The Owl Song

W

ith only a backpack and his acoustic guitar over his shoulder, Stan Wells hopped into a Land Rover at “OR Tambo” International airport in Johannesburg, South Africa. He looked twenty years younger than his fifty-five years of age as he was headed towards the northern border of South Africa near the Limpopo River.

This was the first time in many years Stan was back in South Africa after being in America for more than twenty years chasing an elusive dream in music and making movies. Being that he had an entrepreneur spirit and hated the fact that he had to be at the mercy of fickle Hollywood executives to ever get a break, he started dabbling in mining operations in other parts of Africa.

It was a fluke that eventually cost him ten years of his life and a half million dollars of investment, and he completely failed. His last effort was in Liberia for the past six months where he was mining in remote jungles three hours north of Monrovia. Africa proved to be very difficult and he number of criminals he encountered made it almost impossible to succeed unless you had millions of dollars behind you.

After ten years, having given it his all, Stan found himself penniless and back here to South Africa to see his family he had not seen in many years.

A singer, songwriter, and poet at heart, Stan was never without his guitar, his Macbook computer, and several yellow pads. Even while he was mining in remote jungles, he always had a song or a story in his head and had to write it down. It was in his blood and it was a bloody curse, he had come to conclude. His mind always haunted him on a lonely road to fucking nowhere.

All he had to show for neglecting his beloved family for twenty-five years was a bunch of fucking songs, movie screenplays, and poems.

But don’t misunderstand, he had an incredible life and had experienced things most people could only dream of, but still, it was a painful journey, missing the lives of his two daughters growing up. Stan had gotten used to the pain, and through meditation and forgiveness realized that in the end, it was all an illusion and that living in the moment was what was most important. To forgive all of yesterday and let the past go, because it only held you back and would drown you in sorrow.

With this very mindset, he was able to get through very tough times.

The sun was hot as Stan drove through another small town, four hours north of Johannesburg. Here modern homes were sometimes intermingled with African huts and shacks that lay scattered against the mountain ranges, like a beautiful painting.

Judging by the bamboo and wooden makeshift stores that lined the narrow sidewalks, you knew you were in a third world country. Local blacks from many different tribes were selling everything from bananas, tomatoes, to fish and cheap Chinese imports.

Stan stopped at an intersection where run-down vehicles crammed for a chance to cross.

Driving in South Africa, safety was not the number one rule on these narrow blacktops,’ Stan thought as he turned right and continued driving towards a small two-lane highway and accident rates were high.

Stan left the small town called Elim and he dialed a number on his cell phone.

“Hello,” he heard a familiar female voice answering in a thick South African accent.

“Hello, Lenette. It’s Dad. I’m here and on my way.”

His daughter’s voice sounded excited to hear from her father as it’s been a long time since they had last seen him.

“Hi, dad. Where are you now?” She asked.

Stan smiled as he listened to her accent. He couldn’t wait to see his family again; especially his mother was also there at the time visiting his daughter.

“I just turned right at the four-way here in Elim,” Stan said loudly above the wind that was rushing in through the open window.

“Oh, you’re close already. Keep going for eight kilometers and you’ll see a sign that says Albercini dam. Make a left and the first gate on the left is us.”

“OK then, see you soon.”

They called it Albercini dam, but it was a fourteen-mile long lake nestled in the heartland of Northern South Africa close to the Zimbabwe border. The lake was a vacation and fishing destination for South Africans who’d rent homes and chalets that were scattered around the very long body of water. The land was remote and mountainous and a perfect getaway from the city that attracted a lot of fishermen during the year.

Stan noticed the long lake that seemed to go on forever as he drove along the narrow two-lane blacktop, taking in the majestic mountains that loomed against the deep blue sky. He felt relaxed and took a deep breath. He was glad to be out of that hellhole he was in for six fucking months. Liberia was hell and he wanted to try and forget.

He lost more than one hundred thousand dollars in Liberia and he tried everything to make it work. Stan formed two corporations there and was feeding fifty people, mining for diamonds and gold three hours north of Monrovia the capital of Liberia. Up every day at five-thirty am, on the back of a motorcycle five miles on a treacherous road crossing seven make-shift broken bridges and passing eight remote African villages and for what? He had nothing to show. Not a fucking penny. Being sabotaged by the government, dishonest partners, and greedy mining agents, left Stan penniless after all he had done. It was a complete fuckup and he had to learn to accept and forgive cause nothing he would do, could bring it back.

