The Smoke That Thunders Page 9

  Susan entered the room and heard his last declaration. She gave her husband a look indicating he was getting too involved in his own verbiage and should now shut up.

  He became quiet, took a prolonged breath, and laughed. “Ag nee man. I do apologize. I can go on, can’t I? You boys need to tell me when I become such a bore. Let’s not get so political here. I promise to never be such a bore again.”

  Sarah brought in a pot of tea and said, “Shouldn’t that be you won’t be such a Boer, Dad?”

  “It is indeed both, my dear Sarah.”

  “No need to apologize. You gave us lots to think about, and I’m here to learn. Thanks for the lesson.” Chad said this with a keen awareness that he would need to impress the father of this beautiful and intriguing young woman.

  Peter nodded and excused himself to go the bathroom.

  Johan suggested they play a game. Lisa insisted on charades.

  Political debates were forgotten. They spent the rest of the evening in laughter and frivolity as Chad and Peter enjoyed a glimpse into another side of this family.

  Susan suggested that Sarah drive their new friends home.

  As they walked to the Beetle, Johan barked out, “You hurry back home now, Sarah!”

  “Afraid you’ll stop at your boyfriend’s on the way home?” Chad asked as they climbed into the car.

  “I’ve been known to do that,” said Sarah.

  Chad dismissed the comment. He was confident she had a bona fide interest in him. He would win her over, despite any imaginable obstacles that might lie ahead – including alleged boyfriends.

  As they pulled up to Simon’s home, Sarah nonchalantly said, “It may be helpful if we got together. I could fill you in about the church and the kids, perhaps give you some ideas.”

  “You can tell us what’s worked and whatever,” Chad said, suppressing a wave of excitement.

  “Ja. We can go to a place called Jackson’s, a pizza place. It’s really the only place to hang out in Vandy.”

  “Great. Let’s do it,” Chad’s said.

  “Lekker. Wednesday? After youth group?”

  “Laker,” Chad said.

  “Not laker. Lekker. Lekker man,” Sarah corrected as she drove off.

  Chad punched Peter on his left arm as they walked toward the front door and said, “Yessss!”

  “Man, put the brakes on! You don’t need to be setting your sights on one of the local females. We just got here.”

  “Why, whatever do you mean, Peter, my boy?”

  Peter punched him on his right arm. “Yeah, right.”

  ***

  Simon offered freshly brewed tea as they came through the door. “How was your evening? And how was Mr. Van den Berg tonight?”

  Peter’s assessment, “Interesting, very interesting.” He went on to summarize Johan’s tirade.

  Simon laughed, which irritated Peter. “Yes, that Johan is a character. He can indeed be hard to handle at times, but he has a good heart.”

  Chad said, “I’m sure he does, but … um, what about Sarah? What’s she like?”

  “Intelligent, a natural leader. I would say she has her dad’s stubbornness and forthrightness and her mother’s compassion and genuineness – a wonderful combination.”

  “Mature for her age, don’t you think?”

  Peter shouted. “Just get to the point! God! Chad’s mad over the girl. What he’s really trying to ask you is if you think there is a chance for Jersey boy here to make it with a seventeen-year-old Afrikaner daughter of an alcoholic father.”

  “Geez, Pete! Why don’t you try to be rude? But what do you think Simon? She is beautiful, intriguing, sexy, and irresistible. Sooo? Is she available … winnable?”

  Simon laughed – a burst of laughter indicating more than mild amusement. “She’s been dating Philip Pieterson for the past six months.”

  “So there’s a bit of competition. That’s okay.”

  Simon laughed again. “Ohhhh. Now you must know, Philip was a runner-up in last year’s Mr. South Africa, and he did very well at Mr. Olympia this year, fourth or something in the short division. He is quite the bodybuilder. He’s expected to do well in Mr. World this year.”

  Peter joined Simon’s laughter. “I love it. That’s great, just great. The cheerleader versus the bodybuilder. Jersey boy versus Mr. World. I’d buy a ticket to see that. How ’bout you, Simon?”

