53--JEFFREY
I burst out the front door and it shut behind me. Guarri Bushes growing over the stoep brushed against my face as I hurried down the steps. A thin black snake slithered past and crawled under the foundation.
The foundation was etched with a design that I couldn't make out. Proteas had blocked my view in the past, and so I hadn't thought to take a closer look. Different sized patterns lay on top of one another in one big heap. The scene was of a heaping pile of snakes.
The foundation fades, and I see an animal leaning against a large stone under a tree in the Garden.
The animal's skin swirls in hypnotic browns, greens, yellows, and oranges and his eyes are the same colour as his body. He wiggles a delicate snout. Petite ears twitch and a widening grin reveals even white teeth inside a human-shaped mouth.
The tree branch hangs with Gorges and the animal rips one down and crunches hard into the fruit, sucking up the juices. He holds out a long arm, offering me a taste.
"Who are you?" I ask.
"I am the first animal created, the first creature named."
The animal spreads out arms, presenting himself. Resembling a man, he is distinctly an animal. Taller than me with a thin, muscled body, he is a glassine, hairless creature. The animal says, "I am Serpent."
Another damn dream. Wait. Was it last night's dream, or did I just doze off again? The foundation shifted in front of me. The larger snake atop the pile lifted his head. I ran to the Jeep.
The Jeep hit a bump or two along her drive as I steered recklessly through her gate, and lurched onto Victoria Road. I pulled over to the seaside, and got out of the car. The steep stone path to the beach was slippery and I had to watch my step. When my feet hit the sand, I removed my shoes and carried them by the heel, schlepping towards the water. Seagulls screamed overhead. I tasted the salt in the water misting on my skin. "Ah," I said, breathing in as if my lungs had never been filled with such clean air. The crashing waves sounded foreign; I couldn't hear those sounds from Eva's house, which rose high above Victoria Road on one side and overlooked the sea on the other.
As a young child, I loved holidaying at the beach in the South of France. My parents sat high upon the sand, my mother reading a magazine, my father reading the paper or a book. Both occasionally looked up, giving a reassuring smile or wave.
How soothing that memory felt, and how ephemeral; my mother had died shortly after. I hadn't yet fallen so low as to abandon my current life for the next one chugging down the tracks. But, the train was coming, the whistle blowing. I was just one more disaster away. My father had abandoned the station. The tracks were on fire and the water tower was empty.
A distant boat horn sounded off in the ocean fog. My toes itched from the sand between them and my foot slipped on an underwater rock. "Blerrie hell. Bliksem kak." Suddenly hating my surroundings, I sloshed out of the water, back to the Jeep.
The oil light glowed vibrant orange and the engine sputtered, and died. I stared at the dashboard's idiot lights, blinking, dinging. "Damn," I said with a calmness reserved for the sedated.
I rolled up the windows and sat in the Jeep, waiting. Heat settled over me with a strong dose of lethargy. Eyes closed, a loud voice said. "Uit." I'd heard that voice more and more often, the one that spoke clearly, sensibly. It sounded like mine, but wasn't. Indistinguishable from its source--inside my head or from a guardian angel nearby-- I had learnt to trust it. The voice made perfect sense. "Uit."
Uit. Out. Yes, I would get out. Hell with the Jeep.
The hammer.
Was I supposed to take it or leave it? The voice didn't say. I leaned into the cubby and pocketed it.
Walking would allow me to think. I wanted to try and make sense out of the random noise in my head. I kept along the seaside of the highway staying clear of on-coming traffic. The sun was hot and I cast aside both my button-down and undershirt. A car sped past, honking. "Run me over," I growled. "I don't care." The brakes glowed, and the car backed up.
With a squeal the car stopped beside me. "Jeffrey?" a guy called, his head leaning out the car window. "Man. What happened?" It was clear he knew me. "That your Jeep back there?" he asked. "You look like hell, man."
"Who are you?" I asked, squinting past the sun's descending glare at the driver.
"It's me. Tomas. From the firm. C'mon man."
