by Sewell, Ron
For a while they chatted. Their drinks finished, Petros and Bear left and returned to their comfortable but sparse cabin.
“Maria will be all right,” said Bear. “Women give birth all the time.”
Petros glanced at his friend. “That may be so but being a father is a strange feeling. Yet I couldn’t even care for the baby when we found her in that burnt out village last year.”
“You did all right – she survived. Financially, we made sure she was looked after.”
Petros jumped into his bunk and pulled the sheets over his lean frame. “I don’t think I’ll sleep much. Thirty odd hours and I can do nothing. I should be with her.”
Bear patted his friend’s shoulder. “You might miss the birth but you’ll have years and years to make up for it. Now, sleep.”
The room went dark; a single red light glimmered from the deckhead.
“I should be there,” muttered Petros.
“Go to sleep. When you get home, sleep will be a luxury. Babies cry a lot.”
“My child will be perfect.”
“Yep, perfect at screaming its head off at all hours. Goodnight.”
Chapter Three
Restless, Petros woke early and wandered up to the bridge. The Second Mate, Andy Cummings, stood staring at the empty sea in front of them.
“What’s up? Can’t sleep? Coffee and the makings are at the back of the bridge. Help yourself.”
“Thanks.” Petros made a strong black coffee and rejoined Andy. “Don’t you get bored?”
Andy turned and grinned. “Nothing to do? You must be joking. Today it’s quiet but in an hour there could be more ships than you can shake a stick at. My job is to make sure the old man has a good night’s sleep. If he doesn’t, it’s my arse on the line.”
“You enjoy it?” Petros asked.
He nodded. “I do the morning watch seven days a week and when dawn breaks over the horizon it’s different every time. I love it. The sun will be up soon. It’s the best time of the day.”
Petros sipped his coffee and wandered out onto the port bridge wing. From the east a glow shone over the horizon. The Atlantic swells lifted Morning Glory, twisting and turning her decks before she entered a trough. Spray covered the bows.
He breathed in deeply, inhaling the salt-laden air. He preferred the outdoors; it recharged him physically and mentally.
A large white bird soared and circled the ship.
“It’s an Albatross,” said Andy. “Don’t often see them in this area. They’re bloody beautiful to watch and highly efficient in the air. They can cover vast distances with little exertion. We must have driven through a shoal and made breakfast easy.”
Petros downed the dregs of his coffee. “Andy, when will the ship-to-shore radio be in action?”
“Our Radio Officer, Sandy Nelson, will begin his morning transmission at nine. After that he’ll get you whoever, wherever, whenever. I’m sure you want to know we’ll be off Luanda around ten tomorrow morning.”
“Thanks. I think I’ll go for a shower now,” he said, turning to go to his cabin, his thoughts far away with Maria.
* * *
Petros waited while Sandy Nelson pressed the keypad on the ship’s radio and waited. “It’s ringing. I’m off for a coffee.”
“Good morning,” came the voice. “Roses in Bloom. Make her happy, order today for tomorrow. Jacob Van Tonder speaking. How may I help?”
“Hi, Jacob, Petros. Roses in Bloom?”
“Petros, hello. It’s been a few years. Roses are my business. Thanks to you and Bear, I have hundreds of acres growing and blooming. You want red roses in the Falklands, I’ll have them there tomorrow. At a price, of course. You’re not ringing about roses, are you?”
Petros explained his situation.
“No problem. I’ll have a car waiting and first class flights arranged to Heathrow. I can’t, for the love of me, remember when the next flight leaves but you can stay at my place. I have an excellent communications network with visuals so you can contact home. It’ll be good to see you both.”
“If you’re the owner, Jacob, how come you’re answering the phone?”
“In my company everyone works, including me. My rota of out-of-hours-staff includes me. When on duty I take orders and get them dispatched before the sun rises. I earn a lot of money by making it happen.”
“You’re one of the best, Jacob. See you tomorrow.” The connection went dead, filling the small compartment with static.
