage," I replied wearily. I took my single blanket and scooped out a place in the soft sand amongst the roots of the trees. Anne did the same. All the scorpions in the world could not have made me keep my eyes open.

  Despite Stein's assurance about a late start, we were shuffling along the course of the river before nine o'clock. The east wind blew down the course of the river into our faces, but the sun was not unbearably hot yet; it had not had time to accumulate the heat of the slopes which makes temperatures in winter on the Skeleton Coast higher actually than in summer, when the seawind brings welcome coolness.

  Stein marched alongside me, tensed and anxious. The fringe of the river was dotted with huge ana trees and a load of chattering monkeys made us all feel better. At least there was some sign of life. They stared at the small party in open disbelief and chattered wildly as we passed. We were as much out of place as a journalist at a garden party. The river gorge was narrowing rapidly and a glance ahead showed clearly that the course of the Cunene was the only cleft in the great mountains, and probably the only route through them. Looking at the giant tumble of the Ongeamaberge, which stretch out like a pirate's steel hook from the northern fringe of the Hartmannberge to the river, I could see that any thought of getting across them on foot was out of the question. There might be game tracks, but even so they would be scarce. Besides, it would only be purely mountain animals which could negotiate the riven clefts and precipices, which I could see through my glasses even at this distance. Another dry stream, the Orumwe, hit the Cunene above the cataract with a wide delta shaped like the roots of a dead tooth, but the cleft ran north and south and was no good to me. I wanted a cleft running east to west. There wasn't one.

  The river gorge narrowed and more shrub and smaller trees appeared on its walls.

  Then the cataract came in sight.

  My reaction was one of extreme disappointment.

  "Look," said Stein, jubilantly. "There it is! Why, there's nothing to it."

  No need for my glasses to tell me that.

  "No," I said quietly, and I felt Anne sagging a little. "It's only about forty feet high. There are plenty of footholds on the rocks."

  The rocky shelf stretched up in front of us, the rock polished to a dull gunmetal gloss by water and sand. A schoolboy could have climbed up it without assistance. Stein had brought a length of rope, but we all managed to scale the easy rock slope without it, even Anne. She had become completely silent. Stretching upriver was more sand, but there was more greenery, too, indicating water not too deep down. The sand, softened by the greening banks, looked more friendly.

  Stein was full of himself.

  "Why, there is absolutely no obstacle if the next cataract is like that," he said. "We'll follow the course of the river and turn off just as I said. All this country needs is a little initiative and a little planning.

  I looked at him searchingly. "Famous last words," I retorted-.

  But he was not to be fobbed off.

  "The Skeleton Coast has a reputation and everyone who comes here builds it up, until the whole thing is a mumbo-jumbo of superstition. When someone fails through his own lack of foresight, he adds still another legend to the Skeleton Coast. We've broken it wide open. It's straight-forward going. Nothing to it." He looked at me quizzically. "Not much in the way of navigation required, is there, Captain Peace?"

  I knew what he meant. I saw Anne's face go pale. The cruel mouth of the German showed what he meant, too.

  "Come on," I said harshly, "let's get on."

  Stein called a halt, surprisingly, at about three in the afternoon at a group of huge ana trees near the river's edge. We had made good progress. Perhaps he was feeling the effects of the rapidly increasing altitude, discernible even in the bed of the river. The river, only a couple of hundred yards in width now, was flanked by cliffs which rose up sheer. Where they met the river, they had been burnished still brighter by the water, which, when the river was full, must have cut past them like a file through the narrow passage. We stopped where a gap showed to the right, the entrance channel to the Orumwe River, whose delta splayed out in a welter of white sand. I remembered that old Simon's chart had marked it "Rio Santa Maria." Had the Portuguese explorers ever got as far as this? I couldn't imagine how they would ever have got through the wicked sandbars at the mouth of the river, even with surf-boats and surf crews.

  For the hundredth time that day I lifted the binoculars from their lanyard round my neck and searched the cliffs. I had done it so often that even Stein took no notice any more. More greenery, thicker trees to the left. Deep channels from the Portuguese side into the river, unscaleable cliffs. Round and back. To the right. The wide cleft of the Orumwe, narrowing within a mile to cliffs not incomparable with the ones on either side of our river route.

  Then I saw the ship.

  She was full rigged and lay at anchor. She might be five miles away.

  The sand and the fatigue of the march have created an hallucination, I told myself. I found my hands trembling. Stein was watching me idly. There must be no give-away from me. Deliberately I swept the glasses farther round to my right. I must not fix on any point, or Stein would be suspicious immediately. I let the lenses sweep back past the ship. She was still there.

  "Satisfied, Captain?" sneered Stein. "No way of escape?"

  "Satisfied," I replied, my heart pounding with excitement. I wanted to shout — a ship! a ship! I must play this one gently. I gave it fully five minutes before I looked at the spot where I had seen her. There was nothing. You fool, I said, you can see her only with the glasses, not with the naked eye. Stein must have no suspicion that I had seen anything. For another half an hour I searched about, finding wood for the fire. Anne smoked, lying back against the trunk of a tree. She had
n't said anything all day. I could see this march to the death — for me at least — was preying on her nerves. I hoped she wouldn't do anything foolish. I have never known half an hour go so slowly. I deliberately checked every movement.

  At the end of the time I said casually to Stein.

  "Do you mind if I take a walk?"

  "Haven't you had enough?" he asked sarcastically. "You remind me of a tiger I once saw in a zoo, Captain. Pace, pace, pace, bumping himself against the bars until his shoulder was raw. You can go and bump your shoulders against the bars if you wish."

  I could have rubbed his smug face in the sand.

  "I'm going for a walk up this valley for a couple of miles,*' I replied, keeping my temper under control. "I'll be back by sunset. I don't suppose any white man has ever been up it before."

  "I expect it's the same sort of bug which makes you want to do that as made you find your anchorage. Good hunting, Captain. I won't come and look if you don't come back. There'll be another skeleton in a couple of days, that's all."

  I wished I could have got my hands on him, but Johann was vigilant with the Remington and Stein was quick, mighty quick, with the Luger.

  "Care to come?" I asked Anne.

  She looked at me in amazement. "What!" she exclaimed. I had half turned from Stein. She caught something in my face. She was as quick as a needle.

  "No thank you," she said almost offhandedly for Stein's benefit. "I've done enough walking to last me the rest of my life."

  "Very well," I replied, walking away.

  "Wait!" she called after me. "Perhaps I will, provided it's only a mile or two."

  "As you wish," I said, also casually indifferent.

  We must have gone a mile from the camp before either of us spoke.

  I lit a cigarette. My hands were unsteady.

  "What is it, Geoffrey? What is it? Tell me quickly!"

  "A ship," I said hoarsely. "A ship at anchor."

  I half gestured towards the distance.

  The eagerness went out of her face. Pity and compassion took its place.

  "Yes, of course," she said sadly. "Let's go and look at the ship. At anchor fifty miles from the sea. Is it a nice ship?"