I looked from his face, to his hair, to the loosened tie and open collar. "No," I said.
Face aghast, Tomas yelled out the window as I shuffled passed, "You serious, acting like you don't know me? We all saw the writing on the wall, man. I got a family to support. I had to look after my own interests. Ah, ya stupid."
The car drifted ahead and away. What a wanker.
My feet hurt, my hands swelled, and I'd have given almost anything for a drink of water.
Everything will be fine. Indulgence will greet you like the Prodigal Son.
A black bumper angled into my path. My reflection in the high glossed paint shook its head, warning me.
"Want a ride?" Phred sat in the Rolls, window down, feathered hat atop his head.
"I don't think so," I said.
Phred stepped out, black patent heels tapping against the street, and opened the back door for me. His black driver's coat was buttoned halfway and I thought I saw the outline of a bra underneath the thin, mint-green shirt.
"It's a long walk," said Phred. "Got the car nice and cool."
"You don't know where I'm going," I said.
"Neither do you," said Phred. "But I know where you want to be, where things are the way they should be. There's only one place like that."
I stepped closer to the Rolls, but then got a good look at Phred's face. No amount of lipstick could cover so much eagerness. "No. I'll walk," I said.
"I'll take you back to your car," Phred said.
"It won't start." I said.
"It will this time." Phred ducked into the Rolls and when he straightened, a glass of water--ice tinkling--was in his outstretched hand.
I climbed inside and chugged the water in one breath. The partition between passenger and driver was open. "To my car," I said.
"To your car," he replied. "You'd be better off with Eva." His eyes met mine in the rearview mirror.
"Not now," I said. "There's too much confusion. In my head."
"Tisk, tisk," Phred said, his eyebrows together in a worried frown. "You're confused because you had a preconceived belief about her. You refuse to move further, to accept something else, something contrary."
"Something like her?" I asked, my gut twisting, my reflection shaking its head.
"She's easier than you think. You're being too hard on yourself."
Phred pulled up alongside the Jeep, and when I got out of the Rolls, the Jeep's engine was already running.
"Told you it would start," he said, his lips curving upward in a devious smile.
"Are you wearing lipstick?" I asked. "Fucking wanker," I said as I climbed in the Jeep.
54
I needed another fucking pain pill.
The molar in the kitchen sink had cracked my tolerance's threshold. And how long had it been since I had slept through the night? Eva was always in my dreams. I'd doze on my desk in the office, dream during meetings with Eva behind my eyelids. I had managed to stay away from her by not going out or answering the phone.
I wrote her a poem. It was corny and stupid and I ripped it up when I finished it, but it captured my feelings perfectly. Something about time and trees and her constant presence. I couldn't stop thinking about her.
And this fucking tooth was killing me. I picked up a bottle and read the label. Only one every four hours? Bullshit. I took three.
Then the phone rang and the machine answered.
"Mr. Thurmont," said a man's accented voice, "This is Jon Kouper from the South African Revenue Service." Fuck of all fucks. SARS. Mother fuckers. Of course, my father never paid the taxes. I gripped the table's edge and held my breath, sucking in my chee
ks so as not to clench down on the remaining worn teeth. "Our office tried writing, but received no response. We've called your office, and either you're not there or you won't take our calls. Mr. Thurmont, it's unfortunate that it's come to this."
"Bloody sons of bitches," I said.
"We've seized documents from your office. If you come to us in Bloemfontein and pay the amount in full before the end of the month, we can settle this without penalties. The full amount, Mr. Thurmont. Back taxes from the past two years at a thirty-nine percent penalty come to 129,216 Rand. I expect to hear from you soon, Mr. Thurmont."
Another tooth cracked. "Ah." I pulled the answering machine from the table and threw it to the ground. The machine shattered, sending plastic bits across the hall. And bloody hell if the message didn't replay. I kicked the machine out of my way to the garage.
A full moon and the lamp poles bathed historic Cape Town in full light. Well-dressed women stepped in and out of shops, bags and purses hanging from their shoulders.
