*
There was a queue in front of the ‘up to standard 9 girls’ entrance. I joined Kim at the back of the queue. “What’s happening?”
“Bloomer control.”
“Huh?”
“Hell, I guess this time I’m in for it,” Kim stared nervously ahead.
“In for what?” Kim normally wasn’t prone to nervous behaviour.
“I’m a second time offender,” Kim said. “No chance of getting away with it.”
“With what?”
“I’ll try anyway,” she mumbled ignoring me.
We moved some steps forward. Kim was getting whiter in the face by the minute.
“Next,” Lynn, the head girl, ordered.
Kim sighed. Then she straightened her shoulders, thrust out her jaw in fighting mode and walked forward. Lynn and Miss Pembleton were standing in the entrance.
“Miss Pembleton…” Before Kim could say anything they lifted up her gym.
I don’t believe this; they are looking at her bum!
Kim had a tiny pink tanga pantie on.
Who would have thought that she is into sexy little nothings!
“Turn round, girl,” Miss Pembleton said.
Again they lifted up Kim’s gym.
“Girls,” Miss Pembleton said in a loud voice addressing all and sundry. “This is why they call us Delilahs…Salomes. When you girls sit tailor fashion on the floor in assembly…” she pointed to the tanga, “…this is what we teachers see. I will not have this in my school!!!”
“Miss Pembleton,” Kim said, “I had my period. I couldn’t put my school bloomers on because they are full of blood.”
Miss Pembleton gave a snort of exasperation. “Kim Jameson, you had the whole weekend to fix that up.”
“And you’re supposed to have 2 school bloomers anyway,” Lynn added.
Bloody traitor.
“My dog…uh… chewed up the other ones last night.”
Miss Pembletons face turned red. “Oh, and if I remember correctly, the last time one of your school bloomers was stolen off the washing line and the other one got burnt in the stove. I’ll never understand how they got there…”
“They were damp because of the rain and I wanted to dry them, and then the phone rang and…”
“That’s enough,” Miss Pembleton hissed. “Lynn, write down: 2 hours detention for Kim Jameson on Friday afternoon. Next.”
They lifted my gym up. Miss Pembleton sighed at the sight of my 100% bio knickers. I felt like kicking her in the chops and chopping Lynn’s stupid head off.
I’ll report this to the Human Rights Commission. Have these shit shots here never heard of human dignity?
“Mathilda, you are supposed to wear your school bloomers; they are part of your school uniform,” Miss Pembleton informed me.
“I didn’t know that. Nobody ever explained it to me. I don’t even know what school bloomers are.”
“Your host mother should have told you.”
“Well, she didn’t.”
“Look here,” Lynn lifted her gym a bit and exposed some billowing blue nylon brooks. “Have you got any of those?”
“Ja.”
Hell, do they really expect a person to wear these plastic bags? In this heat! Do they want you to develop all sorts of fungal infections, or what?
“Well Mathilda, don’t forget to wear them in future,” Miss Pembleton said with irritation in her voice.
“You can wear them on top of your own ones,” Lynn announced magnanimously.
During break I found Kim all by herself on the far side of the sports fields. She was furious. “That fucking fat old bitch. 2 hours detention on Friday afternoon! I’ll kill her.” She kicked a coke can across the lawn. “Tomorrow I’ll bring my dad’s knife and slash her motorcar tyres.”
“That won’t change anything.” I offered her half of my avo sandwich.
“No thanks. I must lose some weight.”
“Why? You’re already as thin as a stick.”
Kim stared all of a sudden dreamily into the distance. “I met a boy.”
“Oh. Who is he?”
A loony expression spread over her face. “Brendan.” She sighed. “Brendan Trevor Thorburn. I met him yesterday at my cousin Amy’s birthday party.” Sigh. “He’s just gorgeous.” Sigh. “And he’s a surfer.” Sigh. “I wanted to watch him surf on Crabs’ Beach on Friday afternoon. And now this bloody old cow is fucking it all up.” She kicked a blossom off a bush.
Seems to be pretty serious.
“Why don’t you watch him on Saturday? And why do you want to watch him? If I were you I’d jump on that board and give it a go myself.”
Kim plucked some leaves off a little blue gum and crushed them between her fingers. “He’s going to his sister’s wedding in Stutterheim over the weekend…and I can’t ask him to lend me his board.”
“Why not?”
“Uh, he doesn’t know – yet. Kim chucked the blue gum leaves on the ground. “And he’s got a girlfriend – Pamela.”
Oyoyoy!
”But that is not a problem,” Kim said without a trace of a doubt. “I had worked it all out. Pamela goes to extra maths on Friday afternoons, so I could have seen Brendan – sigh – without her in tow on the beach…and now that fat old cow is fucking it all up.”
“Bloody hell,” somebody grumbled behind us. “Fok julle almal, blooming bastards.”
Kim and I turned round like one person. We saw Lettie, the tea lady, shuffling in the direction of the non-white toilet block, mumbling her unequalled repertoire of swearwords in both official languages.
After school Ma Jameson dropped Kim, the twins and me off at the beach while she took Jamie to the doctor. We drew a line in the sand and Julian broke his personal record of walking on his hands by 50 cm.
