Jack of Diamonds (93 page)

‘See ya, Jack. Pleasure meeting you,’ Noel called from the doorway. ‘We’ll get together for that beer, mate.’

‘Sit, please!’ Mrs Dulledge commanded. ‘You are not expected, Mr . . . ?’

‘Yes, I apologise, I’ve only just arrived. It’s Jack . . . Jack Reed.’

‘Oh,’ she said and wrote it down. ‘You’ll have to wait. I don’t know how long, Mr Reed.’

‘Of course,’ I said, smiling. ‘I have a letter from Mr Leslie, from the New York office, for Mr Coetzee,’ I pronounced his surname carefully. A sudden look of surprise crossed her face, and she reached for the letter I held out. She smelled vaguely of rose-scented talcum powder, like my mom used. ‘Do you have anything else? References?’ Her expression suggested she’d be very surprised if I produced anything of the kind.

I handed her the manila envelope containing Nick Reed’s impressive army letterheads that lent authority to my far-from-impressive credentials. ‘I have these, ma’am. At my previous job, they didn’t hand out references; it was all hands-on stuff, direct demonstration.’ I smiled. ‘You either could or you couldn’t,’ which, I guess, wasn’t a lie.

‘Just a moment.’ She marched towards the door behind her desk, opened it without knocking, and walked in. Before she closed it, I caught a glimpse of a very large blond guy with a crew cut, leaning back in an office chair and talking on the telephone with his feet on his desk. He wore polished brown boots that had recently been re-soled, the leather only slightly scuffed.

Mrs Dulledge returned a few minutes later. ‘Mr Coetzee will see you now . . . er, ’ she glanced down at the pad on her desk, ‘Mr Reed.’

Jannie Coetzee, his feet no longer resting on his desk, rose as I entered. He was at least four inches taller than me and a lot bigger around the girth. ‘Hey, man, all the way from New York. What brings you here, Mr Reed?’

‘It’s Jack, sir.’ It was a curious question, since he must have read Mr Leslie’s letter of introduction and the contents of the envelope. Then, remembering Noel White’s advice, I held up my left hand. ‘I injured my hand in an accident.’

‘
Ja
, I understand.’ He tapped the letter from Mr Leslie. ‘It says here you’re a medic, highly qualified in combat conditions. That’s good, man. Your hand – it doesn’t interfere?’

‘No, sir, almost good as new; it’s just that my previous work required absolute precision.’

‘Combat, hey? You’ve come to the right place, man. That’s for sure. Are you willing to work underground?’

‘Yes, I guess that’s where most of the emergencies occur, sir.’

‘Definitely. Will you go permanent night shift?’

I almost laughed. After the years at the GAWP Bar, I still hadn’t quite adjusted to waking up early. ‘Sure.’

‘Well, then, you’ve got the job. When can you start?’

I shrugged, hoping I looked unconcerned. ‘Whenever it suits, sir.’

‘Now, you a senior medic, you can call me Jannie,’ he offered.

‘Senior?’ I asked, surprised. ‘But I’ve only just got here.’

He looked momentarily embarrassed, then cleared his throat. ‘Our last medic left unexpectedly last week. You him now, man. You’ve got his position. You see, we have three white medics, one on each shift.’ He counted them off on his fingers: ‘There’s morning shift, that’s eight o’clock till four o’clock; then afternoon shift, from four till twelve; after that, it’s you on night shift, eleven till seven o’clock in the morning. It’s the grizzly workers’ shift and it must go to a senior medic because that’s when most of the accidents occur.’

He didn’t offer an explanation for what was obviously the unexpected departure of my predecessor. Heeding Noel White’s advice, I didn’t ask. ‘Shouldn’t I be given some sort of test? Senior medic sounds pretty serious.’ I’d bluffed my way to this point but now my conscience overcame me.

‘See, that’s nice, you modest as well. I can tell from these papers, man. One of them is signed by a general. Jesus, what more do you want?’

‘Major general,’ I corrected, not explaining that he’d only been a colonel during the war.

