Sandey - chapter 1

[Resident Hyaena]

 




Here is the draft for the third chapter.




With William now in a more cosmopolitan or "worldly" part of The Cape, there are more of the local variants of the English language, plus maritime jargon, and the mixed speech "impediments" of a newly introduced character.




There are no sexual references or depictions in this chapter. But since someone reading this chapter can then read another one which does have such content, the Disclaimer & Warning still applies.




At this point also, if there are any South Africans reading this, their input regarding the depictions of the Cape Province would be greatly appreciated.




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Sandey, chapter 3

by the

Resident Hyaena

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I struggled through the brush, the old trails now overgrown. The area had been closed-off a few years ago to shooters, but I still knew my way about, and my special access point was still unblocked. And from the lack of trash-piles, the bergies probably hadn't moved in yet.




I had not returned here since the day I found Sandey.




I got to the two towering boulders, and they at least had not changed. The "stash bush" at their base had grown thicker, and even more concealing. I worked my way in and found the stashed tub, still there, shrouded in deep shadow. But its one remaining towel had decayed and crumbled.




The tub and lid though had been covered in camo tape, and while it had also faded and crumbled, the plastic underneath had been protected by it, the towel, and the greatly deepened bush cover from the sun, and was still sound.




Still, I emptied it into another bucket I brought, since the handle was badly rusted, and then stashed it back into the bush, its rotted camo tape now an even better camouflage than when new and with the towel.




Six hundred forty five Rand was still a lot of money at that time, but I figured I might need every cent I could muster, plus, I was making good driving time. So I was going to stop here and try to retrieve & sell my last stash.




But that wasn't the main reason for coming here.




I went over to the west side of the towering boulders. And clutching her picture, I stood in front of the very spot where I found Sandey. That whole area was unchanged from that time many years ago, and I replayed the memory of that event like it had just happened.




And as I stood there, I noticed two Cape Vultures on the right, circling in a thermal. Her parents? siblings? one of each? As few as there were, one or both must surely be closely related to her.




I held up her picture to the sky. And for a minute or so, I was looking at what must be to some extent, a "family portrait". Then they broke away from the thermal and soon disappeared over the Back Table.




I wanted to stay longer, but the Birds' departure and my watch showed it was time to go. I looked again at that special patch of sandy ground, then slowly and sadly turned and walked away, probably for the last time ever. I picked up the bucket of old lead & brass, and trudged back to the car. I had trouble getting her picture back into the pocket, so I put it into the glove box.






I had made it back onto M3, and was approaching the M3-M41 interchange, when lights came on in the mirror, and a siren began wailing.




KAK!




I pulled over, and a police car came up to an abrupt stop behind me. The driver door popped open immediately, and a voice came over the horn.




"Hands up!" blared the voice. "One hand, open the door and undo your seatbelt, slowly. That's right, keep that other hand up!".




I did as he said.




"Both hands up, step out of the car, SLOWLY!".




"Hands on the bonnet, spread your legs, face down, DO IT!"




I was then patted down, though it felt more like probing and pushing than patting. He then pulled me up by the collar and turned me around to face him.




His name tag said "Dereck Kaufmann". He was a Sergeant, and the only one in the car.




He was rather ordinary looking, one of those unmemorable, easily forgettable generic faces that could readily go missing in a crowd of one.




Except for the eyes. They were the kind that seemed to hold a lot behind them, but hidden and secured with an emotionless lock and key.




And that cold gaze was going over me relentlessly.




"Licence and registration, take them out of the wallet!"




I handed them to him.




He looked at them and screwed his face up.




"WILLIAM Mauraack? You're not Joseph! you his boy?"




"Yes, Joseph Mauraack is my father".




"That's "Yes SIR" to you!" he barked.




"Yes, Sir, he's my father".




He then slowly walked a circle around me, eyeing every square centimetre, stopping back in front of me.




"Not good" he said "the name of Mauraack don't go down well in these parts. Where are you going and what's your business?"




"I'm going to Kalk Bay, Sir, for a job interview".




"Kalk Bay, the harbour? What kind of job do you hope to find there?"




"I don't know, Sir" I replied. "all I know is, its an interview".  He then looked me over again.




