http://www.saflyermag.comyou done now?” I was much puzzled by the
question; I couldn’t think of anything I had
recently done that might have caused him
distress. However, it was not always easy
to know with Zingi. A few days earlier I had
been subjected to a demeaning bout of verbal
abuse, simply for answering his phone while
he was out of the office.
A voice had said that I should give Zingi
the following message: “Fred ́s uncle phoned.”
Now, I had previous experience of giving Zingi
incomplete messages and failing to get phone
numbers, and it had not been pleasant. So I
pressed the caller for more information. But all
he would say was, “For Christ ́s sake just tell
him that Fred ́s uncle phoned.”
I was in a cleft stick: any more backchat
from me and the dreaded uncle would blow a
gasket and tell Zingi that I was an incompetent
oaf, which he already knew. On the other
hand, if I failed to get a number, I could expect
a period of wretchedness to follow.
I tried a more oblique approach and
enquired whether Zingi would know who Fred
was. There was a gasp of despair and the
phone went dead.
Not wishing to entrust such an important
message to memory, I took out a new sheet
of paper and wrote the following on it: “Zingi,
Fred ́s uncle phoned. Jim.”
That afternoon I heard the clatter of Zingi
opening his window, followed by the familiar
bellow, “Davis!” I dropped my tin of polish and
zigzagged through the aeroplanes with all due
speed.
“What the hell is this?” he enquired,
brandishing my note through the window. It
seemed fairly clear to me what it was; however
I was reluctant to point that out. So I put on my
bovine expression and simply stared stupidly
at him.He tried a different approach: “Who the
hell ́s Fred?”
Ah, now this was easy: I explained that
Fred was the nephew of the guy who had
phoned.
Zingi gave an impression of a dinner
guest who had got a chicken bone stuck in his
throat. His face was turning red and he was
tugging at his bow tie in order to loosen up the
airway.
“Why didn’t you get his number?” His
voice had gone all quiet, like that of a Sergeant
Major who is preparing for the big blast. I was
starting to feel extremely uncomfortable. In
desperation I resorted to what I believed was a
simple explanation of the whole matter.
“He told me you would know who Fred’s
uncle was.”
“Davis, you microbe, that must have beenFred Zunkle.”
“That’s what I said, Skipper.”
“Get the hell out of my sight.”
“Sure, Skipper,” I said. I was becoming
increasingly worried about Zingi’s mental
health.
All this is a bit of background to show that
the sound of Zingi ́s window opening and his
enquiry into one’s recent activities can cause
even the most innocent hangar-boy a certain
amount of apprehension.
“What the hell have you done now?”
I told him that I didn’t recall any recent
misdemeanours.
“Well something’s up. Mr Piet wants to
see you.”
I hurried across to the boss’s outer office,
and was greeted by Molly van Blerk and her
massive wobbling bodice. She was later to be
flung in the slammer for stealing Piet’s money.
Anyhow she told me to go straight in.
I knocked and went quietly into his
office. Mr Piet did not give the impression of
someone who wanted to see me. In fact he
looked like a boss who would have been very
happy to never see me again.
“Myrtle tells me zat I must pay you more
money or fire you again.” He rubbed his chin
and stared at me with watery blue eyes over
his half-moon glasses. I felt like some vile
insect that he had spotted crawling out from
under his lettuce. He was obviously waiting
for me to offer an explanation. As so often
happened, the situation seemed out of my
hands, so I just gazed miserably at the carpet.
“Vell,” he said, “I sink I vill pay you an extra
five Rands every monse.” He made it sound
as if he was giving me a Learjet.
I left his office knowing that I would gladly
lay down my life for such a man. Actually he
had already made several attempts to shorten
my life, and I had no reason to expect a
change in the near future.Zingi gave an impression of
a dinner GUEST WHO HAD
GOT A CHICKEN BONE
STUCK IN HIS THROAT.
j