Cut for Life

by Lucinda E Clarke

  She looked at her watch and reluctantly said it was time for her to leave. There were last minute hugs, kisses, hands held and unshed tears as they bid their final farewells.

  Amie glared at the carpet in the hallway as she made for the lifts, the swirling pattern blurred as she walked down the corridor. There would not be another chance to see them again, she was flying out the next day and if her story about meeting up with an old friend stood a chance of fooling the watchers, then it would look really suspicious if they spent more time cooped up in a hotel room. Old friends would be out for coffee, strolling through the mall, admiring the towering statue of Nelson Mandela in the square and raiding the boutiques.

  It was the right thing to do, she told herself. She’d not been planning to break the rules, it was pure fate. She was glad she’d put their minds at rest, even if they would worry about future dangers, for now they knew that her life had not been cut short at such an early age. Their daughter was still alive, and who knows what the future held for any of them?

  The dark-haired, blue-eyed European followed her when she left the hotel. She’d walked right past him, for the third time. Some spy she was, she wouldn’t notice him if she fell over him. This was going to be so easy.

  4 GOODBYE WAR AND PEACE

  The following morning Amie was up bright and early. Her heart ached as she showered, dressed in cargo pants, short-sleeved T-shirt and bush boots. Already she was missing her parents; so close to her yet so very far away. In some strange way she wished she hadn’t seen them. Wounds she thought had healed had been torn wide open. For a few brief hours she’d felt safe, loved and protected just as she had as a child, but the short interlude was over. It was time to face the realities of her new life. And, there was Simon, dear Simon, the knowledge he would be joining her soon made her heart beat faster.

  She switched on her new toy and the cursor winked at her instantly. That was fast, why couldn’t they make all computers ready for action immediately? Maddy had emailed her final instructions. She agreed they could switch to using Animal Farm but she wasn’t happy about that. Damn, she would have to race over to the mall bookstore and get a copy.

  She grabbed her bag and flew out the door. She checked her watch and nodded, she had an hour’s grace, and the shops should be open soon. She raced to the shopping mall, took a quick peep at the floor plan and trotted to the nearest book store, one of two, her fingers crossed. Here’s hoping, she thought.

  She stood fidgeting outside the shop. The second it opened she shot in between the rows of books before the assistant had time to latch back the glass doors. Fiction, classics, Amie murmured, scanning the shelves. Bronte, Dickens, Moliere, Shakespeare, but no Orwell. She ran her eye down the stack. No. Definitely no copy of Animal Farm and no War and Peace either. She scooted around the other shelves hoping it would appear under another genre, but she couldn’t find it.

  She dashed to the counter. “Excuse me,” she addressed the gum-chewing, bored-looking teenager who was browsing a fan magazine. She didn’t look too thrilled at being interrupted.

  The girl gazed blankly at her first customer of the day. “Yeah?”

  “Do you have a copy of Animal Farm?”

  The girl looked puzzled, her brows wrinkled. “No.”

  “Are you sure? It’s a classic, a very famous book. It’s by George Orwell.”

  “Who?”

  “George Orwell, he was a very famous writer.” Amie was about to reel off the titles of several more of his books, but the girl’s vacant expression told her she’d be wasting her words.

  “Oi! Thandi, this lady wants Animal Farm ...”

  Thandi popped out from a store room behind the counter. She had a bright smiley face and large liquid brown eyes that shone from her dark brown complexion. “Hello,” she greeted Amie with an even wider smile. “What book are you looking for?”

  “Animal Farm,” Amie told her.

  “What’s it about?” Thandi leaned on the counter next to her workmate.

  “Uh, well it’s about pigs on a farm and ...” Amie got no further.

  “Ah, it will be with the animal books.” Thandi looked thrilled she could help. “Follow me.” She stepped out and wandered between the high shelves before stopping at one labelled ANIMALS. “You can find it here,” she waved her hands like a magician conjuring up a bookcase out of thin air.

