At the Edge of the Desert

by Basil Lawrence

  ‘I need a minute, promise.’

  To take her mind off our precarious situation, I faced the violent rush with my mouth open so that my cheeks stretched wide. I shouted, ‘Dizzy Gillespie!’ but she refused to lift her head.

  I’d be quick. Having supported myself as best I could by leaning against the barrier, I found the distant smudge that was Harmony in my viewfinder. It lay behind the Diaz Point café, where we’d parked, and past the lighthouse with its broad red belt and the windsurfers riding waves in the bay. Thousands of red and yellow triangles, pulled taut by the wind, clung to poles staked along Harmony’s perimeter.

  ‘You reckon there’re enough flags out there?’ I said.

  ‘Amanda bought them,’ my sister said. ‘She ordered five thousand—’

  ‘Five thousand?’

  ‘And didn’t tell a soul. It’s Will’s money earmarked for Elizabeth Bay. She’s well-meaning, but delusional.’

  ‘Not a good combination.’

  The remote menagerie of illuminated animals, red neon giants fringed with twinkling bulbs, came into focus on the Harmony exercise yard. An oversized paper hippopotamus covered an old bus. A buffalo as big as a tractor lurked behind the randy hippo. Tall men, presumably copied from Bushman paintings, each bigger than the lighthouse, wore seed-pod rattles tightly wound around their calves. Colossal antelope, springbok and baboons flickered near the solar panels. A leviathan – the Diamantberg – overlooked the show.

  The music died, and with it the lights. The generators had to be working overtime to power the sounds and creatures.

  ‘Are you nearly finished?’ my sister said.

  ‘Almost.’

  A trail of dust followed a vehicle travelling on the dirt road from Harmony to Diaz Point. It was too far away and the sun too bright for me to be certain, but it reminded me of the Windhoek Hiluxes. Eventually the bakkie parked at the café and opened its door to reveal Amanda.

  ‘Mozart Junior’s looking for us,’ I said as I lowered my camera. ‘I’m done.’

  We found a sheltered table outside the Diaz Point café. Tourists on the walkway we’d just crossed were bracing themselves as they posed for a photo. I concentrated on them because Will and Amanda were arguing about Primitive Man. They couldn’t agree what it meant for Will’s Elizabeth Bay budget.

  If I’d driven myself here today, I’d be home by now. But, as was increasingly the case, I’d relied on my sister to save me petrol, and consequently I was having to endure the heated discussion.

  Unable to bear the Brits any longer, I walked towards the ocean until I couldn’t hear them behind me. I checked my phone: no messages, no signal.

  Far out to sea, the windsurfers were ramping waves. Flipping their boards so that their undersides flashed white before seeking another swell. My body responded to their movements. As each board flew into the air, it was as if I’d been catapulted up with it, my chest as weightless as the surfer’s until we both braced for impact.

  A simple world of up and down. No guilt or recrimination on the water. One of the surfers mistimed his landing and I said ‘Oof!’ out loud. Like hitting concrete. But just as quickly, his sail was up again: a red feather pulling him and me out to sea.

  Back home I smoked a page of Leviticus on the veranda as a reward for enduring Will and Amanda that morning. This meant I was half-baked by the time I collected my sister for our trip to Agate Beach. Despite the cost of fuel, I’d told her that I’d drive my bakkie so that I could leave whenever I wanted to.

  I found her waiting under the palms on her driveway with a cooler box full of wine bladders, and another of Styrofoam-packed boerewors and lamb chops. The meat must have cost a fortune. I hauled both boxes onto my bakkie while she set a wicker basket containing crockery and folded blankets in the space between our front seats.

  ‘That was an interesting morning,’ I said as we reversed out.

  ‘Better now?’

  ‘Bakgat!’ I replied sarcastically. ‘But just in case, I’ve brought a lot of dope for tonight.’

  I reached over to switch on the radio but my sister touched my hand.

  ‘I’ve been listening to it all afternoon,’ she said. ‘I can’t deal with any more reports.’

  ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘The explosions.’

  I shook my head.

