The Rock

By Maureen Mendelowitz

It is South Africa in the early years of the scourge of the apartheid system, its prejudices and injustices affecting the fabric of the society. Against this background is the thwarted love affair of Daniel and Maryssa, two young people from traumatic backgrounds. Daniel is a brilliant young doctor who is unable to admit to himself the love he h

• Language: English
• Publisher: Debbie Lee
• Release date: Oct 23, 2017
• ISBN: 9781760414450

Maureen Mendelowitz

Maureen Mendelowitz was born and educated in Johannesburg, South Africa. She married, and she and her husband lived in Cape Town, where they brought up their three children. In 1997, they emigrated to Sydney to join their children and their families. Maureen has always enjoyed writing. She has gained recognition for her work in a number of short story competitions. This is her first novel, and her first attempt at having a work published. The Rock was judged third in a recent local literary competition.

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The Rock

The Rock

Maureen Mendelowitz

Ginninderra Press

The Rock

ISBN 978 1 76041 445 0

Copyright © text Maureen Mendelowitz 2017

Cover image: Art in Glass by Taryn Tollman

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All rights reserved. No part of this ebook may be reproduced, distributed or transmitted in any form or by any means without the prior written permission of the copyright holder. Requests for permission should be sent to the publisher at the address below.

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This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, events and incidents are the products of the author’s imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events, is purely coincidental.

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First published 2017 by

Ginninderra Press

PO Box 3461 Port Adelaide 5015

www.ginninderrapress.com.au

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From Julian –

‘This rock is more than a million years old. And in a million years it will still be here…’

‘And us? Where will we be in a million years?’

‘We’ll be around. We may not be us. But we’ll be around…’

‘If not us, who will we be?’

‘We may be birds. Or butterflies…’

‘Will we know each other?’

‘Yes. We’ll always know each other…’

For Julian –

Always…

There is a rocky ledge that leans over the sea at Llandudno. It juts out on three sides, exposed to the changing shades of ocean and sky, the blues, the greys, the oranges and reds of sunset, and the pale violet hues of early dawn.

It is a hidden place. A steep flight of steps hewn from rock leads down from the road to a pristine crescent of white beach. At the far end, a wall of huge boulders are piled and lean haphazardly, one against the other.

The rock is beyond the boulders. It is comfortable, flat and smooth. Below is nothing but the wide ocean; above, the wide skies. The sunrise sometimes bathes it in crimson hues, and sometimes it is fiery in the red flames of sunset. But in the dark of night, its surface hardens in the glittering sparkle of stars and the moon etches its compact layers in a strong beam of white light.

The rock is difficult to find. There are only small spaces and narrow crevices to crawl through – a secret rock – hidden behind an ominous outcrop of huge boulders that signals the end of the beach and forbids anything beyond.

Daniel knew the rock.

How?

Did he find it as a small boy exploring? Did his mother call out, ‘Daniel! Daniel! Where are you?’ and run along that small crowded beach, and look out to the waves panic-stricken, and desperately ask, ‘Have you seen my child? A small boy? With dark curly hair?’ and sigh hugely and with great relief when that curly-headed boy, small and skinny, appeared from the outcrop and ran towards his mother shouting, ‘Mama, I’ve found a rock! A big flat rock!’ Did she scoop him up in her arms, crying and laughing and reprimanding, ‘Daniel! Where were you? Don’t ever do that again! I thought you were lost forever!’ not listening to what he was saying, but smothering him with kisses?

Is that when Daniel found the rock?

Perhaps he found it as a boy wanting to escape the turmoil of his home. Did he run from the interminable arguments, the insults, and the vicious temper of his dad, jump on a bus, arrive at Llandudno, pace along the beach, and crawl through the crevices to hide away, to bury his head in his knees and cry, to scream into the wind, ‘I hate him! I hate him! I wish he was dead!’

Or did he find it as a young man seeking solitude? Did he close his books in exhaustion and say, ‘I’ve got to get out of here,’ and leave the littered desk and medical tomes, and drive along that stretch of coast until he reached the little beach. Did he scramble though the crevices seeking to block out the smell of ether and sick bodies at the hospital, the lectures, the interminable notes, the examinations, and wonder how much more he could take? Did he then come upon the flat wide rock, sit on its smooth surface, his back against a boulder and gaze out in wonder at the beauty and isolation of his find? Did he close his tired eyes and allow the songs of the sea and the soft breezes to envelop him and calm his crowded mind, to bring him quietude, to give him peace?