Petros attempted to contact Maria on her mobile but the screen indicated no signal. He was disappointed, but he found Sandy who initiated a call to his mother in Cyprus.
“Where are you?”
“Mama, how’s Maria?”
“Alysa Zena Kyriades is fine. She’s under-weight but the doctor doesn’t see any problems.”
His face lit up. “A girl! I have a daughter. Wow. How’s Maria? Were you there?”
Petros’s mother chuckled. “Son, everything is fine. Don’t ring Maria. She’s tired and besides, I have her mobile.”
“My friend Jacob’s arranging our flights to Heathrow. As soon as I know, I’ll ring you. Okay?”
“I’ll have your father at the airport waiting.”
“Thanks, Mama. Ring me if there’re any problems with Maria or Alysa?”
“Stop worrying. Maria’s fine and so’s your daughter.”
“Okay, talk soon. ’Bye.”
Petros found Sandy, this time in the officers’ lounge. “I’m expecting a few more calls.”
“No problem, mate. When I receive them, I’ll let you know sharpish. Must dash. The old man wants the daily signals sent.”
“Morning, PK,” said Bear, as he entered the lounge. “How’s Maria?”
“I have a daughter.” A smile filled Petros’s face. “Her name’s Alysa. Maria’s fine. My mum’s taken away her mobile so she’s not disturbed.”
Bear slapped him hard on the back. “Congratulations, Dad. Never thought I’d hear myself saying that. Your mum’s sensible. Let Maria rest. I’m going to check out breakfast.”
Sandy rushed in. “Petros. I’ve a message from a Mr Jacob. Flight booked from Luanda to Heathrow on Saturday. Departure seventeen hundred hours, cost eight thousand pounds for two tickets.”
“Thanks, Sandy.”
“No problem, mate.” He turned on his heel and left.
“Eight grand?” said Bear. “Hope that’s first class.”
“If it isn’t, I’ll want a refund. Anyway, today’s Thursday, we arrive in Luanda sometime tomorrow so we’ll be spending the night at Jacob’s farm.”
“That’s sounds like a bloody large hangover, PK. That sod can drink for Africa.”
“At least we’ll eat well,” said Petros.
Bear’s eyes flashed. “Yeah, I bet he does a mean barbecue.”
Throughout the day, Petros wandered back and forth to the radio room until Sandy turned to him. “Petros, relax. Grab a chair and sit on the back end. I’ll tell you if there’re any messages. Trust me.”
Petros smiled, walked aft and found a chair. With little sleep he struggled to stay awake. The motion of the ship calmed and sleep overtook him.
“PK, wake up,” said Bear a little later, as he handed over the message.
Petros scanned the sheet of paper. “I must call Maria.”
“And I thought officers could read. She left the hospital number and asked you to call her when we arrive in Luanda. Plain English, PK. Comprende?” Bear wandered to the stern rail. The sun in its final moments cast a red glow over the sky from under the horizon. “Tomorrow, PK, tomorrow. It’s time for supper. Shift your arse and have a shower. See you in the mess.”
“Yes, Sir,” Petros replied, giving a mock salute.
The meal finished, those not on watch slept soundly in their bunks. Sandy placed one more call for Petros.
At the end of the call, Petros smiled at Sandy. “I promise you I won’t get you out of bed.”
Sandy shook hi
s head. “No problem, mate. The Officer of the Watch will monitor incoming messages. If it’s important, he’ll wake you. Goodnight, see you at breakfast.”
Petros peeked at his watch. It was time to sleep.
Chapter Four
“Stop engines,” said the captain. He turned to Petros. “Any closer and the port authorities will have the right to inspect my ship. The third mate will take you into the main harbour by boat and drop you at the steps near the customs office.” He paused. “Don’t suppose I’ll ever see you again. I must say I enjoyed operating a makeshift aircraft carrier. Take care.”
“Thanks, Captain,” said Petros “In particular, saving me from a watery grave.”
He grinned. “Glad I haven’t lost my touch.”
“Captain, I’ve seen you every day. And your uniform is always spotless.”
