All Things Bright and Broken

by Carol Gibbs

  “In the name of the Father, the Son and the Holy Ghost, I christen you Jacob.”

  Jackie’s safely back in Mommy’s arms and she rocks him, trying to keep her balance on her high heels. “Shush … There, there, don’t cry.”

  At last Jackie’s settles down, tears still in the corners of his eyes. Daddy’s eyelids flutter because he’s sober and uncomfortable.

  Back at Number 82 Queen Victoria Street, Grandma’s lounge is cosy and crowded, familiar bodies pressed together. Aunty Gertruida and Uncle Costa have come from Camp Street and they’ve brought our half-Greek cousins with them. Daddy’s brother, Uncle Johan, and his family have stayed at home because they don’t like Daddy’s drinking habits and the unhappiness it causes. Oupa isn’t here either because he is still heartsore and doesn’t like crowds. We all miss Ouma. Grandma’s lounge would be bigger if she didn’t have the statues, but we would miss David, Rebecca, Martha and Venus without any arms. They’ve become part of the family and the aunts joke that they’re Grandma’s company now that Uncle Johnny is gone. Somehow Grandma put two and two together and found out that Uncle Johnny, the rich karakul farmer from South West Africa, already had a wife. Aunty Katarina says that Grandma stays home most of the time now, wearing dinky curlers and pompom slippers all day long. She’s bitter, and sometimes she beats the hell out of the carpets.

  “I feel like an old fool, but how was I to know? He wore no wedding band, and the presents came thick and fast.”

  For Jackie’s christening, Aunty Bubbles is wearing the new look from London and Uncle Nicholas looks handsome in his Royal Navy uniform. Aunty Martha’s daughter Sandra is a Mongol and she’s having a rare outing. She has a sweet nature and loves clutching your hand and gazing into your face with her slanty eyes like Mr Chong’s.

  “All the money in the world,” says Daddy, shaking his head. The guests lift Grandma’s precious teacups to their lips and nibble on iced cakes. We stuff our mouths when Grandma isn’t looking because she will be counting. Aunty Martha and Uncle Gottfried’s Carl sits on his handkerchief on the front step. With his pinkie in the air, he takes dainty bites and brushes the crumbs away when they land in his lap. He would never grab cakes and cram them into his mouth the way we do. He puts us to shame.

  We stand on the front stoep with Table Mountain in the background for photographs. Then Uncle Gottfried lets Desiree and me stand beside his DKW as if it belongs to us. We pose, holding our stiff skirts so the sun lights them from behind. The snaps will be in black and white, but we’ll remember the beautiful pink colour and the day our baby brother was christened in St George’s Cathedral.

  “Go over to Mrs Selbourne and take this note. Hurry – and don’t look inside the packet.”

  I run although they live just three doors away.

  “Have you come to play with Gracie?” Mrs Selbourne ruffles my curls.

  “No, Mommy sent you a note.”

  Mrs Selbourne heads for the bathroom and closes the door behind her.

  On the way home I shake the brown paper packet and hold it to my ear. I duck behind the hedge and peek inside. There are three soft white things, long and flat. I take one out and examine it. It has loops at each end. Maybe it’s to catch Jackie’s pee, instead of a nappy. People at the Hope Street Clinic have handkerchiefs around their mouths. Aunty Dolly says it’s to stop the germs from blowing in. Mommy is going to have all her teeth out. I hook one loop around each ear. The white thing hangs slack under my chin. It’s too loose to stop the germs from blowing in, but it’s sure to fit my mommy.

  Back at home, Jackie’s clean nappy smells like the sun. I put out the Vaseline for his little bum and the Johnson’s baby powder. His matinee jacket and nightdress both have blue roses embroidered on the fronts. Mommy puts a penny on his navel and ties the binder around tight so that when he is big his navel won’t stick out. The enamel bath on its metal stand is in Mommy’s bedroom because of the draughts in the bathroom. Desiree fills the kettle and plugs it in as I carry pots of cold water from the kitchen.

  “K-kettle’s b-boiling again!”

  “I’ll bring it!”

  “No, hot kettles are not to be handled by children.” Mommy unplugs the kettle herself, pours the boiling water into the enamel bath and lowers Jackie in. His bottom lip puckers up and he howls. Mommy quickly lifts him out of the bath. “Shush, shush, don’t cry.”