  ‘They’ve killed dozens of people, maybe hundreds, in the Underground. Thousands still trapped. It’s happening right now. It’s so terrible I can’t bear to think about it.’

  ‘Christ.’

  ‘Will called me about it after Diaz Point.’

  ‘Jesus, Lucia, I can’t believe it.’

  ‘It’s a nightmare. So I’m not exactly sure how I feel about this braai tonight with all that’s going on in London. And especially because Will wanted to make a big thing about my birthday, though he must be reconsidering. Anyway, I suppose after a few beers it’ll be fine. I can’t handle too much reality right now.’

  Out of habit I found myself driving to the supermarket, but because we clearly didn’t need any more picnic supplies, I turned my bakkie at the first chance I got, and we were soon back on track.

  ‘How’s work?’ she said after this rigmarole.

  ‘Work’s the problem.’

  ‘Do you want to talk about it?’

  ‘Not now …’

  I couldn’t shake the feeling that I’d forgotten something important at home, but couldn’t decide what it was, or what else might be bothering me. Without thinking, I turned left, back towards the supermarket, which made my sister laugh.

  ‘You’re adamant we’re going shopping today,’ she said. ‘Still half asleep?’

  ‘Something like that.’ I checked my rearview mirror as I made another U-turn, and once again we were on the road to the poorer parts of town, the factories and my parents’ old house. I fished a spliff out of my shirt pocket and passed it to my sister to light. The tiny printing on its paper distracted her.

  ‘Ye shall inherit their land, and I will give it unto you to possess it?’ she read.

  ‘I’m out of Rizlas. My prisoners use Bibles so I thought I’d try. How’s Will after his rather heated discussion this morning?’

  She handed me the lit joint, and I took a long drag of mellow sugary smoke that was as sweet as a peach. So much better than the psychotic Californian variety.

  ‘Not so good,’ she said, ‘but he keeps telling me that it’s a storm in a teacup. Some Belgians are keen to join the group, and Amanda wants to make a good impression. So she’s all about dazzling them with Primitive Man. She hopes it’ll attract even more people to Harmony, which shouldn’t be too hard, especially with what’s happening in Europe.’

  Halfway through my second drag, I remembered what I’d forgotten: ‘Jesus, I’m sorry.’ I veered off the road to stop my bakkie and hug my sister. ‘Happy birthday! I’m so sorry. Your gift’s waiting for you at home. Fuck. I’ll bring it tomorrow.’

  ‘I told you not to.’

  ‘I know.’ I kissed her again. ‘I’m such a terrible brother. But I’m glad we’re doing this tonight.’

  ‘I appreciate you joining me. I know you’re not crazy about Will and the others …’

  ‘I just don’t buy what he’s selling.’

  ‘He’s kind. And right now that’s enough for me. He’s making a big announcement tonight.’

  ‘You’re getting married?’

  She didn’t smile. ‘Very funny. He can’t do that because he’d have to divorce Amanda first.’

  Remembering his phrase, I said, ‘No more “passional attraction” between them?’ but immediately regretted the aside. I put my bakkie in gear and set off. ‘We don’t want to miss the sunset after all this palaver. It wouldn’t make me very popular with Will. You know, I can’t imagine him and Amanda getting together in the first place. How did that happen?’

  ‘Don’t tell anyone, but he used to be her patient. She was his therapist.’

  ‘What?’


  ‘That’s what he said.’

  ‘Isn’t that illegal or something?’

  ‘It’s probably unethical. But in any event, I don’t think either of us is the marrying type. At least not to each other.’

  ‘What then?’

  ‘I’m waiting for him to get Elizabeth Bay out of his system, and then I’ll see.’

  ‘But that’s not going to happen any time soon, judging by Amanda’s attitude this morning.’

  We approached the signpost to the beach. I was travelling a bit too fast, so when I turned my bakkie it kicked up stones. I pumped the brakes and we had to shut our windows because yellow dust enveloped us.

  ‘I worry that you demonise Amanda,’ my sister said.

  ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘She’s not a bad person. She’s only trying to protect Harmony.’

  ‘Whatever it is, I can’t warm to her. She’s very British.’

  ‘She’s not a Brit.’

  ‘Pardon?’

