(Author: Zita Nurok, Vol. 67, No. 3, Chanukah 2012)
When Anne and her family had taken the cable car up Table Mountain in Cape Town for the first time, it had been an exciting adventure.
“D’you think there are snakes at the top, Mom?” Jon had asked.
“We probably won’t see any if there are,” she’d replied. He always used to ask that question when they went for walks in the Drakensberge or in the Cape forests.
“What if that cable snaps?” their younger son Philip had asked, warily eyeing the cable car traveling slowly toward them in mid-air. “Or if it just stops, or if….”
And her husband Ivor had ruffled Phillip’s hair and said, “Why are you thinking of all the things that can go wrong? You’ll love this. We all will.” He’d put his arm around Anne’s shoulders as he often used to do.
Now the boys were grown and they’d left South Africa. Philip was a doctor living in Israel with his wife and young son, and Jon worked for a computer company in the United States. Ivor had passed away four years before, and after she’d spent a difficult time trying to adjust to his absence, Anne had decided to return to teaching in a private primary school in Sea Point. She enjoyed living at the seaside, but there were many days when she sat on the balcony of her small flat which overlooked the white sandy beach, wishing that she too could be out there playing ball, or walking her dog like the people she was watching, or simply talking about the weather with a friend. Many of her close friends and family had left South Africa and were now living in Israel, Canada, the USA, or Australia. Attending services at the synagogue was different for her after they all emigrated. She missed the warm get-togethers with good friends and family, the delicious Shabbat meals with home-baked challah that they each took turns making. No longer did anyone stop by to visit on weekends.
It was the last day of the December school holidays. Anne decided to go up Table Mountain by cable car again. She drove her small car to the foot of the mountain, where she parked and joined the waiting group. An Indian lady ahead of her in the queue turned and smiled. “A bit misty this morning isn’t it?” She drew her gold and pink sari around her slim shoulders.
“Yes, I hope we can still go up,” Anne replied.
“Yesterday, it was cancelled because of the wind,” the lady told her.
“Oh really… where are you from?” Anne asked, “Are you on holiday here in Cape Town?”
“We’re from Durban and we’re here in Cape Town for one more week.” She smiled, and looked proudly at her four children. Her husband acknowledged Anne shyly.
“That’s where I lived a long time ago,” Anne told her. They chatted easily until it was their turn to buy tickets. Anne pushed her money through to the man on the other side of the window. His long, dark tanned hand with dirty fingernails reached for the rand notes.
“How many?”
“Just one please.”
She walked through the turnstile, and handed her ticket to a young man. The Indian family had moved to the other side of the group that was forming to use the cable car. Anne would have preferred to be with them, but when they walked out to the place from which the cable car would leave, she found a spot beside three teenagers instead. She turned to look at the mountain. They all waited on an open cement ledge that faced onto it. Everyone could see the two cable cars ahead as they descended, traveling towards them. There was a space beside the ledge where one of the cars would come to rest. Anne looked up.
The mountain seemed bigger than she remembered, and closer too. A cloud hovered to the left and above it, as if deciding whether to settle over the top or move on. It seemed to Anne that the scene had been more beautiful years ago. Now the mountain looked tired and gray in the hazy light. A large eagle dipped and swooped hesitantly over the pine forests ahead. It appeared to be looking for something.
Her attention was drawn to a large black wheel, which squeaked as it rotated slowly in the space beside the ledge. Three thick black greasy cables reached out from it to the cable car, like long grasping fingers. The wheel groaned.
I shouldn’t have come, Anne thought, I should have driven with Sally to Groot Constantia for tea and scones instead. It’s beautiful there too.
“Stay clear of the cable car,” the ticket collector called out, “My name is Johan and I will be taking you up.”
The car was descending into the open space. Like a taped recording she heard the man inside that car say to his group, “Wait until the car comes to a complete stop and alight from the left, please,” People filed out.
Anne climbed in with her group and stood beside Johan, who locked the gate. She smiled at him, wanting to say something. “Have you worked at this for long? she asked.
“All summer ma’am,” he replied in a heavy Afrikaans accent. He turned to the teenagers who addressed him. The car began to move upward. Anne stared out at the scene ahead. She gripped the steel pole beside her and closed her eyes.
“What’s the matter, lady?” one of the boys asked her.