He shrugged. ‘No diff, he’s high up. Besides, the other two medics, they don’t want to do it, even though it’s a promotion. I’ve already spent four days on the telephone to our head office in Jo’burg to send us a new senior medic urgently. I just got off the phone now.’ He shrugged. ‘But they say they don’t have anyone on their books. Have to advertise. But hey, man, now you here!’ He tapped Nick’s papers. ‘And with experience in combat conditions. I can’t hardly believe it.’

Then, seeing my expression, he added, ‘Agh, man, don’t worry. The boss boy on the night shift team has been here three years already; the other three
kaffirs
, more than one year. Then there’s Matron Hamilton at the cottage hospital. She can be very useful, but of course she can’t go underground and she’s only on day shift. But she can give you medical advice any time you need. Just go and see her. I’ll let her know you maybe call around, hey?’

Senior medic on night shift, the dangerous shift. It wasn’t at all what I wanted to hear. I’d never conned anyone in my life, I’d always let the keyboard speak for me, perhaps not always with eloquence, but, I hoped, with honesty. Now I was being put on the front line, in charge, under who knew what conditions. I simply didn’t believe myself sufficiently in practice after so long out of the army. I’d read
Gray’s Anatomy
and the first-aid books from Foyles at least twice until I thought I knew every bone in the human body, and just about every industrial accident that could occur and how to treat it. As a general rule I trusted my memory, but it isn’t the same when someone’s brains are spilling onto your lap or a leg has been severed; my imagination was suddenly running riot. ‘But, but, Mr Coetzee – I mean, Jannie – I’ve never been underground; I simply have no idea of the conditions, or what it’s like working in the dark . . .’

He laughed. ‘Agh, don’t worry, Jack, you wear a hard hat with a light on it, and a wound is a wound, above or below ground, what’s the diff, hey? It’s mostly only natives – you’ll soon learn, man. If a
kaffir
dies, he dies. We don’t do post mortems or make any official enquiries with black mineworkers.’ He paused. ‘You have to understand, they’re not like us.’

There it was again.
They’re not like us.

‘In what way?’

‘They don’t cost so much to train. Pick and shovel, crowbar, jackhammer, easy stuff.’

Of course, I should have called it quits right then and there. There would be times in the future when I dearly wished I had. In fact, I should probably have quit during the interview in New York when Mr Leslie made similar comments about black folks’ lives being expendable. I’d been trying to save my own ass from the Chicago Mob rather than stick to my convictions. And here it was all over again, ‘
They’re not like us
.’ It occurred to me that I should use Fenet’s letter of introduction to her family, which she’d given to me on board the
Roybank
. Push on across the centre of the continent, find a ship sailing up the east coast to the Horn of Africa. But instead, all I did was say, ‘That’s not how I see it, Mr Coetzee. Every life counts.’ It was a pathetic rejoinder.

He looked at me as if he vaguely understood. ‘You Canadians don’t have many black people, so I appreciate what you saying, man, but you’ll find out.’ He leaned back slightly in his chair. ‘So, Jack, will you give it a go?’

Suddenly I felt weary. Where else was I to go if I knocked back this job?

‘As a senior medic on the grizzly shift, you also get a bigger copper bonus.’

I didn’t care about the money, but I agreed to take the job. I guess it was about as far away as I could run from the Chicago Mob.
Joe, Hector, Chef Napoleon Nelson, Mr Joel, Sue, Pastor Moses and his wife, Booker T., Jay-Jay Bullnose, the kitchen staff and the women who cleaned the GAWP Bar at the Firebird, The Resurrection Brothers Band, the immortal Art Tatum, all the coloured folk who had been good to me in the past, can you forgive me?
I know I should have told the personnel manager to stick his job up his ass but, alas, I didn’t.

The single quarters were just as Noel White had described them. Nobody was officially in charge; everyone had an identical rondavel with a polished red cement floor, containing a washbasin, cupboard, chest of drawers, small writing table and upright wooden chair beside a basic iron bed with bare mattress and pillow. It seemed the workers supplied their own linen. All the furniture except the mattress and cushion was pretty scuffed or battered. The round hut also featured a small verandah that stretched halfway around its circumference on either side of the reinforced steel door. The previous occupant had left a couple of battered wicker easy chairs behind.

