by Malla Nunn
“One guard or three, it doesn’t matter.” Lil Bit chews a mouthful of bacon. It seems like the smoky flavor is opening up neural pathways in her clever brain. Her eyes close for a moment and then fly open.
“I know a way in,” she says.
* * *
* * *
We sit around the phone and listen to Lil Bit’s plan. When she finishes, I ask her, “Are you sure?” She rolls her eyes, full of drama.
“Yes, I’m sure. And don’t try and ditch me, either. If the plan goes wrong, you’ll need backup.”
“This could work,” Sam says on the other end.
Goodness holds up her hand before I get another word out. “Don’t ask me to sit and warm the bench, Amandla. That’s not going to happen. It’s all of us working the plan or it’s none of us. That’s how a team works.”
Friends and now a team. An impossible situation to predict four days ago, but here we all are, planning a break-in together.
“Nine a.m. tomorrow. We’ll leave from the minivan stand on Abdullah Ibrahim Street at eight.” Goodness puts her stamp on the deal and waits for me to object. I nod, all resistance gone, and she smiles.
“Sam?”
“Yeah?”
“I’ve never had a cousin before, but I think you’re a good one,” I say.
“You are, too, Amandla. I wish it didn’t have to be like this. But Mayme’s worth it.”
“See you soon.”
“No problem. The Bollard brigade is ready for action, brah.”
He hangs up, and we do, too.
“Now that that’s decided, what should we do till lunch? I have soccer practice at two, but there’s plenty of time to check what’s new at Mrs. Lithuli’s library,” Goodness says.
Mrs. Lithuli hunts the suburban libraries of Durban for old and damaged books to stock the wooden shelves on the back porch of her house. None of the books are for loan, but you are welcome to sit and read on the porch or in the garden. Annalisa and I visit Mrs. Lithuli’s haven of peace and quiet at least once a month. I’m not going this time.
“You two go ahead.” I grab my backpack and swing it onto my shoulder. “Annalisa was asleep when I left the house this morning. I need to head back and make sure she’s okay. The standoff with Neville shook her up.”
Not a lie. Last night, after lights-out, Annalisa slipped into my cot and held me in her arms. She sang a sweet song that echoed inside the rusted walls of our shack and brought tears to my eyes. The song was in Zulu, a language she barely speaks. Did my father teach it to her? Back in the time before me? Annalisa fell asleep before I got the chance to ask, and I lay wake with an empty space inside my heart where the stories and memories of him should be. You’d think I’d be used to having a mystery for a father, but that mystery aches. I want a name and a face to put to the black man who fell for the white girl and made me.
The Dumisas’ front door opens, and I hear the sound of footsteps moving through the living room to the kitchen. Mina grabs a cooler bag from the countertop and carries it to the far end of the table, ready to be picked up. Lunch for the brothers working at the Build ’Em Up, I’m guessing. I am secretly, stupidly, hoping that it is Lewis in the hall.
Then, as if I’ve summoned him from my fantasies, Lewis walks into the kitchen in blue jeans, a green T-shirt, and his trademark black sneakers. He sees me and does the absolute worst thing. He smiles. A slow curve of his lips brings out the dimples in his cheeks and the heat to my face. When Lil Bit blushes, her skin darkens and glows. It’s cute. When I blush, my too-light skin turns red and my hazel-flecked-with-green eyes shine like I’ve got a fever. It’s the opposite of cute.
“Thanks for breakfast.” My chair scrapes against the floor tiles with a loud screech. “I’ve got to get home like I said.”
“I’ll walk you.” Lewis swoops down and picks up my backpack with loose-limbed grace. There ought to be a law against that combination of kissable lips and deep brown eyes. It’s distracting. If I were driving a car, I’d have an accident. “Goodness can take lunch to the Build ’Em Up.”
Goodness sucks her teeth at the suggestion, but Lewis is older and a boy, and if she refuses, her mother will hear about it.
“Fine,” she says. “Lil Bit and me will go.”
Lil Bit blushes, kinda the same way that I blushed on seeing Lewis, and her expression is difficult to read. Embarrassment. Joy. Shyness. A mix of all three? I can’t tell. It’s puzzling and interesting to see a new and different side of her than I’m used to.
“Ready?” Lewis says.
“Don’t worry about me,” I say. “I know all the shortcuts. I’ll be home in no time.”
“Good.” He steps aside to let me out of the kitchen first. “You can show me.”
“Fine.” I walk past him and into the living room, scared that my delight and confusion are written across my ridiculously freckled face.
* * *
* * *
I stand outside our “snug” dwelling, embarrassed by the rusted walls and the roof held down by stones and old tires. Neville’s grand white house dwarfs the Dumisas’ redbrick home, and their redbrick house dwarfs our shack in size and comfort. We live on the bottom rung of a long ladder that drops even farther down to Hopetown’s mud floors and dust-bowl gardens.
“This is it,” I tell Lewis, my voice tight. “This is where Annalisa and I live.”