“Not bad, hey?” He put his tape measure in the pocket of his shorts.
“Johnny Bartlett can do 15 metres, Coral said.
“I’m training for 20,” Julian announced unperturbed. “Watch me, I’m going to beat your stumblebum boyfriend in no time.”
Coral started a speech about the superhuman qualities of her boy. Nobody listened but she carried on until we arrived at Seal Rock. We walked to the end of the pier and watched seals racing elegantly through the water. The curves of Seal Beach, Parker’s Bay and Victoria Bay stretched golden white towards the huge contraptions of the harbour. A few kids were playing in the sand and people were walking their dogs. There were more dogs than people on the beach. White people’s dogs, of course.
“I’m starving,” Kim said. “I’ll go up to the road house and get myself a hamburger and chips.”
“I thought you were on a diet,” I said.
“A person has to keep up her strength,” she answered hastening her steps.
To keep up our strength we all bought take-aways of which my gran would have said that they bring you 5 years earlier to your grave.
We met Ma Jameson at the Beachfront Continental Bakery, where they made the ‘best bread in town’, which meant it had a bit less air in it than the normal bread.
“Jamie has an infection in his ear,” Ma Jameson told us. “We’ll stop at the Indian Ocean Pharmacy to get his antibiotics.”
The pharmacy overlooked Crabs’ beach, the most popular spot for surfers. Kim stretched her neck to make out the shape of her Brendan – sigh – but he wasn’t there. Ma Jameson sent Coral to get Jamie’s medicine. The glass doors and the windows of the chemist were plastered with posters and stickers about surfing and with ads for laxatives, sunscreens and insect repellents. When Coral came outside again she was accompanied by a middle aged lady in a white coat. The lady had a mirror in her hand. She studied the sky for a moment and then she flashed the mirror out to sea.
Heiliger Strohsack. Looks like contraband.
The lady kept on sending her signals, casually chatting to Coral and waving to us with her free hand.
Ma Jameson waved back and yelled: “Good afternoon, Marlo,”
across the street. She didn’t seem to find anything strange in Marlo’s behaviour.
“What on earth is this lady doing?” I finally asked.
“She’s calling Geoff, the pharmacist,” Ma Jameson said.
“Huh?”
“Geoff’s passion in life is surfing,” Ma Jameson grinned. “He lets his assistants run the place while he goes surfing, but certain prescriptions can only be handed out by a qualified chemist. So every time his assistants need him they flash a signal with the mirror. When the sun doesn’t shine they wave a flag from the roof.”
I take my hat off to the guy!
“Look, here is Geoff now.”
A man in a short neoprene suit crossed the street. His feet were full of sand and his dripping hair and beard stuck to his head. He disappeared into the pharmacy leaving a wet trail behind him. A short while later he reappeared wearing a white coat over his neoprene suit.
“Hello Allison, hi kids,” he greeted us. “How is the little man?”
Jamie held his ear and produced a miserable smile.
“Don’t worry, my boy, you’ll soon feel fit again.” The pharmacist handed Jamie a surfing sticker and explained to Ma Jameson how and when the boy had to take his medicine. A shrill whistle sounded across the road.
“Oh, the ladies need me,” the pharmacist said. “Before I forget, the surfing club is going to have a beach party to raise some money for shark nets. Last year 2 guys got attacked out at White River Bay. Interested in some tickets for the tombola? I’ve got them right here.”
Ma Jameson bought 2 tickets and Kim bought 4 with her pocket money, because of her Brendan – sigh – of course.
Back home I found a deodorant on my bedside table. The bottle was dark blue and turquoise with ‘Deep Sea Breeze’ written across. I rubbed some on my hand and sniffed at it.
Not too bad. At least better than some of that disgusting sweetish flowery stuff.
I took my shirt off and smelled under my arms.
Hmm. Quite ripe. Must be the African heat.
I decided to go for a swim to cool down. The house was deserted. Not even Opheibia anywhere in sight. The kitchen looked like a battlefield. Clochard, the Labrador, joined me in the pool. Normally he wasn’t allowed to do that, but he wouldn’t listen to me. I finally got him out with a piece of smelly cheese, which reminded me of the deodorant again.
Phhh. I never thought I’d contemplate one day putting some commercialised stink on my body.
I sniffed at the ‘Deep Sea Breeze’ again.
Not too bad. But what’s wrong with natural body odour? Next thing, they’ll tell you what a poep has to smell like and develop special vanilla and strawberry scented poep suppositories. Phhh.
I sucked some liquorice until it made a thick smeary paste in my mouth and rolled a bit more deodorant on my hand.
Ludwig and Julie are not Korinthenkacker-minded. And it’s really quite hot under the African sun…mebbe the wisest thing is to adjust. Phhh.
I chucked a handful of liquorice into my mouth and went to the bathroom to have a shower. When I put the deodorant under my arms it felt like some sort of defeat. I finished the whole packet of liquorice and vowed: I’ll never fall for that crap of razorblade manufacturers that women must shave their legs.
Zebra Horizon Page 16