Solitaire

by Graham Masterton

  ‘You don’t happen to know a family called Sutter, by any chance?’ Barney asked the manager. The manager had finished rubbing his hands and was now smoothing down his black, brilliantined hair.

  ‘Sutter? Not the Sutters, presumably?’

  ‘I don’t know. Who are the Sutters?’

  ‘Well, the Sutters own Sutters the shipping line. Second largest shipping line in Port Natal. And certainly the first people you’d think of if you ever wanted to send something up the east coast of Africa, no matter what it was. A parcel, or a parrot, or a piano.’

  ‘Where do they live?’ asked Barney.

  The manager swivelled the register around and peered at Barney’s signature. ‘You can’t possibly miss it. It’s about a mile to the south, towards Umlazi. A large, lemon-coloured place, in its own palm grove. But you’ll never get in without an appointment. Or even at all, dressed like that.’

  Barney said, ‘You can have your porter empty the Bible box on my waggon. There are two suits in there, and some shirts, and I’d like them sponged down, and pressed. Then you can send a plate of beefsteak and a bottle of mineral waters up to my room.’

  ‘Anything else, Mr Blitz?’

  ‘Yes. Is there a synagogue in Durban?’

  The manager stared at him humourlessly for a long time. ‘I’ll enquire,’ he said, and closed the register with a loud snap.

  After a bath in a high enamelled bathtub on lion’s-claw feet, with hissing hot water supplied by an arrangement of brass pipes like a church organ, Barney towelled himself down, and came back into his bedroom to find his wedding-suit neatly laid out on his bed, and his shirt ironed with so much starch that he had to push his hands down the sleeves with all the force of a Navy icebreaker cutting through Antarctic glaciers.

  Under a silver cover, a rather tough beefsteak waited for him, along with a bottle of Ashbourne water, on ice. He sat down on the end of the bed and ate the steak quickly and hungrily. Then he went to the basin to wash his hands, tie up his necktie, and brush his wet hair.

  Before he left, he went into the second bedroom to look at Joel. Joel was sleeping now, murmuring as he slept, but quietly, as if he were dreaming complicated and subtle dreams, rather than nightmares of pain and fear and sudden death.

  Severe and smart in his dark grey suit, with grey gloves and a grey hat, Barney crossed the foyer of the Natalia Hotel with clicking heels. The half-caste doorman hailed him a hansom cab, and remarked on the closeness of the heat. Two kaffirs were sitting in the street outside, playing jacks in the dust. Barney tipped the doorman a shilling, and mounted the black-and-maroon hansom with the confidence of a man who is perfectly familiar with riding in carriages. The black cab-driver had only taken him to the corner, however, before he was dry-mouthed and sweating, and his hurriedly-chewed steak was sitting on his stomach like chunks of sodden wood.

  They drove out of town and up the tree-lined road towards Umlazi. On his left, through the dense undergrowth, Barney could make out the glittering reaches of the Indian Ocean, with two mail steamers making their way towards Port Natal. The air was sickly-sweet with the smell of flowers and decaying sub-tropical greenery, and the sound of the carriage wheels was swallowed up by the chirruping of insects and the querulous cry of birds.

  At last, they came to a small hill, almost unnaturally round, and vividly green. It was fringed with palm trees, and laid out with lawns and pathways that were so neat they were irritating to look at. The lower slopes of the hill were surrounded by black-painted iron railings, each one cast in the shape of a Zulu assegai, and admittance to the estate was only by way of a pair of iron gates, decorated with iron replicas of Zulu shields.

  On the crown of the hill stood a fine symmetrical mansion, painted, as the manager of the Natalia Hotel had told Barney, in the palest of lemon yellows. There were small fruiting orange trees in green tubs all the way around the house at precise intervals, and accurately-clipped hedges beneath every window. Peacocks swept their tails around the gardens like clockwork toys.

  ‘This is where you want?’ asked the cab driver, turning in his wornout leather seat. ‘Khotso?’

  Barney sat upright. ‘Is that what the house is called?’

  ‘Yes, boss. Everybody know that. This is where you want?’

  ‘I believe so,’ said Barney. ‘But wait here for me, will you?’

  The cab driver reigned his carriage in under the shade of a coral-tree and lit up a clay pipe. Barney climbed down, crossed the road, and approached the gates of Khotso with apprehension. The beefsteak had given him a griping pain in his stomach, and he would much rather have been lying on his bed in the Natalia Hotel, nursing his tiredness and his indigestion, than out here looking for Sir Thomas Sutter.

