A Spy in Time by Imraan Coovadia

Author:Imraan Coovadia [Coovadia, Imraan]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Rare Bird Books
Published: 2018-07-15T07:00:00+00:00

I lifted the suitcase and went through the door to find myself in a courtyard. Women in aprons were packing bottles in the sunlight, rolling loads of them on handcarts in the direction of the road.

One approached me. She was six-feet tall, so that I had to crane my head, and had a red cloth tied on her forehead. Her thick brown forearms were glistening with perspiration. She looked me up and down and slapped the side of my suitcase.

“Tiny, you came from the Palácio? You came from the Palácio right now?”

“Not at all.”

“Then you are from the company office.” She raised her voice, addressing the dozen other women in the yard. “How many times will you come to check on us? We have nothing to do with the union. We rejected the union.”

“No. You are mistaken.”

“We are not mistaken. You, Tiny, are the one who is mistaken to come here. Now you will see.”

The women collected around me. They began to push me towards the street, shouting and cursing about the union, vigorously pinching my arms and legs. I dug my feet in, trying to hold on to the suitcase, but was soon forced out. I stood helplessly on the pavement while they forced open the suitcase and went through its contents. Fuming, I put my hands in my pockets and watched while my possessions were passed from hand to hand until they reached somebody who wanted them. Items that weren’t wanted were tossed on the ground.

Never before had I experienced dark-skinned people behaving like barbarians. It was the tropical state of mind, I told myself, hearts corrupted by jungle and sun, minds dissolved into fever and mud.

“Can you try not to break anything?”

“Beware, Tiny. You have aroused a lion. You are lucky to escape with your life.”

Eventually the women retreated to the courtyard with my clothes, casting back imprecations about the union and the company office. I waited until they had returned to loading their carts before collecting the inner parts of the beacon. The elements of a beacon could be damaged easily, leaving the user stranded in a hostile century. I reassembled them in my palm, as fragile as bones in a fossil hand.

Without a chance to start the apparatus in private, I couldn’t be certain it was functional. Every so often one or other of the women caught sight of me and, as if to protect their stolen property, warded me off with an arm. I was angry enough to gesture back.

In a quarter of an hour I had the bag more or less packed. I was behind schedule; I was supposed to be in Copacabana in five minutes. Walking as fast as I could in what I hoped was the right direction, I pulled the suitcase awkwardly behind me and tried not to hear the jeers of the work crew. This part of the city was a jungle in itself. Weathered stone office buildings groaned in the humidity, green plants growing out of every crack in their walls.

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