Page 21 of The Triangle

And in any of those scenarios, I need someone with her who would be willing to lay down their life for her without pause. And there are only two people in the world whose CVs suggest that to be true. One of them is on the phone with me right now. The other, I’d like to believe, is me.

But, in all truth… If asked to pick a sure bet between us, I’m not certain I wouldn’t still go with Danny. That’s a hard thing to admit. So I don’t dwell on it for very long.

Are you coming here? Danny asks.

Don’t know, man. I guess that might depend on what you find when you arrive .

Of course I’m fokken coming there. I’m halfway there right now. But I decide that Danny doesn’t need to know everything. I mean, I already know he doesn’t know everything. Because if he did, we wouldn’t be in this situation. But irrespective of anything else, he doesn’t need to know that I’m on my way, because my old bru, Danny Fortnight, has never been the kind of oke who’s big on ‘reunions’ or ‘nostalgia.’ Not too keen on ‘surprises’ either, but some things can’t be helped.

Ring me back on this line when you’ve seen what’s what, yeah? I say.

Go fuck yourself.

And then he hung up.

“Mr. van den Berg?”

The voice of the laaitie stirs me out of my brief stupor. I assume it was brief. I don’t know how long I had my eyes closed. I think I might be quite a bit more knackered than I realized. The last several hours have been taxing.

Looking at him standing there, he appears nervous but eager. I continue to like him.

“Uphuma kuphi?” I say.

“Sir?”

“Where are you from?” I repeat, slowly.

“Oh, yes, sir. Sorry. I just… You speak Zulu?”

I nod slowly and take another sip from my tumbler. “Why does that surprise you?”

“I don’t—I heard what you said to them at the warehouse. To the Americans.”

“I would imagine. I was yelling.”

He looks at me for a moment, confused, then I finally smile. Which gives him permission to smile. He shifts his feet. Makes a small face. I smile again.

“What’s your name?”

“Solomon, sir.”

“Solomon what?”

“Bophela, sir.”

I nod. “How long have you been with me?” I ask.

“Um, about three weeks, sir.”

“Yeah? How is it? As a job?”

“It’s very, very good, sir.”

“Izit?” I regard him for a long moment. “What were you doing before?”

“Not… not much, sir. Just trying to… you know.” He looks away.

The feel of the tumbler in my hand is comforting for some reason. I’m not sure why.