Strip Pan Wrinkle

by David Fletcher

  Yes, just imagine, he encouraged them, a huge ocean-going vessel, called the SS Britain, sailing through the choppy waters of our modern world – when the command passes to the nautical equivalents of Laurel and Hardy. Only these new master-mariners aren’t funny; they’re just totally inept and totally ill-equipped to handle the task they’ve been given – first, because of all their devastating character traits as already described, and second, because of their complete lack of a sense of direction. Yes, they never knew where they were going, or, more importantly, where the ship of state was going. And so inevitably, after a long voyage through what they wrongly thought were ideal conditions, they managed to steer their mighty craft into a sea of debt – and, as it was now carrying far too many unwanted stowaways (and far too many crew) and it was listing heavily, due to an uneven burden of endemic indolence and rampant greed, it foundered on the rocks of reality – on which it still lies today. And the only good news is that those who took it there are gone, albeit, inexplicably, they haven’t been made to walk the plank or even made to apologise for their actions. In fact, one has now been allowed to peddle his idea of what constitutes navigation skills all around the world – and to make a fortune in the process (which says everything there needs to be said about the world), whilst the other has become that strange combination of recluse and oracle, which emphasises elegantly that essential mix of arrested development and megalomania – and underlines how he is still at a loss to decide whether an “on the rocks” situation is a good or a bad thing for a ship…

  The Germans nodded their heads. They may now have understood what these two British Prime Ministers would be remembered for, or they may simply have been at a loss themselves – in deciding whether Brian was being serious or whether what he’d presented them with was merely a typical example of that world-renowned “English sense of humour”. But Brian would never know. Because Elesebe arrived at this juncture and, by asking her guests about their plans for the morrow, brought to an end the rather one-sided “political discussion”. And then, after Helga and Gunter had confirmed that they would be leaving early in the morning and Brian and Sandra had confirmed that they would be doing the 4x4 trail in the morning, it was time for bed.

  There, below the leather headboard and between the pair of leather pelmets, Brian considered the events of the day. There had been the boot-losing, the professional treatment of his ailment, the driving, the police entrapment and the return to Namibia – and then the didactic engagement with two agreeable foreigners. And in his current afflicted condition, it was almost inevitable that it would be his encounter with the medical establishment of Botswana that stood out, not only for its relief-giving contribution, but also for how well it exemplified that country. Yes, for Brian, Botswana was a place, just like that doctor’s surgery, where one could enjoy a civilised, restorative experience, confident in the knowledge that one would emerge from it feeling very much better and very much better prepared for whatever lay ahead. Even if what lay ahead was a mean-minded sting by the rozzers and, in due course, a return to a veritable wreck on the rocks…

  28.

  Brian was awoken by a groundscraper thrush pecking on one of the chalet windows. He wasn’t very impressed, especially as it seemed that the thrush wasn’t after any insects but just pecking at the glass for the pure hell of it.

  ‘Bloody bird,’ he pronounced. ‘Why doesn’t it go off and scrape some friggin’ ground?’

  ‘Maybe it’s a new sub-species,’ observed Sandra, who was already awake beside him. ‘You know, something like a glasspecker thrush. Or maybe it’s a masochist… ’

  ‘A masochist?’ challenged Brian.

  ‘Yes,’ responded his grinning wife. ‘It’s not a glasspecker thrush but a paneseeker thrush. Get it? Pane as in window and pain as… ’

  ‘Yes, yes,’ interrupted Brian. ‘I’m not that dim.’

  But he was rather shocked. After all, Sandra didn’t often engage in wordplay in… well, in quite the infantile way that he did. And certainly not as her opening gambit for the day.

  He regarded her with suspicion. But she didn’t look other than her normal early-morning self, which was a mix of tousled charm and alarming alertness. Maybe, he thought, she was pining for a bout of concerted word gymnastics without actually realising it. In which case he knew it was his duty to rectify this without delay, or at least before the day was out. And he therefore made a proposal.

