Tandia

by Bryce Courtenay

  Tandia lay very still. She never doubted for a moment that he would kill her if he chose to do so. The pain had now become a deep throb and she knew she must be bleeding. Her fear completely enveloped her, like a soldier on the battlefield pretending to be dead as the enemy passed by. The rhythm of his legs against her increased and, rather than hear him, she sensed that he was breathing harder. She gasped as the revolver was painfully and suddenly withdrawn and she heard the soft clunk as it landed on the carpet. 'Turn over!' Geldenhuis demanded. Terrified, Tandia turned onto her back. Geldenhuis stood over her. His blue eyes, sharp and angry, seemed to pierce directly into her like the pin-sharp pain of a sunspot focus sed on skin through a magnifying glass. His left hand held his erection arrogantly and his right rested on his waist. Suddenly his mouth shaped into a snarl and his hand shot out and grabbed her hair, jerking her into an upright position. 'Suck!'

  Somewhere, deep down in a long, dark corridor of her soul, Tandia heard a silent scream. Her mouth opened and took him in and her teeth bit down as hard as she possibly could.

  Tandia heard a scream and felt a stunning blow to the side of her head. The scream and the blow mixed so that the man's scream and the pain to her head became one, a misted crimson thing that rang sharply like the sing of electricity through wire. As Geldenhuis struck her she must have released her grip on him, for, clutching at his scrotum, he reeled backwards, tripped and fell, hitting his head against the side of the vanity table. This undoubtedly saved Tandia's life. Geldenhuis was a boxer who was used to taking a punch and the blow to the back of his head was only sufficient to slow him down for the few seconds it took Juicey Fruit Mambo to cross the room. Geldenhuis, intent on killing Tandia, didn't see him coming. His hands closed around the gun just as the African loomed over him. He heard the sudden snarl of an animal coming in for the kill and saw a glint of gold teeth as he felt himself being lifted above the black man's head. He fired at precisely the same moment as his body smashed against the wall.

  Juicey Fruit Mambo, tears streaming down his big, ugly face, bent over the bed, lifted the unconscious Tandia into his arms and carried her from the room. 'It all right, Missy Tandy, I come for you, Edward King George Juicey Fruit Mambo, he look after you now, he be warrior for you, always.' The huge black man wasn't even aware of the blood dripping from his ear where the bullet from Geldenhuis's gun had sliced off the lobe neat as anything.

  SEVEN

  Detective Sergeant Geldenhuis had been admitted to the exclusive Bayview Private Clinic built on the heights of the Berea overlooking the wide sweep of the bay and the city below. Mama Tequila had paid for a private room for him and, despite all the windows being open, the oppressive humidity beat the best efforts of the electric fan, which swung in a wide arc above the policeman's bed. Small beads of sweat showed on her upper lip as she fanned herself. It was going to be another stinker, and she yearned for the cooler months of July and August when the air was light and clear and the sun was warm on a person's back.

  It was six in the morning and Mama Tequila was bored.

  She'd been waiting since dawn. Now she looked around for the hundredth time at the details of the room. Why always white? she asked herself. Why not pink? Pink would cheer a person up, make them feel better when they just had a big op. If she ever built a hospital it would be pink and then everyone in it would be a lot happier.

  But she was forced to admit it was unlikely, whatever the colours of the wall or the sheets, that Geldenhuis was going to be happy when he regained consciousness. Lying there with a tube up his nose he looked a proper mess. His head was bandaged, his shoulder strapped and his arm was in a sling, the arm fractured and the collarbone broken when Juicey Fruit Mambo had smashed the policeman's body against the bedroom wall. But, of course, the real damage was the secret concealed below the starched sheet covering him from the waist down.

  The cover-up was simple enough and it would hold up well if Geldenhuis agreed to co-operate, which Mama Tequila felt confident he would do. Juicey Fruit Mambo had been a different matter. He had pronounced himself anxious to see that the policeman bastard bled until he croaked. At first there was no way he was about to leave Tandia and drive Geldenhuis to where Dr Louis could operate. He only agreed to go after Mama Tequila had convinced him that the bleeding from her anus was reasonably superficial and that her face, though badly swollen, was not permanently damaged; and that besides, if she didn't get Geldenhuis to the hospital, Tandia was as good as dead anyway. But he went only on the condition that Dr Louis came back to Bluey Jay to look at Tandia.