  Chad shook his head. “I’ll tell you what, there is something there. I could tell the first time I saw her, the first time our eyes met. There is a connection there. You’ll see.”

  “Oh my God! Simon, it’s the love-at-first-sight syndrome. What’s the other name for it? Oh yeah, the out-of-your-mind syndrome. Some advice, Chad. Just stay off that train!”

  “Maybe you’re right, but I’m already on the train, so I might as well see where it goes.”

  “Simon, shall we warn the bodybuilder that a crazy train’s a comin’?”

  CHAPTER 9

  Jackson’s

  Chad had perfected the art of improvisation. The planning sessions, the youth meetings, and even the church services – all improvised. That was how he approached all things great and small. His whole life had been pretense. He feigned commitment and effort, and impressed the masses; all the while, he was only hunting for the next attractive and available female to soothe his emptiness. Then Sarah appeared. He did not know why, but he knew this one would be different. All week, he went through the motions of his expected roles; however, the only thing on his mind was their assignation at Jackson’s.

  Peter dreaded the planning sessions, but he hated the meetings and the services infinitely more. Any meeting increased his level of anxiety, and worse, the possibility of a panic attack. He had not had a full-blown panic attack since arriving in South Africa. His anxiety level had risen many times, but through the years, he had learned to handle those waves of anxiety. A panic attack was a different matter; it was a cruel ogre, a monster that took on a life of its own. Every day he shot up a prayer that the monster would not raise its ugly head. Peter spent incredible emotional determination hiding the waves of anxiety and hiding his fear of the monster. He had to carefully conceal this aspect of his life lest others think (or was it know?) that he was crazy. I can handle this. I can handle this, became the daily mantra he employed to endure the countless meetings, the arduous interactions with others and worst of, having to speak in front of human beings.

  ***

  The aroma of baking pizza mixed with the intrusive, yet stimulating odor of cigarettes enveloped them as they walked through the door at Jackson’s. The smell aroused memories of wasted hours hibernating in numerous bars in their college town.

  Jackson’s was an oasis for emerging adults in the tri-city area. The haunt attracted a mixture of individuals: the unemployed and barely employed, the thinkers and the inane, the socialites and the lonely. At each table they gathered to waste time, to avoid loneliness, to relax, and perhaps to feel important, if only for a few moments. One thing each group had in common was the color of their skin, Blankes alleenlik; Whites only.

  As the door closed behind them, every head in the half-full establishment turned, checking to see if one of their mates had come to join them. The stares lingered longer than needed as patrons noted two new faces accompanying one familiar face. A few greeted Sarah by name. With curiosity satisfied, the patrons returned to their important matters of complaining, gossiping, flirting, jesting, or decrying the precarious state of their beloved country.

  The trio stepped around mismatched tables, asymmetrically arranged, as they made their way to the row of booths lining the back wall. Large, smoke-stained mirrors accentuated each booth and offered a distorted reflection of the world on the other side.

  As they nestled down in a secluded booth, a thoughtless burst of laughter erupted from the far end of the restaurant where six Afrikaners, probably in their late twenties, were meandering around an oversized pool table. Each one had a cigaret
te in the corner of his mouth, and each was extremely boisterous and gave evidence to being full of himself. They were oblivious to the groans of annoyed clientele who protested the obnoxious intrusion of the laughter, which had disrupted their own personal repartee.

  “Planks!” Sarah said as she nodded toward the overbearing Afrikaners.

  “Planks?” Chad asked.

  Sarah rolled her eyes. “Those awful Boers, Mompies, Planks. Oh, never mind.”

  Peter made a comment about the size of the pool table. A smiling Sarah corrected him, “That’s snooker, not pool.”

