At the Edge of the Desert Page 4

  Will and I began stacking loose timber into a stone bowl that was a bit like a giant egg with its top lopped off, which Shane had cemented to the floor-tiles.

  ‘You’re wanting to barbecue on this thing?’ Will said cautiously.

  ‘No, this’ll keep us warm. We’ll sit around it. After we get it started, we’ll light the braai.’

  My thighs ached – cramps from treading water with Jago yesterday – every time I crouched. The wood was dry and caught immediately. To prevent Will from tinkering with the infant flames I ushered him to the braai and showed him how to ball up sheets of newspaper.

  ‘Not any time soon, if I can help it,’ he said after I inquired when he was going back to England. ‘We hope to live here permanently. In fact, we’ve been here a couple years already. I’ve pretty much emigrated. Well, not officially, but I’m certainly not going back to the UK. We only went this time because we finally exchanged on our London house. And now that we’ve sold up, our ties to that country are thankfully almost cut. We left a few bits and pieces with your sister for safekeeping, but we’re off to Harmony in the morning.’ He was twisting the newspaper tighter than necessary, but I didn’t stop him. ‘I’m not sure if Lucia’s mentioned it to you, but I tried seeing you before I flew out. I’ve been hoping to speak to you since your return to Lüderitz.’

  I waited for him to continue.

  ‘Oh, it’s not important,’ he said. ‘I just need your help, that’s all, but we can chat later.’

  Amanda came out with a bottle of wine, and a glass of orange juice for Will. ‘You’ve heard the other versions of this song?’ she said brightly because ‘Sinnerman’ was playing again, if somewhat heckled by an insistent newsreader. Lucia always kept her kitchen radio tuned to BBC World Service, and she must have upped its volume because I caught snatches of the news.

  ‘It’s a negro spiritual,’ Amanda continued. ‘There are loads of earlier attempts by white Americans, most of them truly awful, but Simone’s is the best. Someone who can orchestrate this sublime piece has got to be a genius. Deserved every award going. The way she plays the piano makes me want to cry. She also moved to Africa.’

  ‘After Amanda first visited Namibia a few years ago, this country was all she could talk about,’ Will said between sips before resuming his newspaper torture. ‘And when I set foot on this soil I understood precisely what she’d been on about.’

  ‘Will tells me you’re emigrating,’ I said.

  ‘I think it’s a bit soon to decide on something as important as emigration,’ she replied as she picked up my wine glass that I’d left near the burning egg. ‘Your drink now or later?’

  ‘Let’s light the braai first.’

  She set the glass down, and scratched her nails with her thumb, as if attempting to peel an orange, as she came to us.

  ‘Were you just saying that you’ve been wanting to meet Henry?’ she asked her husband.

  ‘No,’ he replied. ‘I mean yes. I said I went over to Henry’s place a few weeks ago, but he wasn’t in. It’s a lovely little house.’

  She turned to me: ‘That’s the blue house you inherited from the woman you call your aunt?’

  I was surprised by her abrupt question.

  ‘Your parents worked for her?’ she clarified. ‘Or did I misunderstand their relationship?’

  Will touched her arm.

  ‘What?’ she said. ‘I’m simply trying to understand.’

  He busied himself with the newspaper so as not to look at her.

  ‘Oh, do hurry up with this fire, Will,’ she said. ‘I’m starving and I’ve already had a glass with Lucia because you’re out here distracting Henry.’

  I ripped open the bag of charcoal my sister had left out for me, and emptied it over the wood and newspaper while Will took Amanda to the egg, where they spoke in low voices. As the dust settled, I lit the newspaper balls. Without looking at the Brits, I said, ‘It might be an African thing, calling family friends “auntie” or “uncle”? But it’s my house now.’ I corrected myself: ‘Ours. Lucia’s and mine.’

  ‘Henry, I want to ask you about Lüderitz’s architecture,’ Will called. ‘Amanda says the houses are Bavarian.’

  ‘Jugendstil,’ I replied, spelling the word for him. ‘German art nouveau. It’s more restrained than the French version. Less curvaceous. Although German-colonial art nouveau is probably more accurate. Maybe African German-colonial art nouveau?’