  ‘How about a session tonight… ?’

  ‘Pardon?’

  ‘Words.’

  ‘Ah, words.’

  ‘Yes, words.’

  ‘OK. Over dinner?’

  ‘Yeah. Or after. Whatever you like.’

  Sandra smiled at him.

  ‘I haven’t done any preparation, you know.’

  ‘No, neither have I,’ replied Brian. And then he smiled back at her. ‘So should be a close contest, shouldn’t it? If we’re both telling the truth… ’

  This provoked an even bigger smile from Sandra, and then she flung back the sheet and leapt out of bed. And as she disappeared into the bathroom she added a final remark on the evening’s arrangement, which was a stage-whispered ‘Or if we’re both telling fibs… ’

  And that was it. This cryptic exchange was at an end – for now – and Brian and Sandra set about readying themselves for a day in the Kalahari, which was due to kick off after breakfast with a car and a loop.

  The car was their own, their wonderful sand-streaked Toyota, and the loop was that 4x4 trail that had defeated a Nissan only twenty-four hours earlier. It wouldn’t, of course, defeat their Land Cruiser. But this didn’t stop Brian collecting a two-way radio from Elesebe, just in case the impossible occurred – and Sandra couldn’t manage to push the vehicle out…

  Then they were off. It was initially quite tame, just a rough track through the bush. But then, as the landscape opened up, so too did the prospect of a vehicular mishap. The terrain had become undulating – and so had the trail. But not gently undulating, more “precipitously” undulating – with a mix of protruding rocks and yawning depressions that forced Brian to pay even more attention to his driving than a whole herd of donkeys had. Which was, of course, fantastic. As were the views all around. It was as though they were driving across a whole planet covered in Kalahari scrub. It just went on forever.

  So too did the dry river bed that Brian found himself in without warning, and from which Helga and Gunter had been rescued the previous day. Yes, this was the trickiest part of the track, a long run through very fine, very deep sand – with a daunting sand slope at its only exit. Brian could see why there’d been a problem and he quickly engaged the diff-lock. And before he knew it, he was out of the sandy hazard and avoiding further rocks – before arriving at some rocks worth inspecting…

  These were big flat rocks on which there were bushman paintings. Brian and Sandra had disembarked their vehicle to study them in detail, and to learn that for ancient bushmen, a spear was the graffiti image of choice. There were no representations of animals – or of themselves or aliens or pierced hearts with “Gary loves Sharon” beneath them (obviously) – and Brian was rather impressed by what this meant in terms of the bushmen’s singularity of thought. Because it spoke of a simpler age, a time when attention spans could be measured not in seconds but in minutes or even hours, and where satisfaction could be gleaned from a simple concept or even a single object and didn’t rely on a constant stream of miscellaneous and meaningless “stimulations”. Hell, even he would have had a serious problem in engaging with just repeated pictures of spears all the time. But for those who are now super-glued to handheld electronic devices… Well, they’d be lost, swept away by a wave of utter incomprehension, never to be seen in the world of the sane ever again (where “sane” is used here as just a comparative term).

  There again, they could always look at the animals. Real animals. Because around here there were quite a few. Brian and Sandra had already seen a number of kudu and zebra, and
there were waterbuck and springbok around as well. There were even birds… like chestnut-vented tit babblers and scaly-feathered finches. But Brian didn’t think many of the handheld device brigade would be too much interested in them. Even though they tweeted.