“Not a problem. I have a Chinese deckhand who washes and presses my clothes and I add a few hours overtime to his work card.”
“Your own flunky.”
“Being the boss has its perks.”
Bear tapped his friend on the shoulder. “PK, the boat’s waiting. Captain, please thank your cook. His grub beats those so-called celebrity chefs.”
With bags slung across their shoulders they shook hands with Eachan. Both descended the temporary ladder and clambered onto the small motor-driven lifeboat that bobbed in the Atlantic rollers.
Bob Hinchcliffe waited until both men sat safely in the stern before casting off the bow line and heading for shore. The fibreglass bow of the eight metre craft carved a path through the swell, rolling and climbing before sliding into the next trough. He chuckled to himself as they closed the harbour entrance.
“What’s so funny?” asked Petros.
Bob checked his direction before speaking.
“Nothing, except not so long ago this harbour transported slaves to Brazil. Today it’s one of the busiest in Africa. You can wait days to unload and if you miss your slot you’re in deep shit with your owners.”
With care, he avoided the port water traffic and gently nudged the craft alongside stone steps leading to the main quay. “Here you are, guys. Watch your footing. Those steps look dodgy.”
Petros and Bear stepped ashore and waved farewell. Bob manoeuvred the craft and pointed it towards the open sea. Its bow rose and fell as the unforgiving Atlantic clutched the hull.
A sign for the Port Authority indicated the way. Dredgers moved as snails across the harbour removing the silt deposited by the river. Forklift trucks loaded with crates danced back and forth, in and out of an endless line of warehouses. Cranes stood like storks and pecked at the vast holds of ships. Boats, ships and barges gave this busy port life.
A car horn sounded. “About time,” came a voice from behind them.
Both men turned and smiled at the white-haired, slender-built Jacob Van Tonder as he leant against the side of a highly polished 2009 Range Rover. His lightweight beige suit, light blue shirt and straw fedora presented the perfect image of a colonial. They greeted as long lost friends.
“Looks like your new life agrees with you,” said Petros.
“Thanks to you and Bear.” Jacob turned and shouted, “Samuel.”
A light-skinned young man stopped talking to four dockworkers and strolled towards them. “Are these your associates, Jacob?”
“Samuel, meet Petros and Bear.”
He held out his hand and both men shook it warmly.
“I am, for my sins, the principle customs officer of this port. Follow me and we’ll complete the paperwork.”
They left Jacob and walked towards the customs office.
“Your English is perfect,” said Petros. “Where did you learn it?”
“Five years at Oxford. I received a first in English literature after which I spent three years at the London School of Economics. I returned home and had to speak Portuguese. Here we are.” He pushed open a white-painted door and led them along a passage to an office at the end. “Moses, give these men a two day pass, and stamp their passports.”
A black man in his late fifties lifted his head and studied Petros and Bear and then looked at Samuel. “Yes, Sir. If they would care to wait outside my office I’ll deal with them in due time.”
Petros and Bear gazed at each other and started to walk away when Samuel’s fist slammed the top of the desk.
“You’ll do it as a favour to me, your superior.”
Moses smiled. “Precisely my intention, sir. I merely wanted them to wait outside for a minute or two while I complete the paperwork you wanted. Please, gentlemen, your passports.”
After a cursory check, Moses stamped them. Inside the back page of each, he inserted a pink coloured pass.
“Enjoy your stay in our country, gentlemen. Any problems, I am always here.”
“Right, let’s find Jacob and I’ll see you both at dinner tonight,” said Samuel. “I understand he’s killed the fatted calf.”
“Thanks,” said Jacob. “Your help will not go unrewarded.” He turned to Petros and Bear. “Dump your bags in the back. My farm’s a good hour from here. Relax and enjoy the drive.”
“Jacob, do you bribe everyone?” asked Bear.
“Survival is the name of the game. Without money changing hands, my roses might suddenly be left in a wagon that should have arrived at the airport hours ago. Of course the company would apologise and I’d sue for damages. In a hundred years, I might receive compensation. Yes, a few well placed coins are essential.”
