Belize Survivor, part 31

Hours later, Mrs. Hartley found him. "Max, wake up," she said, shaking him. "I thought you'd gone back to Good Faith."

Groggily, he mumbled, "Jane said she'd see me after the photo session. Is it five o'clock yet?"

"Yes, a quarter past. Why don't you go freshen up and I'll tell her you're still here."

Max went into the bathroom and splashed cold water on his face, but it still looked haggard and dark. As he used the towel to dry off, he heard Nigel and Jane’s voices coming down the hall outside. In a few seconds they would pass right by the door. Instinct told him to pull away, but instead he pressed his ear against the wood.


"I told you. I didn't know Max was coming,” said Jane. “Actually I thought he'd left during the photo shoot. I should have known better than to think he'd simply walk away after traveling so far."

"Well,” said Nigel. “He's making things damn difficult. I think you should just tell him the truth. You should have written him a letter, weeks ago. Then we wouldn't be having this problem."

"I suppose you're right. I just didn't want to hurt his feelings, that's all. Now it's going to be even harder. Also I told him I'd have dinner with him and that you'd understand."

"Well, that's going too far. I love you and you love me,” said Nigel, petulantly. “Max is just going to have to deal with it."

"But you're his best friend."

“Well, I was – until the day I started making love with his woman."

Behind the bathroom door Max staggered and fell back against the wall. The blood drained from his face, but the hot sweat soon changed to cold chills as he walked into the living room where Nigel stood with Jane. Without a word, he walked up to Nigel and gave him a hard uppercut to the chin that knocked him flat.

"Max, please listen," Jane began.

Without even turning around he said, "Save your breath, slut."

Max didn't go back to Good Faith that night. Another chat with his mother was the last thing he needed. Instead, he drove to a bar in town and made passionate love to a small, but lethal, flask of cane spirits. Somewhere in the back of his mind a voice told him that he should get started back to the army base, but the pain was too great. By one o'clock in the morning he was quite drunk and ready for the Blue Note, a late-night jazz club where apartheid was largely overlooked and people of all colors gathered for music and liquor. The smoky semi-darkness comforted him like a womb, as he switched to scotch and stared numbly at the faces.

A little chocolate-colored girl, no older than fourteen, sat down across the table. She didn't speak, but studied his face as he sipped his drink. He paid no attention, continuing to think about Jane, his feelings alternating between love, anger, and hurt. He thought of Nigel caressing her and suddenly felt himself hard with lust. It was then that he realized the little chocolate girl was rubbing his crotch with her toes. She stuck out her pointed pink tongue and licked her lips, exposing small, even, and perfectly white teeth. With a movement barely discernible, she gestured toward the back of the club.

The room spun dizzily as Max came back to consciousness the following day. His head, splitting in agony, reminded him of the night before, and he was suddenly filled with remorse. He raised his body to a sitting position, holding his head, cringing at the mildewed walls and filthy bare mattress. The black girl was gone, as was his wallet and watch. But he had the good sense to give thanks she hadn't stolen his shoes and pants as well. The room was rank with the smell of stale liquor, and Max's only thought was to get out as quickly as possible. In the street, the glaring light of midday blinded him. His heart skipped a beat when he found out from a passerby that it was already one-fifteen in the afternoon. He called Good Faith.

"What do you mean you're heading back to base? I thought you were going to spend time with Jane and then come home," said Ellie. "Where were you last night?

Where did you sleep? Max, are you in some kind of trouble?" Her raucous voice punished his eardrums like a squawking chicken with a British accent.

"No, Mum, I'm fine," he lied. "I spent the night with a friend. I've been here too long already. I've simply got to head back to the base, or I'll end up in real trouble."
"Well, I'm thoroughly disappointed in your behavior and I'm sure your father will be as well. I would have expected that you could have spent at least a little time with your old mother."

"Mum, please. I'll make it up to you next time, I promise. I'm going to go now. You can have Timmy pick up the truck here in town at the petrol station. I’m sorry. Bye, Mum."

"Max! Don't you hang up on me," she said. "Max?"

Worse than the cold on the way down, now a freezing rain blew across northern Natal as Max hitched his way back to the base. He felt sick and disgusted, disenchanted with life in general and women in particular. By the time he reached the camp it was eleven-fifteen Monday morning, and Sgt. DeGroot had already had the supreme satisfaction of declaring him AWOL.

Max was committed to solitary confinement for three days. The tiny cement structure was only six feet by six. The menu consisted of thin soup, bread, and water. Served twice a day, it was garnished with a few greasy hairs, courtesy of the fat Afrikaaner cook who brought his meals. The three days of incarceration made for an experience beyond Max's worst nightmare. He'd seen men come out of the dog box drooling and babbling nonsense. In the cold and damp, among the scuttling roaches,

Max reaffirmed his embittered vow to never again be a victim of the system.