Tandia

by Bryce Courtenay

  The next day was the Saturday before her return to school on Monday. At six o'clock sharp Mama Tequila reached into her small sequinned evening bag and produced a large brass key to unlock the door to her private salon. She was dressed to the nines; Saturday night was a big night at Bluey Jay, not as posh as a Friday, but bigger and much, much noisier. The bulk of the Saturday night trade were men who came off the whalers and deep-sea fishing trawlers that used Durban as their home port.

  After three months at sea chasing the giant sperm whale their wages were burning a hole in their pockets and that wasn't the only thing that was overheated in their trousers. You could always tell the young men off the whalers or the big commercial fishing trawlers; they were scrubbed nearly raw in the attempt to eliminate the smell of fish or whale oil from the pores of their skin. They wore their sports jackets and ties awkwardly and constantly pulled at the collar buttons of their shirts, lifting their chins slightly and moving their heads from side to side.

  Saturday night at Bluey Jay was fun for one and all. The pianola in the guest salon ran hot with honky-tonk and tickcie-draai. A girl could expect to turn a dozen tricks before the boys, their pockets lighter and with three months of wildly imagined promiscuity tapped and emptied in almost as many minutes, were shooed off the premises into taxis waiting to take them back to their cheap billets in town.

  Now, an hour before the first of the Saturday night crowd would begin to appear, Mama Tequila entered her private salon and gazed with deep satisfaction at the magnificent room that never failed to convince her that God was on the side of the honest brothel-keeper. She wore a full-length pink crushed-velvet gown, pink high-heel shoes studded with rhinestones with a pink taffeta turban on her head. To top it all off she carried a large pink ostrich feather fan. She crossed the room as regally as the queen she was and sat on a high-backed Victorian chair of monstrous proportions which was covered in a watered taffeta of deep purple.

  Bluey Jay had been the home of an Irish Australian jockey named Bluey J. McCorkindale, who had come out with the New South Wales Light Horse during the Boer War and had stayed on. As a talented young jockey well schooled in the rough and tumble of Sydney's Randwick and Rose Hill race courses he'd ridden a few winners for Barney Barnato, the diamond and gold multi-millionaire, and had soon put together enough to start his own stud farm. Barney Barnato and Solly Joel, Barney's almost equally wealthy partner, had put their blood stock with him. A third share in a stallion named Blue Jay, foaled from the great Irish stallion, Mount Joy, and the American mare, Miss Scarlet, had made McCorkindale wealthy enough. The stallion became the greatest money-earner in the history of the South African turf and Bluey's winnings, invested with advice from his two racing partners, had done the rest and put him into the truly rich class.

  The little Australian jockey had then gone over to Sydney to look for a bride to bring back with him. Instead he returned to South Africa with a house. A three-storey Victorian mansion of Sydney sandstone, a triumph of the stonemason's art, with wide verandas running top and bottom around the house, decorated with magnificent traditional ornate wrought-iron railings and posts. With seventeen bedrooms, five bathrooms and with its several reception rooms and two salons it seemed just the house for a sporting man like Bluey J. McCorkindale, who was the fifth son of a drunken Irish strapper and who had been brought up in a three-room worker's cottage in the dockside suburb of Woolloomoolloo and who, at eight years old, had started work as a stable boy.

  Bluey J. had ordered the house to be dismantled stone by stone, right down to the last velvet curtain and solid brass curtain ring, packed in trunks and crates and shipped in carefully marked sections to Durban where it had risen again. Bluey J. McCorkindale had made only one concession to his adopted land; he had ordered the floors to be made of African yellowwood.

  The salon and the shining yellow floors were Mama Tequila's special joy. She had come upon the mansion when, in a post-war return to Christian values, Durban's police commissioner, Kommandant Vermaak, had decided that the waterside brothels, which had done such a sterling job of rest and recreation for troops and sailors during the war, had to go. Mama Tequila, who owned two of these BBTM ('Biff! Bang! Thank you, ma'am!') sex emporiums, was not displeased with the Kommandant's zeal.

  She'd made a fortune during the war but now the quicksex business had fallen on hard times. All her life as a working girl and later as a madam, Mama Tequila had dreamed of owning a brothel like one she had once seen in a movie set in turn-of-the century New Orleans. She wanted a brothel that catered for the carriage trade, people with money and manners and political clout. A house with nice girls who knew their trade and didn't smoke boom or drink neat Cape brandy.

