At the Edge of the Desert

by Basil Lawrence

  ‘Are you involved with my sister?’

  ‘Ah,’ he sighed. ‘Yes, but I’d not counted on that happening, I assure you. But I suppose I am. It had a lot to do with our decision to sell our home.’ I had a premonition that he was about to ask about my parents, but he merely said, ‘You’ll do this for me?’

  I nodded.

  ‘Good,’ he said. ‘You mind if I ask you something?’

  I braced myself: About your father …

  ‘I don’t want you working for more than a couple hours at a time on my lecture,’ he said.

  Not what I was expecting. ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘Limit yourself to two-hour slots. Like we do at Harmony. This is really important to me.’

  I couldn’t decide if he intended to distract me from further talk about London or my sister, or if he was genuinely concerned about the way I worked.

  ‘I want you to divide your day into a variety of tasks.’

  I reassured him, as best I could, that after witnessing how hard he worked to make his vision become a reality, I’d be happy to do whatever he advised.

  ‘Good man. Are you feeling any better after your fall?’ he said. ‘You took a terrible tumble. At least allow me to drive you home.’

  ‘I’m fine. I’ll survive. I was wondering if you’d given any thought to your budget for this work. How much you could pay me.’

  ‘Well, yes,’ he said, ‘I was hoping to talk to you about that. But do you mind if we call it a day for now, at least until I’ve had a chance to think, and then perhaps you and I can discuss further? When we were giving thanks I could feel the beginning of a migraine, and I fear I won’t make much sense if we attempt to talk about money just now.’

  ‘A migraine? I’m the one who fainted.’

  He smiled weakly. ‘It’s just that I was wondering if, perhaps, you might consider donating your time on this project.’ His gaze dropped to the biscuity mush in Amanda’s saucer. ‘Support me that way. Only if that is within the realms of possibility, of course …’

  ‘A donation?’

  ‘I’ve been meaning to tell you that I’ve reached out to my friend. The one I told you about who’s involved with the Sheffield festival. She says that the moment you’ve got something ready, she’d love to check it out and give you some pointers. And perhaps get it seen by the right people on their, you know, selection committee.’

  ‘That’s nice,’ I said, unsure if I could believe him.

  ‘Yes, I thought you might be pleased. I mentioned your wonderful apartheid documentary and she was fascinated.’ He rose from his chair. ‘Well, in any event, we’ll talk again soon. There’s a lot for us to think about and I ought to have a lie-down.’

  I followed him to the door I’d sneaked through as a teenager, but didn’t go so far as to step outside.

  ‘Kolmans,’ I said.

  ‘What?’ He turned around.

  ‘Kolmanskop: the abandoned town. That’s where we should film. It’s pretty out there.’

  ‘I’d need to see it first. I’ve only ever driven past.’

  I took a deep breath. ‘I’m excited to be working with you, Will, I really am. I have lots of ideas about how to edit your talk. How to make it look professional.’

  ‘That’s very kind—’

  ‘But I’m going to need you to pay me for my time today.’

  His eyes lost their sparkle. ‘I don’t have anything on me. In fact, I’ve not got very much money.’

  I didn’t believe a word of it. Forex converted any old Londoner, even the poorest, into a rich Namibian.

  ‘I’m not asking for much,’ I said, ‘but I expected something for today. Even if you reimburse me my petrol.’

  If I hadn’t been my sister’s brother, I suspect he might have turned me away, and left it at that. But I stood firm; I wasn’t going anywhere. If he wasn’t certain how to respond, I could tolerate the uncomfortable silence until he found the words: fraught interviews have taught me to hold my ground. To shut up and wait for the good stuff.

  He went upstairs and came back with an envelope, which I opened in front of him. After counting the money, I thanked him. It was more than I’d expected.

  ‘Keanu needs a lift into Lüderitz,’ he said somewhat dismissively.

  If treating me like a taxi was his way of squaring accounts, I could live with that.

  I found Keanu leaning against my bakkie.

  ‘Howzit, Jack,’ he said.

  ‘Howzit, Jack yourself,’ I said. ‘This place you’re going to, it’s on my way?’

  ‘You work for Will now?’

  ‘I’m not in the mood for sarcasm.’

  ‘Ja, it’s there by the old power station.’

