Miller Caldwell - Caught in a Cold War Trap

I knocked on the door of her flat. From inside I heard the call of ‘coming.’ My heart thumped like a marauding elephant—my mind was already in Africa. Then the door opened.

‘Robert, darling. What a surprise.’

I hugged Morag with a strength which surprised me. Could this be our last embrace?

‘Yes, took the train this morning. I didn’t want to disturb your classes.’

She kissed my cheek then separated abruptly.

‘Let me make you a coffee—I need to know more about these plans you have,’ she said.

She took two mugs from the kitchen cupboard and spooned in some granules of instant coffee. I noticed her mug had a half-risen sun with the text New Horizons. Mine simply stated Coffee Mug. As I poured in a splash of milk, the inquiry began.

‘So, Robert, this job is not just about you, is it? It’s about us.’

I nodded as I sat down on the sofa. Morag did not sit beside me. She sat opposite to concentrate on interrogating me about my plans.

‘Did you really want this job, or was your hand forced?’

I smiled and nodded at the same time. Morag was perceptive.

‘A manse son, with apparently no shortage of money. Didn’t that seem odd to you?’ I asked.

‘Now that you say it…’

‘I’ve led a double life for almost six years now.’ Then I launched into my downfall, starting with the trigger on that lonely island, Jura. Morag listened as if assessing the demeanour of a mental health patient contemplating suicide.

When I took breath, after some fifteen minutes, she said, ‘It’s going to be hard, very hard for us.’

My nod was minimal. ‘I’m at a loss what to say other than, Morag, you are my true love and I’d not sacrifice that for anything.’

She approached me and took my hands in hers.

‘We’ll see. You keep your promise and I’ll keep mine.’

I felt what she said set the ground rules fairly. I pulled her towards me. Our cheeks lay against each other’s and our bodies began to quiver. The tears then trickled down our faces.

My parents were thrilled to learn I was going to the former Gold Coast. They recalled the missionaries who had served there since the Basel and Bremen missions welcomed the Church of Scotland in 1914. Their combined efforts had established not only many primary and secondary schools but hospitals and churches too. My father even found in his church yearbook the names of the current ecclesiastical staff abroad. He said I should get in touch with Rev. Willy Salmond of Ridge Church in Accra. I took note of his name along with some others he suggested. I kept the Russian connection from my father and mother. I had started to lie with consummate ease. That concerned me.

I spent the next few days buying tropical attire. Nothing too garish of course; just a half dozen short-sleeved shirts and a couple of pairs of light trousers. And a sturdy pair of shoes would not come amiss if I faced a surprised reptile.

My daily course of anti-malarial tablets were already underway. They were small and white and packed a nasty taste. With only a couple of days left in Glasgow, I suggested an evening meal.

The Ubiquitous Chip was handy, halfway between the university and Morag’s flat. There at a table for two we sat looking into each other’s eyes. Morag seemed close to tears as we waited for our orders.

‘I can’t help but feel you are about to become a Russian spy.’

The thought was never far from my mind. Yet I had dismissed it until now. ‘No, this is nothing to do with spying. It’s about peanuts. They need someone who can speak both Russian and English to help a Russian General Manager of a groundnut oil company—he’s struggling with the language, they tell me. I can see their need. No, it can’t be a spying role.’

I could almost hear her brains ticking over.

‘So you are off on Friday? From Heathrow, I presume?’

‘Yes, that’s right. If you had known my first job was to be in Africa, perhaps we would not have had our first date?’ I said.

She frowned. Her response was reassuring. She clasped my hands together, over hers.

‘Don’t talk like that, Robert. A girl’s first love is important,’ she told me.

My genuine smile acknowledged the fact. ‘That’s true for a boy too,’ I replied.

‘I bet there were some girls in your father’s congregation who had an eye for the minister’s son.’

I smiled as I recalled Lizzie and Pamela whose company I had enjoyed in Sunday school and Bible class and told Morag. But they had long ago faded into the distance. I had taken Morag to a deeper relationship, and that was why this meal was so difficult.

‘Morag, you will soon be qualified. Your last placement can be in Ghana. Surely that would suit us? Tropical medicine, quite a feather in your cap.’

I was clinging to straws, but I liked the smile which my suggestion raised. My fork lurked over my plate. It eventually speared a sprout.

‘It boils down to how much we love each other—doesn’t it?’ she said.

I chewed the sprout then forked some chips. ‘Morag, I have no intention of finding love anywhere else. If you get to Accra for six weeks, then we will be less than a year apart. And I’ll have some leave to take too. Time should fly by. Why would I have made that suggestion if I had decided to end our relationship?’

She tapped my hand. ‘Then you still love me?’

My smile was broad. ‘I love no one else. Yes, of course, I love just you, only you.’

‘That’s what I wanted to hear,’ she said with her white teeth in full glow.

I was aware of the waiter approaching. He asked if the meal was enjoyable and we agreed it was. But he did not go away. He took the white wine from its cooler and topped up our glasses before he left us in peace.

‘I love you, Robert. Of course, I do. I just know I will miss you.’

‘I’ll write to you every week.’

‘Is that a promise?’

‘It’s my intention. I don’t know what the job will be like. But I’ll write as regularly as I can. Contact by letter will help you concentrate more on your studies, you know—with an absent boyfriend.’

Morag gave her dimple crater smile. I loved that expression of hers.

That last night before returning to London, I spent in Morag’s flat. We sat on the couch watching the evening news with our arms around each other. Then she switched off the box. She approached me with a mischievous grin. She coaxed me with her index finger to her bedroom and we slept that night knowing it would be our last embrace for some time, or forever.

As the Terracotta Army of Qin Shi Huang was being unearthed at Xi’an, China, I stepped off the plane at Accra in overpowering humidity.

It was as if I had walked into a baker’s oven. I was soon glad to find myself in the air-conditioned terminal to await my internal flight to Tamale. Itinerant sellers strolled by with offerings of sour kenkey dough, fried plantain and fresh oranges, many still in their green skins. I bought one.

It was as I peeled the orange that a young American man came to sit beside me.

‘First time in Ghana?’ he asked with no reserve.

‘Yes, it probably shows,’ I said before I offered the back of my sticky hand.

‘Hi, I’m Bob Adams. American Peace Corps. A bit like your Voluntary Services Overseas, right? You British?’

God, what was I? Russian? Scottish? British? ‘From Glasgow, Scotland,’ I replied. ‘But not with VSO. I’m going to manage a peanut factory in the north,’ I informed him with a degree of pride. ‘And you?’

He pointed to a satchel sitting between his feet. ‘I teach at Navrongo Secondary School on the border with Upper Volta. Math is my subject. Well, in fact, math and music, the ‘m’ subjects.’ Then he surprised me by saying, ‘You going to Tamale?