If only he had just given all that money to his family he would have felt a hell of a lot better but Stan was too honest to squander his investor money, and he thought sometimes that it was because of his good nature that he attracted so many criminals into his life.

Stan was done with mining forever and grateful to be able to see his family again. He drove past more thick vegetation and rarely saw a house. Then suddenly, he noticed a green board at the side of the road that read, “Albercini Dam”.

Stan turned left onto a dirt road that had no evidence of any homes but he drove until he saw two stone pillars down the far end of a long fence and he turned into the gate. The steep gravel road went downhill towards the lake about five hundred yards away. To his right, almost at the water’s edge, he saw a large wooden double story house. A high towering Maroela tree covered the front end of the house.

Stan was just in time for an amazing sunset that painted a golden glow across the still water that made the still water appear like pure gold.

’What an amazing sight, he thought. ‘Truly magnificent.’

“Beautiful,” he couldn’t help but say out loud.

Stan pulled up at the house and he could hear birds sing in the late afternoon. There were two other vehicles parked and he got out of the Land Rover, just as his son in law approached him with a big smile. A bulky Afrikaner, (South African), in his early thirties came down the staircase from the front patio that overlooked the lake.

“Hello, hello,” Jan greeted friendly.

“How are you?” Stan said and shook hands.

He saw his mother appearing on the upper wooden deck, above the stairs. Still, in her nightgown, Rhina was already close to seventy years old,

Even though she was overwhelmed to see her son after so long, she did not make an attempt to come down the stairs as that would be too much of a strain on her legs.

“Hello, my son!” Rhina called out with joy.

“Hi mom, “ Stan greeted her. “How are you?”

“Well, my son.”

‘She looked so happy,’ Stan thought as he headed up the staircase.

“This lake is beautiful,” said Stan. “Wow!”

“Stunning, huh,” said Jan as he trailed behind him, coming up the staircase.

‘His mom looked older than he’d seen her a few years ago,’ Stan thought to himself and he felt a little sad, sad that he had not been around to help her more.

Arthritis was also taking a toll on her body and hands. Rhina was a lady who lived a hard life and had lost two husbands and a son to death. Her thinning dark reddish hair was brushed back on her head.

Stan reached the top of the stairs and hugged his mother as tight as he could and she gave him a kiss.

“I can’t believe you’re here.” She said with tears in her eyes.

“Yes, mom. Nice to see you,” Stan said as he was still holding onto her.

“Lenette is inside,” said Jan.

Just then, a ten-year-old boy, Gerrit burst from inside the house followed by his eight-year-old sister, Cathy, like they had way too much energy.

“Say hello to your grandpa,” Jan said to his children and the kids hugged Stan.

“Hello, grandpa.”

Stan was not fond of being called grandpa. He felt and looked way too young for that. Stan was not used to being around family, from all his years away. He was married in America twice, but never had kids in those relationships.

He always felt like an outsider, no matter where he was in the world. In Hollywood, in Nashville where had lived for music, in Africa, and even here in his birthplace, South Africa.

Stan never felt like he had a real home but if he could change anything in his life, he never would have left South Africa twenty-five years ago.

‘He had to get used to being around family again’ he thought to himself.

Stan hardly ever shared his emotions or feelings with anyone. He kept it all locked inside and maybe the only way he expressed any of it was through the close to two thousand songs he’d written and the more than fifty movie screenplays in Hollywood.

He never had an agent or a manager and this made it much harder to get any recognition. He finally made a movie on his own but it was even harder to sell a movie than to damn well make one.

He laughed sometimes at how bizarre the world really was. It was all about connections, having money, or being born in the right family. Had very fucking little to do with having talent.

Somewhat shyly, his grandkids kissed and hugged him.

“You two are getting big,” Stan said and entered the glass sliding door to the house where his daughter met him. She was already thirty-two and four months pregnant with her third child.

Her straw blonde hair was in a ponytail as she kissed her dad hello.

“Hi, baby. How are you?”

“Hi, dad. All right. How’s America?”

“Not bad if you’re making money. Otherwise, it’s a grind.”