  ‘It doesn’t look very art nouveau to me,’ he said.

  They brought me my wine and stood on either side of me.

  ‘Namibia …’ Will said as the paper caught. ‘You should make a documentary about this town.’ His voice grew soft and small as if belonging to a child: ‘If it wasn’t for Lüderitz, who knows? I think it’s saved my life.’

  We had to move our chairs away from the egg because the explosive pops threatened to shower us with burning cinders. I licked my thumb, holding it in front of my face, but the old superstition wasn’t deterring any smoke tonight.

  ‘Ah, the smell of deforestation …’ I said.

  Amanda wanted to know more about Shane so I explained that we’d met on the varsity waterpolo team. ‘He met Lucia through me,’ I said. ‘And he eventually moved up to Lüderitz because he was too adventurous for the law.’ I called out to my sister, who was still inside, for more drinks.

  She ran out with a fresh bottle of wine and jug of water. She said, ‘Uncork and pour, boytjie,’ and the smell of pepper and marinade lingered in the air after she’d returned to the kitchen. Judging from the disgust on Amanda’s face, she was horrified by the interaction.

  ‘You could have fetched that yourself, you know,’ she said.

  ‘Lucia doesn’t allow me in her kitchen when she’s busy,’ I responded while searching the floor around me to avoid her glare. I found the missing corkscrew under my chair. ‘But you’ll have some of this patriarchal wine, Amanda?’

  She smiled weakly but nevertheless held out her glass for me to fill.

  ‘Water for me,’ Will said.

  ‘Cool,’ I said.

  ‘You’ve been here all your life?’ Amanda said after a sip.

  ‘Yes, I’m a born-and-bred Buchter.’

  ‘Lucia says you spent time in Jo’burg. I’d have thought there were more opportunities down there.’

  ‘Well, there’s not a helluva lot of work in Lüderitz, but I prefer it here. So much better than Jo’burg. I get homesick. And I miss my sister’s braais. It’s a nice life in the Bucht, so long as I have something to help take the edge off. Some guys prefer to fish, but that doesn’t interest me. I need something a little bit stronger. That, and solitude to help me concentrate.’

  ‘Lucia tells me she wants you to help out at her charity. Something about showing children how to make a film, I think.’

  ‘I’ll have to speak to her about that. You know more about her plans than I do.’

  Amanda had volunteered at the Benguela Trust a few years ago, which was how she met my sister. ‘Back then Will was sorting out his life, and I had to escape London. I prefer sustainable holidays – where my money goes to the local community – which is how I found the Trust. I packed a suitcase full of books and spent two weeks teaching local children how to read. It’s probably the most fulfilling thing I’ve ever done. And because of our upset back in London, I began toying with the idea of moving here permanently.’

  ‘You enjoy volunteering?’ I said.

  ‘So rewarding. Unfortunately I’m too busy to help your sister, but I’d love to. To tell the truth, the only thing I don’t like about Lüderitz is the interminable wind. As our plane veered all over the runway today, I thought: Has it always been this strong?’

  I excused myself to check the fire, leaving the Brits to talk.

  ‘Henry, have you returned to Lüderitz for good?’ Amanda said after a while.

  ‘Not permanently, I don’t think. I’d love to live somewhere exotic like London or Berlin, though I’ll need to m
arry for an EU passport. I’d imagine that Europe is better for getting ahead in the arts. Especially when it comes to networking.’ My thoughts turned to Jago – glad he wasn’t hearing any of this.

  ‘It sounds to me like you’re better off in Lüderitz,’ she said as she poured the last of the wine.

  ‘I’m left to do my own thing, I agree. And I don’t have to worry about competition: there are hardly any other Namibian filmmakers, and this country has so many stories to tell. But there’s no money in it, if I’m honest. Money’s my biggest problem. And not much of an audience … but I probably shouldn’t complain.’

  ‘It’s so quiet here,’ Will said. ‘I can almost feel this place holding its breath. As if it’s waiting for something to happen.’

  ‘That’s part of the problem,’ I said, and sat down again.

  ‘Namibia’s wonderful,’ he said. ‘Peaceful. Safe. A blank canvas. But there are times when it makes me somewhat uneasy.’

