Separation
Chapter 4
Making a Break
I was back in the Embassy by half past nine the following morning. I must have crossed at least four roads on my way over but I could not remember doing so. My morning walk was accompanied by the sounds of busy traffic but it was muffled. I was engrossed in what I might face that morning.
Comrade Chazov was in a serious mood. He sat crunched up in his swivel chair. He spoke in Russian, of course. He told me a passport for Ghana had been ordered for me. Instinctively, I told him my passport was in Glasgow. He leered at me.
‘Your Russian passport—and you will have diplomatic status, so no need for a British visa.’
That made me a Russian subject. How easily I had slipped into that role, one which was deeply uncomfortable. God, what the hell was happening to me?
‘So, Africa. Are you set to go?’ Comrade Chazov asked, and he sat back to hear my answer. I was slow to reply.
A multitude of questions filled my mind. Yes, what an experience Africa would be and Ghana was a Commonwealth country. I’d be welcomed, but as a Russian citizen? Just what was I doing?
‘I.... I.... I just can’t believe how quickly this is happening. Does this mean I’m no longer British? I asked in a strained voice. ‘How can I explain that to Morag? How will my parents react?’ Comrade Chazov saw the anxiety in my face.
‘Relax, Robert. You will still be Scottish, I mean British. But to get you into Ghana and working with a Russian in Tamale, it makes sense to have a Russian passport, not so?’
I relaxed. I saw the sense in what he said. However, that was just one matter dealt with.
‘Preparation will take a bit of time. You will need yellow fever injections and some anti-malarial pills too, but we will arrange that.’
‘So will I have time to go back to Scotland?’
‘Yes, you can go tomorrow, for a week if you like. Let your family know you have accepted a job to produce groundnut oil. No other details are required.’
‘Then I can get a train back tonight,’ I said feeling I needed time to come to terms with this development.
‘No tomorrow morning. One of our embassy doctors will see you this afternoon and give you your yellow fever injection and some Malarone. You will have to start that course immediately to build up your immunity against malaria.’
‘Malaria?’
‘Yes, you don’t want to catch that, do you?’
I recalled West Africa being known as the white man’s grave. God, I hoped I would survive and not be that White Man.
‘So, how long will I be there?’
Comrade Chazov sucked an invisible sweet as he contemplated his answer. ‘It may be two, could be a three year tour, with a break in the middle. That’s common for the white people in West Africa.’
I thought how the last two years of university had flown by. Anyway, it wasn’t a prison sentence; in my mind it was becoming an opportunity.
‘So tomorrow morning, Glasgow?’
‘Yes of course, but you must return by next Thursday night. Your flight to Accra is on Friday morning.’
‘From Heathrow?’ I asked.
‘Yes Robert, Heathrow,’ he replied. He thought for a moment before asking, ‘One thing I should have asked. Do you have any allergies?’
I didn’t need to think about that. ‘Chocolate, anything with chocolate—it brings me out in hives, horrible hives,’ I said recalling the last time I ate some chocolate, which had been eight years ago. ‘I can’t even take chocolate cake,’ I added for good measure.
‘Interesting, chocolate,’ he said writing as he spoke.
Stations flew by in a blur as the train progressed north. Towns and fields had a regular sequence to follow but my mind lost interest in their sameness, that morning.
Had I not accepted the money in my first year at university I’d be facing a class hoping to learn some French or Spanish. Only senior classes might wish to learn Russian. But I had slipped into an unknown world. Well, unknown except I’d be in Africa in a week in a job for which I had no training or experience— and I knew the separation would strain my relationship with Morag. It was to her I had to make my first visit.
I knocked on the door of her flat. From inside I heard the call of ‘coming.’ My heart thumped like a marauding elephant—my mind was already in Africa. Then the door opened.
‘Robert, darling. What a surprise.’
I hugged Morag with a strength which surprised me. Could this be the last embrace?
‘Yes, took the train this morning. I didn’t want to disturb your classes.’
She kissed my cheek then separated abruptly.
‘Let me make you a coffee—I need to know more about these plans you have,’ she said.
She took two mugs from the kitchen cupboard and spooned in some granules of instant coffee. I noticed her mug had a half-risen sun with the text New Horizons. Mine simply stated Coffee Mug. As I poured in a splash of milk, the inquiry began.
‘So, Robert, this job is not just about you, is it? It’s about us.’
I nodded as I sat down on the sofa. Morag did not sit beside me. She sat opposite to concentrate on interrogating me about my plans.
‘Did you really want this job, or was your hand forced?’
I smiled and nodded at the same time. Morag was perceptive.
‘A manse son, with apparently no shortage of money. Didn’t that seem odd to you?’ I asked.
‘Now that you say it...’
‘I’ve led a double life for almost six years now.’ Then I launched into my downfall, starting with the trigger on that lonely island, Jura. Morag listened as if assessing the demeanour of a mental health patient contemplating suicide.