  She lays him on the bed.

  “I’ll kiss it better,” offers Desiree.

  “Don’t be silly! Quick, fetch the butter.” Mommy is upset.

  “Colleen, blow cold air on him.”

  I puff out my cheeks and blow with all my might until I can’t any more. “I’m giddy in my head.”

  “Oh, well, then go away.”

  Before I walk away I see Jackie’s red birthmark flare up and spread across his neck. I stand aside, not part of them, and the tears come.

  “What’s wrong, Colleen? Come and sit with Daddy. Don’t cry.”

  I don’t understand. He didn’t tell me not to cry when he smashed my doll, my doll with the sleeping eyes, my doll with the beautiful blue knitted clothes, the doll I loved the best of all the dolls in the world.

  Mommy has been to the dentist in Long Street to have all her teeth out. She comes home with a handkerchief wound tight around her mouth. The soft white thing that dangled around my chin is nowhere in sight, another big mystery to add to my never-ending list. I lie in bed and think about my mommy’s teeth. My mouth is sore at the thought of it. When I have a loose tooth that wiggles in my gums, Daddy says it’s time for the cotton. He ties one end tightly around my tooth and the other to the doorknob. I shut my eyes very tight and wait for him to give the order. “Shut the door, Desiree.”

  The tooth dangles from the end of the thread and I’m left with a jellied hole in my head, but I get a tickey if I put the tooth in my shoe under my bed. Desiree says we should pull all our teeth out of our heads. When Daddy comes home drunk he won’t know the difference and soon our shoes will be full of tickeys and we’ll be rich.

  Mr Rosenberg gives Mommy a few days’ leave to cope with no teeth. She’s shy, so we have to answer the door. When she speaks her mouth collapses like an empty paper packet and she doesn’t look so pretty any more. Edna calls her Pap Gums behind Mommy’s back. We beg Mommy to say ‘fish and chips’.

  “Fith and tsipth,” the wind whistles through her empty mouth.

  We laugh until our sides are sore and beg for more.

  “Lath-t time! Fith and tsipth.”

  The fun and the laughter don’t last too long, though, and soon Mommy must go back to the dentist.

  “I’m going to fet-th my new teeth,” Mommy puts on her hat and coat. “And I might vithit Jackie and your grandmother,” she flings over her shoulder.

  Jackie has been staying with Grandma and we miss him.

  “Why must he stay there?”

  “Because it’s better for him.”

  CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

  “Here she comes! Here she comes!”

  Six eyes examine Mommy’s face. She peers in the dressing-table mirror all day long and smiles at her own reflection. Mommy is very brave, learning to eat with her new teeth. Then it’s bedtime and Mommy puts her new teeth with the bright pink gums in a big glass of Steradent. I get out of bed because I’ve got a tummy ache. The light under the door shows the red-and-yellow diamond patterns of the worn lino. I push the door open to find my mommy on her knees, praying. I close it again without a sound, because I know the place you kneel to pray is called hallowed ground. I don’t want to worry Mommy when she’s talking to Jesus. Desiree and I hold hands under the blankets and we’re almost asleep when we hear Daddy coming through the front door. I squeeze Desiree’s hand hard in the dark. He slurs his words a bit as he stumbles into our room and gives us a box of chocolates from his friend, the man we cut out baby pictures for. The chocolates must have been lying under his workbench for months, maybe even years. Desiree rips the faded blue pattern
ed paper from the box and we dive in.

  A moment later there’s shouting and swearing coming from the bedroom. Desiree and I forget to be afraid because we have a whole box of chocolates to ourselves, but then Daddy shouts again and Mommy begs him to stop badgering her. Mommy always tries to lie quite still, so as not to upset him, but she just can’t win. If she answers back he shouts, you and your sharp tongue! If she ignores him, he gets cross and goads her. She may as well save him the trouble and answer back in the first place.

  In the dark, Daddy crosses the yard to the hokkie.

  “These chocolates have worms in them!” Desiree spits a handful of sticky chewed-up chocolate into her hand.

  “Wh-what doesn’t kill f-fattens. W-wat nie dood m-maak nie m-m-maak vet.”

  Daddy comes out of the hokkie with the chopper.

