The Powder of One _ Forthcoming novel from Siegfried Walther
Draft of Chapter one
Chapter 1
Simon Sayer
laid eyes on Abby Castle for the first time at the bottom of Jameson steps at
the University of Cape Town, more commonly known as UCT. She was standing in
front of a small but vocal group of banner-waving student activists.
The activists on campus were always easy to spot. For one, there was the
near- uniformity of their unflattering attire, which they doubtless sourced
from the bargain bins at some second-hand charity shop in the main road of
nearby Observatory or “Obs” as the suburb was locally known. To accessorise, the students added a
distinctly dishevelled, near-unkempt appearance.
With the
male students, this typically involved sprouting and sporting as much hair and facial
hair as one could tolerate. The newbies usually contented themselves by going unshaven. The serious activists, however, tended
towards longer beards and even longer hair often tied in pony tails.
Simon frequently
wondered about what the more conservative parents of those students would have
to say about guys wearing pony tails. He was tempted to support the cost of his
studies by designing, marketing and selling clip-on pony tails which would
allow guys the option of fitting into conservative society at home, whilst
retaining a credible activist look while on campus.
If one
wished, however, to give those with pony tails a real run for their money, there
was one and only one solution for a white activist. Dreadlocks. In apartheid
South Africa, dreadlocks represented the ultimate non-verbal gesture of
solidarity with the oppressed majority i.e. a veritable raised middle finger
gesture to the white racists who ran the country.
Returning to
the subject of facial hair, there was one thing which no self-respecting activist
at an English speaking university such as UCT could ever wear – a moustache.
There was a very good reason for this.
To permit
an explanation, your indulgence for a slight digression is required.
Apartheid
South Africa was controlled by a white minority. The majority of the population
were denied the right to vote and their protests at this and other injustices
were routinely suppressed by the mostly white security forces, most of whom
were Afrikaans speaking - a language of Dutch origin.
Moustaches
were common amongst many Afrikaans men. For some reason, however, moustaches
were especially common amongst those Afrikaners who formed the majority of the
military, the police and the other security forces.
The
Apartheid security forces did not approve of the liberal political views
amongst the mostly English speaking activists at UCT. In fact, they regarded
the university as a hotbed of subversive left wing communism, repeatedly referring
to it as Moscow on the Hill.
The right
wing apartheid state controlled the media and the flow of information with an
iron grip. However, the disdain with which UCT’s activists flouted the State’s
restrictive censorship laws and the level of support enjoyed by banned
organisations there, infuriated those in charge of maintaining state security.
Such was magnitude of the perceived threat that the police recruited undercover
operatives to pose as students so that they could spy on these subversive
activities. For some reason unbeknown to State Security, however, the covers of
most police spies were quickly blown and UCT lost no time expelling them.
The
Security police no doubt ascribed these failures to all manner of things, such
as whether the spy’s cover stories were credible enough, or whether the English
accents of Afrikaans spies were fit for purpose at a mostly English-speaking
university. No-one at UCT told them that
their moustaches, which were common enough to almost form part of the uniform
in police and security force circles, would cause them stand out like sore
thumbs at an English speaking university. And for some time, one spy after the
other turned up, and in no time was surprised to find himself exposed as a spy,
only to be ignominiously expelled.
As Simon
would later learn, Abby spent much of her time on campus as a student activist
involved in various anti-establishment protests. Since she looked and dressed
like the other activists, there was nothing to disabuse Simon of his initial impression
that she came from an ordinary middle or lower-middle class background similar
to his. It was only much later in the academic year, and shortly after he and
Abby had become an item, that he discovered that she was in fact the daughter
of Sander Castle, one of the richest men in Cape Town.
That
knowledge seemed to make no difference to either of them during the course of
their studies at UCT. As a student, Abby felt that her privileged background
was completely at odds with the various causes in which she had become
involved. She seldom if ever went home to her parents, and she always made a
point of avoiding any references to her wealthy upbringing. When she did
venture home, the visits were short and Simon was never invited. Simon had also
learned over the years not to raise the topic of her relationship with her
family with her. It was not a subject, she had always said, that she cared to
discuss. And that had always been that.
As their
mutual graduation neared, however, Simon discovered something which reminded
him of the difference in their backgrounds. His university education had been
financed by loans he would only be able to pay off once he had secured
employment. Abby’s entire degree, on the other hand, had been paid for by her
parents. It irked him that she had never mentioned this before, and that
instead she had created an impression that she had elected to make her way
through life without relying upon her parent’s considerable resources.
Perhaps it
was just as well that he had not raised that issue with her. Because, as the
graduation date drew closer, Abby’s attire became steadily more fashionable and
smart. When he mentioned the change she simply starred at him blankly.
It also did
not go unnoticed that her visits home had become more frequent, in addition to lasting somewhat longer and
that she had more cash available to spend upon her return.
The icing
on the cake was yet to come. On the morning of their graduation ceremony, he
was awoken by the sound of a car hooting in the road outside their Observatory
commune. He poked his head out the window to see her sitting in a brand new
Mercedes SLK sports car with the top down and the music blaring. It turned out
to be a graduation present which she just could not refuse.
***
Later that
day, Abby introduced Simon to her parents at the graduation ceremony. Simon was
not surprised to discover that both Sander and Brigitte Castle’s upper class
status oozed from everything they wore and everything they did. Their
deportment, their manners, their diction, their clothing was all mixed together
with an air of supreme confidence. It all left no-one in the slightest doubt
that they viewed themselves as being a cut above the rest. When it came to
Simon, their manner was most cordial, even friendly. And yet, somehow he felt
convinced that, despite their politeness, they did not consider him worthy of
their daughter.