  Well, the drive was resumed and then completed without incident, and Brian and Sandra found themselves back in the lodge and soon thereafter by the pool with a drink. There was then a short debate on the use of this pool for its intended purpose. But as Helga and Gunter had informed them over dinner the previous evening that a large venomous snake had been extracted from the pool while they’d been conducting their bathing in the sun, this idea was quickly abandoned. Instead, they would laze away the afternoon, cussing at the groundscraper thrush near their chalet, studying the other better behaved birds around the lodge – and surveying the bush-fire to the south…

  It had, according to Elesebe, now been burning for five weeks, so it wasn’t quite as bad as the other bush-fire to the west that had been consuming the bush – and livestock – for over two months. Nevertheless, even though a youngster, this conflagration was still a bit scary. It was huge, and whilst the flames were barely visible – because it was in the distance and the day was a bright one – the plume of smoke was only too evident. Indeed, it wasn’t a plume; it was more like a cloud bank, a gigantic pall of greyish smoke climbing into an otherwise perfect blue sky. And it was still there when Brian and Sandra attended for dinner.

  Tonight, this meal was to be held in the open veranda of the lodge – as the weather had reverted to settled and hot. And it was to be shared with a dozen new guests, albeit shared at a distance. Each of the two parties and the two couples dining here this evening would be dining at their own separate tables. This suited Brian and Sandra fine, as, in the first place, the parties were a little noisier than ideal and, in the second place, they and the other couple were all dining on oryx tonight… while the Brits had their anonymous fish. And in the third place, Brian and Sandra’s isolation would enable them to embark on their word game as soon as they chose, which turned out to be over their after-dinner coffee.

  Brian made the initial move.

  ‘OK,’ he said, ‘how about “generalisation” – as in the mass promotion of a bevy of lieutenant generals… ?’

  ‘Pretty awful,’ responded Sandra, ‘and not a patch on “gorgonzola”.’

  ‘Which is?’ prompted Brian.

  ‘One of the snake-headed sisters of Emile.’

  ‘Terrible.’

  ‘Well, give me something better.’

  ‘I will. Like “alcofrolic” – as in an eruption of wine-induced merriment.’

  ‘I thought you said better.’

  ‘Well, can you do any better?’

  ‘Yes. What do you think is the other name for acute transvestism?’

  ‘Pass.’

  ‘“Very cross dressing”.’

  ‘That really is terrible – and not anywhere as good as an “historical outburst” – which is an intemperate comment on past times.’

  ‘You really haven’t been preparing for this, have you?’ observed Sandra. ‘I mean, that’s just about as bad as “latitude sickness”.’

  ‘Which is… ?’ asked Brian again.

  ‘The ailment that afflicts all societies that have tolerated too much liberalism and have granted too much leeway to their citizens as individuals.’

  ‘Ooo… well, I don’t intend to match that sort of stuff. Instead, I think I’ll just suggest “crapricious” – as in the sort of unpredictability that will probably require some Imodium.’

  ‘Brian, you’re disgusting.’

  ‘You’re just jealous that you didn’t think of it first. Or “canableism”… ’

  ‘Cannibalism?’

  ’No. “Canableism” – as in the facility to be put into tins.’

  ‘Well, not only is that pathetic, but you’ve gone out of turn. So I’m going to have two now. And the first is “oiligarch” – which, before you ask, is a Qatari billionaire. And the second is an “awe-inspiring experience” – which is when a bloke first built a boat and found that he could only get it to move by using his hands as paddles… ’

  ‘Oh, I see… awe/oar. Well, I think I’ve heard better… ’

  ‘And, as you seem to have dried up completely, how about “a pair of tweeters”?’

  ‘Yes… ?’

  ‘That’s a couple of mobile phone idiots fashioned into a device for plucking out brain cells… ’

  ‘I like it. And it reminds me of another. And that’s “a pair of breeches” – which is… now let me get this right… errh, twins who were born buttock first. Although I suppose that doesn’t happen anymore, does it? On account of the indignity of it all infringing their precious human rights… ’

  ‘Ah, talking of things that don’t happen anymore, I’ve just thought of another one. How about “hedonism”?’