  Mama Tequila had been raised in the slums of Cape Town's District Six and she'd learned, very early in life, that a man's snake wasn't like everybody said, colourblind. The white snakes liked to creep into black holes and the black ones into white. She'd also learned that coloured girls were the perfect compromise; they could pass, in most instances, for white with black snakes and for black with white ones. For it was the minds of the snakes that got a vicarious pleasure out of colour; the snakes themselves with their single blind eye, seldom stopped to compare skin tones.

  When she found Bluey Jay on thirty acres of rolling green hills within half an hour's drive of Durban she'd known at once that there was a God in heaven. For the outside of the house, somewhat in need of repair, was almost a direct replica of the one in the movie. Inside nothing had been touched since the time of Bluey Jay himself. Whilst the drapes were faded and worn and the upholstery on the Edwardian couches and formal chairs and the Persian carpets were almost threadbare and some of the furniture was badly in need of french polishing and restoration, it was all there. Mama Tequila could hardly believe her eyes.

  All it needed was money to restore it and Mama Tequila had plenty of that. She had found a Mr Leonard Polkinghorne, a highbrow Englishman who wore detachable starched collars and who had once worked as an assistant curator at the Victoria and Albert in London, and was now head curator of the Pietermaritzburg museum. Leonard Polkinghorne was an expert on Victorian and Edwardian decor and she assigned him the task of returning the formal rooms in Bluey Jay to their former glory.

  'Nothing changed, you understand, Mr Lennie, just exactly the same as before, only everything pink.' Mama Tequila couldn't bring herself to pronounce his surname, which seemed to her amazingly apt for the restoration of a house intended as a brothel and was yet another sign from God that she was doing the right thing.

  'Mr Lennie, do you know what kind of place is this?' Mama Tequila asked when she took him out to show him the property. Leonard Polkinghorne looked at the scaffolded Bluey Jay and then back at Mama Tequila who sighed and said carefully, 'Mr Lennie, this is going to be a place where you come when you are tired of your wife.'

  'Ah, I see, a rest home! That's perfectlay splendid, I'm perfectlay happy to be associated with a rest home.' Leonard Polkinghorne was very big on the word 'perfectly' which he pronounced in this funny way.

  Mama Tequila sighed again; this was one dumb person orright. 'Ja, but more like an excitement than a rest, Mr Lennie.'

  A slow grin spread over Leonard Polkinghorne's face and his eyes grew wide. 'I say! You don't mean?' Mama Tequila nodded her head. 'Yes you do! By jove, a brothel! How perfectlay marvellous!'

  The one-eyed snake strikes again! Mama Tequila thought happily. 'The best, Mr Lennie, the best whorehouse in the world and also, when you and I finish with it, the prettiest.'

  The restoration of Bluey Jay outside and inside, and including electricity and new plumbing, had taken a sizeable bite out of Mama Tequila's wartime fortune, but Mr Lennie's fee wasn't one of her expenses. He elected to take his retainer in what he referred to as 'dalliance time.' Mama Tequila, happy to oblige, carefully worked out the total amount owed to him in hours. It was an agreement which Mr Lennie said suited him 'ab
solutely perfectlay', and which eventually took a great deal of the starch out of his collar. At Bluey Jay he was known to the girls as 'Mr Perfect Lay'. All the girls had been told to appear at a quarter past six in the salon and they now stood around Mama Tequila's chair 'oohing' and 'aahing' her dress.

  'Jesus, Mary, Mother of God! Have mercy on a poor working girl, Mama T! How much time am I going to have to give to Mr Dine-o-mite for this beautiful creation!' Sarah cupped her hands over her face and groaned in mock agony. 'Talking of Mr Dine-o-mite, he gonna be here soon,' Mama Tequila chuckled, 'but he just come to make a delivery.'

  Juicey Fruit Mambo, dressed in a white tuxedo jacket, black stovepipe trousers, white shirt and pink bow tie, walked into the salon carrying a small scolloped silver tray on which rested nine tiny glasses of sherry and one of green chartreuse. There were eight working girls at Bluey Jay, not counting Tandia, and Juicey Fruit now dispensed a glass to each of them as well as to Mama Tequila. Finally he placed the glass of green chartreuse on an occasional table to await the arrival of Sonny Vindoo. He returned moments later with a glass of lemonade, which he handed to Tandia.