  There was nobody at the gate; but there was a mechanical bell-pull, and Barney tugged at it twice. Then he waited, his back sticky with sweat, to see what would happen.

  After a full minute, a small black man appeared, in peach-coloured trousers and a white sash, with a white turban on his head. He walked at an even pace along the precise perspective of the front path, his arms swinging beside him military-style, and Barney could have timed almost to the second the moment when he was due to arrive at the gate.

  ‘Good afternoon, sir,’ the black man said at last. ‘You wish to leave your card?’

  ‘I wish to see Sir Thomas Sutter, if he’s still here.’

  ‘Sir Thomas? Well, sir, he’s still here. But I’m afraid it’s lunchtime. If you wish to leave your card.’

  ‘Can you please tell him that I’m here, and that it’s urgent? I’ve come all the way from the diamond fields at Kimberley.’

  The black man raised his hands. ‘With respect, sir, Mrs Sutter doesn’t like to have luncheon interrupted. Not for anything. The Zulus attacked the Sutters once, sir, when they were on a picnic, and Mrs Sutter handed round meat sandwiches while the menfolk fought the Zulus off with pistols. So goes the story, sir.’

  ‘I’m prepared to wait. It’s a question of life or death.’

  ‘Well, sir,’ said the black man, rather regretfully. ‘Life or death is one thing. Lunch is another.’

  ‘I’ll wait! My brother’s dying, and I want Sir Thomas to see him!’

  Just then, a girl appeared on the steps by the house – a tall girl, with dark brown ringlets, wearing a rust-coloured satin dress that was richly trimmed with Brussels lace. She hesitated for a moment, her pale hands held up like doves, trying to see what was happening down at the gate; and then she came rustling down the path with her skirts discreetly held above the patterned brick, and her head raised with aloof curiosity.

  As she came closer, Barney could see that she was a very tall girl – almost as tall as him, even in her satin slippers. But her figure was in beautiful proportion, with wide shoulders, large breasts, and a narrow waist. Her face was square and strong, with vivid, wide-apart eyes; and if Barney had been asked to guess her nationality he would have said German or Polish rather than British. British women were almost invariably pear-shaped, with sloping shoulders and hips like gun-carriages.

  Her voice, though, was as sharp and brittle as any girl from England’s southern counties. And when she came up and said, ‘What’s the mattah, William? What’s going on heah?’ the black man touched his turban and stepped back as if he had been stung by a sjambok.

  ‘Hello,’ said the girl, looking Barney straight in the eye. ‘I’m Sara Sutter.’

  ‘I’m pleased to make your acquaintance,’ said Barney. ‘I’m Barney Blitz.’

  ‘Well, well! Ess-ess and bee-bee! That must be a coincidence! Do you care for palmistry, at all?’

  ‘I’m sorry?’

  ‘Don’t be. I’m an enthusiast, myself. Did you want to see Papa?’

  ‘It was Sir Thomas I was looking for, as a matter of fact.’

  ‘Great-Uncle Tee! What on earth do you want with him? He’s getting ready for his afternoon nap, I believe! But come in! We can’t have you standing outside looking lik
e a lost soul, can we?’

  William unlocked the gates, and swung both of them open, although Barney could easily have stepped through one. Sara Sutter looked him up and down, and said, ‘You look very hot. Perhaps you’d care for a glass of lime-juice? Or perhaps tea?’

  They walked up to the house together. Inside the railings of the house called Khotso, everything looked even more precise than it had from the road. Barney had the feeling that even if a snail were to be bold enough to silver the pathway, a black servant would have to come out and scrub the stones until the trail was gone.

  ‘You’re an American, I suppose, by your accent?’ asked Sara Sutter. ‘I can always tell an accent.’

  ‘That’s right. From New York, originally. But I live in Kimberley these days. I’m a diamond digger.’

  ‘Are you rea-leh? How frightfully exciting! Father will be most interested to meet you, if only I can find him! And so will Great-Uncle Tee. Oh, look! What luck! There he is now!’

  As they turned round a corner of the lemon-yellow house, they saw a tall white-bearded man with a belly as magnificent as a pregnant hippopotamus, sitting outside a pair of open French windows on a gilded sofa, smoking a cigar. He was wrapped in a blue and gold Chinese dressing-gown, and on his feet were a pair of white canvas polo boots. A copy of The Times had been dumped in an untidy heap beside him, and was gradually being blown across the lawn by the afternoon wind.

