Fever
Page 52
In May in the Year of the Lion a vibration rippling through the steel hull woke me. I opened my eyes, and saw my mother sitting at the table. I smelled coffee, the divine aroma of coffee.
And I asked my mother what’s doing that? And she said it’s the ship’s engines.
‘Where’s Sofia?’ I asked.
‘Come on.’ She led me out of the cabin. I felt the ship moving under my feet.
We walked down the passage and out onto deck. The day was dawning over Table Mountain. We were in the Duncan Dock of Cape Town harbour.
My mother pointed at the concrete dock, beside the cranes. There was the helicopter, its propeller turning, engine whining. ‘There she is. In the helicopter. They’re taking her back to Wupperthal,’ my mother said.
I stared at the helicopter. A thousand thoughts ran through my mind.
I hugged my mother. I held her very tight.
Sofia Bergman
They blindfolded me. They just led me to the helicopter, and told me to get in, and I asked them, ‘But where’s Nico?’ And a guy said, ‘He won’t be joining you.’ I dug in my heels and said they couldn’t do that, and the guy, one of the grey men, said to me, ‘But he wants to go, miss.’
And I said, ‘I don’t believe you,’ and I started to feel afraid. What would they do to Nico? I got angry too, and I bumped into the grey man, on purpose, and I rubbed my head against his chest, hard, because I wanted to get the blindfold off, and I did. Suddenly I could see everything, and it took my breath away. We were in Cape Town, at the harbour, Table Mountain was here, right in front of me, so beautiful! And there was a ship, a big ship just leaving, and there were cranes and a few trucks and the helicopter, and six grey men. One of them grabbed me to put the blindfold back on, but the main guy said, ‘Too late, just leave it.’
I said, ‘I want to speak to Nico,’ and he just shrugged and said, ‘Please get in. I’ll try to get him on the radio. He’s on that ship.’
Now, understand I knew nothing. All I knew was that it was dawn, we were in Cape Town, and Nico was there on the ship and he wanted to leave. What could I do? So I climbed into the helicopter. And they started the helicopter, and one of the grey men nudged me, and pointed, and there on the ship I saw Nico standing with a woman. It must have been sixty metres, but I could see the woman was familiar, and the helicopter engines made a terrific racket and it began to move. I kept staring at the woman, why did she look so familiar, and then I knew: it was the woman in the photo. I couldn’t believe it. I thought, okay, I understand, I understand, I don’t know why she’s there, I don’t know why they’re on a ship, but I understand. His father is dead, and he found his mother, I understand. I really badly want to be with him, I love him, my heart hurts so much. But I understand.
The ship was moving, I watched it edge away from the quay.
And I waved to him, I waved at Nico, and the man said, ‘He can’t see you, miss.’ But I kept waving, and the helicopter rose up, beside the crane, and I looked at Nico and his mother, I saw Nico hug his mother and hold her tight. And then I started crying. And through my tears I saw the ship moving further and further from the quay, and we rose higher and higher, and then I saw Nico jump into the water, he just dived off the ship, and he swam to the quay. And I called to the grey men, I said, look there, look there!
The helicopter just flew on.
And then the helicopter turned. And went to fetch Nico.
Chapter 120
The beginning
We remember the moments of fear, loss and humiliation best.
I remember what it felt like to hug my mother tight. I remember the cool of the morning, the sea breeze, the ship’s deck vibrating, the dampness of my mother’s tears.
I told her: ‘Ma, you know where to find me. But I have to go back to my family. To my blood brother Okkie, and my stepmom Beryl, and my sister Birdy and my uncles Nero Dlamini and Sarge X, Ravi Pillay and Hennie Fly. And my comrades in the Spotters. And my future wife, Sofia.’
Ma sobbed on my chest, but she nodded. She said, ‘I know where to find you.’
I held her tight, and the ship moved further from the quay, and she said, ‘You better hurry.’
I still wanted to tell her there were secrets to unravel, about spies, and the Sales Club, and a pastor in New Jerusalem, but there wasn’t time for that. I had to jump.
I also wanted to tell her I was my mother’s child. But I was also my father’s child. And that made me very proud.
I wanted to tell her Pa told me the origins of the word ‘fever’ go all the way back to the ancient Indian word jvárati which can also mean ‘he glows’.
As I was, at that instant. I was glowing and burning with pain and loss, I was glowing with longing for my father, and for Domingo, and for a world without the Fever. But I was glowing with knowledge, and anticipation for what lay ahead, the adventures to come.
Acknowledgements
Fever took four years of research and writing, and from start to finish it was an enriching experience – especially thanks to the many people who generously and patiently shared their knowledge, insight, imagination and time. I am for ever indebted to them. Any errors and omissions in this book are mine alone. The rest is due to their unselfishness. Many, many thanks to:
My agent, Isobel Dixon, and publisher, Dr Etienne Bloemhof, who provided more support and advice than ever, especially because Fever ranges a bit beyond my usual subject area. Hester Carstens of NB Publishers had outstanding editorial advice. I am incredibly privileged to work with them.