  Desiree and I are terrified. She drops the box and chocolates scatter across the lino-covered floor as we follow him. He fishes her teeth out of the glass of Steradent. He drops to his knees on the back steps and lays the teeth with the bright pink gums on the top step. He swings the chopper in an arc high above his head and then brings it down. Bits of teeth jump around the yard. Only parts of the pink gums are left on the top step like a crooked toothless smile. Mommy doesn’t try to stop him. We don’t understand. Why doesn’t he want Mommy to chew her food? But now we can ask Mommy to say ‘fith and tsipth’ whenever we please.

  Daddy marches back inside, grinding his teeth. Gabriel is perched on the windowsill, ready to jump. Daddy flings the blankets aside, grabs Mommy’s finger and pulls the gold wedding band from her hand. She begs and sobs. I try to swallow the lump in my throat, but there’s no spit in my dry mouth. We scamper like frightened rabbits as he pushes past. Once more he drops to his knees on the kitchen step, and brings the chopper down on the ring. The kitchen light shines dimly on the step. We hear the ring go ting as it jumps into the long grass in the yard. He fetches his big silver torch. The strong beam of light sweeps the long grass, and he swears and strides inside. We dive into our beds and pull the blankets over our heads.

  There’s silence until we hear the engine of the van revving. Desiree and I fling ourselves onto the double bed. Mommy has her face in her pillow and she’s sobbing. Desiree touches Mommy’s shoulder. She rolls onto her back and dries her eyes. We lie one on either side of her and she pats us on our heads. “Try to sleep. In the morning it will be better.”

  When dawn comes we will search in the long grass for Mommy’s gold wedding band. But the teeth are beyond saving.

  Edna has gone to look after her sick mother, so Mommy’s other sister Aunty Rita has moved in. We cram her wardrobe in and her bed just squeaks into the corner of our over-full room. She has a flat face and slanty eyes, and she hides smelly egg sandwiches in her wardrobe. We find them there, all mouldy green. Daddy says she’s not right in the head, but I don’t think she’s half as mad as Daddy when he’s drunk. At least she doesn’t lock us out and throw the furniture about.

  At lunchtime, when I come home from school, there’s a man in a white overall sitting beside Aunty Rita at our green kitchen table. They are passing a cigarette between them, along with little looks and smiles. I can see my Aunty Rita likes him. The man’s overalls are splashed with paint in all colours of the rainbow, but it’s the colour of his skin that worries me. He is a coloured man and if my daddy knew there was a coloured man in our kitchen he would go berserk and get the Black Maria to come and take them away. Why doesn’t this man go back to his job and stop smiling at my aunt?

  “What’s your name?” He leans across the table.

  I just stare at him. Aunty Rita puts a bowl of custard in front of me, but my eyes are fixed on his cup and saucer and I’m thinking about germs. I gag and cough the custard up.

  “Sis, man,” says Aunty Rita. “Go and do that in the bathroom.”

  Aunty Rita pours tea into the man’s cup. I watch in disbelief as he lifts the cup to his lips and takes a long satisfying gulp. Please God, let the cup slip from his hands and smash on the floor, then I won’t have to worry about the germs. Edna’s own cup, saucer, plate and fork are sitting in the dark under the sink, waiting for her to come back to work.

  But the man drinking from Mommy’s cups at the kitchen table is not the last of Aunty Rita’s friends to visit. Every day, it seems, she brings another man from the building site. Not all of them wear overalls, but they all have the same colour skin. She entertains the plumber, the brickie and even the electrician’s handlanger to tea. None of our cups escapes and now white people can’t drink out of any of them. I lie in my bed at night worrying. What if Aunty Rita feeds them too? If a plate has even a tiny chip the germs move in and stay forever. They’ll stick to the Castle on the Lake plates and burrow into the insides of our white visitors, Aunty Beryl, Aunty Martha, even Grandma. I have to save them.

  “Lunchtime fun, my eye!” shouts Daddy crossly. “When I come home I want her gone. She’s nothing but a common hoer.”

  His face is red and the bang echoes through the house as he slams the door behind him. I told Mommy about the men and now Aunty Rita is in trouble because of my big mouth. Maybe Aunty Dolly can put the cups in the sterilising machine at the clinic in Muizenberg.

  “What does hoer mean?”

  “Never you mind!”

  “Why?”