  ‘Great-Uncle Tee!’ said Sara Sutter, gripping Barney’s arm. ‘I’ve someone to see you! Mr Blitz, from Kimberley!’

  Sir Thomas Sutter looked Barney up and down with a single protuberant eye, his other eye closed against the smoke from his cigar. ‘Mr Blitz? Well, how do you do! Pardon me if I don’t get up, but it’s taken me a good twenty minutes to get myself sat down. A heavy lunch, don’t you know.’

  Barney took off his hat. ‘I’m real sorry to intrude like this,’ he said. ‘But a friend of mine in Kimberley told me that you were taking a vacation here, and I came on the chance that you would still be here when I arrived, and that you might agree to help me.’

  Sir Thomas rubbed his beard. ‘Jewish, is it, Blitz?’

  Barney blinked at him. ‘I’m sorry?’

  ‘The name “Blitz”. Jewish, is it?’

  ‘Yes, sir. It is. We came from north Germany originally. Then we moved to New York. We used to be tailors, until we sold out and moved here.’

  ‘I see. Well, I admire the Jews. They make excellent doctors. And they make excellent money, too. The Rothschilds are particular friends of mine.’

  Barney did not know what to say. He simply shrugged, and lifted his hat slightly, as if he were pleased to hear it, which he was.

  ‘Well,’ said Sir Thomas, ‘if you’ve come all the way from Kimberley on the chance that I might still be here, then obviously you want something. Some medical advice, perhaps? Some suggestions about starting a field hospital?’

  Barney said, ‘I want something, yes. But I’m afraid it’s not that philanthropic.’

  ‘You don’t want surgery, I hope? I’m on holiday. I’ve left all my scalpels in London.’

  ‘I’m afraid that’s exactly what I do want.’

  Sir Thomas puffed at his cigar. ‘It’s not for you, is it? You look as fit as a fiddle.’

  ‘No, sir. It’s my brother Joel. He was involved in a mining accident out at the Big Hole at Kimberley. His left leg’s crushed, and I think his pelvis has been smashed. He broke three, maybe four ribs.’

  ‘I’m sorry to hear it. When did it happen?’

  ‘Around six weeks ago.’

  ‘Six weeks ago?’

  ‘It’s more than five hundred miles from Kimberley to Durban, sir. I got him here as fast as I could.’

  Sir Thomas blew out his cheeks. ‘Yes … I can see that you did. You managed it in remarkable time, too. But by now I expect that your brother’s fractures have knit themselves together again, and I doubt if there is very much that I can do.’

  ‘His hips are still giving him pain, Sir Thomas, and his left leg is twisted right out of shape.’

  ‘The skin isn’t broken anywhere? There are no protruding bones?’

  ‘No, sir. There were some cuts and bruises, but they’ve all healed up now.’

  ‘Well,’ said Sir Thomas, ‘they sound like simple fractures. And if he’s still alive after six weeks of bumping all the way from Kimberley to Durban, then he’s probably going to stay alive. Can he walk?’

  ‘No, sir.’

  ‘His leg is distorted, I suppose? That’s only to be expected. When the bone is broken, you see, a large clot of blood forms between the broken ends, and this clot gradually turns into what we call a soft callus. After a while, the soft callus attracts lime salts from the system, and these lime salts harden to form a thick ring of bone. Should the broken limbs not be properly reduced and set, however, an even thicker ring of bone than normal can form; and thus an awkward healing is more difficult to rectify.’

  Barney said, ‘I don’t think his pelvis has even set properly. He keeps complaining that it’s grating, and that it hurts.’

  ‘That’s what we call crepitus,’ said Sir Thomas. ‘If your brother is still feeling that sensation, then his pelvis may have been so badly damaged that it has healed and then re-broken. I couldn’t tell without examining him.’

  ‘Will you do it?’ asked Barney.

  Sir Thomas stared at him. In the gardens, the peacocks let out a long, sad whoop.

  ‘My dear chap,’ he said, ‘I’m on holiday.’

  ‘I can pay you.’

  ‘I’m sure you can. But there are plenty of other good surgeons in Durban. There’s Pieter Botha at the Durban Calvinish Hospital. There’s Humphrey Young, in Port Natal. I don’t even have the staff, or the facilities.’

  ‘But you’re the best,’ insisted Barney.

