Ripped (129 page)

Chapter 3

THE SAND burnt my bare feet. I wondered what the hell the beach was going to be like in summer. Eric had brought along his little brunette, whom he at last introduced as Lizette. We appropriated a corner of the beach and Jo’burgers, apparently all known to Lizette, began to join us until we ended up with a party of sixteen or so.

I took care not to tread on anyone’s toes and ran into the sea to cool off.

“Ow! The bloody salt stings,” I said loudly to no one in particular.

Eric, who was smooching in the water with Lizette, called back, “It would, Danny. Have you seen your back?”

I waded through the shallows, sprinted over the burning sands to where our party was encamped, and put on my shirt.

“Are you worth all that passion?” asked a girl whose deeply tanned skin shone from a layer of newly administered coconut oil. Her smile was disingenuous.

“How do you mean?”

“You’ve got some really ugly scratch marks on you back – or haven’t you noticed?”

“Are you interested in finding out?”

“Finding out what?”

“Whether or not I’m worth all that passion, doll.”

“Certainly not. Larry would kill me!”

I never did find out her name and I don’t remember meeting anyone called Larry. But I enjoyed the backchat, which went on more or less incessantly throughout the morning. The girls saw themselves as big city chicks, all-knowing and highly practised in the art of bitchiness. Fun, if you didn’t take them too seriously.

Eric fell on the sand next to me and buried his face in his towel.

“I saw you and Lizette swimming near the shark nets,” I said. “Is that wise?”

He looked at me as if I was a slow learner.

“Do you know anything about the ragged tooth shark? Seriously, Danny. Would you like an exposition on them right here and now? If you are going to live in this burg you need to know.”

“Go on then.” I knew I’d get the bloody lecture whether I wanted it or not. In any case, Eric generally knew what he was talking about.

“First of all, most of the shark attacks that take place along the Natal coast, as far as I’ve heard anyway, are by the ragged tooth.”

“OK.”

“Try not to interrupt.”

“Jesus, you are an arrogant twat, Eric.”

“I’m trying to tell you things you need to know, pal. Imagine if you have to write a story about a shark attack for the paper – you won’t know its arse from its fucking snout. And let’s face it, this is Shark City. There are people here in Durban who actually love the fucking things.”

“OK, OK, just get on with it.”

Eric took a lit cigarette from Lizette before starting again.

“Right, well, the waters around here are very murky because of the quality of the sand that is thrown up by the waves, which happen to be pretty incessant, as you’ve probably noticed. This doesn’t bother the ragged tooth because it has very poor eyesight anyway. But if it sees anything moving in its immediate vicinity, it bites it. Instinctively. It’s indiscriminate. Despite the attacks you read about in the papers, it probably doesn’t like eating human flesh – much prefers fish. But if an arm or a leg or a body hoves into view – snap!”

He made a biting gesture with his hands. Very dramatic. “I don’t think it will carry on eating the rest of you, though. If anything, it seems that it tries to get away. Trouble is, its teeth are bent backwards, like sharpened hooks, so it can’t let go and rips your flesh to pieces. Nice, hey? This makes the injuries even more horrific, especially those to the torso.

“The other thing about their attacks, or so the latest research would indicate, is that they nearly always take place in water that is seventy-four degrees or warmer. It seems to drive the buggers frantic.”

A pause for a puff.

“As sharks go, they aren’t very big – nothing like those enormous blue pointers you get around the Cape that can bite a man in two. I don’t know how true it is but there are stories that you can actually ward a ragged tooth off by hitting it hard on the snout with a camera or even your fist. Apparently, they have a very tough outer skin but below that they are incredibly sensitive and scare easily. Well, that’s it. I’ve exhausted my knowledge.”

“What about the nets?”

“Yes, of course. The nets. Very interesting. You’ll see that they are only a few feet deep, even though they lie close to the surface in ten feet of water. Frightening, right? The thing is, that’s where the ragged tooth swims – almost at the surface. You can see his dorsal fin poking out as he comes at you. But he’s also a terrible coward. When he hits the nets, his momentum carries him underneath. Then he takes fright – are you with me? – turns, and immediately heads back towards deeper water. Now, however, the nets are well and truly in his way and he gets trapped in them …”

“Wait a minute, wait a minute. Are you saying the sharks get trapped on the
inside
of the nets?”