"All they know there is fish, Fish, FISH!" he said mockingly "And you don't look like no fisherman to me!"




He then walked the length of the car, looking over it intently. I knew he was looking for some sort of problem that he could use as an excuse to write up a ticket.




Or worse.




"Put some air in that tyre!" he growled, "and wipe down that headlamp, it needs to be clear and bright!"




"Yes, sir, I will" I replied, grabbing my window rag, and carefully wiping down the lamp, and then the other one.




"Good enough, for now" he said, handing back my licence. "Now get going, get that tyre filled, and don't make me have to stop you again!"




I put it back in the wallet, got in, buckled up, and reached for the key. And as I did, he pulled up and stopped, window down.




"Good luck with the interview, DREAMER!" he said, as he took off in a kick of dust.






It was early afternoon when I made it to Kalk Bay. We had visited beaches & harbours on the Western Cape before on rare family day-treks, but this east-facing harbour and the nearby Fish Hoek struck me as a bit odd. I parked in an open dirt lot, put on my pack, headed towards the harbour, and began the search.




It was a small harbour, one regular concrete pier, a slipway, and a larger concrete seawall pier, or quay. The mostly wooden boats were all-a-clutter, close-packed, and of all shapes, sizes, & condition, some looking like they could turn-turtle at any moment.




And all in a riot of bright colours, stripes & patterns, that gave an effect like the old dazzle camouflage of the British Royal Navy.




Against that, I figured a solid-colour boat should stand out fairly well.




But I could not see anything that looked like what Jan and Mark had described, and they did not include the captain's name. I asked the very few people around, but nobody could (or would) help me.




Could it be out to sea?




After checking the same boats two or three times, and the shadows getting longer, I was beginning to get real worried. Then, with the raking afternoon light exposing previously shaded areas, I spotted it at the far end of the line of larger boats on the seawall quay.




Unlike its mostly smaller wooden companions, this was a sixteen metre steel hull with a two-level superstructure, one of those old overseas-built multi-purpose fishing jobs from somewhere around the sixties.




Still very serviceable & solid-looking, but definitely long-in-the-tooth.




It seemed more like a “dirty dijon” than the dull yellow described in the letter, but then some direct sunlight revealed that it was indeed the yellow hull described, but with a white superstructure that was not noted.




And there was the name, "The Golden Dragon", showing with the better lighting.




And the gangway, with the bell mounted above the rail, and the striker rod hanging from a chain.




Slowly and nervously, I approached the bell, feeling almost as if it were going to bite me. I picked up the striker, paused, took a deep breath, and tried for the best shave-and-a-haircut that I could muster.




And it rang out, loud and clear. But there was no reply.




I waited a minute, then tried again. But as the last of "haircut" died away, there was still no reply.




I tried a third time, nothing.




With a sigh and sagging shoulders, I let go the striker, and began to turn away. But just then, an angry voice boomed out from somewhere within the ship...




"Who's dat, who goes there? I'm busy. State yer business now or be off!"




I was startled, and froze, unable to speak.




"Well?" bellowed the voice again "Speak now or go away!".




"Its William" I said in a quavering voice, remembering the letter "Jan and Mark sent me".




There was a long, heavy silence, and I could feel the weight of it pressing down on me.




"William?" said the voice "William Mauraack of Stellenbosch?  Good gracious, come aboard, I've been expectin' ya!"




I walked slowly and carefully up the gangway, partly in apprehension of who I would encounter, and partly from the worn, wet, and slippery planking. I stepped out onto the deck, and as I did, a door creaked open and a man stepped out from what appeared to be the galley.




He was stout, heavily built, dressed in working dungarees, a heavy turtle-neck pullover, a yellow oilskin with reflector bands and attached hood draped over the back, a bo'sun's pipe of different metals on a neck-chain, and a generic skipper's hat, slightly crushed or slumped on one side.




His face was ruddy and graven from decades of sun and labour, but seemed as if it could have belonged to a slightly younger, beardless Santa Claus.




He looked for all the world like "The Skipper" from the old Gilligan telly series from the USA. And sounded much like him too, but a bit coarser.




And he looked and sounded strangely familiar.




