A Twist of Sand

I felt sick and angry with myself when I saw the pathetic bundle of rags on the pavement.

"Get a doctor," I said harshly. "Tell him he'll find the shoulder muscles torn and ligaments probably damaged. Send me the bill."

"Nonsense," said the farmer, "If a man puns a knife he's got all that's coming to him."

My revulsion welled up and I turned upon the farmer. But I checked myself.

"Mark" I said, "let's get out of here. I need a drink and a bath."

A voice stopped me as we turned away.

"Captain Macdonald," it said smoothly. "As well as congratulating you on your sailoring, may I add that a hold like that is the acquisition of a very determined-or a very desperate man."

It was Stein. The ugly jaw was smiling. For a moment I felt like putting the hold on him.

"At least," I rejoined as calmly as I could, "it will prevent your friend for a while from taking you for joy-rides out to sea to smash up my trawl."

Stein continued to smile.

At the bar after a quick bath, Mark having brought me a whisky-and-soda, I could not shake off the sense of foreboding and depression which the unpleasant incident Hendriks had occasioned. I felt no qualms at having disabled Hendriks, although I was prepared to admit that I had been more savage than I need have been. Still there was Stein. Subconsciously I felt that it was he who was behind something that I could not fathom. No, he could not have known about me, it was all too long ago. Had he penetrated my facade, I would have seen it when he first came to the ship. How could he suspect anything? But, the thought followed quickly, who is Stein anyway? He might be anything from an insurance broker to a civil servant. That cruel mouth was the clue. I really couldn't imagine Stein docilely sitting behind a desk in the South West African Administration.

My eyes roved round the bottle labels as I turned the problem over in my mind. My gaze fell upon the eel in the case between the bottles. I grinned to myself. It was Mark's boast that the old stuffed eel was the finest weather prophet on the coast. A grey metallic colour normally, Mark averred it turned a steel-blue when the winter north-westerly gales were due, and a peculiar shade of dun when the summer south-westers came. He had another gunmetal shade for fog -- the joke of it was that he often seemed right. I walked over to have a closer look at the weather-eel when four Germans came in.

"Bier," cried one gutturally. I took him for one of the post-war newcomers. The previous German residents of the territory seem to have soaked out some of their native arrogance in the desert heat. I went behind the bar to serve them. Mark had gone off earlier to the kitchen to cook one of his superb meals. All four of the Germans looked tough, and one had a slightly vacant stare. Perhaps he was half-drunk. The others were noisy enough. One of them slapped down the money on the bar counter and they sat round a table in the far corner. I couldn't get the drift of what they were saying, but they certainly seemed to be on the way to having a night out.

"Besatzung stillgestanden!" roared the vacant one. The others leapt to their feet and all four stood at attention for a moment and then collapsed with laughter. "Bier!" shouted another. I got four bottles down from the shelf and was about to open them when a word in the rowdy conversation caught my ear -- "Der Pairskammer." Now "der Pairskammer" is as much part of the jargon of U-boat men as "uckers" is to British submariners. "The House of Lords "is the quarters of German seamen ratings in a U-boat. I looked at the four beery Germans with renewed interest. It was the vacant-looking one who had used the term. He seemed launched on a war-time reminiscence; while the other interjected, apparently pulling his leg. The vacant one, whom one of the others addressed as Johann, thumped the table and the others guffawed their disbelief. There was no one else in the bar, but the four of them were making enough noise for a whole room full. I went across with the beer.

"Hier is jou bier," I said in Afrikaans. As I set them down I noticed that I had forgotten to uncork one.

I pulled out an opener from my pocket. With it came something else that fell on the table in front of Johann.

He got to his feet, horror in his eyes, and started to scream -- a ghastly, penetrating, maniacal scream.

Stein stood at the doorway, watching.

IV Utmost Priority

The tiny thing, as it lay on the beer-splashed table in front of the four Germans, was the avatar of death, destruction, shells, torpedoes, fire. It brought like a manifestation as fresh as yesterday into my memory after seventeen years the ghastly torment of war, death always at one's elbow as one lifted it -- and drowned the thought in gin.