  Amie glanced at the titles and sighed. Animal Husbandry, How to Rear Cows, How to Care for Your Chihuahua. No, this wasn’t right.

  She shook her head. “These books are all non-fiction. Animal Farm is fiction.” She looked at her watch. 08.15.

  Thandi looked confused. “These not right?” She pulled out a book with several pigs on the cover. “This is about pigs, no?”

  Amie shook her head in frustration. “No, it’s a story – a story about pigs, not how to care for them and breed them. A story, you know, made up?” She glanced at her watch again. She had to hurry.

  Thandi looked quite crestfallen. “Oh,” she murmured, replacing the book.

  “Wait,” Amie took her arm. “Can you check for me on your computer, to see if you have it in stock?”

  Thandi shook her head. “No, we do not touch computer,” she announced firmly. “Mr Ramphul does that when he comes in.”

  “And what time does Mr Ramphul arrive?”

  Thandi shrugged. “Sometimes early, sometimes after lunch.”

  “Is there another bookshop in the mall?”

  The assistant’s face fell, she’d been so eager to help. “There is CNA.”

  “Thank you – very much, Thandi. Where is CNA? Which level?”

  Her big smile had disappeared but she walked Amie to the shop doorway and waving her arm to the right, indicated somewhere down the hallway. Her job done, she left Amie standing and disappeared back into the shop.

  Amie scurried along the wide marble hall, hoping and praying she wouldn’t bump into her parents again. Somehow a final leave taking in the middle of a semi-deserted shopping centre was not how she wanted to remember their last farewell. Perhaps she was being super paranoid, but she could never be certain if someone was watching her. A couple of times she’d felt she was being followed but put it down to her over active imagination.

  Once inside South Africa’s most famous chain of newsagents and bookstores, it took only a matter of moments to track down an assistant who not only had permission to use the computer but also knew which buttons to press. In no time at all she had located the right shelf, but when Amie went to find it, it wasn’t there.

  Rosemary, the shop assistant, shook her head and peered at the screen again. “I could have guessed, we lose so many books,” she said.

  “Lose?” Amie asked.

  “Stolen. Animal Farm is on the prescribed reading list this year and poorer students have a hard time affording the books, so they walk.”

  “Oh dear,” Amie replied, “But I desperately need a copy.”

  “We might have a few more in stock. I’ll check in the back for you.”

  “Thanks, and uh, I’m in a bit of a rush. I’ve a plane to catch.”

  “No probs, I’ll be as quick as I can.” Rosemary scurried off to the far corner as Amie stood tapping her fingers on the counter.

  In no time at all Rosemary was back, triumphantly waving a copy in the air.

  Damn thought Amie, looking at the hardback version. “Not in paperback?” she asked hopefully. “I should have asked for a paperback copy, sorry.”

  “Ah, I think there’s one.”

  Amie glanced at the copy of Animal Farm Rosemary had left on the counter. Not only was it a truncated version for children it was too large to fit in her backpack. She suddenly realised that she and Maddy needed the same edition of the book for the page numbers to match up for the codes to work properly. Damn! Why hadn’t she thought of that sooner? But come to think of it Maddy hadn’t mentioned it either.

  The next moment Rosemary returned clutching a rather dog-eared paperback. A
mie snatched it from her with a quick thank you and raced for the checkout foraging in her wallet for money as she ran. She waggled her foot as she waited in the queue, only just stopping herself from throwing the money at the girl on the till.

  Once out of the shop, she hurried back to the guest house. As usual Simisola popped her head round the door.

  “You going today then?” she asked.

  “Yes, yes, in a few moments.” Amie glanced at her watch it was already after check out time. “I’ll only be a few minutes.”

  “It is past the time. You should be gone.” Simisola didn’t look too pleased. “I have to clean.”

  Simisola’s smart shirt, trousers and matching shoes in a delicate shade of peach, belied the notion that she would be doing any of the cleaning herself. She had maids to do the more menial tasks, so the owner could keep a close eye on her guests.