He came up to me and looked me in the eyes, squinting & moving his head, like one who had mislaid their reading glasses.




"Well bust my scupper!" he said "it IS you! I 'ent seen ya since ya were knee-high to a grasshopper! An' look at ya now, your mom 'n' pop must be so proud..."




Then his face changed, and became grave and sad. "I'm sorry" he said "I only just-soon found out, an' it still asn't sunk in yet. Could ya possibly forgive me?"




"That's okay" I said "it still hasn't completely sunk in with me, either".




He then put his hands on my shoulders, lifted them away, and brought them back down with two firm but friendly pats.




"Wec'n deal with dat later, but first, ya probably wonderin' who I am. My proper name is Bertram Atwater, but ya can call me Cap'n Bert or just Cap'n".




It did sound a bit familiar, in a very distant way. I scoured my memory, then it hit me. "Uncle Berty?" I asked "grampa Philo used to show us old pictures, and told many stories about you and him & father".




"That's right", he said, "ol' Uncle Berty! But as our dear Cap'n Philo prolly told ya, I'm not a true-blood uncle, just a friendship uncle, from our years together in th' Navy".




We sat down on a bench, and gabbed for another ten minutes or so, recalling the very brief time that both he and grampa Philo were around when I was just a toddler. But the shadows were creeping up, and soon we were in them.




"It's gonna get dark soon" he said "where're ya parked?"




"Over in that dirt lot" I said, pointing in that direction.




"That's fine 'nough in th' daylight" he said "but dangerous at night. Not because o' watchers, thieves or th' like, but a lotta heavy equipment moves through there at night, includ'n net cranes, which can swing their block & tackle around an' smash a car like a wrecking ball".




"Before anything else, let's get ya things an' move ya car to a safer 'n' more permanent place".




So he locked up the galley, closed and locked the two gangway gates, and we headed back along the quay and over to my car. He then bent down and looked at the wheels. "Hmmm..." he muttered "we'd best move ya things into ma bakkie to drive 'em to The Dragon, you've got th' wrong tyres for that quay. One good hit on th' brakes, an' you'd just skate right-off into th' drink".




We got in, and he directed me around back of a large warehouse, and to a very high, razor wire topped fence with an electric gate, a robot, and a sign that said "Service and Fleet Vehicles Only". He reached into a pocket, took out a new-looking plastic card, and stuck it in the slot in the robot's control box, which activated the gate. We drove in, easily found a free spot, and parked.




"Here we go" he said "right next to ma own bakkie!"




And as we got out, he handed me the card. "Keep this with ya, you'll need it to enter with ya car, or to enter th' pedestrian gate. It won't be needed for exit, just drive up & wait for th' gate & robot. Youc'n use th' one-way exit turnstile to leave on foot".




Then he reached into the same pocket as with the card, and took out an equally new-looking numbered oval vinyl sticker. He went to the driver's side of my car, wiped the lower corner of the windscreen, peeled the decal, and applied it to the lower driver's corner. "This makes it official, youc'n now park here any time, any day, free of charge, with no time limit, no watchers, no questions asked".




"We'll load-up an move ya things" he said "but first, I need to discuss a few more things with ya. Not here or at The Dragon though, but at a place with good lights, solid footin' an' lekker chow".




"The Snoek Shack is my favourite everyday graze off The Dragon, but way too open & crowded for us to talk. Let's go over to The Binnacle, best mix-braai this side o' Singapore. An' great steak, chicken, an' burgers, Whatever ya fancy, my shout!".




We took his bakkie, an old Toyota Hilux, and made the drive over. We got out and I looked towards the restaurant, but the Cap'n directed me over to the bin kraal.




"Before we go in, lift that lid, take a good deep sniff, an' tell me what ya think".




I thought it a strange request, and was apprehensive. But I did as he asked. "Ehhh..." I said "it reeks of fish muck, but I've smelled colicky heifer, which is far worse".




"Very good!" he said "belly barks'll be one less concern on The Dragon".




We turned back to the main walk, chose the original dining room, and got a window-side table. There was hardly anyone there, but most were in the upper dining room. And it was that typical second lull period, too late for lunch, too early for supper.