  ‘Get in.’ And because he stank of sweat and beer, I opened my window as I set off for town.

  He said, ‘Hey, you don’t mind sand in your cabbie?’

  ‘I like fresh air.’

  ‘Cool,’ he said. ‘That’s cool.’

  His salty smell reminded me of the ex-cons I’d filmed back in Jo’burg. What would those men think of Harmony? Nothing much here for them to steal. Perhaps even they’d realise that this place couldn’t survive long, not in the middle of a salt pan without fresh water or arable land, regardless of intention.

  Up close, there was bumfluff on Keanu’s cheeks. Scabs on his knuckles. I told him to protect his hands when he worked, but he proudly informed me that the marks were from kickboxing.

  ‘I’ll punch anything, bru,’ he said. ‘Walls, rocks. Anything. Makes me strong.’

  He began to talk me about a windsurfing competition – casually mentioning surfers by name as if I’d know them – while my thoughts drifted to my prison documentary. One problem with my film was that the ex-cons had all committed horrible crimes, which I wasn’t sure my audience would be able to ignore. But then again, the same was true of my apartheid documentary: there’d been nothing personable about Verwoerd or his assassin. I’d felt sympathy for Tsafendas, but never close to him, and I certainly didn’t feel anything but contempt for the prime minister.

  Which was why a movie about Will and Amanda might be a better prospect. The sight of two Londoners pottering around this wasteland might endear them to an audience. If I went ahead and made it, it would be my first set in Lüderitz. Definitely the first to be funded by my subject. I’d be lying if the prospect of Will inadvertently paying me to film my warts-and-all didn’t amuse me.

  ‘The other day I saw you swimming there by Shark Island,’ Keanu said. ‘You do that every day?’

  ‘I try to.’

  ‘I don’t like the sea.’

  ‘It isn’t exactly the open ocean. It’s a tidal pool.’

  ‘You’re good for an old guy. I don’t mean old old. But, you know what I mean.’

  ‘It takes practice. I suppose Will keeps you busy.’

  ‘Ja, he’s amazing. Like a crazy scientist with all those ideas.’

  I would have to interview Keanu too, of course. His blind faith in Harmony would play well onscreen.

  ‘You coming to the braai?’ he said.

  ‘What braai?’

  ‘We have braais with the Harmony okes every month. Your sister always joins us. There by Agate Beach.’ He began describing the beach’s location, but I cut him off because I knew where it was. My aunt took us there at the end of our school holidays to say goodbye to the sea, and to watch our last Namibian sunset before we trekked down to South Africa.

  ‘Christ,’ I said because I’d just noticed the gun on Keanu’s lap. ‘Put that thing away.’

  My reaction amused him.

  ‘Put it in the cubbyhole,’ I said. ‘Why did you bring it with you?’

  ‘I take it everywhere.’ As he stowed his weapon, he said, ‘What’s this?’ He waved my tube of hand cream about.

  ‘You should use that.’

  He squeezed a dollop onto his palm, saying, ‘Want some?’

  ‘I’m driving.’

  The vanilla aroma
reminded me how hungry I was. I’d drop Keanu off, and hurry to the supermarket to buy groceries with Will’s money.

  ‘Amazing,’ Keanu said, examining his hands as if they didn’t belong to him. Stuck in the middle of nowhere with Will, he clearly wasn’t taking care of himself.

  ‘You can keep it,’ I said.

  ‘The cream?’

  ‘Sure, I’ll buy more. And wear gloves when you hit those walls or do any more welding.’

  This led him to tell me about Harmony’s new turbine stand. Listening to him describe it as an engineering marvel made me wonder if Will’s madness might be contagious. At the very least, the Brit’s enthusiasm had infected this kid. From my limited time with Amanda, I doubted if she was at risk.

  ‘Where are you from?’ I interrupted.

  ‘Swakop.’

  ‘And you’re down here …’

  ‘Seeking my fortune, Jack. Last year my old man gave me the money my ma left me in her will, and I told him I’d double it.’

  ‘I’m sorry to hear about your mom, Keanu.’

  ‘Ja,’ was all he said.

  ‘Be careful you don’t give him all your money.’

  ‘Will says you got to spend money to make money.’

  ‘Does he, now?’