“Yes, you’re better off back in South Africa,” his mother replied and you couldn’t blame her for believing that.

His daughter said; “Well, you can stay as long as you like, till you have yourself sorted out.”

“Thanks,” Stan said gratefully.

“Did you bring your guitar, Oupa?” His granddaughter Cathy asked.

She was a cutie with her long blonde hair and big teeth.

“Yes,” Stan replied with a smile. “I always have my guitar.”

He smiled as Lenette sat down back down in front of the computer by the desk in the corner of the living room. This was her makeshift office that overlooked the lake below.

It was surely a paradise setting.

“How could you beat this?” Stan asked gesturing out towards the lake. He could see fishing rods by the water like they had been fishing.

“Yes, it’s a fishing paradise,” Jan agreed.

Lenette motioned to a black girl in the kitchen busy cooking dinner.

“This is Mercy. She is from Zimbabwe. Her husband works here too. He’s from Malawi.”

“Hello Mercy, “Stan said friendly and shook her hand.

She smiled shyly. “Hello.”

Lenette said, “Mercy, this is my dad from America. He was born here but lives in America.”

“Oh, okay,” said Mercy and she continued with the food on the stove.

It was now almost completely dark as they sat on the upper front porch overlooking the lake. The water was still like a mirror and the lake now looked like it was painted in a purple glow from the vanishing sun, disappearing behind a trifecta of mountains that loomed majestically on the other side of the lake.

They could hear a few birds singing their evening song before bedtime and a lonely frog called out from between some reeds.

“Wow, look at the water,” Stan pointed out as if no one had seen it.

“Yes, it’s amazing,” Rhina said.

She was sitting close beside Stan with Jan on the other side. They were having a beer and the kids were just hanging loosely like they were looking for something to do.

Rhina and Jan were both heavy smokers, so they were both puffing on a cigarette. Stan tried not to get in the way of the smoke. He never did smoke or having ever done drugs in his whole life. He did drink alcohol occasionally and wrote many songs over a glass of whiskey. Many drinking songs in Nashville as well.

Lenette was inside the living room on her computer.

“Come outside, Lenette,” Stan called her as he was petting three small Staffordshire dogs. They were all pitch black, except for the mother who was about eight months older and bigger of course.

“I will in a little bit.”

“Nice doggies,” said Stan.

“Oupa, this is Lucy,” Gerrit said and pointed at the biggest of the dogs. “She is the mother of these two. Dexter and Max.”

“Dexter and Max, Stan said and he picked up Dexter, the cutest little one. Even though he was the smallest of the dogs, he already showed signs of a soon-to-be, strong dog.

“There’s a baby,” Stan said and the dog licked his chin.

“Don’t kiss the dog,” Lenette cried out from inside the house.

“I’m not kissing him, he’s licking my chin,” Stan said. “I love dogs. He’s so cute, Dexter.”

“Want another beer?” Jan asked.

“That will be nice.” Said Stan.

Jan looked at Gerrit, “gaan kry vir my en jou Oupa a bier.” (Go get myself and your grandpa a beer).

Cathy ran off.

“So, you have a road construction business?” Stan asked Jan.

“No, road cleaning. I work for the contractor but it is like my own business. I have twenty guys working every day cleaning the roads and cutting the grass.”

“Sounds good,” Stan said just as Cathy brought them the drinks.

“Cheers,” said Jan, and Stan raised his bottle.

“Cheers.”

The men drank in a moment’s silence.

Stan looked at his mother who sat quietly.

“Mom, you want a drink?”

“Nee my kind, ek sal a bietjie tee drink later.” (No my child, I’ll have some tea later.)

“Gran doesn’t drink beer,” Lenette said with a “what the hell” expression on her face.

“I haven’t had a drink since your father passed away ten years ago,” said Rhina.

“I forgot ma,” Stan said. “But you love smoking. Like a steam engine.” He laughed.”

“Yeah, me too,” said Jan as he lit up another cigarette.

“I hate smoke,” said Lenette from inside the house.

Rhina said; “Yes, I’ll never stop smoking, my child. This is the only pleasure I have.”

“I’ll drink to pleasure.”

It was later and the most beautiful moon was rising from behind the mountains on the other side of the lake. It was a picture-perfect evening.

The frogs were now in a full choir as they belted out a song by the waterside.