“Yep.”

“Jesus! You mean there are sharks on the inside of those nets where people are swimming right now?”

“Unlikely – and even if there were they wouldn’t be dangerous. The water temperature barely reaches seventy at this time of year. But yes, in the summer months sharks presumably in a dangerous mood get trapped very close to where people are swimming.”

“Do people know this? You know, holidaymakers, visitors, not to mention innocent children, invalids, the lame, the deaf and the blind …?”

“Doubtful. In my experience people don’t take much notice of what they don’t wish to know.”

“I don’t think I’ll ever go in again.”

“Don’t be ridiculous. It’s perfectly safe. The nets actually do a good job. Usually.”

“Yeah, exactly. Usually.”

Eric took a last drag and buried the cigarette in the sand.

“How do you know so much about them, Eric?”

“Good question. Ten years ago my father acted for a girl whose hand had been bitten off. Not here in Durban. Down the coast somewhere. Her father went crazy. He claimed – quite rightly – that there were no warning signs or protection of any kind on the beach where the girl was attacked. He brought a suit against the local authorities. My father acted for him. So it was a constant talking point at table. I was twelve or thirteen and it made a big impression on me. When I joined the firm I got the case file out and read it.”

“Did she win?”

“Nope. The court ruled the local authorities couldn’t be held responsible.”

“Sad.”

“But that wasn’t the end of it. The Fifties were marked by a series of shark attacks and quite a few bathers were killed. Public opinion forced the people in charge of the beaches to introduce nets. And I’m sure the girl’s case was part of that campaign. But never mind about that. Right now we have more important matters to attend to. You know about Jake, don’t you, Danny?”

“Jake who?”

“Well, there’s this Indian chef we call Jake. He’s got that kiosk down the beach. If you stand up you can just about see it from here. Serves great lamb curry, I promise you. And right now it’s lunchtime and I’m starving. So come on, let’s go.”

I was supposed to be flat hunting but I was having too good a time. I suspected I’d pay for my tardiness. But these were my last days of freedom. I always found starting a new job stressful in the extreme and I didn’t want to think about serious things.

***

That night a gang of us went to a jazz club called Frankie’s up two flights in a building near the docks. The house quintet was passable and at least their trombone-playing leader had a cool, modern tone.

Steven Fall joined us. “I come here a lot,” he said.

“Who’s the girl?”

“That’s Ruth. She’s my cousin.”

“Another cousin? How many have you got?”

“She’s Lola’s sister.”

The group wound up the session with a rather raggedy rendition of Night in Tunisia. The drummer never quite got to grips with the composition’s rhythmic complexities but then, who could blame him? Art Blakey he wasn’t.

Ruth sat at a table staring into space, abstracted, although she did join in the desultory applause.

“Beautiful looking girl,” I said. “Why wasn’t she at the party?”

“She’s not very happy at the moment,” said Steven. “Lots of problems.”

“But goes to a jazz club?”

“Well, why not? She likes jazz. You want her to stay home knitting?”

When I didn’t laugh he added, “Do you want to meet her?”

I did. But the club was crowded and we couldn’t get near.

Steven cupped his hands round his mouth. “Ruthie … this is Danny,” he shouted across a couple of tables.

She looked up and I could see that she had dark brown eyes to go with her honey coloured hair. Fetching combination. She mouthed, “Hi,” and gave me a half-friendly smile.

The trombone player downed a pint and called his men back to the bandstand. I was trapped between a table and the wall. Halfway through Moonglow I decided to get a drink. I shoved my way through the crowd to the bar, wondering if this place was legal – if it had a licence to sell alcohol, that is – and what the chances were of it being raided.

There was no sign of Steven when I got back to my spot. I looked around and caught a glimpse of him and Ruth leaving. So soon? Strange people, I thought. But I had to admit I was intrigued.