  I didn’t ask about his family for fear of prying. I also couldn’t bear to know if Will had convinced Keanu to invest in his absurd scheme – I might need to find a way of talking to my sister about it.

  Keanu showed me where to park on Diaz Street outside the old factories. He left his door open as he ran to shake two metal gates with pieces of paper stuck all over. They clattered loudly which alerted the neighbourhood dogs.

  ‘Have fun,’ I said, more to myself than Keanu, as I undid my seat belt to lean across and pull his door shut. ‘I’ve got things to do.’

  Keanu was shouting at the animals to shut up. When this didn’t work he pointed his gun in the air and fired three rounds.

  The gate bearing a large sign with the words ‘ROOM TO LET’ swung open.

  ‘Don’t be a fucking moron,’ a man shouted as he came out. He sounded like an Aussie or a Kiwi. ‘Put that away.’

  I recognised him from the floating platform in the harbour, so I got out to greet him. His T-shirt pulled around his dark pits to reveal toned arms, strong from hard work and not curated in a gym like Jago’s. His small belly pressed against his shirt.

  ‘You’ve brought a friend, Keanu,’ he said before introducing himself to me as Quinty – Mike Quint – adding, ‘Can’t shake now,’ because his gloves were sticky with resin. ‘You joining us? I first need to finish something, though …’

  ‘Sure, I’ve got time,’ I said as I locked my door.

  Tools hung from a row of metal hooks, like biltong in a butchery, along the far wall of Quinty’s workshop. The styrene’s sweet smell didn’t bother me, but Keanu preferred to wait outside because he said it always gave him a headache.

  ‘Just take a moment to finish this,’ Quinty said when we were alone.

  I was happy to watch him layer fibreglass into the mould, daubing the white mat to saturate it with epoxy. He took a step back, brush in hand, to check his work. Perhaps he forgot I was there because he nudged his crotch with the back of his gloved hand to make himself comfortable. He dropped his brush into a bucket and selected a metal tool as thin as a pencil to begin rolling the resin-soaked fibreglass.

  ‘Air bubbles,’ he commented without looking up. ‘Gets rid of the tiny buggers. Only be a minute or two.’

  Thereafter he selected a new sheet of fibreglass, and tore it to cover the mould. After soaking it with resin, he smoothed it with the roller before dropping his gloves onto a small stool. He called for Keanu as he washed his hands in a bucket of acetone. At last he gripped my right hand.

  ‘So now we’ve met properly. Let me guess,’ he said to Keanu when the kid joined us, ‘you’ve come to pay me?’ He smiled. ‘No? No surprise there. Mind that bucket, Keanu. Kick it over and I’ll add it to my bill. And watch that resin: it’s still wet.’

  Quinty led us to his workbench where he smoothed out a rolled-up architect’s drawing with a swipe of his palm, weighing down its corners with metal bolts. ‘LÜDERITZ PHALANX’ was printed at the top of the sheet. The sketch was similar to the model Will had shown me at Harmony. A difference, however, was that the wings were no longer straight: the right-hand one was a Z-shape, the left a reverse Z. Both were divided according to function: ‘BEDROOM’, ‘THERAPY’, ‘GROUPWORK’, ‘SUPERVISION’, ‘CARPENTRY’, ‘METAL’, ‘LEATHER’ and so on.

  ‘Let me show you what I’ve been trying to explain to your Reverend Moon over the phone,’ Quinty said. Focusing on the Z-extension, he began listing problems with Will’s design that needed to be resolved before building work could start.

  I’d begun filming and Keanu regarded me sceptically.

  ‘It’s for Will,’ I lied without lowering my camera.

  ‘Concentrate,’ Quinty said, clicking his fingers to attract Keanu’s attention. He circled part of the design with a thick pencil. ‘You’ll have people manufacturing here, just a few metres away from the bedrooms. Not good. And I know Will keeps telling me that in the future no one will need to sleep again, but I can promise you this isn’t going to fucking work. How do you carry raw materials into these factories without messing up the living quarters? And the same applies to goods leaving the building. Plus, I don’t know if you’ve thought about it, but this sort of work is very noisy.’

  His gaze lingered on me, as if curious about my role in all of this, before returning his attention to Keanu who’d been trying to correct him.