  “Snooker? I guess that explains the oddballs. I mean those colored balls, not those guys.” Peter was about to ask what ‘snooker’ might be when Chad offered a condensed explanation of the game. God, there he goes. Trying to impress the first good-looking female he meets. Such a jerk! Peter rolled his eyes when Chad glanced his way. Chad winked and went on to talk about winning three straight pool tournaments at the country club.

  A lightly freckled young woman, not two inches over five feet, took their orders. She brandished bright red hair that was pulled back tight, producing a stubby ponytail. Peter noticed Sarah gave her a wink as she walked off.

  The three critiqued the evening’s youth meeting and decided it went well, “Though Simon did ramble on, as usual,” Sarah playfully moaned.

  The three tossed around ideas for possible activities for coming youth meetings. Sarah warned them against some good ideas that had proved to be very bad ideas. After thirteen and a half minutes, the discussion had exhausted itself; there was the inevitable and uncomfortable pause when virtual strangers wonder what to say next. The three glanced here and there, avoiding eye contact.

  Sarah ended the uncomfortable moment. She began exposing secrets of the more colorful teenagers and their families. Laughter broke through the awkwardness of strangers trying to prove themselves.

  The redheaded waitress brought pizza and drinks. As she darted off, Sarah asked her what time she got off work. She threw her head back and replied, “Now now.”

  Peter and Chad later learned ‘now now’ was a South African expression meaning ‘within ten minutes,’ not to be confused with the widely used expression ‘just now,’ which implied ‘in about twenty or thirty minutes, if you’re lucky.’

  Sarah said, “Lekker.”

  Peter looked at Chad and raised his eyebrows. Chad gave a slight shrug of the shoulders.

  “That’s Cindy, my best mate.”

  “Oh, cool,” Chad replied.

  “She’ll join us in a minute.”

  “Oh really?” Peter said and thought, My God, what awful hair!

  Sarah’s friend returned in ten minutes, having changed her top, put lipstick on, and taken down her hair. The red hair was now more attention grabbing – an intense orangey red, coarse enough to make an oversized Brillo pad. Seeing her, an image flashed in Peter’s mind: a life-sized troll doll. He bit his lip to curtail a smirk from emerging. He glanced at Chad and could tell he had the exact same thought. Both looked away for a moment, lest laughter burst forth.

  The girl plopped down and slid toward Peter until her shoulder touched his. Peter’s torso jerked the other way and he buried his shoulder into the mirrored wall.

  “Cindy, Peter. Peter, Cindy. And this one’s Chad. Best friends since we were six. She’s been dying to meet you two.” Sarah reached over and touched her hair. “Isn’t this beautiful?”

  Cindy laughed and grinned. Peter forced a polite smile and nodded. He bit his tongue lest the Oh shit! in his brain come out uncensored. My God! It’s a setup. Did Chad know about this? Damn! A surprise blind date. He had an overwhelming urge to leave. If he had known the way home, he would have excused himself and disappeared. He breathed in slowly and began to tell himself, This is no big deal, just a friend of Sarah’s. It’s fine. I can deal with this. He hoped if he said this to himself enough times, he could actually believe it and finally relax.

  Peter’s firm dislike for this redhead forcing herself on them was instantaneous. For no particular reason, he had always abhorred red hair, any shade of it. Cindy’s shade, unfortunately, was the most obnoxious shade of red he had ever seen. Moreover, her overbearing red hair was coupled with blatantly obscene red lipstick and matching fingernails. Peter was certain this offensive clash of nails, lips, and hair was far too much for anyone to have to bear. He actually felt embarrassed for her, but still had trouble looking her way.

  Chad pointed at Cindy’s hair and said, “That is a beautiful head of hair. I love it.”

  Cindy blushed and grinned. “Thank you.”

  “I would die for that a head of hair,” said Sarah.

  Chad quipped, “Naw, that just wouldn’t suit you.”

  “True,” Cindy replied. “It takes a very special person to be a redhead.”

  Chad said, “I suppose. You should’ve been a redhead, Pete.”

