John Davis - The Land God Made in Anger

‘Please don’t say they’re stupid,’ the Kid whined. ‘It’s done now.’

‘Yes, Elsie,’ McQuade agreed.

Elsie suddenly looked worried. ‘Oh, I’m sorry. What I mean is I worry about you boys! Look, I’m not against women – I just wish you’d marry the right girls.’

‘ You better be careful, Elsie! ’ Tucker suddenly shouted. He looked close to tears.

Elsie groaned and sat back. ‘Oh dear.’ Then he put a hairy hand on Tucker’s shoulder. ‘Look, all I mean is, I do the accounts and I know every penny you earn. Remember … you guys are the only family I’ve got.’

The episode was terminated by their arrival at the municipal market. Elsie got out to do the revictualling for the ship. He leant in the window and shook the Kid’s shoulder. ‘I’m sorry.’ He turned and lumbered off into the market. McQuade said:

‘He means well, Kid. And Beryl’s going to love ‘em.’

The Kid groaned. ‘ Will you please, please, please for Christ’s sake quit talking about my stupid new teeth! ’

They parted outside the dentist’s surgery. They wished the Kid luck but he did not even answer, just stomped off belligerently. McQuade and Tucker walked to the bank and cashed a company cheque for the Coloureds. Tucker returned to the ship to pay them, and McQuade walked to his house in Fifth Street.

He called his house Railway Yard View, which is a pretty bloody awful name for a house, but then, as McQuade said, Walvis Bay is a pretty bloody awful town. Half the houses in Fifth Street were empty, windows broken, paint peeling, abandoned. McQuade’s windows were intact and the Stormtrooper had made him some curtains (‘ How you can live like this, Englisch! ’), he had a coloured maid called Maria who came once a week to sweep up the dust that came in every crack when the Ostwind blew, and the second-hand furniture he had bought was not too bad. He had built the big double bed himself by knocking together stout planks, and had put in some nice lamps and indoor plants, but it was still a bloody bleak old Railways house, and the garden was desert sand, one cactus plant and a rubber bush alongside the garage and servants’ room, as depressing as all get-out but what the hell, what do you expect for thirty rand a month in Walvis Bay? He was here only temporarily, he would have a proper place in Australia, next year. He let himself in the front door and walked through to the room which he used as the company office. There was no mail except a bank statement which he did not care to open. There were no messages on his telephone answering-machine. He dialled the Stormtrooper’s cottage in Swakopmund. It rang and rang. He glanced at his watch. School was over and today she had no hockey practice. He went to the bathroom and ran water into the old enamel tub.

He proceeded to scrub himself up for the Stormtrooper. He washed his hair cheerfully to be beautiful for the Stormtrooper, then shaved and put on Eau de Cologne to smell nice for the Stormtrooper. Thinking about her magnificent thighs.

He still had the old Landrover he had bought two years ago in Cape Town. He drove over the railway bridge and the desert opened up, the barren coast on one side of the tarred road, yellow sand dunes towering up on the other, ridged and fluted by the wind. He was in a good mood. Twenty-five minutes later he crossed the bridge over the dry Swakop River, into the little German town that is so different to bleak Walvis Bay.

He turned down a wide sand street towards the sea and parked outside a house. He walked down to the cottage at the back, and entered the Stormtrooper’s sandy garden. All the windows were closed. He tried the front door. Locked. He knocked, and waited. Then he retraced his steps. It was after five o’clock, so she could not be shopping. He drove to the Europahof Hotel.

It is built in Alpine style, with beams inlaid into the walls. There was singing in German as he walked into the bar. There were a dozen men whom he knew by sight. As he entered, the singing abruptly died away. McQuade gave them a polite nod and went to the empty end. There was a moment’s hush, then conversation picked up, in German. The bartender came over. Maybe it was the way the singing had stopped but McQuade had the feeling the man’s smile was frosty. ‘Good afternoon, Klaus,’ he said. ‘A beer, please.’ He put the money on the bar. ‘Have you seen Helga this afternoon?’

‘Not this afternoon.’ Klaus took the money to the till.

McQuade was surprised. He felt distinctly unwanted. Yet he had often used this place, and the Germans had always been polite. He could only think that they knew something about Helga. They knew he dated her, but something had happened. He felt uncomfortable. He could feel them looking at his back. He thought, Well to hell with this. He lifted the glass and just then there was a shout:

‘ Heil Hitler! ’

McQuade turned, astonished. A fat man stood in the door, his right arm out, his feet together, a drunken solemnity on his flushed face. There was a silence, then several men admonished him in German. The fat man dropped his arm, glanced around drunkenly and then came in, grinning unsteadily.

McQuade turned back to his beer. Jesus Christ. He drank the rest of his beer down, down. He got up and turned for the door. ‘ Auf Wiedersehen ,’ he muttered.

He walked back to his Landrover, and sat behind the wheel, thinking about the atmosphere in that bar.

Never encountered it before, and he didn’t simply mean the man giving the salute. That was just a drunken fool. No, it had something to do with Helga. Had she found herself another boyfriend? He wouldn’t have credited it but he felt a stab of jealousy. Anyway, he was going to get to the bottom of this. He started the Landrover, and drove up the sand street, to Kukki’s Pub.

Which is another nice bar, in an old German building, patronized by the younger South Westers. English was the language most heard in here. It was half full. McQuade got a stool at the bar, nodding greetings. Kukki came over. ‘Beer, please, Kukki. Listen, have you seen Helga today?’

Kukki looked blank. ‘No.’ He reached under the counter for the beer.

‘No idea where she might be?’

Kukki looked puzzled. ‘No.’

‘Would you tell me if you knew?’

Kukki looked mystified. ‘Sure. Why?’

McQuade felt embarrassed saying it, but Kukki was his friend. He beckoned. Kukki leant closer. ‘If she’s found herself another boyfriend, I’d like to know.’

Kukki smiled patiently. ‘If she had, I’d know. And I know she thinks you’re the greatest thing since bratwurst and sauerkraut. Which shows there’s no accounting for taste.’ He moved off down the bar.

McQuade sipped his beer. All very well, but that wasn’t solving his problem of getting laid. Where was the Stormtrooper? She of the magnificent Teutonic thighs goldened by the desert sun, her magnificent sweaty arse in her scanty skirt as she bullied for the ball on the hockey pitch, she of the magnificent breasts which gave him such bliss when she wasn’t giving him a Teutonic hard time. (‘You think I just do this for dinners, huh?’) Well, he wanted to buy her the finest damn dinner, then take her back to that gemütliche cottage and make havoc with her well-nourished body. He went to the public telephone and dialled her again.

Still no reply. Well, he had better leave her a note telling her where he was, so he quaffed back his beer.

The cottage was still silent. He pinned the note to her door and walked back up the sandy lane. As he passed the window of the front house there was a tap on the glass. Annie, the neighbour, beckoned him. She opened the window.

‘Hi! Helga’s gone to her parents’ place for the night.’ Annie said.