I stood on the ivy-covered brick patio outside the Solicitor's Office of Thurmont and Thurmont. The door's handles were chained. A paper taped inside the window read, "Closed" and a note poked out of the door's mail slot. I ripped it out of the slot, mangling it.
It was a resignation letter from one of the partners. He was taking his clients to a more lucrative firm. Nothing personal, said the note. "Damn it all to hell." I crumbled the letter and tossed it aside.
Father had bought the office, small in square-footage, hidden and squeezed alongside other shops. Things he had done within the past three years had been small and simple. He had seemed too calm, in voice and dress. He didn't date and so did not have the restrictions that came with such a relationship. Of course he knew exactly what he was doing and whom he was dealing with. He wanted to be undetectable. That was why he had kept so quiet. But why would he be foolish enough to steal from Eva?
She had lured him here with a lucrative job offer, then tempted him and allowed him to steal from her, in order to put you in the position you're in now. Think about how this has worked to her advantage. She has you right where she wants you.
55
Phone ringing. Too tired to move. Inertia is a virus just like the common cold--easy to catch and almost impossible to get rid of. The answering machine was broken so whoever was calling eventually hung up.
Funny, I couldn't recall the drive back. I had been at the office, and was then on the couch.
Ringing chimed from the hall. Who the hell kept calling? Ignoring it, I headed into the kitchen, thirsty enough to stick my head under the tap and slurp from the faucet.
Pill bottles were lined up along the kitchen counter. How many would I need to sleep forever? I wondered if Caroline had ever asked herself the same thing, or if she had tried to drug herself into compliance, unable to take the lethal dose in order to shut out her intruders.
The phone rang again, and this time I answered.
"Jeffrey?" Lindsey's voice scraped across the phone line. "I've been trying to reach you for days. Is everything all right?"
"What's today?" I asked.
"It's Sunday," she said, her voice a little louder.
Sunday. The phone call from SARS and my visit to the bolted office had happened . . . when? Another couple of days, lost.
So much more to lose. Think about it.
"Jeffrey?"
I sighed, cleared my throat. "I'm fine. Just exhausted. I've got too much to catch up on and I'm worn out."
"Oh-kay. How 'bout catching up on Caroline? I've been here at the hospital, worrying over her and you, and you're tired? Too much to do? Come visit her. And bring Caroline's tape with you--I know you took it." The line went dead. She had hung up. I heard Father in my head, Hell with her, and could see the smirk on his face, shrewd eyes staring out from under thick bushy brows.
I had followed my father from England to South Africa, and it had been an easy move. Same job, different clientele. Different house, different country, different world, as Lindsey had said. I never took the time to root a personal life. The country was like a stranger I never wanted to get to know too well. I worked hard, harder, actually, than I had in London. Religiously, I had contacted potential clients, read up on the law, compiled research and whittled down briefs. I had a father to impress and a future wife accustomed to a certain living standard, one I thought I could support forever. But, I discovered after most of the firm's clients had walked away and after the papers reported my father's downfall that nothing lasts forever. Not love. Not even Caroline. Lindsey was right--I should be at the hospital with her.
56
It was later than I had thought, and the only doors open were the emergency doors. I dodged a whirring ambulance screeching to a stop under the ER awning. I didn't want to watch someone else's tragedy unload from the red and white van's back-end, so I ran ahead of the commotion. Automatic doors whooshed open, hitting me with ugly bright light.
The emergency room was filled with bewildered people sitting in chairs and lying on empty gurneys, awaiting their next ride through the corridors. An overhead voice paged doctors whilst nurses sat patiently behind a Plexiglas counter.
I followed the signs to the main hall atrium, slipped inside the lift, and pushed the button for the third floor--neurology.
When the doors opened on the third floor, there stood Eva. She startled me, standing there looking like a giant fly with wrap-around sunglasses strapped over her eyes. Her facial bones--more pronounced because of the glasses--gave her a severe skeletal look. "What are you doing here?" I whispered. "If Lindsey sees us talking, she'll explode."