Professor Wolfgang Preiser, head of the Division of Medical Virology, Department of Pathology at the University of Stellenbosch. I asked him to design a virus, and not only did he assist enthusiastically, he enrolled the help of Professor Richard Tedder of University College London. It was an honour!
Cliff Lotter, my good friend for forty-five years, the best pilot I know, and a researching writer’s dream when it comes to anything to do with aeroplanes.
The formidable and brilliant Dave Pepler, formerly associated with the Department of Conservation Ecology, University of Stellenbosch. I will for ever remember our discussions about dogs, crows, sheep and the Cederberg in a post-apocalyptic world.
Anton-Louis Olivier, for the extremely valuable information about South Africa’s well-known and lesser-known hydro-electric turbines and volt regulators. Cairistine ‘Birdy’ Canary and I and the community of Amanzi will always be grateful to you.
The real Cairistine Canary, for permission to use her wonderful name and surname.
Nathan Trantraal, for permission to quote from his work.
Laura Seegers and all my other translators, who each in their own way make a contribution to my books, as well as the proof readers, Liesl Roodt, Annie Klopper and Marette Vorster, for their eagle eyes.
Many thanks too for your endless patience and support, Marianne Vorster, Lida Meyer, Johan Meyer, Marette Vorster, Hannes Vorster and Bekker Vorster.
For the people whose names were lost between notes, digital notes and dropped phone calls: many thanks!
Bibliography
Apps, Peter (ed.), Smithers’ Mammals of Southern Africa – A Field Guide, Struik, Cape Town, 2000
Dartnell, Lewis, The Knowledge: How to Rebuild Our World From Scratch, Penguin Press, New York, 2014
Harari, Yuval Noah, Sapiens – A Brief History of Humankind, Vintage Books, London, 2014
Homer, Trevor, The Book of Origins, Plum, London, 2007
O’Leary, Joe, The Wilderness Survival Guide, Watkins Publishing, London, 2010
Sheridan, Sam, The Disaster Diaries, Penguin Books, New York, 2013
Sherwood, Ben, The Survivors Club – The Secrets and Science that Could Save Your Life, Penguin Books, London, 2010
Shorto, Russel, Amsterdam – A History of the World’s Most Liberal City, Doubleday, New York, 2013
Vosloo, Hein, African Survival, Survival X-pert Events, Johannesburg, 2010
Weisman, Alan, The World Wit
hout Us, Virgin Books, London, 2007
http://www.flyingmag.com/pilot-reports/pistons/cessna-172td-skyhawk-bang
https://www.psychologytoday.com/blog/the-camouflage-couch/201008/criminal-behavior-is-not-symptom-ptsd
http://discovermagazine.com/2005/feb/earth-without-people
http://www.netwerk24.com/Nuus/Eerste-aanleg-vir-hidro-krag-byna-klaar-20141224
http://io9.com/everything-you-need-to-know-to-rebuild-civilization-fro-1566170266
http://www.qsl.net/w5www/qcode.html
http://www.news24.com/Columnists/AndreasSpath/how-global-warming-is-pummelling-the-oceans-20160208
http://www.survival-manual.com/gas-to-alcohol-conversion.php
http://www.popularmechanics.com/outdoors/survival/tips/how-to-survive-absolutely-anything-15341044
http://www.buzzfeed.com/tomchivers/how-come-no-one-mentioned-evolution-by-naturalselection
http://kitchenette.jezebel.com/if-we-dont-cut-back-on-eating-meat-were-screwed-1710769158
http://en.wikipediaorg/wiki/Immortality_Drive
http://www.theguardian.com/books/2015/sep/25/industrial-farming-one-worst-crimes-history-ethical-question
https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/John_Bowlby
http://www.theguardian.com/commentisfree/2014/sep/02/limits-to-growth-was-right-new-research-shows-were-nearing-collapse
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https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/List_of_South_African_provinces_by_population_density
http://www.theguardian.com/environment/earth-insight/2014/mar/14/nasa-civilisation-irreversible-collapse-study-scientists
http://www.netwerk24.com/Stemme/Nathan-Trantaal/nathan-trantraal-uber-atheist-is-soos-om-n-liverpool-fan-te-haat-20151119
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Glossary
Aerie – Slang for ‘aeroplane’.
Bakkie – Afrikaans for ‘pick-up truck’.
Blikslater – Softer version of the mild Afrikaans profanity ‘bliksem’, used as an adverb: ‘You blikslater = ‘you bastard’. Or an exclamation or adjective (‘Damn!’ or ‘damned’).
Dassie /Dassies – small, furry animal found in the western semi-desert region of South Africa called the ‘Karoo’. English name: Cape hyrax.
Donga – South African English for a gully, or gulch.
Duiker/s – small African antelope.
Jakkalsdraffie – ‘Jakkals’ = ‘jackal’. ‘Draffie’ = ‘to jog’. It refers to the way the African jackal jogs through the veld, an effortless gait.