  Mama Tequila, who had missed the fact that Tandia hadn't been served a glass of sherry, now noticed the lemonade. 'Juicey Fruit Mambo, I do declare! You go back now and bring Miss Tandia a glass sweet sherry like everybody else! She a working girl too, you know.' She fanned herself lazily with the ostrich feather fan.

  Juicey Fruit was not happy as he accepted the glass of lemonade back from Tandia and left the room. He returned in a few minutes with a single glass of sherry in the centre of the tray. Tandia took up the tiny glass. She had never tasted alcohol and she was actually quite frightened at the prospect; she imagined all sorts of things happening to her which would be quite beyond her control.

  This was the first time she had been in this magnificent room with its rich cedar panelling and beautiful pink velvet curtains which fell from scolloped velvet pelmets above two large windows, to the floor sixteen feet below. The breakfront covered an entire wall and was filled with dark green morocco leather volumes, the titles embossed in gold on the spine of each book. On the three remaining walls were four large portraits of pretty ladies dressed in the silks and satins of Edwardian England, the decolletage of each allowing a provocative display of creamy bosom. Several pink chaise longues and formal chairs, small tables and pink Persian carpets seemed to be arranged or scattered haphazardly around the room, and the beautiful yellowwood floor, where it showed in places not covered by carpets, kicked back the light from a huge crystal chandelier that cascaded from the centre of an ornate plaster-moulded ceiling composed of garlands of fruit and flowers, onto which clung a heavenly host of fat cherubs. Above the pink marble fireplace was a huge pink ceramic bowl of peonies. To give the beautiful room a final touch of distinction, to the side of the window furthermost from where Mama Tequila sat was a pink grand piano. (It was in fact a pianola but Tandia had no way of knowing this.) The room had a warm, flushed presence and Tandia had never seen anything as breathtakingly beautiful in her life.

  Mama Tequila raised her glass, which looked like a topaz coloured bauble in her enormous hand. 'Welcome, Tandia, to Mama Tequila's salon. You is now one of us, a working girl, only perhaps your work is a bit different. Tonight and from now on you only got one name, you hear? You Miss Tandy, jes' like Miss Hester, Miss Sarah, Miss Jasmine.' As Mama Tequila spoke a girl's name, the girl in question would empty the glass of sherry in her hand. 'Miss Colleen, Miss Hettie, Miss Doreen, Miss Johanna and Miss Marie. Now it your turn, Miss Tandy, you and me, we drink to your success, to Bluey Jay and to old Mama Tequila.' She lifted the glass above her head.

  'Welcome to Bluey Jay, Miss Tandy!' all the girls chorussed as Tandia threw back her head and screwed her eyes up tightly in anticipation of a foul-tasting liquid. To her surprise she tasted only the slightly bitter taste of cold tea. She opened her eyes, her surprise showing.

  'Hey, man, we got to watch this one, she likes it!' Hester squealed and the large room filled with the laughter of the Bluey Jay girls. It was the first time in her life Tandia had ever belonged to anything or anyone other than Patel. Despite the fact that Juicey Fruit Mambo had substituted cold tea for her sherry she felt a warm glow inside her. A thing which glowed between the chest and the pit of her stomach but also seemed to include her heart, it was a feeling which made her want to cry and laugh at the same time.

  Juicey Fruit Mambo entered the room to collect the glasses. When he reached Tandia he grinned and as he took her glass he whispered, 'Dis skokiaan not for you, Miss Tandy, you must be very, very strong for the learning.'

  The girls crowded around Tandia offering their congratulations and welcoming her to their society. In a few moments Juicey Fruit Mambo was back and he whispered into Mama Tequila's ear. She nodded and he left the salon again. Mama Tequila clapped her hands for silence and pointed to the door. All eyes turned as in walked Sonny Vindoo, carrying a large "flat brown paper parcel on outstretched hands. 'Greetings and felicitations to the Madam Mama Tequila and her very, very beautiful girls and double greetings to Miss Tandy!'

  He turned and bowed to Tandia, jerking his head forward in an almost military fashion, whereupon his glasses slid off his nose and landed on the parcel. The effect on Mr Dine-o-mite of losing his eyes was instant. Still holding the parcel he turned completely around twice and then headed blindly off in the direction of the grand piano. Without his spectacles Sonny Vindoo seemed unable to speak, and it was the light of the setting sun coming through the window beside the piano that attracted him. Tandia ran quickly ahead of him and grabbing his glasses from where they had landed on top of the parcel she slipped them onto the bridge of his nose and around his ears. The effect was equally instant. Mr Vindoo stopped on the spot and his voice returned, 'My goodness gracious me, you are a very, very kind young lady, Miss Tandy.' He turned to face Mama Tequila again. 'Your instructions, Madam, obeyed to the very last letter, everything in order, shipshape and Bristol style.'