  “Yes, yes, I’m sorry. I’ll be super quick.”

  “The room is to be cleaned for the next people, they come very soon.” Her landlady was determined to get her point across.

  “I understand, but now you are delaying me, Simisola.” Amie charged for her room; she had to get back to Maddy.

  But Simisola was hard on her heels. She didn’t stop talking. “I have many people to stay here, they like my place and that is because my rooms are always clean. I do good here and I cannot have people to tell me they are dirty. If they like my clean rooms they will come again and they will tell their friends to come and stay with me too.”

  “Yes, yes,” Amie fumbled with the key, finally getting the door open. “Five minutes, Simisola, then I’ll be out of here. I have a plane to catch and I’m in a hurry to leave. OK?”

  Simisola didn’t look convinced, grumbling to herself as she moved away.

  As fast as she could Amie logged on, opened her out box and after another quick glance at her watch, decided to take a chance and send on an open line. Using her new cell phone, she snapped pictures of the information inside the book: publishers, ISBN, date of publication, imprint, catalogue number, and any other information she thought might be useful in identifying which copy of the book she would use for her codes. She was past caring if they went crazy at the other end because she’d sent unencrypted information. It wouldn’t make sense to anyone else reading it, except to say this was the copy of the book she recommended to Maddy to buy for her granddaughter for her next birthday. Hah! She exclaimed out loud. Now let people wonder why a grandmother was backpacking around the world having numerous affairs with young men!

  She stuffed the rest of her belongings into her backpack, looked round one final time, exited the room and locked the door. She ran headlong into the still-hovering Simisola, pressed the room key into her hand and flew down the front path.

  She dashed across the road to the nearest taxi rank.

  “Airport please,” she cried, opening the back door and flinging her backpack onto the seat.

  “Not go to airport.” The driver was chewing something red, his mouth open for all to see.

  “What!” she cried.

  “Not go to airport,” he repeated.

  “So, where can I get a taxi that will take me to the airport ... please?” Amie slowed her voice, holding back the scream.

  “Other side,” he muttered, waving his arm in the general direction of the mall, and turned on his radio full blast.

  Nothing would get her out of that vehicle faster than rap music and when it boomed out of the enormous speakers mounted on either end of the dashboard, she grabbed her backpack, scrambled out of the taxi, and slammed the door behind her.

  The hotel was her best bet. Taxis would definitely go to Oliver Thambo Airport from there. It would have been shorter to cut straight through the mall, but imagining another unforeseen meeting, she chose the longer route. By the time she reached the imposing front entrance, she was ready to throw herself at the doorman.

  “Please can you get me a taxi?” she asked. “No, never mind.” Further down the road she could see several parked by the kerb.

  Finally, she was on her way, speeding past the mansions behind the high walls lining the Sandton area, then out past the township of Alexandra partly shrouded in smog from the wood-burning cooking fires and then east towards Kempton Park.

  When Amie raced into international departures, flashing lights announced that her flight was boarding. She handed her ticket to the check-in girl, mouthed a thank you for the boarding pass and raced to the gate. Twenty minutes later she was buckling up in her seat in the Air Botswana ATR 42–600 twin engine prop plane standing on the apron.

  The European squeezed his six-foot two-inch frame into the cramped seat at the back of the plane. Amie/Felicity – whatever her name was – had made it very easy for him so far. She had no idea she’d been followed. If she was a trained spy, he thought to himself, they should ask for their money back. But at least she was cute. He’d had worse missions.

  “It doesn’t fit under your seat, Madam, so it must go into the locker. You’ll get it back when we touch down.” The stewardess gathered up Amie’s backpack and stowed it at the back of the plane with several others. She smiled at the tall man struggling to make his legs fit in the space behind the seat in front of him. He shrugged and grinned, at least the seat beside him was vacant, and the lockers were within easy reach.