Jinne – Jeez (as in much softer version of the exclamation Jesus!) (Afrikaans.)
Jissie – Jeez (as in much softer version of the exclamation Jesus!) (Afrikaans.)
Kinta – Slang for ‘child’.
Klipspringer – small African antelope. English name: African chamois.
Koeksisters – Traditional South African sweet treat – dough fried in oil, and dipped in syrup.
Koppie – Afrikkaans for a small hill.
Kudu – Magnificent African antelope.
Kwaai – Mostly used in slang form to indicate coolness, it is an Afrikaans word with a very wide application. Literally meaning someone who is hot-tempered, bad-tempered, ill-natured, harsh or severe, it is also often used as an exclamation: ‘Kwaai!’ = “Cool!’ (or ‘Heavy!’).
Lapa – A popular South African structure, usually consisting of a thatched roof supported by wooden poles. Lapas are commonly used as semi-open entertainment areas, a variant of the widely known gazebo.
Lieplapper / maaifoedie / skarminkel – Cape Afrikaans slang for a never-do-well, a rascal, an unstrustowrthy or criminal person.
Rooijakkals – red jackal.
Roosterkoek – griddle bread. Bread baked on the griddle over coals, popular at barbecues.
Scheme (vb) – ‘I scheme’ = I think, I reckon’ . . .
Sjoe – ‘Wow’. (Afrikaans.) With wide, broad application.
Spaza shop – general dealer in an African township, a small supermarket.
Steenbuck – small African antelope.
Witblits – South African home-made vodka, or moonshine.
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1
The moment before the clergyman folded back the carton flaps the world stood still and she saw everything with a greater clarity. The robust man in his middle years had a diamond-shaped birthmark on his cheek that looked like a distorted pale rose teardrop. His face was angular and strong, his thinning hair combed back, his hands massive and rough, like those of a boxer. The books behind him covered the whole wall in a mosaic of alternating colours. The late afternoon Free State sun threw a shaft of light onto the desktop, a magic sunbeam across the box.
She pressed her hands lightly against the coolness of her bare knees. Her hands were perspiring, her eyes searching for clues in the slightest shift of his expression, but she saw only calm, perhaps some suppressed, benign curiosity about the content of the carton. In the moment before he lifted the flaps, she tried to see herself as he saw her – evaluate the impression she was trying to create. The shops in town had been no help; she had to use what she had. Her hair was long, straight and clean, the multicoloured blouse sleeveless; a shade too tight, perhaps, for this occasion, for him? A white skirt that had shifted up to just above her knees as she sat down. Her legs were smooth and lovely. White sandals. Little gold buckles. Her toenails unpainted, of that she had made sure. Just a single ring, a thin gold band on her right hand. Her make-up was light, delicately downplaying the fullness of her mouth.
Nothing to betray her. Apart from her eyes and her voice.
He lifted the flaps, one after the other, and she realised she was sitting on the edge of the armchair, leaning forward. She wanted to lean back, but not now, she must wait for his reaction.
The last flap was folded back, the box open.
‘Liewe Genade,’ he said in Afrikaans and half rose to his feet. Sweet Mercy.
He looked at her, but he seemed not to see her and his attention returned to the contents of the box. He thrust one of his big hands in, took something out and held it up to the sun.
‘Sweet mercy,’ he repeated with his hands in front of him. His fingers felt for authenticity.
She sat motionless. She knew his reaction would determine everything. Her heart thumped, she could even hear it.
He replaced the object in the carton, retracted his hands, leaving the flaps open. He sat again, taking a deep breath as if he wanted to compose himself and then looked up at her. What was he thinking? What?
Then he pushed the carton to one side, as if he didn’t want it to come between them.
She nodded. She had been there – to take his measure. To see if she would be recognised. But it was impossible, since she had attracted so much attention anyway – strange young woman in a small town church. He preached well, with compassion, with love in his voice, not so dramatic and formal as the ministers of her youth. When she walked out of the church she was certain it was right to come here. But now she wasn’t so sure ... He seemed upset.
‘I ...’ she said, her thoughts scrambling for the right words.
He leaned towards her. He needed an explanation; that she well understood. His arms and hands made a straight line on the edge of the desk, from elbow to interlinked fingers flat on the desk. He was wearing a formal shirt unbuttoned at the neck, light blue with a faint red stripe. His sleeves were rolled up, forearms hairy where the sun caught them. From outside came the sounds of a weekday afternoon in a small town – the Sotho people greeting one another across the breadth of the street, the municipal tractor accelerating duh-duh-duh up to the garage, the cicadas, the clanging beat of a hammer alternating with the mindless barking of two dogs.
‘There’s a lot I have to tell you,’ she said, and her voice sounded small and lost.
At last he moved, his hands folded open.
‘I hardly know where to start.’
‘Begin at the beginning,’ he said softly, and she was grateful for the empathy.
‘The beginning,’ she approved, voice gaining strength. Her fingers gathered the long blonde hair from where it hung over her shoulder and tossed it back with a rhythmic, practised motion.