An event
which occurred a week later, however, served to supersede the importance of the
initial impressions Simon and the Castles had formed of one another. It also
put a stop to any reservations Simon might have consciously or sub-consciously
entertained about the recent, and not insignificant, changes in Abby’s behaviour.
Abby
announced that she was pregnant and added that she intended to keep the child.
Despite his uncertainty as to whether her plans also included being married to
him, he proceeded to do the gentlemanly thing. He proposed. Her acceptance was
not marked by any significant display of happiness or relief on her part.
Instead, it was much as if someone had fired an invisible starter’s pistol
signifying the commencement of a lengthy series of social formalities.
Whatever
misgivings Sander and Brigitte Castle may have had regarding their daughter’s
decision to have the baby, or regarding the suitability or otherwise of her
choice of husband, they elected not to discuss it with Simon. Instead, he was
politely congratulated. What Sander Castle lacked in warmth as he uttered a few
words welcoming him to his family, he more than made up for with the steeliness
of the grip of his handshake.
***
The Castles
were expected to deliver the society wedding of the year. And they did not
intend to disappoint. As the first order of business, Brigitte Castle lost no
time in ensuring that the Mount Nelson hotel’s premier banqueting venue was
secured. Simon’s attempt at a modicum of restraint in suggesting that having
both a DJ and a six piece band was a bit over the top was unceremoniously
overruled by his future mother-in-law. In retrospect, if his advice to the
effect that a DJ would have sufficed had been heeded, it might perhaps have
prevented the unfortunate events which later transpired.
It would
also have helped if the band had, like the DJ, been content to accept payment
on the day of the wedding, by internet transfer, instead of insisting on
payment at the end, and in cash. Instead, when the wedding finally drew to a
close, and the banqueting halls lights came up, Simon’s father-in-law, Sander
Castle, reached for his jacket. It had been hanging over his chair at the main
table for the past few hours. As he slipped his hand into the inside jacket
pocket, he was shocked to discover that the brown envelope containing the
band’s not insubstantial payment was missing. A frantic, yet diligent search
yielded nothing.
Worse
still, Brigitte Castle then quashed any suggestion that Sander might have left
the critical envelope at home when she confirmed having checked her husband’s
jacket sometime after he had hung it over the chair.
“Oh no!”
she lamented as her shoulders drooped. “Silly me, perhaps I alerted the thief
when I…”
“Nonsense,”
Sander interjected loudly. “We’re all friends and family here.” For a split
second, Simon thought he saw Sander glance at the side of the main table at
which his family were seated with a hint of disapproval. His father in law then directed his attention
to a wedding co-ordinator whose red face dominated the swiftness of her
approach.
“What sort
of staff do you employ at this establishment?” he roared. “It pains me to say
that without proof, but I simply cannot accept that this was the doing of one
of our guests. I expect the Hotel to settle the Band’s fee for now. And if you
know what’s good for you, you’d best consider leaving the band’s fee off my
final account.”
“Of course
we’ll attend to payment of the band,” the co-ordinator replied. But I’m afraid
that I cannot accommodate you any further until the matter is fully
investigated, which I can assure you it will be. I can only add that I have
been here for nine years and nothing like this has ever happened before.”
***
The
incident also led to tension between Simon and his new bride during the
honeymoon. Simon felt that Abby’s father had excluded all the Castles and their
friends from the suspect list right from the outset, whilst in contrast, he
felt that the Sayers’ and their friends had been consigned to the provisional
suspect list.
“Oh don’t
put on so,” Abby replied. “I’m sure you were just imaging it.”
“Yes, like
I imagined that we might have a say in regard to our wedding.”
***
On their
return from their honeymoon, they were met at the airport by his new in-laws.
“Oh I must
insist that the two of you join us at home for the first viewing of the wedding
video,” Brigitte said. “I’m sorry to seem demanding. But I’ve demonstrated the
patience of a saint until now. I just have to see whether that man did justice
to the function we worked so hard to put on.”
Simon was
exhausted. It was the last thing he felt like doing after such a long flight.
“Good Lord
Woman,” Sander piped up. “Enough about the video. It will keep until the
weekend. They must be tired, and quite frankly, so am I.”
However,
when Brigitte Castle set her mind upon something, there was no changing it and
everyone meekly joined her in the mansion’s viewing room where a massive 68
inch LED Television set clicked into life.
To Simon’s
surprise, he found himself enjoying the video. Its quality was worth the
princely sum the Castle’s had paid to its maker.
But toward
the end, Sander Castle grunted and grabbed the remote out of his wife’s hand.
“Give me
that,” he said as he aimed the remote at the screen and rewound the video
recording a little.
“But we’ve
just seen that, dear,” Brigitte moaned. “That’s part of the opening dance ...”
“I know,
but that isn’t,” Sander replied, and he pointed towards someone in the
background of the high definition video. A man was standing behind the main
table.
“I thought
so,” Sander declared emphatically.
The man
could be seen checking whether everyone’s attention was indeed fixed upon the
opening dance. Next, there was no mistaking that his hand then reached into the
pocket of an unattended jacket in order to swiftly remove a large brown
envelope from its inner pocket. The man was Simon’s step-father.
The
marriage was annulled a few weeks later. And this is how it came to be that
Simon Sayer arrived in Mariner’s Cove hoping to make a fresh start.
+University of Cape Town
+South Africa
+NUSAS
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