However it happened, it seemed to Maryssa that the rock belonged to him, a hidden secret place behind an inaccessible outcrop of boulders, a place that he had discovered, that only he would know.

It seemed as though it was also a porous rock, a rock that absorbed stains. There was no evidence of the drops of bright red blood on its smooth surface. The rock, the rain and the surf from the sea during high winds and severe storms, all had helped to remove it.

From the street the music could be heard, the beat, the rhythm. From the gate, voices, laughter.

The house was dimly lit, filtered with a rosy light from tiny bulbs strung across the ceiling of the lounge filled with images of people moving, people dancing.

Daniel and Ted walked up the path. Above them, the sky glittered and the moon hung, its glow touching the tops of trees whilst shrubs clustered darkly. The air was perfumed with frangipani. It was a warm and still evening but expectant, quietly waiting.

They’d spent the day swimming and playing tennis in the grounds of Ted’s house, where Daniel stayed when he visited Johannesburg. Daniel prided himself on the peaceful hours he’d managed to spend with his friend, where he conscientiously avoided contentious issues – in particular, political discussions. From what he’d learned, Ted was heavily involved with the anti-apartheid movement at the university, giving talks and speeches. He’d long been aware of Ted’s left-wing views but he now sensed an urgency and tension in his friend. Like a taut wire, Daniel thought. So they swam, and hit the ball on the court, and spoke of girls they fancied and guys they both knew.

‘Blue Suede Shoes’ created the beat as they walked into the crowded room filled with flushed faces, with smiles, with rhythm, with movement. As the song ended and before the next began, and before Maryssa realised it, Daniel had found his way to her, had his arm firmly around her, had taken her hand, had smiled down at her with his dark eyes.

Holding her, swaying to the music, he said, ‘I’m Dan, Dan Simons, and you’re Maryssa Klein.’

‘How do you know?’ She smiled at him, intrigued by his boldness.

‘I asked one of the guys.’

She observed his darkly handsome face, his crisp dark hair. ‘You’re not from Jo’burg?’ she asked.

‘Cape Town.’

‘Which part?’

‘Sea Point.’

‘Cape Town’s a beautiful place.’

Something flickered within them, between them.

‘What do you do?’

He smiled his thin smile. ‘Medicine. I’m fourth year. And you?’

She saw his smile. ‘I’ve just written matric.’

He’d noticed her immediately. Casting a glance around the room he’d seen her, her face, the sway of her hair, her straight shoulders. From a corner of the room, he’d observed her smile, her eyes, the light sliding from her cheekbones. He’d felt his senses quicken and asked, with a low whistle, ‘Hey, Ted. Who is that?’

Ted followed his gaze. ‘That’s Maryssa. Maryssa Klein.’ Turning to Daniel, he added protectively, ‘A good friend of mine. Nice girl. Very nice girl…’

Daniel’s gaze moved from her face to her narrow waist to the provocative sway of her hips. He waited for the song to end, moved through the crowd towards her and captured her in the curve of his arm. ‘I’m Dan,’ he’d said.

They danced and listened to each other’s voices, his hand in the small of her back, her hand on his shoulder. He saw that her eyes were amber, that there were amber lights in her hair, that her hair was thick and lustrous, her lips soft and full, her smile soft, warm. He felt her breasts brush against his chest, her thighs touching his. He inhaled her perfume, light and flowery, and noted the softness of her hand in his.

She felt his height and the strength of his body. He leaned into her, commanded her, mastered her. He had a dark, clean, clinical feel about him, a sculptured lean feel. He was agile and alive. Electric.

They were set alight. In the rosiness of the room, closed in by the crowd, they were alone. Their senses were on fire. They could feel the beat of their hearts, their pulses beating. Their faces touched, their lips brushed, they looked deeply into each other's eyes.

‘Come with me,’ he said softly. He took her hand and led her into the garden, along a path, past the huddled bushes, the moon-brushed trees, to a hidden corner enclosed by a stone wall.

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