Del reviews ‘The Road Stops at Nowhere’

“The Road Stops at Nowhere,” by Denis Beckett, 80 pp, NDA Press, 1998.

It was our annual summer ritual: a long vacation trip by automobile.

Each of us had our roles in this undertaking: We kids were responsible for collecting our entertainment and farming out the bowl of sacrificial goldfish to Aunt Erma for possible safekeeping in her ferociously chlorinated tap water. Mom packed our bags and scoured the grocery store for provisions — forbidden treats I now realize were bribes to keep us from strangling one another in the back seat of the car and, later, in the tent. Dad was our navigator, and also our mechanic. He spent nights prior to our departure hunched beneath the hood of our ’68 Ford Fairlane, inspecting hoses and belts and fluid levels and batteries. Unlike today, 1968 America did not provide an Auto Zone on every corner. Breakdowns were matters of real concern.

But Dad was a good mechanic, and parts for the Fairlane were readily available. What breakdowns there were, we greeted with more annoyance than fuss, because that too was part of the vacation ritual.

But events could have played out much differently. Suppose, for instance, we’d been driving a Mitsubishi van outfitted with more parts from as many different sources than Dr. Frankenstein’s monster? And instead of threading our way through the alligator-and-orange-juice emporiums of Central Florida we’d been navigating a desert big as the right-handed corner of the continent?

And just suppose our government, a repressive autocracy of minority rule, were tottering on the brink of a well-deserved but unfathomable change — a rewriting of the old social order that might come about with a bang or a whimper, bringing to our lives new ways neither tested by their advocates nor trusted by their detractors.

Not exactly “What I Did on My Summer Vacation.”

More precisely, it is “The Road Stops at Nowhere,” a slender volume describing the events of a summer vacation that did not go according to plan.

When South African journalist Denis Beckett loaded his bags and his family into their Mitsubishi Starwagon and set out for the Eastern Cape for a midsummer vacation at the beach, he could not have known this simple excursion would become an odyssey of baffling mechanical breakdowns and even more baffling repair jobs, both of which occurred with fateful unpredictability in an environment that was as arid socially and culturally as it was meteorologically.

Beckett writes with humor and directness as he describes his family’s journey across the Karoo, a “timid desert” by the standards of its parched neighbors, the Kalahari and Namib. A timing chain on the Mitsubishi breaks. Then the oil pump goes. Then the pistons seize. Promised repairs go undone — not because the mechanic is dishonest. Here in the wastes, a different concept of time exists, where “Wednesday night, for sure, definite” means whenever the parts come in.

Beckett ferries his family on to Cape Town by train, intending to return for the crippled van, which has now developed water pump problems. But his daughter breaks her arm, necessitating a whirlwind introduction to the vicissitudes of South African emergency medicine.

Which is only the beginning. The Mitsubishi is bewitched with more breakdowns. The repairs are similarly afflicted. The family is smitten with more trips by train.

The vacation is in peril.

Throughout this incredible litany of bizarre and often hilarious misadventures, Beckett provides a running narrative about the political and social climate of pre-democracy, not-quite-post apartheid South Africa that both enlightens and unhinges. While most Americans, freighted with their own perceptions of racial injustice, viewed the unfolding of events in South Africa as a simple contest between good and evil, Beckett reveals the invariable shades of gray that color in any human conflict, best exemplified by this excerpt, which describes the state of racial affairs at that moment:

“South Africa lacks the normal symbols of national unity, like flag and anthem, but we at least have a slogan that applies all round. It is: `I Am Not A Racist But …’

“In town, a white woman has said there’s no work for whites. `The bosses in Johannesburg tell their managers: `We’re against apartheid so you must employ non-whites.’ Then they pay them less so they get more profits.’ Two coloureds (Indians) have told me there’s no work for coloureds: `The Boers like the blacks because they’ll work for slave wages.’ Now I’m told there’s no work for blacks: `The Boers take coloureds, who speak their language and won’t stand up for workers’ rights.’ “

While sometimes depressing, Beckett’s narrative is suffused with hope — not the drippy smarm of prime time TV network fare, but a pragmatic acknowledgement that while things were bad and may get worse, down the line they may get a whole lot better. This was, after all, pre-democracy South Africa, when idealism was slowly tipping the scales toward a day when blacks and whites would share responsibility for running the country.