  ‘She’s got the accent, but she was born in Jo’burg.’

  ‘What?’

  ‘It’s true. But she hates South Africa. She’s lived in London for years and ran a successful practice with a group of therapists there. Will says she married him because she worried that Immigration would kick her out. And after all that shit went down with him, she came here on holiday and decided to start a therapeutic retreat in Namibia. I think she rents the Harmony building from the municipality. I doubt her London colleagues will join her venture, even though they said it was a fantastic idea at the time. But she’s here for good.’

  ‘Are you serious about Amanda? She’s South African?’

  ‘She’d love to know that you thought she was English.’

  We passed our first sperrgebiet sign warning us not to venture off the path. The gravel road took us up the increasingly steep hill adjacent to the prohibited zone. Lucia grabbed my camera before it fell off the dash.

  I said, ‘Do you want to store that in the cubbyhole?’

  ‘What I really want is for you to relax tonight,’ she said. ‘Have some fun. If something interests you enough to film it, you can always come fetch this.’

  ‘Put it away. I don’t mind.’

  ‘I’ve been meaning to tell you that my kids enjoyed your filmmaking lesson. Do you think you’ll have time for another?’

  ‘All I have these days is time. Let me know which Saturday’s best for you, and I’ll be there.’

  ‘When do you go back to Windhoek?’

  ‘I think that’s over.’ Without waiting for her to ask, I told her that my on-off relationship with Jago was off.

  ‘I thought you’d be good together,’ she said. ‘You don’t want to live up there?’

  ‘Not any more, I don’t. I won’t be moving away any time soon. Too much to think about right now.’

  At the very top of the incline, with my bakkie threatening to flip over, I floored the accelerator and we surged forward, cresting Nautilus Hill to reveal the gently curving beach.

  We parked in the braai’s meaty smoke near Will’s VW. Its doors were wide open and the radio played loud music. There were about twenty people out here – a few new faces – who all turned to look. Will waved. Amanda stood just behind him.

  ‘I guess we’ve arrived,’ I said.

  —————

  Amanda and Sixten chose to sit on the blanket next to mine. She was examining a handful of variegated agates she’d scooped off the beach. As she poked the pebbles with her finger, she’d give Sixten unusual patterns to admire.

  Keanu was arm wrestling a few of the volunteers who all sat away from Harmony’s permanent members. Once or twice I’d catch him looking in my direction, but he didn’t acknowledge me when I said hello. I couldn’t tell if he was ignoring me or too busy showing off to bother.

  The Zimbabwean guy spoke about the Victoria Line bombing. He had it on good authority from his Irish brother-in-law that the British state was behind today’s attack. Their police had recently foiled an attempt to punch a hole through to the Thames and flood the entire network, which his relative claimed was part of an MI5 plot. No one questioned why the Security Service might want to bomb London.

  I was on my third beer when Amanda said, ‘Is everyone here?’, and Keanu yelled something about the ocean. I shaded my eyes because the sun was near the horizon, but I could just about discern Will and my sister at the water’s edge. The waves were too loud for them to hear Keanu’s shouts.

  ‘Can someone—’ Amanda said.

  ‘I’ll go,’ Keanu called. He ran off, gesticulating wildly, in the direction of the surf. By the time the three of them rejoined the group, the south-westerly had grown stronger and brought the temperature down.

  My sister had been collecting desert roses, which she began distributing among the group. (Amanda said, ‘Mine’s broken’, and my sister caught my eye.) After we’d looked at the crystals, my sister arranged them on the blanket she was sharing with Will. The low sun made her stones and all of Agate Beach glow.

  Amanda stood up, but before she could start, Will cut her off.

  ‘I’d like to thank you for our beautiful new website,’ he said as he extended a hand towards her. ‘And to Henry for filming my lectures. When can we make another?’

  ‘When you pay me!’ I said. He hadn’t expected my response, but chuckled good-naturedly. He waited for everyone to settle down.

  I gave up attempting to record him on my phone because I doubted the audio would be any good with the strong wind. Either way, he repeated what I’d heard before: industrial attraction … passional equilibrium. What was different was that he no longer sounded posh. Either I’d become used to his accent, or he was deliberately flattening it.

