The Third Reel by S. J. Naudé

Author:S. J. Naudé
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Salt Publishing Limited
Published: 2018-04-19T14:35:02+00:00

One evening Etienne accompanies Nils to an exhibition of the work of arts students at Humboldt University. It is in a dilapidated old brewery in Mitte that still smells of fermentation. One work immediately draws Etienne’s attention: the skeleton of a minotaur. Body of a bull, head of a human. Axel would have liked this, he thinks. He studies it close up. Has it been built up painstakingly? Or carefully carved out – rib by rib, vertebra by vertebra?

‘The skeleton of a bull, in part. With plaster of Paris components added to it.’ Etienne’s ear instantly places the accent of the voice behind him. He turns around. The man is smiling broadly in the electrical light. ‘Mthuthuzele. You can call me Mthu.’

‘Etienne.’ They shake hands. Etienne points at the minotaur vertebrae where they curve up to the human neck. ‘I can see it now, yes. The colour and texture changing subtly.’ Etienne concentrates on his self-taught British cadences, closely observing Mthu. ‘Are you the artist?’

‘No,’ Mthu laughs. ‘A friend of mine.’ He gestures vaguely at a group of students. ‘I’m also studying at Humboldt, but in a different field.’

‘A different field?’

The sharp light above them translates Mthu’s smile into a grin. It is the first time Etienne has ever met a black South African who is not a manual labourer. Here in East Berlin, pondering the skeleton of a minotaur. His cheeks are burning with shame.

‘Usually, of course, it’s the other way round,’ Mthu says. Etienne looks at him questioningly. He points at the skeleton. ‘The body of a human and the head of a bull.’ He smiles. ‘But enough of skeletons. Shall we go and grab a beer?’

Etienne hesitates, then gestures over Mthu’s shoulder to Nils, who is engaged in conversation, that he is heading out. Nils looks at Mthu, then back at Etienne.

The Kneipe that they go to is a sombre place; the only other patron is a silent old man. The fluorescent light above their table emits cold blue light. How sickly his pale skin looks in such light, Etienne thinks.

‘So, what’s your field of study?’ Etienne asks when their beers arrive.

Mthu takes a swig. ‘First tell me – what do you do?’

‘Studying anti-fascist film in Potsdam.’ His tone lies somewhere between satire and self-justification.

Mthu is silent for a while, his mouth pulled askew in the unnatural lighting. Etienne can’t gauge his expression. ‘I’m being trained in counter-insurgency and revolutionary strategy at Humboldt. With others from South Africa, Mozambique, Angola . . .’ The cool light catches the white of Mthu’s eyes. ‘You’re from South Africa too, aren’t you?’

Etienne looks away, says nothing. Pins and needles in his cheeks again.

Mthu sits forward. ‘There is work to do, you know. We organise things from here. The liberation in South Africa is coming, but we need hands. And minds. They are equipping us here, giving us money.’ Mthu is silent for a while. ‘Join us,’ he says. ‘You have connections that could be useful to us.’ He flashes a blue smile.

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