We checked the menus and placed our orders. Uncle, or Cap'n Bert kept his eyes physically towards the table, but he was clearly keeping tabs on the staff and the few patrons.




"As ya've prolly gathered by now, this isa fisherman's town" he said "we eat, breathe, an' bleed fish 24/7. Ya ordered a burger, where's most here order fish. But burgers 're th' second big thing for th' fleet, so dat's good too, 'specially since they take less space on board 'n' keep frozen better".




"There's still th' 24 hour sea-test, but ya stood th' bin, which tells me that y'ought to be good to go to sea also".




"Ya should do very well here".




He then side-glanced around, making sure that no one was listening.




"But 'ere's the thing, th' town's been a changin'. They've gone puttin' in gall'ries & boo-teeks, puttin' gingerbread 'n' broekie lace on th' buildings an foof on th' supper plates. Even The Binnacle 'as added a fancy new dinin' room, caterin' to th' tourists, but not th' locals".




"Seafood dock prices er down, 'specially fer salmon, hake, an' various whitefish which form th' greater value of our catch, an' th' greatest part of th' market right now. An' tourism's on th' rise, 'specially th' sportfishin' sector",




"An' they all expect billfish!".




"Only snoek 'n' crab er holdin' their market".




"So, many in th' fleet have switched from commercial to sportfishin' charters. An' with fewer charter boat crew-members as actual fishermen, most hands 're now landlubbers, berthing themselves ashore off-duty, rather than on th' boats".




"An' sadly, I'm lookin' to convert The Golden Dragon over myself".




He paused as the server approached and delivered our meals, mine, the Binnacle Burger with chips & onion rings, and the Cap'n's, the Seafood Braai.




" Mmmm..." he said, taking a nice chunk off his fork "Really lekker snoek, as fresh as yac'n ask for, maybe even fresh yesterday from The Dragon herself!". He then took my unused fork, cut-off a bite, and handed it to me "Tell me what ya think" he said.




I took it, gave it a cursory sniff, then popped it in. I had tried snoek before, salted and dried, but this fresh stuff was a completely different animal!




"Kinda strong and oily" I said. "Its fair enough, but it could use some Piri-piri sauce and ginger".




"Now dat's interesting!" the Cap'n said " "Fresh snoek's 'n acquired taste, one dat not many not born-to-th'-sea can develop in short time. Yet ya seem to 'ave no problem with it".




He glanced around again, as we kept eating.




"Goin' on" he said between bites "soon, it'll largely be about sportfishin', tourist traps an' cruises. Th' restaurants an' fish market'll remain in operation, an' even thrive. But I fear most o' th' fish'll be bought straight from th' sport-fishers, or even shuttled in from Hout Bay".




He then gazed at the piece on his fork. "An' quality'll surely suffer". he added, popping it in.




"Now a couple o' weeks or so ago, my last on-board crewman opted fer shore berth". he said. "An' just as e's walkin' away with his ditty 'n' duffel, who do I see coming up th' quay? The Van deKamp brothers!"




"Yep" he said, seeing my expression "None other than Jan an' Mark!"




"So I call 'em aboard an' we sit in th' now deserted galley & mess deck, an' catch-up on old times an' new developments. They told me 'bout all dat 'appened with ya, your family, an' Clive & th' good Doctor".




"Yep" he added again "Bob Trede, Clive an' I go way back, before Jan an' Mark were even born!"




"An' it was from Trede himself I first learned o' yer remarkable relationship with an equally remarkable Bird. Since then, I've 'erd much gab about it over th' years, at th' bars, dockside, in newspapers an' th' market”.




“An' on th' telly".




I started, and nearly dropped my onion ring. "Yes, William, you've a reputation dat goes far beyond The Winelands! An' it precedes ya, though few here've seen a current enough bioscope or photo to spot ya at a glance, or even a double-take".




"Dat's to be expected, flash-in-the-pan y'know. You've been outta th' news for some time now, an' yer appearance 'as changed enough dat few'ld connect ya now with a dodgy, years-old telly image. Here though, that could be a good thing".