* * *
“We’re nearly there,” said Jacob as the car smoothly dealt with a tight bend and a splendid example of an old colonial house came into view. “Wonderful, isn’t it? When I bought it, a million rats lived here. It took an army of men three years to complete the work.”
The white paintwork glistened in the sun as icing sugar on a cake. Gardens of lush green lawns with beds full of roses met the edge of the gravel drive that led to the house.
“Grab your own bags, guys. I don’t squander money on servants. Everyone who works for me gets paid not to lick my arse. There’s one woman I favour, my house manager, and when you’ve tasted her cooking you’ll know why. Your rooms are upstairs, on the left. Take your pick, there’re ten. My room’s the last one. If you want something to eat, ask Mary. Otherwise, my house is yours. I’ve a couple of things to take care of – see you at dinner.”
They waited until the car left the driveway.
“Big,” said Bear, staring at the house. “I wonder where his family is.”
“Gentlemen, I can help. I am Mary.”
In front of them stood a striking long-limbed, dark-skinned woman in her early forties. Her black hair glistened in the sunlight. Secure in the knowledge of her position, a simple confidence radiated from her.
“Our rooms, please,” said Petros.
Mary beckoned and they followed up the gently winding staircase to the upper floor.
“You, please.” She opened the door and pointed to Bear, before walking on to the next door. “You, please.”
Right away Petros picked up the phone to contact Maria. He got through on the fourth attempt. Conversation became difficult as the line had an echo.
“I’d better go,” said Maria. “Your daughter’s testing out her lungs. She needs feeding. Love you. See you tomorrow.”
He replaced the receiver and lay on the bed. It seemed so large after the bunks on the ship. A knock on the door distracted his thoughts.
Jacob stuck his head around the door. “Dinner’s at eight on the veranda. Samuel has a problem with a container ship.” He laughed. “Half a dozen containers fell into the harbour and are causing him problems.”
After a shave and a shower, Petros joined Jacob and Bear. Sunset approached, and in a few minutes the night tumbled its dark curtain across the sky.
“White or red?”
“Red,” said Petros.
Jacob filled a large crystal glass almost to the brim.
“Get that down – you’ll
enjoy it.”
“All he wants to do is get home and see his new baby,” said Bear.
“And so he should,” said Jacob. “My wife’s visiting the grandchildren in England so for a few months I’m on my own. Anyhow, a few glasses of this lovely red won’t go amiss. Your flight’s at five tomorrow afternoon and Mary will cook you breakfast when you want it. So you can lie in bed or lounge round the pool to your heart’s content.”
Mary served the oversized T-bone steaks on individual platters. The roast potatoes and other fresh vegetables were arranged in red painted bowls in the centre of the round oak table.
“Is there enough, Bear?” asked Jacob. “I can always order another steak.”
“One more would satisfy my hunger pangs, Jacob. Thanks.”
Jacob smiled and shook his head in amusement. “I’ll go and tell Mary you love her cooking so much you’ll eat another steak.”
“I’ve known you for years, Bear,” said Petros, “and I still don’t know how you can eat so much.”
Bear beamed and carved a hunk of meat from the bone. “Practice.”
The meal over, the three men chatted and drank until the moon cast dark shadows over the veranda.
Jacob checked the time and stood. “I’ve work tomorrow. I need my sleep. You two can finish the bottle. See you in the morning. By the way, trunks and towels are in the pool house.” He strolled inside, leaving his guests to their wine.
“Better do as we’re told. I think there’s enough left to fill our glasses once more,” said Bear.
* * *
Petros slept well that night and woke in high spirits. He stared out of the window, stretched and yawned. The sunlight bounced off the Olympic-sized pool’s surface and promised a hot day. He wandered down to the pool where a tanned woman was swimming. For a few minutes Mary’s perfect style fascinated him. Turning he went into the pool house.
Inside, he found the trunks and towels. He waited for Mary to finish a length before he dived in and swam underwater to the other end. On surfacing, he took a deep breath and to his surprise discovered an empty pool.