“I know,” he says, and that knowledge throws me off balance.
“How?” I ask.
“No secrets in Sugar Town, Amandla.”
“True,” I say, even though I’m sure that a river of secrets runs below the surface of the township. He nods, and I stay rooted to the ground, too embarrassed to invite him inside and too well-mannered to ask him to leave. It’s awkward, and it is past time for me to check on Annalisa.
“You should head back,” I say. “Your brothers will be wondering where you got to.”
“I’ll wait while you go in.” Lewis steps back to let me pass, and it is hard to ignore his . . . presence. This skin-tingling sensation, I tell myself in a stern voice, is exactly what led to Mother’s pregnancy and free fall into poverty. A gorgeous black man. Smooth skin and kissable lips. I know how the story ends. Right here, in a dirt lane that runs between Tugela and Sisulu. Annalisa wants more for me. I want more for me.
“Thanks for walking me back. Get home safe.”
Lewis turns in the direction of Tugela Way and then turns back to face me, determined to speak his mind. “Whatever business you’re cooking up with Goodness and Lil Bit is your affair,” he says. “But think twice before getting involved in one of my sister’s wild schemes to spice up the holidays.”
“What business?” I try for a cool tone, but the words come out high-pitched and thin. I am a terrible liar. So terrible that Lewis smiles to see the heat rise from my throat and into my cheeks. My face is hot.
“Listen.” Lewis keeps a friendly tone. “My father is a hard man. He thinks that women should be soft and sweet and obedient. Goodness is none of those things. Any chance she gets to cause trouble, she takes it. You don’t want to get caught between her and my father. Believe me.”
“Understood,” I say. He thinks that Goodness is the one leading me astray, not the other way around. Testing the limits set down by her father might well be the reason Goodness is so keen to get involved in our plan to bust into the white house.
“If you have to go through with a scheme that she’s cooked up, be safe and careful,” Lewis says. “And, if you need help, ask me.”
And there it is again. The heart-stopping kindness that warms every cell of my body. The distance between us is suddenly too great. I want to step closer and lay my cheek against his chest. I want to know how it feels to be held tight in the circle of his arms. Just for one minute. Or an hour. Maybe longer. A lot longer. Good God above. I like Lewis.
I really, really like him. My hopeful heart jumps at the idea of the two of us together, laughing and kissing. Definitely kissing.
Girl, stop this foolishness and pull yourself together before you drool on his shoes!
“I’ll think about what you said,” I tell him. A promise I intend to keep. “You should go before your brothers come looking for you.”
“See you soon.” He heads for Tugela Way with an easy stride. I stand in the yard and take a long moment to appreciate how good Lewis looks both coming and going. Across the way, Mrs. M digs a trench into the soil, ready for spring planting. She waves at me, and I blush. She’s caught me staring after Lewis Dumisa the same way that a drunk stares at a bottle of booze locked inside a liquor store. So close yet so far . . .
I wave back at Mrs. M and make my way to our front door. A movement at the corner of my eye catches my attention. I turn to look across our dead garden toward Sisulu Street. A plastic bag caught on a barbed wire fence waves in the wind, and the Khoza twins cry in their shared cot four doors down. Everything is normal.
Then the shadows under the wild mango trees beside the public toilet block flicker and move. A stray dog with two black paws trots out with a dead bird in its jaws. That must be what I saw in the dimness, a dog hunting dinner. It’s strange, though. I’d swear that the flickering shadow that first caught my attention was standing upright. It might have been a person waiting for an empty toilet or an old granny taking a rest in the shade. Either way, it’s silly to imagine that a sinister presence is hiding behind the mango trees.
Really, who has the time to spy on me from the end of our street?
Jacob Caluza?
Jacob is unemployed. He’s free to roam Sugar Town from morning light to midnight. And after I publicly turned him down yesterday, he might think it’s time to teach me a lesson in respect. My heart beats loud in my ears. I step closer to the front door. If Jacob comes running, I’ll have plenty of time to rush inside and bolt the lock.
The dark space under the trees stays solid. I stare for a minute longer. Still nothing. I seriously doubt that Jacob Caluza could stay still for that long. My shoulders relax. Finding his next hit of tik is what drives Jacob. Not me.
“Amandla?” Annalisa opens the front door and peers out through puffy eyes. “What’s the matter?”
“Nothing.” I shrug off the creepy feeling and go to meet her. She’s awake and ready for baked beans on toast and a cup of tea. A good sign. I kiss her cheek and go inside to fill the kettle. My mind works through what happened in the yard. I might have seen more than was actually there. Or the tall shape in the shade might have been a thief casing the lane for valuables to loot. A waste of time. There is little precious to steal from the shacks, plus the combination of Mrs. M’s eagle eye and Blind Auntie’s crazy-good hearing are more effective than an electric fence. We are as safe as it’s possible to be in a township.
Annalisa pours fresh water into the jam jar on the windowsill and strokes the velvet petals with her index finger. The white rose that she snatched from Mayme’s garden will soon fade, but she is determined to extend its life for a while longer.