“Oh…nothing, I’m fine” she smiled weakly. They seemed to be suspended in mid-air. Was the car moving? She couldn’t tell. Her legs felt weak when she looked out. Nothing was below, above, to the left or right of them, only the hazy sky ahead, mountain slopes, and the indecisive hovering cloud.
She thought back to the first time her family had taken the cable car up Table Mountain. She remembered how excited her children had been when they spotted different birds.
“Hey Mom, look at that wild bird,” Jon had said, “What kind is it?”
Ivor had used the binoculars she’d given him for his fiftieth birthday. “Spectacular!” he’d exclaimed, “A Cape Sugarbird. Look at its beautiful long tail, Anne!”
Now their car continued to move up slowly. Another sailed down on the singing cables beside them. When it passed opposite, they were only about half way up. Anne’s heart raced. A gentleman beside her took photos. People around her were commenting enthusiastically on the spectacular view. Out in the distance, she saw three mountain climbers. Anne wished she too could feel the rocks under her feet, or hold onto them with her hands.
“Look at all the wild flowers and pine forests, children,” she’d said to her boys long ago, “Those shining trees are Silver Leaf.”
“And what a view of the coastline!” Ivor had handed her the binoculars, and she too had exclaimed at the way the land seemed to flow right into the blue waters.
Anne closed her eyes again as her thoughts were jolted back by the movement of the cable car that seemed to be swaying in the air. When she looked out seconds later, the pine forests were well below and now only sheer rock loomed ahead. They were surely heading straight into it and would be smashed to pieces. She clenched her fists as they moved vertically up, almost against the face of the rock. But suddenly she saw a ledge and an empty space, and it was all over. The car bumped sharply to a stop.
“Stay clear of the cable car,” the ticket collector outside said.
“Wait until the car comes to a complete stop and alight from the right please,” Johan stated automatically.
Anne climbed out shakily. The cement floor felt firm under her feet. People scattered in all directions, chattering excitedly. The Indian family had disappeared. She walked past a cafeteria where souvenirs and snacks were sold, into bright sunlight. The breeze had died down and the cloud drifted away. Anne breathed deeply of the fresh clear air, and found a bench on which to rest in the warm sun for a while. There was a good view of the whole peninsula, three thousand feet below. She could see the coastline with a clear demarcation between the warm and cold water of the oceans. They appeared calm. Waves like rows of dancing children gently ran up on the beach. Boats that looked like toys appeared far out in the water. She stood up to explore the mountaintop.
Once more her thoughts returned to years past. “Hey, Dad,” Jon had said, “what’s over the edge? Can we see, can we?”
“Yes let’s,” Philip had echoed his older brother’s enthusiasm. They had all scrambled over rocks, and discovered a small patch of white fynbos at the end of a long winding path. She remembered comparing it to a bridal bouquet.
“I wonder if I can find my way now to that very same spot of long ago,” she thought, “I could email Jon and Philip to tell them about it this afternoon.” She walked a little way along a new path. A group of children sat in the long grass on the side, licking ice-creams.
“Where are you going?” a small girl asked her sweetly.
“Have you seen an animal or something?” one of the little boys asked, “Can we come too?”
“Children, we’re leaving now,” called a lady in a brightly colored sundress with a matching hat, beckoning to them. Anne watched as they ran off.
The path sloped down, ending in a pile of rubble. She stepped over it and down onto a large flat rock, then she jumped off. Two paths led away from her. She chose the one that appeared well worn and took her round a cluster of trees. Was this the way her family had chosen?
Further along, as she shielded her eyes from the bright sunlight, she recognized a very large boulder. “I remember sitting there to rest, and we were drinking our cool drinks,” she said to herself. “And the rock stood in the fynbos.” But in place of the delicate flowers they had seen long ago, the whole area was now covered with thorn bushes and dried out dead grass. As she moved on hesitantly, blackjacks pricked her legs like sharp needles, and clung to her skirt. She drew back wanting to cry “get off of me…off…” as she tried to brush them away. And then in the center of the dried-out thorn patch she saw just a single soft-pink protea standing alone among the weeds. Anne turned quickly and made her way back.
Zita Nurok is an elementary school teacher who grew up in South Africa. She immigrated in 1976 to the USA, where she continues to teach at the Jewish Day School in Indianapolis. Zita is a member of the National League of American Pen Women, and has served as Vice-President and President of the Indianapolis branch.