  Amie leaned back and closed her eyes. Maddy’s last instructions had been quite clear. When she reached Gaborone, the capital city of Botswana, she would be met at the airport by one of the Aid workers. She hadn’t been given any specific instructions so she would just blend in and go with the flow – wait and see what happened. A wait-and-see pudding! She smiled to herself remembering her mother’s final hug and how when she and Sam used to ask what was for pudding, Mary would say, “Wait and see girls, wait and see.” She wiped a tear from her cheek and wondered if she would ever see her parents again.

  The hour-long flight was over too quickly and Amie barely had time to relax. When she walked out through the arrivals door there was no sign of anyone with a placard with her name on it. Her eyes ran along the small crowd, but there were no young people who looked as if they had been sent to meet her.

  The blazing sun outside made her realise she’d lost her sunglasses. She swore quietly to herself; it had all been such a rush. Again, she scanned the crowds for white faces assuming that the party of aid workers would be from Europe. No one. Not a soul there to meet her.

  On the opposite side of the road, a small boy was rolling an old bicycle wheel with a stick, kicking up the dust with his bare feet. Amie smiled. Here in Africa it was still a popular toy, an amusement fashioned from discarded rubbish. She had only ever seen this before in one of her mother’s old picture books showing Victorian children at play. She wondered what presents Dean and Jade, her nephew and niece, would be getting for birthdays and Christmas. Most likely mass produced, sophisticated, electronic, battery-propelled, plastic toys from some distant Far Eastern country. The disparity between this world and the one she’d grown up in never failed to amaze her.

  Still there was no sign of a welcoming committee. To her left there was an altercation between two men, one horribly drunk, who were screaming at each other, shoving and pushing, both trying to take possession of a live chicken as they pulled in opposite directions. While Amie felt for the unfortunate bird, she knew better than to get involved.

  A local mini bus taxi screeched up to the airport entrance, and disgorged its passengers and their luggage: several large red, white and blue plastic bags, an old case tied with string, and three or four cardboard boxes.

  After a final look round to ensure there was no one there to meet her, Amie approached the taxi driver and asked him how far it was to the centre of town.

  He cocked his head on one side. About fifteen minutes, he told her. She hesitated. If she went into town, she might miss her ride and not be able to find any of the party. There must be several hotels and boarding houses and it would take hours to go f
rom one to the other looking for them; she didn’t even have a name to ask for. Despite the heat, the flies, and the dust, she would wait a little longer. She thanked him, sat back down and leaned against the wall.

  For the life of her she couldn’t understand what information the British Government might want from Botswana. ‘Once the third poorest country in Africa, it was now one of the most profitable and stable. The Tswana were the least war-like of the southern African tribes, not fit to carry the blankets of other African tribes and the ‘dogs of the desert’ had been driven into the less fertile areas and left to their own devices. During the following century they’d made massive strides with their cattle, diamond and copper mines, the profits of which they ploughed back into the infrastructure and medical and health services.’ This was all Amie had managed to read on the short plane flight.

  After another fruitless fifteen minutes, she went back inside the cool airport where the air conditioning was battling against the heat but losing the fight. Glancing at the arrivals board she saw there was only one more flight due in today and that was in two hours time, and the next departure wasn’t scheduled until late in the afternoon.

  Decision time. Fly back to Johannesburg or wait until the next taxi turns up and head for town? Maybe she should just toss a coin? She gazed longingly at the automatic machine dispensing bottles of drink, but she didn’t have any thebe (coins) to put in the slot. She’d been told they’d be driving through Botswana on the way through to southern Ruanga, so she’d only changed a few Rand into Pulas and all she had were notes. She wandered around to see if there was a Bureau de Change in the hope they would change a note for coins but the shutters were all locked down.

  Further along the concourse she spied a small cafe that was still open so she decided to buy a well-overdue coffee and some spare water bottles. She’d wait until the second Johannesburg flight came in and then if no one turned up to meet her she would go into town, find somewhere to stay, let Maddy know and sort the rest out later.