Bittersweet Dance of Love

Bittersweet Dance of Love Chapter 1

All is just borrowed to us

The days the summers and the rain

Borrowed, all is just borrowed.

—Andriëtte Norman

Merwe van Greunen stares thoughtfully out over the empty farmyard of Mooifontein. As usual, his implements are neatly parked. The main gravel road to Koës, with its prominent and dangerous U-turn, winds closely to the magnificent splendour of their farmhouse. Koës is a harsh and difficult-to-endure area. Koës is about 130 kilometres north-east of Keetmanshoop on the western border of the Kalahari.

    He shifts his tall, lean, muscled body for more comfort against the impressive terrace entrance, which leads down two sets of steps. He stretches his long, tanned legs in front of him while inhaling greedily at the long-stemmed pipe before he puffs out comfortably. He puts the pipe down on the wall next to him and closes his eyes. The tranquillity of his beloved farm sometimes makes him uneasy—especially on weekends.

    Ill at ease, he moves again, still trying to relax. But his mind does not allow him the peace of mind he seeks today. In the far distance, he hears a car approaching at high speed. “Few people travel the road on a Saturday afternoon,” he muses aloud. Those who do are usually people who do not know the road with its sharp turn next to their home. Their house is located twenty-five kilometres from Koës, in the central part southeast of Namibia, and the hairpin slope has been many people’s means to their ends.

    He hears the gentle roar of the small car speeding on the gravel road. This car definitely has no intention of slowing down, and the driver definitely does not know about the sharp and dangerous bend in the road. Out of the corner of his eye, Merwe sees a flash in the distance as the sun glitters, and his sense of unease becomes a reality. 

    The small red car comes screeching around the sharp corner, sliding along the gravel road before it overturns and starts rolling towards the fence next to the road. Clouds of dust surround the crushed red car and starts rolling towards the fence next to the road. Clouds of dust surround the crushed red car.

    “Mum, call Dr Dirk and tell him to come quickly. Another car has rolled,” Merwe shouts to his mother, who also heard the crash. He runs as fast as he can along the neat gravel road, which circles out like a curveball before it snakes leisurely between huge palm trees closely woven around to the main road, before he reaches the mangled Chrysler.

Exhausted by the long drive and all the memories that have troubled her for many years, Merlyn did not pay much attention to the road—especially to the sharp and dangerous bend in the road near Merwe’s house. “Slow down, girl!” Uncle Sammy shouts, suddenly wide awake after falling asleep some time ago.

    Tyres screech over the white gravel road as Merlyn realizes anxiously that the corner is too short and sharp. 

    “How could I forget about this sharp bend?” Merlyn castigates herself aloud. At least he is wearing his safety belt, she thinks. She realizes instinctively that she did not fasten her seat belt after their last stop in Keetmanshoop. All things flash through her mind in seconds: her reasons for coming back to Koës and her beloved Merwe, who does not want anything to do with her.

    “I am so sorry, Uncle Sammy,” she shouts. Her hands fold over her face. Tumbling forward, her head crashes against the steering wheel. Fortunately she sees only black and nothing else. Unable to slow down in time, the car rapidly moves off the road and starts rolling.

    The small red Chrysler, covered in a smothering cloud of dust, finally comes to a halt resting against the steeply angled slope next to the road.

Merwe’s immediate observation is that the windows are broken and the driver’s seat is empty. Only then does he see the sturdy but frail figure of Uncle Sammy, now unnaturally still in the passenger seat. Blood streams from his nose, and his neck is bent oddly to the side. Merwe rushes to his aid and searches for a pulse, but in vain. Sad and distressed, he leaves to seek the driver somewhere among all the dust, glass, magazines, and personal belongings that lie scattered across the rocky plain.

    “No seat belt, I suppose,” he mutters angrily as his watchful ice-blue eyes quickly search the ground for the driver. A small figure lying in the dust and stones not ten yards from the car immediately attracts his attention. Merwe’s heart beats wildly as he gets down on his knees beside her. His huge hands tremble, and the knowledge that he has not been wrong leaves him short of breath. Short, spiky raven-black hair with its distinctive dark purple-pink stripes on one side can belong to one person only.

    “No, Lord, she cannot be dead,” he mutters in distress with his hand on her neck, anxiously looking for her pulse. He experiences extreme relief when he feels a strong rhythm. His hand folds around her small face, searching for the cause of the blood streaming over her face. A deep cut on her forehead below a great swelling seems to be the origin. His eyes examine her whole body in a blink before he witnesses the badly broken left arm.

    “Merilyn, can you hear me? Why do you not wake up?” he asks near her face while his hand strokes her hair. “You’d better not die on me now, woman,” he anxiously scolds her. He sighs with relief when he notices Dr Dirk’s car approaching.

    Dirk stops his white pickup next to the wreckage. As he gets out, he shakes his head in disbelief, wondering if anyone is still alive. Merwe’s anxious face speaks volumes. His face white, his eyes wide and shocked, it seems as if Merwe van Greunen has seen something scary. Then Dirk sees the woman lying on the ground next to him.

    “Dirk, it’s Merlyn! She is alive but does not wake up. Her arm is badly broken, and there is a large wound on her forehead. She knows the road and its curves so well. Why she had to be in such a hurry I do not know.” He moves away slightly as he speaks so Dirk can take a look at her.

    “Any other people you could see?” Dirk asks while looking at Merlyn’s head injury.

    “Uncle Sammy, but I could not find any pulse, and his neck is oddly bent. I think he did not make it,” Merwe replies sadly.

    A quick but thorough investigation showed no further injuries, but the wound on Merlyn’s forehead is deep, and that troubles him most. Lifting her eyelids, he notices that both the pupils are large and dilated.     Her not reacting to anything can only mean that she is in a coma. And it must be a deep coma, he decides. Out of experience as a medical practitioner, he does not show his concern but quickly further examines her back, neck, and legs.

    Merwe’s anxiety about the doctor’s silence makes him unreasonable. “What do you see, Dr Dirk? Will she wake up? Why is she still asleep? What should we do, Dirk?”

    “Merwe, you should please calm yourself. We will take her to the hospital, where she can be comfortable. I am not observing any serious injuries, although I will put on a neck brace before we move her. 

    "Mieta,” Dr Dirk says to Merwe’s mother, who has appeared quietly behind them, “could you please call the hospital and tell them to be on standby? We will bring her and Uncle Sammy in about fifteen minutes.”

    “Sure, Dirk. I’m going right away,” she says softly before swiftly walking down the road back home. She thinks about her son, and her face strains with the sadness. She knows he feels deeply because, for the first time in his adult life, his feelings are showing so clearly. Now she understands why he never got married. Her heart contracts painfully over the past. Her late husband was always opposed to all the Brandos family—especially when he noticed Merwe’s interest in Merlyn. She tried her best to persuade him to let go, but Gerhardus van Greunen was ruthless in what he believed, even if at the expense of his child’s happiness.

    Merwe carefully slides his arms underneath the slender woman before lifting her in his arms, pressing her against his large chest, and moving swiftly to Dr Basson’s car.