"But back to matters. 'Ave ya been followin' th' issue of Shags vs fishermen?" he asked. "Yes, for a long time now" I replied sadly "and it isn't right!"




Suddenly I realized that there may be problems - here in a fishing town - with that last remark. But the Cap'n nodded in agreement. "I 'ear ya" he replied "I know they do no real harm, dat what they do take is mostly eels, which're near worthless in this market, even as bait. There's a few others 'ere dat know, but they're in th' minority".




"Guano's a problem, but dat's a matter o' rightly tending to yer own boat. Th' ones complainin' 'bout guano are off''n th' same ones dat never flip a cent to get their hull scraped, but 're always yammin' 'bout th' barnacles".




"Sport-fishers 're goin' after th' really big stuff, far too big fer Cormorants, or even Pelicans. But without smaller fish about, they sometimes go fer th' bait, an' get hooked in th' process. Persecution's less, but hookin' casualties look to be an equal blow".




"An asa matter o' changin' attitude, vs unchangin' practice, ere's actually less dat can be done 'bout th' sport-fisher's unmeanin' hookage".




He stopped and looked around again, as the room slowly took on more patrons. "Too many ears coming in" he said "We'll continue dat later".




"So" he said in a more casual tone "did yer drive go well?"




"Fair enough" I said "I got an early start, had easy traffic, and detoured to a special place I had to visit - the place where I first found Sandey. Then I headed here, but before the M3-M41 interchange, I got stopped by a cop, who apparently ran my number and thought I was my father".




"Oh my!" he said "hopefully it went without too much trouble".




"It was rather tense" I replied "He did lights, siren & bullhorn, and was in pre-takedown mode, until he saw my license, and knew I was not my father. His badge said "Darryl Hoffman", or something like that".




The Cap'n's fork dropped to his plate.




"Kaufmann?" he whispered "Dereck Kaufmann? Ya got hot-stopped by HIM?"




"Yes, that's the name, Dereck Kaufmann. You know him?




"An' yer still 'ere, alive an' unbeaten?"




"Well, yes" I said "He was very rude and seemed to be looking for trouble. but he let me go with the demand that I fill a tyre and clean my headlamp. He had his ticket book out, but didn't use it".




And the Cap'n's eyes opened wide.




"Sergeant-Dereck-Alvyn-Kaufmann" he said in a very low voice, with a pause at each word of the name "Ol' DAK, th' most bosbefok vark The Cape ever stuck a badge to!".




He paused, looked around, and his look of wonder turned to worry .




"Tell me everything!" he whispered "everything dat happened!"




So in a low voice, I recounted everything in full detail, from when the lights & siren came on, to when I was finally back on my way and his police car gone. He had me go over several parts again, particularly in regards to his eyes and other expressions.




And when finally done, his look of wonder returned.




"I donna know how ya did it, or if ya father did it, or someone else" said the Cap'n "but 'e saw, felt, read, or 'eard somethin' dat made em like ya!"




"Like me?" I said "like me? He treated me like kak!"




"Ya never seen kak from him!" replied the Cap'n "When 'e does one of his trademark one-man hot-stops on ya, you'll either get gassed, truncheoned, slammed, kidney-punched, shot, or some mix of 'em. Even bein' white is no protection. Everyone, EVERYONE hot-stopped by him gets burned".




"Everyone. Except you!"




"I've 'eard an' seen many amazin' things in ma life" he said "but th' 'count o' yer run-in with Sgt. Kaufmann? Dat's a whale of a tale iffen there ever was one! Ave ya told anyone else?"




"No one" I replied.




"Don't!" he whispered, scanning around "Don't tell anyone. Don't even mention his name! If word ever got to 'em that 'e'd "gone soft", it would send 'em on a totally bossie reign-of-terror!"




"DON'T TELL ANY-ONE!"




"I won't tell" I answered "not to ANYONE!"




He slumped back down into his seat, and heaved a sigh of relief. He did a final scan-around, and from his look & by my own reckoning, it was apparent no one had heard any of our talk. And so we settled down to our last bites.




"Looks about time ta head back" he said as he popped in his last bite of fish.  




"Thank you so much for supper" I replied, downing the last burger bite "This was most lekker!"