  “Those two do blend together, don’t you think?” Sarah said, pointing at Peter and Cindy.

  “I think you’re right,” Chad said and laughed.

  Cindy turned pink.

  Peter sat speechless. He glanced at Cindy and looked again at her red hair and red lips. He felt queasy. He said, forcing a grin, “You think so?”

  As banal conversation continued, Peter’s legs bobbed up and down under the table, and he struggled to find the right place to put his hands. He remained quiet and prayed for the evening to end.

  With pizza devoured, drinks run dry, and banter dying down, Cindy and Sarah excused themselves to do whatever it is women do to freshen up.

  Chad leaned over and whispered, “Get Cindy to go play darts with you.”

  “No way in hell!” Peter said, much too loud.

  “Shh! Come on, man! Give me a few minutes alone with Sarah. Be a friend.”

  “Not for your entire inheritance, friend. This is not a blasted double date. God! No way. You know how goddamn awkward this is for me? Can’t we just leave?”

  “Come on! Cindy’s not so bad. She’s cute,” Chad said.

  “Cute? Are you blind? She’s repulsive. And don’t you dare leave her here with me to go off and flirt with Miss Brown Eyes. It’s disgusting to watch you two making eyes at each other, pretending you’re not. And, my God, those sloppy grins you keep trading! I don’t think I can stand any more of it.”

  “I don’t know what you’re freaking out about. Just go and play darts or something. Pleassssse?”

  “No way. Jesus! You’re something.” Peter leaned toward Chad and slowly said, “We are not here to chase females. Get your hormones under control.”

  Cindy returned while Sarah went to the bar to buy another round of orange squash, a diluted fruit drink that tasted more like water than fruit and seemed a waste of money to two Americans accustomed to Coke, Dr Pepper, and root beer.

  Sarah was returning with a tray of drinks when a burst of laughter pierced everyone’s eardrums. Sarah quickly jerked her head in the direction of the snooker players and lost her balance. Her hip grazed the corner of a table, which sent her spinning around. She fell hard on her buttocks. The four drinks waited half a second before they came crashing down on her lap, drenching her shirt and jeans with sticky orange liquid. Five dozen eyeballs focused on her, and a momentary pause gave way to an eruption of laughter and applause. It died down quickly as clientele and staff returned to their own more important concerns.

  Her three companions rushed over to make sure nothing more was damaged than pride. Sarah remained bright red. Without any words, Cindy whisked Sarah off to the back. The houseboy cleaned up the mess and brought four more drinks while smiling wildly, obviously amused at the poor White girl’s calamity. Peter and Chad worked hard to keep their own laughter subdued as they rehashed the sight of four drinks waiting for Sarah to hit the floor before diving down to drown her.

  Sarah and Cindy returned with Sarah sporting a new shirt – none of Cindy’s spare work shirts. Sarah’s jeans remained damp fro
m the attempted cleanup; new customers would assume an accident of a different sort. Sarah blushed again as she returned. She plopped quickly in the booth and declared, “I feel this big,” holding her thumb and forefinger an inch apart. “I am so sorry. I have never been so embarrassed in my whole life. Can we please just leave now?”

  Cindy said, “Don’t be sorry. It could happen to anyone.”

  “Yeah. No one cares. They don’t. They barely noticed,” Chad assured her.

  “Riggght,” Sarah whimpered.

  “Really, it’s nothing to worry about. You’ll dry out. We’ve all been the fool now and then.” As Peter said this, he realized that was the wrong word to use. “I mean, we’ve all had our moments when we wanted to disappear and fade away. But look, everyone’s consumed with themselves, not giving it another thought.”

  “You can’t imagine what I feel,” Sarah said, still as red as Cindy’s lipstick and refusing to look at her companions.

  “Sure we can. Can’t we, Pete?” Chad looked intently at Peter with a sly smirk.

  Peter knew where Chad was going. Chad would dare to ask him to sacrifice his dignity to soothe this damsel in emotional distress.