  'Honey, you got da verbal diarrhoea tonight, that for sure! Come now, give Mama Tequila that parcel. If you gone and done like I say,' she winked at Sarah, 'Miss Sarah, she in big trouble next Wednesday!'

  Sonny Vindoo giggled and shook his head. 'You are talking about naughty-naughty time! That Sonny Vindoo is not this Sonny Vindoo. This Indian gentleman of very excellent morals who is standing here and who has even met the great Mahatma Gandhi himself, is very, very pure in his thoughts. It is the other one, the one who is coming up with a very excellent transcendental meditation plan!'

  'Come again, Mr Dine-o-mite, what this transil-meddle jazz?' Mama Tequila asked.

  'This is a very clever idea invented by an Indian holy man. You are closing your eyes and you thinking only very pure and excellent thoughts and next thing, by golly, you are travelling anywhere you want to go, sitting even in Buckingham Palace taking cha with Her Majesty Queen Elizabeth!'

  He smiled and looked around at the girls, who were giggling politely behind their hands. Only Hester laughed aloud. To emphasise his point the little Indian tailor removed one hand from the parcel and wagged his finger at Mama Tequila. 'Only, I am not using it like this to have cha with the Queen. I am sitting in the back of the Chevrolet like a proper nabob and I am saying to Abdulla, "Abdulla, it is Wednesday". Then I am closing my eyes and thinking very hard with all my might about this very beautiful establishment,' he stepped forward and placed the brown parcel on Mama Tequila's lap and then, stepping back, spread his hand wide. 'That is why, when I am here, I am not here!'

  'My God, I'm being fucked by a ghost!' Sarah yelled in mock consternation.

  The room rocked with laughter and Tandia had never enjoyed herself so much. She'd forgotten for a moment about the gym frock, but now Mama Tequila, still giggling, began to open the parcel on her lap. 'Tandia, come here, baby,' she beckoned. The girls all crowded round to look.

  Only Hester remaine
d slightly to one side, silent for once in her life. The crackle of the paper seemed to take an eternity and then Mama Tequila withdrew a bright pink gymslip. She held it up and the slip fell over her knees. 'My, that pretty! What you say, baby?' The girls all oohed and aahed and Tandia, despite her dismay, managed to smile. Mama Tequila handed the gym frock to her and delved back into the parcel. 'That ain't all, baby!' She produced a blouse and a pair of pink woollen stockings and a bright pink beret.

  'You gonna be the prettiest li'l girl that school did ever see!' Tandia burst into tears. Despite the terrible embarrassment the pink garments represented for her, she was loved. They cared, all of them, they cared about her, Tandia Patel. She wouldn't think of Monday, only about now, about the warmth and the love surrounding her. She handed the clothes to Hester and embraced Mama Tequila, her tears making dark, wet stains on the woman's pink gown. Then she turned to confront a grinning Sonny Vindoo. She hugged him as well. Thank you, Mr Vindoo, my clothes are very lovely,' she said tearfully.

  'Miss Tandy, I am hearing you are going to Durban Indian Girls' High School, a very excellent institution. My daughter, she is married now, she went to this school, where she is getting first-class honours in her matriculation!'

  Mama Tequila once again clapped her hands to gain attention, for Juicey Fruit had entered and nodded to her from the door. 'Hey-ho! Party time, darlings! The fine young men from them boats they here already in the other salon! Oh, hot Let the business of Bluey Jay begin! Them honkytonk fisherman boys they gonna die 'less they get their snake medicine tonight!'

  She turned to Tandia. 'Miss Tandy, you be nice now and show Mr Dine-o-mite out the back door.' She turned to Sonny Vindoo, her eyes wide. 'Unless of course, he want to tran-sil-meddle-tate hisself back into the loving arms of Mrs Vindoo!'

  Tandia woke early on Monday morning. Outside her window the bush doves were cooing in the wild fig trees, and although it was only a few minutes past five, the sun was already up. In the distance she could hear a couple of cockerels crowing. A soft breeze billowed the terylene curtains in her bedroom, carrying with it just a hint of wood smoke from the African kraal down by the river. It was a perfect early November morning and it had all the makings of a perfectly ghastly day for Tandia.