  ‘Workshops,’ Keanu said.

  ‘Your main problem,’ Quinty reiterated, ‘is that your living quarters and therapy rooms are cheek by jowl with your factories.’

  ‘Workshops,’ Keanu said again. ‘Not factories.’

  ‘Whatever. Let’s not worry about semantics.’ Quinty wiggled his fingers in front of his face: ‘These are hands, not wands. What I’m saying is that if some poor bugger is pouring his heart out to his shrink he’ll hear every hammer and tong in the next room.’ He raised his eyebrows.

  Keanu said, ‘Will says that everyone will be working.’

  ‘I know. And I’m sure your Chairman Mao’s creating miracles out there, but what happens if someone breaks their fucking leg? Or they’re too old to work? Or, I don’t know: maybe they need to look after a sick child. There’s a reason why town planners don’t put hospitals in the middle of industrial estates.’

  Keanu stared at the drawing as if it held the answer. Quinty glanced at my trousers, and I took my eye from the viewfinder to make sure my flies weren’t undone. He smiled.

  ‘You live in the central tower?’ he asked Keanu.

  I responded when Keanu didn’t answer: ‘He does.’

  Quinty addressed me: ‘You see, they can’t afford both extensions – one for living, one for working – so they’re having to compromise. That’s why they’re in the shit.’ He asked Keanu if he understood just how small the new living quarters would be, which Keanu couldn’t answer, so Quinty told us to follow him to the yard where he scraped the outline of a Harmony bedroom and bathroom into the hard ground. As he moved, his damp shirt stretched over his chest and back. The room was tiny, with barely enough space for a bed. Its mismatched dimensions reminded me of Twin Palms.

  ‘Need I go on?’ Quinty said.

  There wasn’t much Keanu could say, so the three of us began walking back to my bakkie. I’d unlocked my door, but not the passenger side, because I didn’t plan on ferrying Keanu to Harmony.

  ‘You letting your room?’ Keanu mumbled as we were saying goodbye.

  ‘Depends who’s asking,’ Quinty said.

  ‘I know someone from Harmony who’s looking for a place.’

  ‘In that case, my answer’s no.’

  ‘But he’s a cool oke.’

  ‘Still no.’

  ‘He can pay.’


  ‘No.’

  ‘Nooit, Jack, you serious?’ Keanu said. ‘Why don’t you at least check him out at the next braai before you say no. You coming to it?’

  ‘Are you?’ Quinty asked me.

  Keanu replied, ‘Ja,’ at the same time as I said, ‘I’ll try to make it.’

  ‘Sure,’ Quinty said, ‘I’ll be there.’

  ‘Nice one,’ Keanu said. ‘We talk later, OK? I need to check out some of my buds in town.’

  ‘Jack’s off to the bar,’ Quinty said to me as Keanu sauntered down Diaz Street. ‘And good on him. He’s a nice kid but too inexperienced to be involved in Will’s shit. I need someone who can make decisions. Important stuff that Will doesn’t care about. They’re not very nuts-and-bolts out there. It was even worse when I was dealing with Amanda.’

  I said, ‘Don’t look to me for answers,’ which made him chuckle.

  ‘What’s your connection with all of this?’

  ‘My sister knows Will. Lucia?’

  ‘She’s your sister?’

  ‘I’m filming him.’

  ‘Make sure he pays you. He’s a slippery Pom.’

  ‘I assume he’s got money.’

  ‘Well, I’ve been waiting for them to sell their London place to pay what they owe me for my work on their African fantasy. But now that they’re back in town, they haven’t been very forthcoming. So I guess they’re wanting to keep it all for themselves.’

  He touched my chest to say goodbye and I let my hand linger on his damp, warm back.

  I’d started carrying groceries into my kitchen when I caught sight of my neighbour entering his house on the other side of the road. With the milk safely in my fridge, I decided to speak to the man about his unhappy, howling dog.

  Up close his yard contained more rubbish than I could see from my side of the street. Greasy cardboard takeaway boxes, dry chicken bones and wax paper.

  I rang the bell, not entirely sure what to say when he answered. Mounted on the wall alongside the front door was a security camera. There was still no response when I pressed the buzzer a second time although the dog started to bark. Inside the house, the man shouted at the animal to shut up but never came to the door.