by Vincent Gray
and invisible role in the colonization of the African continent.
Having had his say Solly looked at his watch.
“Excuse me for a moment, I have to make a few phone calls I don’t know what is happening with our Kombis they should have been here by now, I am getting a bit worried,” Solly said as he pushed his chair back and got up from the table.
Everyone, family and friends, who were going on the trek down to Durban for the wedding were beginning to arrive at the Abraham’s home with all their luggage and blankets. They crowded into the lounge, the kitchen and the bedrooms. Kids ran about the house, chasing one another, their screaming and laughing adding volume to the general chaos that had descended upon the Abraham’s home while the Abraham family tried to finish eating their supper as quickly as possible.
Solly took his place again at the head of the table.
“We still have a problem,” he said.
“We are still short of a driver.”
As a last resort he turned to Trevor, Solly suddenly had a brain wave.
“Trevor do you have plans for the weekend? We need a driver to drive one of the Kombis. As you know we are going down to Durban in a convoy of five Kombis. I’m driving one and Ricky my brother is driving one of the Kombi. We will be coming back on Sunday.
“Trevor is starting a new job on Monday at Isando,” Brendan interrupted, looking at Trevor.
“That should not be a problem. We will be back by Sunday afternoon,” said Solly.
Everyone round the table stared expectantly at Trevor. He could not remember when last he had been a guest in the company of such a friendly, joyful and warm crowd of people. In reality they were complete strangers, yet they had drawn him into the family circle and made him feel part of the family.
“OK I suppose I can help out as long as we are back by Sunday afternoon,” he said.
“Praise the Lord! I told you God will make a plan. God has supplied us with a driver,” Solly announced triumphantly.
Everyone round the table while smiling at Trevor clapped their hands and said: Amen!
II
After parking his car in the backyard he transferred his suitcase into one of the VW Kombis standing in the street which he would be driving. His entire wardrobe and personal effects fitted into the one suit case. The reminder of his necessities such as cups, saucers, cutlery, kettle, and pots fitted into a small cardboard box that he left in the boot of his car. The car was paid off and he had no debt. In his five years at the Summer Grain Centre he accumulated very little in the way of worldly possessions. His needs had been modest in the extreme and his wants were practically non-exist. Most of the discretionary income left over after he had covered his essential living expense had been invested into a providential fund and the remainder was deposited into an interest bearing savings account. His house keeping cash float that he kept for all kinds of exigencies remained unspent. A man of sober habits, simple diet and living a recluse lifestyle appeared to have found no need for money.
For reading material he had joined the Potchefstroom public library and for recreation he joined the local athletics club and spent most of his weekends as a lone long distance runner doing 20 to 30 km stretches on the road. When not running he would go in the field alone, always by himself on ornithological jaunts to prime bird watching sites that were accessible to visitors armed with a pair of binoculars and Robert’s Bird of South Africa. So all in all on weekends he would never be found languishing in his flat. To his colleagues at the Summer Grain Centre he also remained an impenetrable, eccentric and enigmatic personality, someone who barely said two words to anyone and never indulged in any kind of small talk or gossip. No one had the faintest idea about any of the views held by Dr Trevor Guzmán on any matter of importance. He never made any effort to express an opinion or defend a point of view. In fact he never had much to say about anything. This made him a perpetual mystery. His colleagues learnt to accept him as a reserved personality who did not seem to enjoy socializing or engaging in small talk or gossip.
Dr Trevor Guzmán was even a mystery to himself. He possessed an inquiring mind, and a natural curiosity about the natural world towards which he enjoyed a quiet and reflective interest. He never felt compelled to speak about his interests or his opinions on various matters of fact relating to the governance of the Universe or the life history of animals or plants. He never felt any compelling need to express any opinion on any topic or subject matter; he was quiet happy to ruminate in private on whatever matter that happened to interest him. To many of his acquaintances he appeared to be a self-sufficient and independent person, a perpetual stranger, a deeply private person, who did not depend on others in any way.