It didn’t take long for one of the Krauts, as Noel had termed them, to visit. In fact, an hour after the personnel department had allocated me a rondavel in the single quarters, there was a knock on the steel door. I opened it to see a guy standing outside whom I guessed to be in his mid-twenties. ‘You are Jack,’ he declared, stabbing a blunt finger at me.

Hearing his accent I was immediately on my guard. ‘Yeah, that’s me. Who wants to know?’

‘
Meine
name is Hans, Hans Meyerhof. Ve have some rules I must explain, rules you must obey.’

‘Oh? The personnel manager explained some of —’

He didn’t allow me to finish. ‘
Ja
, that is mine rules. Here is single quarters’ rules. Here ve must have some rules also, so everybody can understand.’

‘Understand what, Mr Meyerhof?’

He looked momentarily confused. ‘Of course – the rules.’

‘And who makes these rules everybody has to understand?’ I asked, a tad churlishly.

‘The rules ve make by the committee.’

‘Oh, I see! It’s a committee elected by the guys who live in the single quarters?’

‘Already I think maybe you ask too much question, Jack,’ he said, looking directly at me and shaking his head; then, with a cluck of his tongue, he added, ‘Ve have rules you
must
obey. That is all you must know now.’

It was clear our discussion had come to an end. ‘And these rules are . . .?’

He looked a little less stern. ‘
Ja
, the rules, so now I must tell you. No voomen, but also ve can supply every month one, twenty pounds short time. No
schwartze . . . kaffir
women
verboten!
You vant man, you see Holz at the
cimbusu
, ze shower block, he can arrange. You want to drink something, beer, whisky, schnapps maybe? You buy from ze recreation hut. We got there
gut
bar. Shower block, for hot shower one time, one shilling; cold shower, you don’t pay. When you are drunk, you go your rondavel, ve lock you in; morning again, ve come and open. You vant your hut cleaning?
Ja
, ve get you cleaning boy. You pay us two pounds for za month and we pay zat boy also.’

‘That’s okay, I prefer to do my own cleaning, thanks.’

He shook his head. ‘Not permitted.’

It was just as Noel White had said. ‘I see. Hans, you guys control everything, is that it?’

‘
Ja
, it is better so.’ He suddenly switched subjects. ‘Vhat job you do in ze mine, Jack? You go underground? Learn mining, take blasting licence, then go work grizzly?’

‘No, I’m the new night-shift medic.’

His attitude seemed to change and his eyes widened. ‘
Ja
? That is
gut
, maybe sometime you can help us. Maybe zere is some fighting, somebody drunk, maybe zey are hurt?’

‘I’m on night shift. I don’t suppose too many guys get drunk during the day and fight.’

He laughed. ‘
Ja
, it is true, but night shift begin late, and before zat, lots of time for guys, they getting drunk,
ja
? If you say you can help, you don’t pay
cimbusu
, you don’t pay shower block.’

‘What? The shilling for a hot shower, or the other, with whatshisname?’ I was getting annoyed. ‘By the way, is a shit free?’

He didn’t laugh. ‘
Ja
, is free. Hot shower also, if you help somebody hurt, so ve don’t go Frau Hamilton . . . Mrs Hamilton.’

‘What’s wrong with them going to the cottage hospital?’

‘Mrs Hamilton, she makes always trouble. She don’t like za committee; ven somebody get hurt, she vant to know always what happen, everything.’ Hans looked at me. ‘We must have discipline!
Ja
, it is necessary always.’

Observing my doubtful expression he changed tack once again, pointing to the bare mattress and pillow. ‘You vant to buy sheet, blanket for bed? Ve have
gut
one, second-hand, but also clean. One blanket, two sheet . . . but you must have four, also two pillow cover, for vashing, one pound ten shilling. The cleaning boy vash them, two sheets, pillow cover, every veek. You
must
be clean.’