  Perhaps sensing that I might want to call my sister for more wine, Amanda went to fetch another bottle. Will moved nearer to me and the egg. Although the house protected us from the wind, the air was cold. He covered himself with the blanket and lay back in his chair to get a better look at the night sky.

  I decided not to ask what he’d wanted to speak to me about because I was wary of scaring him off. In my experience, people invariably spilt the beans with silent coaxing and attention.

  He said, ‘Lucia’s told me about your apartheid documentaries.’

  ‘Documentary singular: my only baby. I’m working on baby number two.’

  ‘Did your firstborn make much money?’

  ‘I’m self-funded, which, I guess, is another way of saying no. Unfortunately I’ve chosen a high-risk, low-return career. But I get by with small projects. Weddings, that sort of thing.’ I didn’t go into details about the grant I’d been awarded a few years ago, or my sister’s generosity. Instead I returned to the braai to hold my palm over the mesh and gauge the temperature. The radio grew louder in the kitchen.

  I said, ‘Do you mind if we talk about something else? I’ve been at my computer all day and my brain feels like it’s—’

  ‘Going to explode?’

  ‘Ja, I s’pose. So what are you doing in Lüderitz?’

  ‘I guess I’m here to change the world,’ he said with a laugh. ‘Or a small part of it …’ His voice trailed off because of the distracting news reports. ‘Something’s happened, don’t you think?’

  Amanda was covering her mouth with her hand when we entered the kitchen.

  ‘They’ve hit Paris again,’ she said.

  Will began asking questions but she shushed him because the reporter was talking. No one had claimed responsibility for the bomb. Many people dead. Four, no five confirmed. More expected. Gendarmes on the scene.

  ‘Do we know where?’ Will said when the reporter gave him a chance to speak.

  ‘Place de la République.’

  ‘Anywhere else?’

  ‘Not sure.’

  ‘Here we go again …’

  ‘I can’t believe they’re doing this,’ my sister said.

  The updates continued, and eventually Amanda turned down the volume because she said they were repeating themselves. ‘I don’t understand the urge to destroy,’ she said. ‘Religion has a lot to answer for.’

  ‘Religion?’ Will said.

  ‘It has everything to do with what’s going on over there. But the cops will root them out.’

  ‘Europe’s a police state,’ Will told me. ‘The governments are the real problem. One or two fanatics killing themselves along with a handful of unlucky people isn’t the problem. You know what? I’d almost encourage them to keep bombing if it means an end to government.’

  ‘That’s so inappropriate, Will,’ Amanda said. ‘I can’t believe you said that.’

  ‘They’ll burn Europe down no matter what I say. This is – what, the fourth time in as many months?’

  ‘I think so,’ I said.

  ‘Europe’s a continent of savages and it’s a good thing we’ve abandoned it. It’s more terrifying over there than you can imagine, Henry.’ I assumed he made a point of addressing his comment to me because his wife was ignoring him. ‘Only a matter of time before another war kicks off. But this one’ll involve everyone in the region. And with the Middle East becoming more authoritarian, they’ll join the fight. And America’s wall-to-wall Christian conservatives, tossers with bunkers, morons in the White House. I don’t know … an unhappy result no matter how you cut it. I’m glad we got out when we did.’

  ‘You say that like you had a choice,’ Amanda said.

  My sister had given up waiting. ‘I’m ready,’ she interrupted. ‘Henry, please start braaiing.’

  Will and Amanda continued their argument as I picked up a steel tray heavy with marinating crayfish. On my way out I mentioned to my sister that I’d go home after we’d eaten, and she smiled. If entertaining visitors made her happy, I was glad to share her with them, but I wasn’t sure how much British tetchiness I could tolerate. I needed to be fresh for Chesley’s wedding in the morning.

  The Brits were no longer talking to each other by the time my sister brought out the crockery and a punnet of halved lemons. We ate the crayfish off our laps while listening to the news. The death toll had risen to more than a dozen. Unconfirmed sources were saying that the bomber might be among the dead.

  ‘Good,’ Amanda said.

  Will began speaking with the radio still on; I couldn’t concentrate on both him and the news so I chose him. He said, ‘The West is being forced to choose between savagery, barbarity and civilisation. And civilisation, as you’re probably aware, is quite rubbish, so for some people it isn’t a difficult decision. Myself included.’