  Sara Sutter said, ‘I don’t know what you’re arguing about, Great-Uncle Tee. You’ve been chafing to get back to work ever since you got here. You’d love to do it, wouldn’t you?’

  ‘But it’s out of the question,’ protested Sir Thomas.

  Right then, a tall, straight-backed man in a white dinner-jacket came round the corner and confronted them with surprise.

  ‘What’s out of the question?’ he said, sharply.

  ‘This is Gerald Sutter, my nephew,’ explained Sir Thomas. ‘Gerald – this gentleman has simply called by to seek my medical opinion.’

  ‘How do you do,’ said Gerald Sutter, tightly, without offering his hand. ‘I’m afraid my uncle is on holiday at the moment, and we really prefer it if patients leave him in peace. He’s going to have enough of that when he sails back to London.’

  ‘Mr Blitz has impressed me, though,’ put in Sir Thomas. ‘His brother was hurt in an accident at Kimberley, and he has brought him five hundred miles just to be treated by me.’

  ‘I’m afraid Mr Blitz was being rather over-optimistic,’ said Gerald Sutter. ‘A man may travel six months to London to ask the Queen for a knighthood, but that doesn’t mean that he deserves one.’

  ‘Oh, Papa, you’re being pompous,’ said Sara. ‘This is Natal, not London! And his brother may die!’

  ‘All the same,’ Gerald Sutter said, turning with a cold smile to Barney and making a following gesture with his hands that Barney should consider leaving.

  ‘No, no,’ put in Sir Thomas. ‘The whole thing rather appeals to me. It has a what-might-you-call-it, a drama about it. I could give some useful lectures to my students when I get back, particularly on the subject of perseverance. If you can get me a theatre at the Dalitary Hospital, Gerald, I’ll do it.’

  ‘Uncle, really,’ protested Gerald. Then he turned to Barney. ‘My uncle was supposed to be resting. I can’t say I’m keen on this at all.’

  ‘I had to try,’ Barney told him, simply.

  Sara Sutter clapped her hands. ‘Great-Uncle Tee is absolutely right! It is dramatic, isn’t it? Just like a play! Mr Blitz, you must take some tea. I’m sure Great-
Uncle Tee must want to ask you lots of questions.’

  Gerald Sutter sighed testily. ‘Are you sure this is what you want, Uncle? I can’t persuade you to change your mind?’

  ‘Gerald, my dear chap, you’ve given me the finest holiday of my entire life. Seven months of blissful solitude and contemplative study. I have enjoyed myself no end, and your house is aptly named. But here we have an interesting case of fractures that must be re-broken, and re-reduced, and re-set, in the most colonial of circumstances, and I must say that I would very much like to get my hands on it.’

  At last, Gerald Sutter allowed himself a nod of acceptance. ‘Very well, Uncle, if it makes you happy. Sara – would you call Umzinto and ask him to bring tea?’

  Two black servants brought decorative garden chairs around, and set a table with a pale damask cloth. Then they poured out fragile white cups of tea, with neither cream nor sugar.

  ‘This is the most expensive of the Formosa Oolongs,’ remarked Gerald Sutter. ‘It’s called Peach Blossom, and in London it can fetch anything up to £8 the pound. Her Majesty drinks it, when she can get it. I have it every afternoon, at four.’

  ‘It’s excellent,’ said Barney. ‘I’m afraid we don’t have such delicacies out at Kimberley, even those of us who can afford them.’

  The next hour passed with such calm and civilisation that Barney began to feel at peace for the first time for months. The sun fell slowly behind the palms, so that their frondy shadows lay across the lawns, and the peacocks gathered round for any crumbs that might be left from the teatable. Sir Thomas talked about the difficulties of good bonesetting, and Gerald talked about fast steamers, and how he could have a packet sent from Port Natal to Delagoa Bay, a distance of 295 miles, in less than forty-one hours.

  ‘All that concerns us now is the Zulus,’ said Gerald, crossing his well-creased ducks. ‘Mpande is not a well man, and if Mpande dies, we shall be left with Cetewayo, and Cetewayo is one of those black gentlemen who believes in the glorious days of Shaka.’

  ‘And I’m afraid the days of Shaka weren’t all that glorious,’ added Sir Thomas. ‘He had the same interest in human anatomy as I do, but I regret that he didn’t have the same skills. He once ordered a hundred pregnant women cut open with spears, just because he was momentarily interested in embryology.’