  Mama Tequila, afraid, with some justification, that the big Zulu might kill the police officer on the way to the hospital had gone with him. She also needed to get Dr Louis to cooperate with the motor accident story. Half a mile or so from Bluey Jay, she had picked the spot for the accident to be faked. Juicey Fruit Mambo had driven a hundred yards or so further on to where the road took a sudden turn around a stand of tall old blue gum trees and announced it as perfect. The police car would appear to have missed the turn and skidded off the road into one of the big trees.

  Before they left, Mama Tequila had inserted a small sterile sea sponge into Tandia's rear and, despite the hot afternoon, wrapped her in a warm eiderdown. Then she had given Tandia an Amatyl tablet, hoping to calm her down sufficiently to make her sleep. She'd previously given her a stiff brandy and the combination of brandy and bromide had made Tandia groggy even before Mama Tequila left with Juicey Fruit Mambo for the hospital.

  Jamal Vindoo, who had been concealed in the attic with his Leica, was the only other person left at Bluey Jay that afternoon, but Mama Tequila ruled out the possibility of his staying with Tandia. She had immediately sent him back to Durban on his motorbike with his precious spools of film and a set of instructions on what she wanted done with them. His role as photographer might just prove to be the salvation of the whole situation. She'd heard Jamal roar off on his BSA and had prayed silently, 'Please God don't let there be a fuck-up with them photos!'

  Tandia would be alone at Bluey Jay for the next two and a bit hours until either they returned from the hospital or the girls arrived by taxi from town. Juicey Fruit Mambo had suggested they take Tandia to the hospital, but Mama Tequila had also vetoed this idea. Tandia was coloured and would not be admitted, so that Dr Louis would have to examine her in the Packard. Besides, it would look far too suspicious and raise needless questions.

  In her own mind, Mama Tequila had no choice. The police officer automatically qualified over Tandia for treatment. It was a matter of common sense and she wasn't about to let her heart rule her head in such a fundamental and important matter. Even if Tandia's injuries had been worse than those of the police officer, so that by leaving her behind it may have meant that Tandia would die, Mama Tequila's options remained the same. In the end Tandia was just another kaffir girl. On the other hand, the death of a white police officer in a brothel, in particular the leader of SAT, would destroy them all. Mama Tequila was prepared to sacrifice a dozen Tandias rather than to have that happen.

  After Juicey Fruit Mambo had dropped Geldenhuis and Mama Tequila off at the hospital and returned to stage the accident, she confessed the entire story to Dr Louis. 'Doctor, I should have listened to you,' she said in conclusion. 'God is punishing me. I promised you I wouldn't put the child to work on her back until she finish school. I done that, Doctor. I kept my word to you! But when Detective Sergeant Geldenhuis came along, what could I do? It was blackmail, doctor. What could I have done? You tell me.'

  Dr Louis patted the big woman on the shoulder. 'Mama Tequila, I'm a doctor not a priest. You did what you had to do. I'm not saying it's nice, but then who am I to say? Just the other day a patient of mine, a Jew who was in Treblinka concentration camp during the war, told me how the guilt is eating him up alive, how in the concentration camp he was what they called a Kapo, a Jew who was a policeman of his own people. He told me how he had condemned hund
reds of his fellow Jews to death just so he could stay alive himself.' Dr Louis sighed. 'We are all guilty, we all do things that destroy others.'

  Mama Tequila was greatly heartened by Dr Louis's observations. Her conscience wasn't in the least bit concerned nor was her soul tainted with the slightest sense of guilt.