  ‘What do you mean?’ I said.

  ‘The whole thing needs to be rebooted.’

  ‘Because of one terrorist?’ Amanda said.

  ‘The problem isn’t him,’ Will said.

  ‘Or her.’

  ‘Or her. It’s civilisation. Capitalism. The inequalities underpinning society. And because capitalism does nothing to eliminate these inequalities’ – he corrected himself – ‘will never do anything to get rid of them, we should chuck the whole enterprise in the bin. If anything, it’s because capitalism demands poverty and inequality that people are trying to blow up the fucking state. And yet here we are wringing our hands: “How can this be? What do they want?” Mightn’t it be possible that disenfranchisement causes dissatisfaction? Capitalism, in its current form, is responsible for everything about this attack. But we accept capitalism without question – presumably because we assume that none of us will become impoverished. That it only ever happens to the unfortunate, the foreign, the lazy …’

  Amanda cut him off, he interrupted her. The bickering continued until I switched off the radio.

  ‘I guess you’re a socialist?’ I said to him.

  ‘God, no.’

  ‘You can theorise as much as you like, Will,’ Amanda said, ‘but terrorism isn’t acceptable.’

  ‘Perhaps …’

  ‘No. Never.’

  ‘Then let me put it this way,’ he said. ‘I understand why the superstructure wants us to believe that terrorism isn’t acceptable, but surely none of us is really surprised that it happens. We’re understandably appalled, but are we truly surprised?’

  His inability to read our mood – to sense his audience’s discomfort – fascinated me. If I could convince him to let me film him, I felt certain it’d make an interesting short. I’d always wanted to capture someone who believed they’d sussed the world, someone a bit mad, but until tonight I’d never met the right person.

  ‘You should tell Henry about Harmony,’ my sister said as if hoping to nudge the conversation away from terrorism.

  Amanda put her plate at her feet. ‘It’s little more than a retreat,’ she said somewhat sharply. ‘A few ideas to improve lives. I’d originally intended on …’
She paused, as if distracted. ‘I’m sorry. I’m exhausted.’

  Without prompting, Will told me about the piece of land just outside Lüderitz, on the road to Diaz Point, where they were building the first phase of ‘Harmony’. ‘We already have a dining space – a huge, light-filled emporium – and living quarters. We grow our own vegetables and generate electricity.’

  ‘You should drive out there,’ my sister suggested. ‘It’s really impressive.’

  ‘I was tired of living like a rat in the London maze,’ Will mused. ‘Waking up before six, rushing to the Underground where I’d squeeze myself into a carriage, get to the office before sunrise …’

  ‘That’s in winter,’ Amanda clarified. ‘Sun was always up in summer when I left home.’

  Will continued as if she hadn’t spoken: ‘Staring at screens … Rushing for sandwiches between meetings. Home after eight, nine o’clock, if I was lucky, with loads more work to do, and my evenings spent replying to emails or catching up with whatever I’d not had time to deal with in the day. Not forgetting the rubbish late-night conf calls with the US or early mornings on the phone with APAC. And then the alarm wakes me up again and I rush about. I was in that office most weekends, too. Not much of a life, is it?’

  ‘But don’t let’s forget your out-of-hours activity,’ Amanda said. ‘It doesn’t help if you’re burning the candle at both ends. I’d also blame a job that kept me awake during the day when I’d been on the piss the night before.’

  ‘Because I was doing something I despised. Day in, day out, just to make ends meet. I sat behind a desk that nearly killed me.’

  ‘Some people enjoy office work. I liked seeing my patients.’

  ‘I sat behind that desk—’

  ‘Let’s just agree that it was time for a change.’ Amanda addressed me: ‘The square mile wasn’t much suited to my husband’s personality.’

  ‘Well, it sounds like you made the right decision by coming to Namibia,’ I said. ‘Our country isn’t very nine-to-five.’

  ‘You make a difference with your work, don’t you, Luce?’ Amanda said to my sister, who’d fetched us blankets.

  ‘No zol tonight?’ I muttered as my sister gave me mine. I needed all the help I could get, but she ignored me.