The World Unseen (23 page)

Chapter Twenty-Three

J
acob was becoming nervous. He looked again at his watch, straightened his tie and checked for the third time that his shoes were shined. He watched three more customers enter the restaurant, then walked to the front door and looked out at the street. She was nowhere to be seen, but that did not mean she was not coming. Streetlights were few beyond the corner after the café and she might arrive at any moment out of the early evening darkness.

He went back inside and took over from Doris the lighting of the candle lamps that hung on all the café walls. He stopped to greet the occupants of one table, and then, just as he had decided to take his chances and leave, he heard the familiar sound of the truck pulling to a stop. The hasty slam of the door made him instantly wary. He turned to see her walk in, and she looked for him too, as she always did. He nodded, and saw her pause and take in his formal clothes, his suit and tie, and his newly cut hair.

Amina did not see or hear the people who greeted her as she passed through the café. She stopped at the end of the room and sat down in the booth nearest the kitchen, where Jacob joined her.

“Sorry I got so late,” she said. “I had a problem.”

Her tone did not invite further enquiry. Jacob took in the shadows beneath her eyes, the slight lowering of the usually erect shoulders.

“It’s okay,” he replied. “I was just going…
”

“Where?”

Jacob looked surprised at her sharp tone. “To dinner,” he replied. “With Madeleine Smith. Remember?”

“Oh, yes.” Amina ran a hand over her eyes and then looked up at him from where she sat slumped down in her seat.

“Where are you going to take her to dinner?” she asked. Her voice was neutral but Jacob knew she had thought of the very problem he had hoped she would overlook.

Jacob hesitated. “I wasn’t sure what to do,” he said. “I suppose, to my place.”

Amina did not respond for a few seconds, except to look at him with great seriousness.

“Where else can we go?” he said.

“I don’t know. What if your neighbours see?”

“They won’t say anything…
”

“What if they do?”

“They won’t.”

“They might. What if they catch you? What if they catch her? Is that what you want?”

“Amina, if you have problems, you can always talk to me about them, but don’t take them out on me.” Jacob stood up, and pulled at his jacket. “I’m late to collect her,” he said.

“I’m not taking anything out on you,” Amina added, trying to not to snap at him. “But you’re living in a dream world, Jacob, and I hate to have to say things like this, and ruin things for you, but someone has to see things as they are.”

“Will you be okay if I leave now?” Jacob asked. Amina sighed and looked at him.

“Of course. Go on. And I hope you have a nice time with her. Really.”

“Thank you,” Jacob replied, and without looking back at her, he left.

At the Post Office, Miss Smith had not quite finished closing up. She had been listening for Jacob, and when she heard his step and voice out front, she called a greeting to him. He called back and waited in the shadows of the high, darkened room, his hat in his hands, wondering how it was that such a familiar place could look so different at night. The amber light of a street lamp fell into the room from the high windows, and half illuminated a metal sign indicating the area that was for non-Whites. Without thinking, Jacob took a step back so that he stood fully inside his own area. Miss Smith’s face popped up from behind the counter.

“Sorry, Jacob. I seem to be so behind this evening. We had a run of deliveries this afternoon that just set me right back.”

“It’s no problem,” said Jacob. She disappeared again, and he heard her locking up some doors at the back before the sounds stopped. Jacob peered into the darkness.

“Are you okay, Miss Smith?”

He heard her laugh echo across to him.

“I think at this stage we should drop ‘Miss Smith’ and start using ‘Madeleine’” she said. “Jacob?”

“Yes, Madeleine?”

“Can you help me with this padlock please?”

Jacob moved quickly behind the counter, to where the figure of Madeleine Smith was bent over the lock. He held out his hand for the padlock, and as he knelt to place it on the door, he stopped and looked at the postmistress.

“What is it?” she asked him.

“I think I made a big mistake, Madeleine.”

She did not look surprised or concerned – she only waited calmly for him to continue.

“I didn’t think about things properly. About where we could go, who might see us, what people might think…I just thought it would be nice, and now I’ve begun to realise, just on the way here, what I’m doing.”

“What we’re doing,” she corrected.

Jacob was grateful for that response, but dismissed it quickly from his mind. He looked again at the small, determined woman who stood expectantly before him.

“Why are you doing this?” he asked. “You must have thought about it, before I did…
”

“I like you,” she said, her voice matter-of-fact. “I like you very much. And I don’t like rules. Not the kind of rules they would have us live by now, anyway.”

He had no time to reply for they heard the main door open and shut.

“Hello!”The call came from the front of the Post Office.

“Hello?” she called back.

“Officer David here, ma’am.”

“Postmistress Smith here, Sir!” she replied, in a parody of his officious tone.

The policeman cleared his throat. “Are you all right, ma’am? I was driving by and I saw the door ajar.”

“I’m fine,” she said, moving forward to the counter. The round spot of a flashlight played briefly over her face.