“Frogs are loud,” said Stan.

“Yip, they’re loud,” Jan agreed with him.

Three hundred yards from the main house they could see the first of about twenty chalets of which most have been broken down over the years and only a few seemed livable.

Jan saw Stan looking at them.

“Yes, those are the chalets. I wanna try and fix them so we can rent the, out.”

“Great,” said Stan.

“Some must be completely be rebuilt, but at least there four that is livable. You can stay in the one nearest the house. Or the furthest, whatever,” Jan smiled as he was pointing at the chalets.

“Thanks,” said Stan.

It was later and Stan got out of the bathtub inside the main house. He was quite athletic and well built for an older guy, thanks to his years of working out and having been in the South African military when he was younger. Stan was always in great shape. Besides, in Hollywood, he worked out for years at Gold’s Gym, during his acting days. Yes, he did pursue acting as well. He’d done a hell of a lot of things in his life. Too many, Stan sometimes thought.

Jan was sitting on the couch watching TV and the kids were busy with schoolwork at the long dinner table. They jumped up and ran across the wooden floor chasing one another, and the wooden floor squeaked loudly beneath them.

Lenette shouted from her computer desk; “Gerrit and Cathy! Walk softer!”

The kids stopped.

Lenette continued; “and do your schoolwork! I’m not going to tell you again!”

“Sorry, mom,” Gerrit apologized to his mother.

“And turn softer that TV,” Lenette said.

“It is just the music,” said Jan. “It’s louder than the talking.”

“I don’t care,” Lenette said. I have a headache. Turn it down.”

Gerrit saw that she seemed stressed and turned down the television set. He didn’t want to get a hiding.

Rhina called out from the kitchen where she had been cooking.

“The food is ready.”

“Move your schoolbooks so we can eat,” Lenette said to the kids and they cleared the table as Stan entered from the bathroom down the long hall.

He looked fresh and in clean clothes. His dark hair shined clean as well, dangling down to his shoulders.

“Thanks. Was a nice bath,” he said and sat down on a couch.

“Are you going to cut your hair?” Cathy asked her grandfather.

“No, why?”

“Cause it was long.” She said and they all laughed.

Dinner was soon served and they were all seated around the long square table. They all having curry for dinner.

“I missed your curry, mom,” Stan said. “Tastes good.”

He remembered growing up with her good cooking. She made the best curry.

“You always liked my curry,” Rhina said proudly.

“Yes, I did.”

“Gran cooks the best curry,” Jan agreed. “But Lenette too.”

“Really?” He looked at his daughter. “Gran taught you good.”

“I taught myself,” she smiled. “Mostly.”

“Ja, maar ek was die een wat you geweis het hoe te kook,” Rhina said in her Afrikaans language. (I was the one who showed you how to cook).

“Of course,” Stan agreed. “She raised you.”

“My mother makes the best hamburgers and chicken,” Gerrit said. “Right mom.”

Lenette nodded.

“From Kentucky Fried chicken,” Gerrit laughed jokingly.

“Ok, quiet no and eat your food,” Lenette said to him in a stern voice, not impressed by his bad joke.

The kids hushed and continued eating.

“How are you now after the motorcycle accident?” Stan asked Jan referring to the near-fatal crash he had a few years ago and landed in intensive care for a while.

“Better. I almost died, hey.”

“He was in a coma for three weeks,” Lenette said.

“Got metal plates in my hip and my leg,” explained Jan.

“It was bad hey.” Rhina made a whistling motion with her mouth and lit up a cigarette.

“No, gran smoke outside,” Gerrit complained.

“It’s raining, Gerrit,” his grandma replied calmly.

“Don’t tell your grandma to smoke outside, Gerrit,” Jan scolded him.

Lenette said; “He must go for another operation in three weeks.”

“Why?” Stan asked.

“To remove the plates in my hip,” Jan said.

“So what happened?” Stan asked and Jan took a moment, thinking back. It was not a good memory.

“I was riding on my bike. I just bought it. And there was a car coming across in front of me and he stopped. So I flashed my lights to show him I’m coming and he thought I said go and he went in front of me, and I just put the bike down sideways and I was sliding. Broke my ribs, my hip, my leg... “

“Jesus,” Stan replied. “Why I never liked bikes.”