  Whores are whores and life wasn't meant to be easy. If you played on the street sooner or later you got run over by the garbage truck. But the nice, safe, white Jewish conscience of Or Louis meant he was going to cover for her. He'd as much as said so. All she had to do was push the advantage home. Her eyes were downcast, her false eyelashes brushing her cheeks. 'I give you my word, doctor, God's honour, on my mother's grave, Tandia will never work in my house again! Never, you hear?' Mama Tequila raised her eyes slowly. It seemed to Or Louis that the wetness of a tear made her coalblack eyes shine between the two broad strips of mascara, but he couldn't be absolutely sure.

  'That's good, Mama Tequila. I am very fond of Tandia and she is going to be in a great deal of pain. I will go out to see her just as soon as I have finished with the barbarian policeman. '

  'How long will that be, doctor?' Mama Tequila asked. Or Louis shook his head. 'It will be late, I'm afraid. 'You see, it's a big operation. He needs a general anaesthetic, maybe three hours. What has happened is very serious. I only hope I can patch him up.' His face was serious. 'The chances, well, I've got to tell you right now, they're not good.'

  'You mean he could, you know, lose it?'

  'Ja, that's possible, but I don't think so. A human 'bite is notoriously poisonous. Sepsis will undoubtedly occur. He will be in a great deal of pain for a very long time, but the bite is quite near the top, so we'll hope for the best, hey?' Or Louis was off again explaining everything in detail, 'If I can stem the arterial bleeding and if the urethra is not badly crushed, that's the pipe where he urinates, we may still end up with something that dangles.' He shook his head. 'But I don't think it will give him much pleasure to look at again or even to use.'

  Mama Tequila was genuinely shocked. 'What do you mean, doctor? You mean, he can't make love no more…ever?'

  'Well, ja, perhaps even that. It's not so much the scar tissue and the damaged arteries that will inhibit some of the blood from getting through, the psychological damage to his self-esteem will be enormous. This, on its own, is capable of causing erectile failure.'

  Despite her anxiety, a slow smile spread over Mama Tequila's face and she clapped her hands in delight. 'Wragtig! There is a God in heaven! You mean you can fix him up so he can do it, but really he can't, because he too ashamed of his one-eyed snake?' She giggled gleefully. 'Just wait till Juicey Fruit Mambo hears about this!'

  A nurse came over and told Or Louis it was time to scrub up. Mama Tequila held onto his arm. 'Please, doctor, you must let me see him first when he wakes up. I beg you, I must be the first to see him, even before the police. It is very important.'

  'I understand, Mama Tequila. I'll drop out to Bluey Jay to take a look at Tandia Patel after I've finished here. I'll let you know then when it will be okay to see the patient. You might as well go home now, it won't be tonight, that's for sure.'

  Juicey Fruit Mambo returned to fetch Mama Tequila and he drove her to Pickering Street. They pulled up outside the sewing-machine shop and he helped Mama Tequila out of the back of the car. 'Don't wait here, come back for me in half an hour, you hear?' He watched as she walked slowly down the side passage to the back of the shop, and when a strip of light appeared as the door was opened, he drove off.

  Jamal Vindoo was a handsome young man with a complexion the colour of crystallised honey. He appeared to be in his mid twenties and had grown a Clark Gable moustache, perhaps to give his boyish good looks a little more maturity or because he thought it would make him more attractive to the girls. Clark Gable moustaches were all the rage with the young guys at Bombay University where he had studied, to his father's immense pride.

  He ushered Mama Tequila into a small reception area which contained two wicker chairs and a small wicker couch, on which were fitted cushions of bright Indian cotton. A matching wicker coffee table, draped with an elaborately embroidered shawl, took up the remainder of the space. Standing in the centre of the table was a brass vase which contained a dozen or so brightly coloured yellow, pink and red paper roses and a round brass ashtray. On a small shelf on the wall furthermost from the door burned the Deepam, or God lamp; placed beside it, in a miniature brass vase, burned a single stick of incense.

  To anyone entering the room there was no hint that it was a photography studio. The only picture on the wall was a large oval walnut frame which contained an old-fashioned hand tinted photograph of a much younger Mr Dine-o-Mite, who looked sternly out into the world through his pebble, steel-rimmed glasses, wearing his best Mahatma Gandhi lookalike expression.