“Sorry to trouble you,” the policeman said, but the sweep of the torch beam caught on something, and he trained it onto the darkness behind Miss Smith. Jacob’s outline was illuminated, and the policeman frowned.

“Who’s there?”

Miss Smith hesitated for a moment – she could not quite take the measure of the young man before her.

“This is Jacob,” she said.

The policeman seemed uninterested in introductions.

“The section where you are is for Whites only,” he said.

“He was helping me lock up,” said Miss Smith sharply, as Jacob came forward.

“Well, he shouldn’t be there. Who is he anyway?” asked the policeman, arrogant now, his torch moving down to light up the formal clothes of the Coloured man who stood before him. His light flicked over to the postmistress and her smart skirt suit and he frowned.

Miss Smith glanced at Jacob, who stood unmoving in the glare of the torch as it flickered over the bars of the counter, and an image of him standing like that behind the bars of a prison cell passed through her mind. She turned again to the policeman.

“He’s my driver,” she said.

At the café, two customers started an argument about an item on their bill, and Doris, despite having worked at the café for over a year, was not quite sure what to do to about it because, unusually, neither Jacob nor Amina was there. She sent one of the younger girls out to knock on the door of Amina’s room, but the girl returned to the restaurant in two minutes with the message that Doris should take off the bill whatever was being contended, and that no one should disturb Amina again.

“You look familiar,” said the policeman, watching Jacob carefully.

Miss Smith sighed with some irritation.

“Officer, are we going to stand here all night? I’ve had a long day and I would like to go home.

The policeman stood back, and lowered his torch.

“Come then. I’ll walk you out.” He held open the front door for Miss Smith and then for Jacob, and held his torch over the lock while she secured it. Then he walked alongside her up the road while Jacob followed a few steps behind. Miss Smith stopped at her car and rummaged in her bag for the keys.

“Why doesn’t your driver keep the keys?” the officer asked.

“I prefer to keep them,” she answered.

“I know what you mean,” he said with a smile. “Better to be safe than sorry,
ja
?”

“Quite.”

She handed the keys to Jacob who opened the rear door and waited while Miss Smith got in. Then he walked somewhat stiffly around to the driver’s side and sat down. His knees were cramped – he was after all much taller than Miss Smith – but he started the engine and reversed the car, ready to pull away. Not once did he take his eyes from the windshield before him.

“Alright, ma’am!” called the policeman, and Miss Smith raised a hand to him before Jacob drove away.

When Amina’s father walked into the café that evening, he felt a strange sense of depression float down on him. He was a man of such equanimity that any extreme of emotion tended to confuse him, and he looked around him in case the café itself should yield up a reason for the heaviness that invaded his heart. But everything looked as normal. The thick darkness that lay over the street outside had been banished inside, with candles and lamps. The glow was attractive from the doorway, and yet…He felt a change, something missing. There was no music playing this evening, he noticed, and he glanced to the gramophone he had given Amina such a long time ago. For an instant, he recalled the joy that had lit her face when he had presented it to her, and how he had been so overwhelmed by that face that he had gruffly brushed aside her thanks and gone to his chair to read his newspaper, all the while beaming inwardly at his daughter’s pleasure.

He looked about for Amina but could not see her. Neither could he see Jacob, and he realised then what was missing in the atmosphere of the place tonight. He walked towards the kitchen, meaning to go out to Amina’s room, but Doris stopped him and asked if he would like to sit down. He introduced himself and the waitress stared at him in surprise.

“Her father, eh? You look like her,” she said.

“She looks like me,” he corrected, and without another word he pointed enquiringly towards the back with his hat, and Doris stood aside to let him pass.

Under the low throb of the car engine, Jacob sighed. He looked into the rear mirror, where his eyes met Miss Smith’s. She looked back at him with a strange expression, somewhere between a frown and a smile of reassurance.

“He’s still behind us, somewhere,” Jacob told her.

“I didn’t see his car,” she replied.

“He has a motorbike.”

“I see.”

Jacob drove on towards the area where he knew Madeleine Smith must live. He did not speak, for he had no idea what to say. He had not felt such profound sadness for a long time. After a few minutes, she spoke again:

“Where are we going?”

He did not reply at once, but continued to look out at the road before him. He passed his hand over his head.

“Where do you live?” he asked, his tone gentle, trying to atone for the implication she might take from the question.

“512 Cortell Street,” she said. “It’s off the main road at…
”

“I think I know it,” he said.

“Is he still following us?” she asked, her voice barely carrying now from the back seat. Jacob looked up into the mirror again and met her look. He shook his head.

When they arrived Jacob rolled the car gently to a stop outside the small block of newly-constructed apartments. Not long ago this area had housed an Indian community, but they had been made to move.

“My son bought it for me,” Miss Smith said, watching Jacob’s eyes take in the apartment.

“It’s very nice.”

He opened the door for her and offered her his hand. Once she was outside, facing him, he handed her back the keys.

“I’ll be going now,” he said, his tone and manner formal.