THE TEXT

The Life of Henry Fuckit
(1950 - 2015)

 

40   A preview

The driver saw him from a long way off and had plenty of time to slow down and come to a halt where he stood beside the road in the stones and the dust. The three men in the cab were Portuguese.

"Where you go?"

"Windhoek."

They were going back to Jo'burg with a load of fish in big insulated crates already dripping with condensation. For ten rand they would take him as far as Keetmanshoop. Shit! These Porro bastards. He glanced in the direction of Luderitz and in the distance saw a vehicle on the black ribbon of road.

"I've only got five." He held up the note and they conversed in Portuguese. A hand reached out and took his money and he heaved up Lady Provider and clambered onto the back of the truck amongst the crates. They pulled away as he settled himself. He could see the long dark outline of the vehicle. The gap between it and him had been closing steadily but now was widening as it slowed and swung off the tar onto the rough track. He watched its progress, a cloud of dust trailing behind, and as it receded something inside him began to whimper.

 

This was how Henry's first twenty-five years ended. It took five years in the Dockyard for him to become attuned, and for Bergson's work to reach a sufficiently advanced stage. Only then, in 1975, was he able to undertake his expedition north and complete the first phase of his odyssey.

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