  'Sit, please.' Jamal Vindoo casually indicated a chair and then, realising Mama Tequila's size, moved his hand to denote the wicker couch. 'May I bring you some refreshment, some cha perhaps, Pep si?'

  Mama Tequila shook her head and got straight down to business. 'Sit, Mr Vindoo. Look, I want to thank you again for coming. The man who does it other times is in hospital with pneumonia.' It seemed appropriate to exaggerate the previous photographer's bout of 'flu. 'You did me a big favour; you came, no questions asked, I liked that!' She looked at him, her face grim. 'What you saw today is very serious. If it got out what happened, I'm telling you, man, they throw us into jail and they throwaway the bladdy key!' With a groan she eased herself down into the wicker couch and, opening her handbag, produced her silver cigarette case and Zippo, which she placed on the coffee table beside the ashtray.

  Jamal Vindoo looked hurt. 'You can trust me implicitly in this matter. I am a very discreet person, Madam Tequila.'

  'Not Madam! In my profession that mean something else. Mama, Mama Tequila.' The words 'discreet' and 'implicitly' grated on Mama Tequila; so did the young Indian's carefully modulated stuck-up accent. She sighed heavily. 'In my experience, trust is always a matter of how much money. Discreet, that a question of how much more.' She dug into her handbag and produced an envelope which she held out to him. 'In here is fifty pounds.'

  Jamal Vindoo took the envelope, and as he did so he bowed his head. 'You are very generous, Mama Tequila. I will fetch the prints.' He started to walk towards the door leading to the interior of the studio, and stepped through a curtained doorway leading to an interior room. A few moments later Jamal Vindoo returned with a large manila envelope which he handed to Mama Tequila.

  Mama Tequila looked up at the young man. 'In here is everything I asked for?'

  Jamal Vindoo nodded. He stood over her with both hands in his trouser pockets, jiggling his goolies. 'Sure, two ten-by-eights and three five-by-four prints of everything, just as you asked.'

  Mama Tequila withdrew a fat pile of photographs. The young Indian photographer had been away from Bluey Jay less than four hours and he must have worked hard to get the prints ready. She was pleased with what she saw. The photographs were well contrasted and perfectly in focus. In some he had used a zoom lens with devastating effect.

  Mama Tequila's heart thumped as she looked at his work.

  For the first time she understood clearly what had happened, from the moment Tandia had stepped out of her dress with her back turned to Geldenhuis to the arrival of Juicey Fruit Mambo.

  She halted momentarily when she came to the first shot where Tandia stood naked. The photograph framed Tandia's body perfectly, with only Geldenhuis's hand and part of his arm reaching out into the picture. To Mama Tequila, Tandia was simply and utterly exquisite.

  Jamal Vindoo had felt the same way. Tandia's beauty had left him devastated from the moment the solution in the developing tray brought her into being. He was aware of his hand shaking as he washed the print and pegged it to the drying line. With this picture alone he had disobeyed Mama Tequila's or
ders and had printed two ten-by-eights for himself.

  The light kicking back from the overhead mirror moulded Tandia's body perfectly and he told himself, as a professional photographer, it was his duty to keep these prints for his portfolio. Besides, without the police officer, whose name he didn't know, the picture was not incriminating.

  There could be no possible harm in owning it. Despite Tandia's apparent vocation, the young girl with the beautiful sad expression held such great emotional appeal for him that he knew he would not be able to rest until he got to know her.

  'Where are the negatives?' Mama Tequila asked. His hands still in his pockets, Jamal Vindoo shrugged. 'You asked only for the prints.' A photographer always keeps his negatives.'

  There was a pause. 'I see.' Mama Tequila said. Then she looked up at him smiling. 'How much?'

  Jamal too smiled. This was turning out much easier than he'd expected. 'Negatives are a photographer's bread and butter. People re-order, sometimes years later.' His right eyebrow was slightly arched. 'You never know who or where these orders will come from, do you?'