  His voice became soft at one point: ‘I’ve come to the realisation that we’ve lost our way. That I’ve lost my way. We have to return to basics. I worry that we’ve become obsessed with remodelling Harmony, and that we’ll become a Lüderitz suburb, or maybe even its theme park. We’re too close to the town and its influence. Too close to free ourselves from society. So we need to start over. We have to create a community that doesn’t feel like it’s in a diorama. Which is why I want us to move away from Lüderitz, away from Harmony, to a part of the country that’s authentically Namibian. As you know, I’ve been spending time in Elizabeth Bay, which I believe is best suited to our requirements.’

  Sixten stared at Amanda who kept her eyes trained on Will. If the group had concerns, they remained unspoken.

  Amanda dispatched volunteers to search for driftwood while I helped Keanu and Sixten hollow a shallow pit in the sand. We stacked the collected timber into a pyramid, and Will even tried to show me how to make newspaper balls.

  He told everyone to stand well back as he lit the pyre.

  The wind grew even colder and caused frequent deaths and flickering reincarnations in the pit before us. We moved our blankets as close as we could to the weak flames that gave off very little heat. Everyone shared photos of the dying sun while my sister dotted her desert roses around the fire like planets orbiting a new celestial object.

  The bonfire glowed. The sky filled with every possible star.

  Amanda clapped her hands and said, ‘I have something to say.’

  ‘Time for some weed,’ I said to my sister, patting my jeans for my stash, because whatever Amanda wanted to tell us might benefit from a psychotropic accompaniment.

  I worried she was about to start criticising the group, but tonight she chose to speak about money: ‘You all know that we need more members. Ideally Europeans or Americans – no offence to our local volunteers – for their hard currency. So it’s with great pleasure that I can tell you we’ll soon be joined by Yanis and his friends. But even so, we still need more people, which is why we’re putting everything into our festival. As with the Nevada desert, our party town will be a place where everything is possible. Giant performance art. Fire eating. Anything you can think of.

  ‘The
difference is that we represent something wonderful. We know who we are, and we’re here to stay. We’re strong. We’re independent. We can do this. Nobody’s going to stop us. We’ll attract new members and we’ll fund our building work.’

  ‘And expand to Elizabeth Bay,’ Will added.

  She didn’t respond to this, and instead began showing us the costumes she’d made for Primitive Man, which were surprisingly good. Each was based on Bushman art.

  I lay on my back, between Sixten and my sister, mesmerised by the luminous heavens. Lucia stroked my arm with her soft fingers, as she used to when we were children.

  ‘What do you know about the moon landings?’ Sixten asked. The Scandinavian medusologist propped himself up on an elbow to talk. ‘They would make an interesting documentary.’

  ‘Do you mean why people doubt the landings happened?’ I said without taking my eyes off the stars.

  ‘If you do your research you’ll see it could easily have been faked,’ he said. ‘Just because this goes against the official narrative doesn’t make it wrong. Stanley Kubrick was working for the US government at the time.’

  At the unexpected mention of the filmmaker’s name, I snorted. ‘I’m sure you’re right,’ I conceded, not wanting to get into a debate, ‘but someone else will have to make that documentary.’

  ‘I’m not sure I believe everything they say, but we can’t dismiss ideas just because they’re different.’

  I was tempted to tell him that I’d had enough of time-wasters, including the three wise men in my life: Will, Chesley and Jago, but this wasn’t the right place. ‘Too expensive,’ I said. ‘Too much travel.’ I didn’t add, ‘But not to the moon, of course.’

  Sixten spoke about unreliable shadows and mismatched cross hairs (something I didn’t quite understand) in the landing photos. He knew all about the studio lights reflecting off the cannibalised 2001: A Space Odyssey moon set, and how Shepperton Studios accidentally sent the live feed to Australia – before NASA had a chance to scrub it – so that astonished Aussies witnessed a Coke bottle rolling across the lunar landscape.

  I gave him a fresh joint, and suggested he keep it.

  ‘What’s your star sign?’ he asked after settling onto his back.