He settled the bill and we headed back to his bakkie. Evening was just in, and the lights were coming on. We got in and headed back, but instead of the parking lot, we headed for the quay and towards The Golden Dragon.




"Piri-piri & ginger..." he mused "You an' ya brother ever do any cookin'?"




"A fair amount" I replied "though Gerry never got the hang of it. I'd often help mom in the kitchen as a kid, then went on to regular cooking when I got older, for times when my mom had to join in with preparing baskets & making ribbon bows on Holiday Paks".




"An' pressin' grapes, bottlin', cowmilkin', cheesemakin', an' honey & beeswax processin', from what I 'ear" he said.




"AND Vulture-keeper. Quite a resume!"




"So, Will...may I call ya Will?" he asked. "Sure" I said "Jan and Mark called me that all the time".




"So, Will" he continued "'ere's a proposition. I'd like to take ya on as an apprentice, as a deck hand, maybe a cook, other duties, an' possibly as a fisherman as ya skills may prove".




"Work'd be tough, dirty, a bit o' danger, nay, a LOT o' danger, an' th' hours long, sometimes 'round th' clock. But prolly not much tougher than bein' a ranch-hand, 'specially in th' calving season".




"I won't lie, but dependin' on th' catch, pay'ld be spotty, an' with bad or no catch, prolly none at all. But with no one else takin' berth on-board in port, you'd 'ave th' entire crew berth here on The Dragon, all ta yourself in port after th' crew disembark, full shore leave at th' end o' work as ya may wish, an' catch or no catch, all th' food ya want an' can cook".




"An' with a doctor-nephew in town with his own clinic, free basic medical care, short o' what it takes a hospital to do".




With that, we made it to the boat and parked at the gangway, well-lit by the overhead floodlights. We got out and he headed for, then stopped at the foot of the gangway.




"An' somethin' else" he continued, extending his hand to The Golden Dragon "A home. Nutt'n could ever replace what was robbed from ya, but if ya can ride The Dragon & do her bidding, she'll be yer home for as long as ya do, unless th' market totally fails, or if King Neptune & Davy Jones claims her".




"So Will, whattya say?"




I had come here, thinking of a dry interview with some dispassionate stranger for some short-term grunt work and living out of my car. Instead, I found an old long-lost nearly forgotten family friend, who was offering the possibility of a long-term, possibly career position, and a welcoming home.




"I would be proud and honoured to serve you and The Golden Dragon!" I replied with a smile.




He then unlocked and opened the gates, motioning for me to stay at the bottom. Stepping on deck, he then motioned me up, and as he did, he took his bo'sun's pipe and piped out a low note, a higher one, the low one again, and then the higher again, but cut short.




"Sailor-apprentice William Mauraack" he said "Welcome aboard!"




I reached the top of the gangway, stepped aboard, and he gave me a great-big bear-hug with back pats, like my mom & grampa Philo used to do, and the one time with Bob Trede, but which my father never did.




He then gave me a brief tour of the ship, before we headed back to the parking lot to get my things.




We got everything aboard & stowed, secured the bakkie, then returned to The Dragon for initial orientation. We went over watches, basic safety, emergency procedures, and the schedule for the morning and next day. I would not have to stand watches until we were underway for the trial.




On finishing-up the initial orientation, we then did some more reminiscing, mainly of the last ten years or so at the ranch, with one of the two bottles of Springhaas Farms Spiced Apple-Grape Cider.




Eventually, the galley clock chimed & showed 9:00 PM. "It's 21:00" the Cap'n said "'bout time to hit th' rack. I see ya have yer own alarm clock. Ya can hang it on th' overhead hook between yer rack and th' locker. Don't set it down on th' stand or table, or a pitch 'r roll could send it to th' deck! An' be sure to set it no later than 04:45, you'll need to be dressed an' ready when th' first crew shows up at 05:00".




He then secured the area, and we went to my quarters, and confirmed that all was ship-shape. And as he left, he said "'Ave a good night's sleep Will. For all you've gone through, you've earned it, many times over".




And so I changed into my nightclothes, and settled-in for bed. And as I felt the beginnings of sleep, I was at peace, finally at peace, for the first time since before everything began crashing down.




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