  ‘Errh… ’

  ‘It’s what Charles I wanted to practice with his own head – but wasn’t allowed to because of this guy who turned up with an axe and a chopping block… ’

  This brought a guffaw from Brian and a few stares from the other tables. But the stares were ignored and Sandra joined her husband in his overt enjoyment of their nonsense. Every time they did these wordplays they got even worse, but they still found them entertaining and they still believed that they might even keep their grey cells on their toes for just a little while longer. And if they didn’t, they probably wouldn’t be aware of it anyway…

  However, what they were fully aware of just now was a distinct glow of the bushfire to the south (it was really quite alarming) and of their need to get a reasonably early night. Tomorrow was another drive – and the return to Windhoek. Yes, Brian would be completing his loop and, in theory at least, his loopaholism would be sated for a while, if not his desire to interfere with all those defenceless words in the English language. Words such as… well, such as “macadam” – who was the very first man in the Garden of Oban. Or a “diphthong” – which is an item of underwear similar to a “full-beamhthong” but generally less blinding. And “colonnade”, which is… well, one gets the general idea.

  29.

  It was becoming routine. A groundscraper thrush tapping at the window, overloud company at the other tables during breakfast and, in the distance, more smoke in the sky. The bush-fire was still going strong. As was Brian’s itchy back, despite it having been anointed with more cream. However, he could just about manage that, and he certainly didn’t want to resort to the antihistamine pills just yet. The drive to Windhoek was one of nearly three hundred kilometres, and drowsiness was not recommended.

  By 9.30, he and his wife had commenced this drive, another jaunt along that Trans-Kalahari Highway, and one that was mostly uneventful. There was that other bush-fire to the west that seemed to be getting ever closer to the road but never actually arrived, and there was a speed trap… But Brian had learnt his lesson and sailed through this one unscathed. And then the only hurdle left was the mini-metropolis of Gobabis – which sounded like a word that deserved to be played with, as did the names of the two dry rivers they crossed: the Black Nossob and the White Nossob. But Brian was out of inspiration and, after four hours of driving, he was out of loop. He was back in the capital of Namibia and at the very spot where five weeks earlier he had set out with Sandra on their circular tour.

  This spot was the home of the provider of their Land Cruiser and the booker of all their lodges, an ex-patriot from Britain who ran the leading safari company in the country – and who was not unknown to notify lodges of the dates of his clients’ birthdays and not necessarily with his clients’ prior knowledge. This was the already identified Robin Marsh-Taylor, who lived here with his attractive and indomitable partner, Jenny, and with their two dogs. And Robin and Jenny now regarded Brian and Sandra not just as clients but also as friends, which meant that the duo of returned travellers knew exactly what to expect. This would be two days of excell
ent home cooking (and home drinking) and a large helping of great company, before they were finally whisked off to Windhoek Airport for the start of their long journey home. Brian also knew that there would be ample time just to relax, and to gather together his thoughts on where he and his wife had just been, and ultimately to distil these thoughts into views – his views on Namibia and Botswana. And by the second day he had done this.

  Now, of course, he and Sandra had been to Namibia and Botswana a number of times before, and therefore some of his views were not new, but as old ones they were reinforced. So, for example, his overriding view of Namibia remained that of a country that was stunningly beautiful and that provided its visitors with a genuine opportunity to revitalise their spirits. Here, they could soak up its scenic wonder, safe in the knowledge that there was little in the way of human “development” or even a human presence to get in their way. And they could also savour the delights of its wildlife, reassured by the fact that much of this wildlife was far less threatened than it is in many other parts of Africa. As Brian had already decided on his previous trips here, Namibia offered a “gourmet experience”. It was a place where people who were lovers of fine fare could come and observe rare and beautiful creatures – in the tranquil splendour of an exceptionally spacious and ravishing landscape.

  The Okavango Delta in Botswana had similar credentials. This last visit there had been Brian and Sandra’s fourth, and what made them keep returning there was its unsurpassed combination of scenic grandeur and animal encounters, its “beauty and the beasts”. It was difficult to think of any other spot on this planet that was so rich in natural magnificence and housed such a natural varied population of animals and birds. In terms of spiritual enrichment, five days spent in the Delta was equivalent to five months spent in most of the rest of the world. It really was that good.