While the new South Africa faces serious growing pains, Beckett neatly articulates his expectations of what is happening in his nation, and what will happen in the years to come, with this scene that takes place in an auto repair shop. The Mitsubishi lost its starter, which has just been repaired from scavenged parts by the shop’s two owners, a white man and a coloured, both of whom are named Frans:

“I am proudly presented with what one Frans calls the most bastard starter he ever saw, with portions of Ford and Toyota and Massey-Ferguson in its ancestry.”

The starter may be ugly, but it works.

Beckett has a long history of speaking out against white-only rule in South Africa, having edited the publication Weekend World, which was banned in 1977. He then managed The Voice, which faced banning orders in 1978 and 1979. From 1980 to 1990 he was owner and editor of Frontline magazine.

He now appears on “Beckett’s Trek,” a weekly television program. He also publishes a socio-political journal titled Sidelines.

With humor and pathos, Beckett writes about a nation soon to be born, and a people who must grow into democracy, and perhaps forgiveness, too.

In their struggle we see America past and present, what we have gone through, and what lies ahead — bastard starter and all.

“The Road Stops at Nowhere” is available from NDA Press, 10469 Sixth Line, RR#3, Georgetown, Ontario L7G 4S6, Canada. $10 U.S.; $14 Canada. Tel: 905.702.8600 or fax 905.702.8527. E-mail: [email protected].

Amazon: “The Road Stops at Nowhere”

About the author:

Del Stone Jr. is a professional fiction writer. He is known primarily for his work in the contemporary dark fiction field, but has also published science fiction and contemporary fantasy. Stone’s stories, poetry and scripts have appeared in publications such as Amazing Stories, Eldritch Tales, and Bantam-Spectra’s Full Spectrum. His short fiction has been published in The Year’s Best Horror Stories XXII; Alfred Hitchcock’s Mystery Magazine; the Pocket Books anthology More Phobias; the Barnes & Noble anthologies 100 Wicked Little Witch Stories, Horrors! 365 Scary Stories, and 100 Astounding Little Alien Stories; the HWA anthology Psychos; and other short fiction venues, like Blood Muse, Live Without a Net, Zombiesque and Sex Macabre. Stone’s comic book debut was in the Clive Barker series of books, Hellraiser, published by Marvel/Epic and reprinted in The Best of Hellraiser anthology. He has also published stories in Penthouse Comix, and worked with artist Dave Dorman on many projects, including the illustrated novella “Roadkill,” a short story for the Andrew Vachss anthology Underground from Dark Horse, an ashcan titled “December” for Hero Illustrated, and several of Dorman’s Wasted Lands novellas and comics, such as Rail from Image and “The Uninvited.” Stone’s novel, Dead Heat, won the 1996 International Horror Guild’s award for best first novel and was a runner-up for the Bram Stoker Award. Stone has also been a finalist for the IHG award for short fiction, the British Fantasy Award for best novella, and a semifinalist for the Nebula and Writers of the Future awards. His stories have appeared in anthologies that have won the Bram Stoker Award and the World Fantasy Award. Two of his works were optioned for film, the novella “Black Tide” and short story “Crisis Line.”

Stone recently retired after a 41-year career in journalism. He won numerous awards for his work, and in 1986 was named Florida’s best columnist in his circulation division by the Florida Society of Newspaper Editors. In 2001 he received an honorable mention from the National Lesbian and Gay Journalists Association for his essay “When Freedom of Speech Ends” and in 2003 he was voted Best of the Best in the category of columnists by Emerald Coast Magazine. He participated in book signings and awareness campaigns, and was a guest on local television and radio programs.

As an addendum, Stone is single, kills tomatoes and morning glories with ruthless efficiency, once tied the stem of a cocktail cherry in a knot with his tongue, and carries a permanent scar on his chest after having been shot with a paintball gun. He’s in his 60s as of this writing but doesn’t look a day over 94.

Contact Del at [email protected]. He is also on Facebook, twitter, Pinterest, tumblr, TikTok, and Instagram. Visit his website at delstonejr.com .