Now as a guest in the Abraham’s home he found himself in the company of friendly strangers who seemed to possess the power to unwittingly draw him into their lively conversations around the dinner table. They had managed to draw Trevor out of his usual reserved state into which he usually retreated when he happened to find himself in social situations. They wanted to know where he came from and what he did for a living. They expressed a genuine interest in him and had managed in a short space of time to touch his soul in a personal way.
At the Abraham’s dinner table, stranger that he was, he found himself being drawn into conversations and discussions, he found himself the focus of attention and in the end he became lost in conversations as he was prompted non-stop with multiple questions on what it meant for someone to be a plant breeder. They seemed to be consciously aware of the extraordinary fact that it was indeed a rare occasion to have a plant breeder at the dinner table, and they also found it intriguing that he had eventually agreed to be one of the drivers to a wedding in Phoenix.
At seven-o-clock everyone assembled with their blankets, suitcases and packets of padkos (food for the road) outstand on the pavement under the street lights making ready for the departure to Durban. Trevor was given the ignition keys for his Kombi. He unlocked the doors and while everyone packed their luggage into the Kombis he gazed up at the evening star which shone brightly in the cold steel blue vault of the western sky. The thought crossed his mind that he was indeed alone in the Universe and that he was ultimately responsible for whatever happened in his life, he was responsible for its successes and for its failures. Now by volunteering to be a taxi driver he as a complete stranger had given up his freedom and autonomy. He had allowed himself to become drawn into the problems and worries of the Abraham family. And he would not be facing these dilemmas if he had not stopped to give Brendon a lift. One act of kindness now led to another, almost like a domino effect, one thing led to another, before he knew it he had become roped into all kinds of commitments. He had made a commitment from which he could not withdraw. He was now trapped in the role of the driver of one of the Kombis. The whole wedding depended on him now. For the sake of the wedding of a complete stranger he had aborted all his plans for the next four days before starting his new job. Now he was saddled with the added worry of getting back in time for starting his new job.
He had progressed very quickly from being merely the Good Samaritan to Uncle Trevor, becoming after one shared meal an adopted member of the Abraham family with all the obligations that that role necessarily entailed. It was too late for regrets.
Now to everyone he was Uncle Trevor. All the teenagers and youngsters decided to bundle into Uncle Trevor’s Kombi. Four friendly teenagers wrapped in blankets who introduced themselves as Stephanie, Lee-Anne, Sasha and Ashira sat in the seat behind Trevor. Sherisha also wrapped in a blanket climbed into the cab and sat in the front with Trevor. The four teenagers had a cassette tape player and a box of cassettes. Youngsters and adolescent kids filled the remaining seats in Uncle Trevor’s Kombi. At quarter past seven they drove off in a convoy with Trevor following behind the other four Kombis. By the time they reached Uncle Charlies the accident had been cleared up and the traffic was flowing steadily in both directions.
“Uncle Trevor would it be OK if we pl
ayed some music,” Stephanie asked as they drove through the Crown Interchange past the huge mine dump on the left.
“I don’t mind, what music do you have?” he replied.
“We have the Beatles, Credence Clearwater Revival, The Who, Abba, Bachman Turner Overdrive, Bad Company, Billy Joel, Boney M, Dollar Brand, Donna Summer and lots of others.”
“What would you like to hear?”
“I like the Beatles,” Trevor answered.
Keeping right at the Crown Interchange they took the off ramp onto the raised freeway which carried them over the rooftops of buildings and factories that lined the streets of Selby and Village Main at the southern end of the sprawling Johannesburg Central Business District which had now become deserted, its lit up streets with blinking robots had also now become emptied of all traffic. They joined the tail end of the traffic flowing eastwards along the M2 Francois Oberholzer Freeway to Germiston. At the Geldenhuys Interchange the convoy took the turnoff for the freeway link-up to Heidelberg and Durban. Picking up speed they were soon out of Alberton and speeding into the night towards Heidelberg. Behind them the glowing silhouette of the Johannesburg skyline receded rapidly and finally disappeared as they crossed the rolling hills