  “Because Y’s a crooked letter and you can’t make it straight.”

  I don’t know what the grown-ups would do if there were no Y in the alphabet.

  Just before I fall asleep I remember Aunty Rita’s tear-stained face as she packed her bags. Daddy calls Mommy a hoer when he’s drunk. I can’t work out why. She is just like any other mommy. She sleeps in a bed, gets up, puts in her second set of new teeth, and she goes to work.

  After school I help Mrs Findlay tidy the classroom.

  “What does hoer mean?”

  Mrs Findlay is silent for a moment and she blushes. “Where on earth did you hear that word?”

  “From my daddy.”

  “Tell me the story from the beginning.”

  “The coloured men came to our house and my Aunty Rita gave them tea from my mother’s teacups,” I stop to draw breath. “Aunty Dolly is a sister at the Muizenberg Clinic and maybe she can sterilise the cups.”

  I sit as quiet as a mouse waiting for an answer.

  “Go on with the story.”

  “Daddy said, I won’t have a hoer living in my house. He’s thrown her out and it’s my fault.”

  “Come and sit.”

  Mrs Findlay pats the chair beside her desk.

  “This world is a confusing place. You see, your daddy is worried about your aunty.”

  “Then why did my daddy throw her out?”

  “Because, in the eyes of the law, she did something wrong.”

  “Can the law watch you?”

  “No, but if they catch you, they can put you in jail. Maybe that’s why your daddy has parted them.”

  “Is holding hands wrong?”

  Mrs Findlay shifts in her seat.

  “Let’s talk about drinking tea. Every country has its own traditions and idiosyncrasies.”

  “What does that big word mean?”

  “It means like your habits.”

  “Like what?”

  “When you get up in the morning you may brush your teeth before breakfast. Your sister, after breakfast. It’s a habit and countries also have their habits. Some of them are cruel and not always fair to everyone.”

  “Like Hitler?”

  “Well, yes, cruel like Hitler, but not as bad as that. Hitler is a megalomaniac.”

  “Mr Selbourne says my daddy is a maniac.”

  “When you are older you will work out your own justice system according to your conscience.”

  “What’s conscience?”

  “It’s the way you feel in your heart.”

  Suddenly Mrs Findlay gets up. “I have to go to a staff meeting. You go straight home now.”

&
nbsp; I try to make sense of what I’ve heard, but I don’t understand. Alice is waiting for me in the playground, hunkered down playing five stones.

  “What took so long?”

  “I can’t tell.”

  “I told you about our dead baby.”

  “It’s about my Aunty Rita. She’s gone.”

  “Why?”

  “My daddy sent her packing, because he doesn’t want her to go to jail. Coloured people can’t drink out of our cups. It’s our country’s tradition.”

  “What’s tradition?”

  “It’s brushing your teeth before breakfast. Hitler is a maniac and the teacups might break in the sterilising machine. I have an ache in my heart for my Aunty Rita, and for coloured people drinking out of our cups.”

  Over the weekend visitors come to tea. They don’t know about the electrician’s handlanger, or the plumber or the brickie, but nobody dies.

  I dare not sleep. I rub my eyes and blink ten times. My homework isn’t finished and I’m going to get into trouble. How do you spell difficulty? Mr D Mr I Mr F-F-I Mr C Mr U Mr L-T-Y. What was here before the world was here?

  “Desiree, are you awake?”

  My pee is coming and it’s such a long way to the lavatory. Maybe we will have our rations of peanuts, raisins and hot cocoa at school tomorrow. Will we be late again? Do I have clean broeks to wear? I hope the music teacher lets us sing ‘Animal Crackers in my Soup’. I can see Shirley Temple, her curls bobbing up and down, as she tap dances her way through ‘The Good Ship Lollipop’.

  “Are you still awake?”

  I shut my eyes tight. It’s like a big bioscope. My world is filled with devils, demons, snakes, bears, biscuits, Bosco chocolate spread and tummy aches.

  “Dear Lord Jesus, I know the Bible says let not your heart be troubled, and neither let it be afraid, but I am afraid of my daddy. If it’s true about suffer the little children to come unto me, please protect me. I love you, Lord Jesus. Amen.”

  Now my prayers are done, perhaps the sandman will come.

  But he doesn’t come for a very, very long time, and at school I’m still sleepy.