When I took breath after some fifteen minutes, she said, ‘It’s going to be hard, very hard for us.’
My nod was minimal. ‘I’m at a loss what to say other than, Morag, you are my true love and I’d not sacrifice that for anything.’
She approached me and took my hands in hers.
‘We’ll see. You keep your promise and I’ll keep mine.’
I felt what she said set the ground rules fairly. I pulled her towards me. Our cheeks lay against each other’s and our bodies began to quiver. The tears then trickled down our faces.
My parents were thrilled to learn I was going to the former Gold Coast. They recalled the missionaries who had served there since the Basel and Bremen missions welcomed the Church of Scotland in 1914. Their combined efforts had established not only many primary and secondary schools, but hospitals and churches too. My father even found in his church year book the names of the current ecclesiastical staff abroad. He said I should get in touch with Rev. Willy Pike of Ridge Church in Accra. I took a note of his name along with some others he suggested. I kept the Russian connection from my father and mother. I had started to lie with consummate ease. That concerned me.
I spent the next few days buying tropical attire. Nothing too garish of course; a half dozen short sleeved shirts and a couple of pairs of light trousers. And a sturdy pair of shoes would not come amiss if I faced a surprised reptile.
My daily course of anti-malarial tablets was already under way. They were small and white and packed a nasty taste. With only a couple of days left in Glasgow, I suggested an evening meal.
The Ubiquitous Chip was handy, halfway between the university and Morag’s flat. There at a table for two we sat looking into each other’s eyes. Morag
seemed close to tears as we waited for our orders.
‘I can’t help but feel you are about to become a Russian spy.’
The thought was never far from my mind. Yet I had dismissed it until now. ‘No, this is nothing to do with spying. It’s about peanuts. They need someone who can speak both Russian and English to help a Russian General Manager of a groundnut oil company—he’s struggling with the language, they tell me. I can see their need. No, it can’t be a spying role.’
I could almost hear her brains ticking over.
‘So you are off on Friday? From Heathrow, I presume?’
‘Yes, that’s right. If you had known my first job was to be in Africa, perhaps we would not have had our first date?’ I said.
She frowned. Her response was reassuring. She clasped my hands together, over hers.
‘Don’t talk like that, Robert. A girl’s first love is important,’ she told me.
My genuine smile acknowledged the fact. ‘That’s true for a boy too,’ I replied.
‘I bet there were some girls in your father’s congregation who had an eye for the minister’s son.’
I smiled as I recalled Lizzie and Pamela whose company I had enjoyed in Sunday school and Bible class and told Morag. But they had long ago faded into the distance. I had taken Morag to a deeper relationship, and that was why this meal was so difficult.
‘Morag, you will soon be qualified. Your last placement can be in Ghana. Surely that would suit us? Tropical medicine, quite a feather in your cap.’
I was clinging to straws, but I liked the smile which my suggestion raised. My fork lurked over my plate. It eventually speared a sprout.
‘It boils down to how much we love each other—doesn’t it?’ she said.
I chewed the sprout then forked some chips. ‘Morag, I have no intention of finding love anywhere else. If you get to Accra for six weeks, then we will be less than a year apart. And I’ll have some leave to take too. Time should fly by. Why would I have made that suggestion if I had decided to end our relationship?’
She tapped my hand. ‘Then you still love me?’
My smile was genuine and broad. ‘I love no one else. Yes, of course I love just you, only you.’
‘That’s what I wanted to hear,’ She said with her white teeth in full glow.
I was aware of the waiter approaching. He asked if the meal was enjoyable and we agreed it was. But he did not go away. He took the white wine from its cooler and topped up our glasses before he left us in peace.
‘I love you, Robert. Of course I do. I just know I will miss you.’
‘I’ll write to you every week.’
‘Is that a promise?’
‘It’s my intention. I don’t know what the job will be like. But I’ll write as regularly as I can. Contact by letter will help you concentrate more on your studies, you know—with an absent boyfriend.’
Morag gave her dimple crater smile. I loved that expression of hers.
That last night before returning to London, I spent in Morag’s flat. We sat on the couch watching the evening news with our arms around each other. Then she switched off the box. She approached me with a mischievous grin. She coaxed me with her index finger to her bedroom and we slept that night knowing it would be our last embrace for some time, or forever.
|
|
|
Their parting reminded me of my Canadian girlfriend who returned to Canada in order to take a year-long trip around the world, working in various places with her nursing degree. She joined me briefly in San Francisco when her ship came down from Canada with stops at San Francisco and then LA to pick up more passengers on its way to Hong Kong. It was a bit sorrowful, and even more sorrowful when she threw my letter in Sydney Bay and never returned to continue our relationship. Return to her birthplace, Saskatoon, and married a schoolteacher.
Ron
Never Stop Writing!
m