"Third floor is also oncology," she said. "It's down that hall, in the east wing." The elastic band snapped behind her head as she adjusted the earpieces. "This light is almost as damaging as the sun's." A white purse hanging from Eva's shoulder melted into her white dress. Carefully digging through it she said, "Here," and pulled out a thick envelope. "It's cash. I had hoped I'd run into you. I didn't want to send a check. Sometimes banks redirect funds. And, well, I don't have to explain to you."
I needed it desperately. I took the envelope and my hands fell to my waist; I almost dropped it. Each Rand must've been printed on lead. "You should put that away," she said.
Her money is attached to strings--strings of lead.
I saw a pair of blue uniformed legs, like Nkumbi's police uniform, retreat around the corner. I was not alone. A tired looking nurse seated at the main desk, arm supporting her head was bent over papers. Cameras anchored to the ceiling above the nurse's station wagged their heads at me. I quickly stuffed the envelope up under my shirt and deep into my waistband.
"I peeked in on Caroline," Eva said. "She seems to be doing well."
"You did?" I asked. I was a little surprised by that, at first, but then I figured that Eva should be here, concerned, in fact, because she was her sister, and the business with Caroline had started at her party. Lindsey and Nkumbi had come to be that conclusion almost immediately. Then again, I'd been inside her house many times, apparently, and I wasn't sick.
Oh, but you are.
"Am I?" I asked.
"Are you what?" Eva asked.
"Oh. Um . . . did Lindsey see you?" I asked.
"No," Eva said. "The nurse said that she was in the cafeteria. Don't tell her I was here."
"Thank you," I said, and added, "I wish you the best." It was goodbye and I was surprised to find myself ready to walk away from her.
"Wait," she yelped. "Come to my house tonight. I have something for you. Indulge me one last time."
One last time. Do it.
The lift softly dinged and the light above it lit up. First floor and rising. The lounge, gift shop, and cafeteria were in the atrium, and that particular lift rose from the first floor atrium. Of course those doors would open and Lindsey would step out, seeing Eva and me together.
"I went to great lengths to get it. It's ancient, and very valuable. It might help."
&nbs
p; Ding. Second floor and rising. "No. I can't."
But you can, and you will.
Ding. Third floor. The doors tried to open, but jammed. Eva took a deep, exaggerated breath. The door clanged as it opened a crack, and I braced myself for the confrontation, but then they closed again.
"No," I said, resigned to stand my ground. I would stay with Caroline, cooperate with Nkumbi and help Caroline get well.
Eva spun on her heel in the direction of oncology, her head straight, shoulders back. The lift doors opened.
57
"Lindsey."
Lindsey's mouth dropped into a sad smile, her hands reaching out to me as she approached, dropping them when I did not reach out to clasp them.
"Let's go sit with Caroline for a while," Lindsey said. "She'll be glad you're here. Did you bring the tape?"
I looked up and down the hall expecting Nkumbi to step into view at any moment, convinced that it had been him watching Eva and me from around the corner. I pulled at Eva's envelope; it was slowly falling down into my trousers. "I left it at home."
"I wanted Nkumbi to hear it, "Lindsey said. "Why did you take it?" She didn't appear to be angry, only tired. Like me. And thirsty. Well, I was thirsty, and I wanted to search for the nearest water fountain.
"I gave it to someone to translate." I couldn't tell her who. I didn't want to bring up her name.
"And?" Lindsey's eyes were more alert, eager for my response.
I wanted to confess the time spent with Eva--innocent at first. I wanted to tell her about the baby that now joined us together. Instead, I asked. "Do you see a water fountain?"
Lindsey sighed. "Who did you give it to?"
"I just need a drink."
"Over there," she said, pointing down the hall.
I slurped noisily, and heard, "Jeffrey, tell me who." She wouldn't let the subject drop. Several plausible stories went through my mind, but regardless of what I said, Lindsey would not be happy until she had that tape. I'd have to get it back. I could go back to Eva's house on some pretense, or maybe send Nkumbi for it. No, Nkumbi would then tell Lindsey.
Seeking Samiel Page 15