“Who was that boy you were talking to?” she asks.
“A prince,” I say.
“They all look like princes at the start,” she says. “Be careful, princess, but not too careful. Love is the sweetest thing. I’d give anything to dance with your father one more time.”
That longing for Father is an excellent reason to stay away from Lewis.
Annalisa is right. Love is sweet. But it’s also dangerous.
15
A red sports car with a silver jaguar leaping from the hood roars out of the gates and turns left toward the main road that leads to the Durban business district. Neville is on his way to work four minutes earlier than Sam predicted and in a different car than the one he drove the other day. Wow! He has two sports cars. Imagine that. Gerald, the mixed-race guard who turned Annalisa and me away from the house, presses a button on the security panel inside the entrance, and the gates slide shut. He stays and keeps a watch on the street while the other guards disappear into the property. They are the real worry; their exact location is impossible to predict.
“He’s late,” Lil Bit says from where we stand in a park a block down from the big house. “Are you sure he’ll show?”
“Neville left early.” The timer ticks down on Goodness’s mobile. “Sam will be here,” I say. “Wait and see.”
Two minutes pass in awkward silence. Doubt creeps into my mind. Sam has no skin in the game. He has nothing to gain from being involved with my plan. Why risk his golden life for me, a cousin he barely knows?
“Is that him?” Goodness juts her chin at a white boy in rumpled clothes and rumpled hair walking the footpath in white sneakers with a black swoop on the side. “Off-white Blazers.” Goodness clocks the sneaker brand straight off. “That’s some serious cash hitting the concrete.”
“That’s Sam. Right where he said he’d be and right on time.” I’m proud to say it.
It might be that he’s looking to spice up the holidays, like Goodness, but he’s here and she’s here, and I am glad. Their presence means that Lil Bit and me are not alone. With Sam, we are an army of four, and together we will make the first cut in Neville’s armor—if the plan plays out the way it’s supposed to.
“There he goes.” Lil Bit chews her thumbnail, nervous. “See if he makes it in.”
Sam saunters up to the gates with a casual white-boy swagger. No need to rush. No need to iron my clothes or brush my hair, either. I belong here. Get between me and what I want and watch me speed-dial the family lawyers.
Gerald nods and opens the front gate. We are too far away to hear a word that’s said, but I imagine Sam giving his name and the guard responding with a polite Please come through, Mr. Bollard.
“Five-minute countdown.” Goodness resets the stopwatch on her mobile. “We’ll go first to give you cover, Amandla. If it’s all good, we’ll slip into the side lane. If not, Lil Bit and me will cruise past the guard, get his attention, and join you in fifteen minutes. Remember to leave the servants’ entrance open a crack.”
That is the plan. Clean. Straightforward.
The alarm chirps, and I follow close behind Goodness, who is taller and wider at the shoulders than I am, so you’d have to look hard to identify me. Lil Bit is too little for that job. Stuck behind Goodness, I can’t see if Gerald has come out the gates or if he’s patrolling the entrance.
“We’re clear,” Lil Bit whispers. “The guard is playing a game on his phone or texting his girlfriend.”
We veer into the narrow lane that runs along the side of the house and leads to the servants’ entrance. Sam holds the steel door open and waves us inside. I slip through into the forbidden land of green grass, flowering azaleas, and the winking blue swimming pool at the rear of the house. My heart beats like crazy. Annalisa should be here, I think. This is her home, not mine.
“This way.” Sam ducks low and runs through the gardens to a glass door that leads inside the house. “The guards are eating breakfast in the kitchen, so we’ll be fine for at least forty minutes. After that . . .” He shrugs off what might happen in less than an hour. Que será, será, guys.
“We’re here now,” I say, and follow him into a sunny space with three long wooden tables covered in terra-cotta pots, bags of soil, and green clippings. A planting room. If Mayme and Mrs. M ever got together, they’d have a great time.
“Quickly.” Sam waves at Lil Bit and Goodness, who stand in the doorway with their jaws hanging open at the sight of a room set aside for plants. “Get inside. Mayme’s room is down the hallway.”
He leads us into a wide corridor with paintings and black-and-white photographs of beach landscapes hanging on the walls. I love the beach, even if we only go twice a year. Lil Bit and Goodness hang two steps back to give us privacy, t
heir eyes flickering over the width and the length of the corridor. Vases filled with fresh flowers. Photographs. Paintings. It’s quiet. In Sugar Town, the sounds of life pour in through the walls. Night coughs and boys fighting. Parents calling their children home at twilight. A car engine backfiring and girls laughing in the distance.
“Mayme’s proper bedroom is on the second floor, but with her heart condition, Grandpa decided that using the stairs was too risky. This is a guest room.” Sam knocks on a door halfway down the corridor. “Mayme,” he says in a loud voice. “It’s me. Sam. I have a visitor to see you. Can we come in?”
“Of course,” Mayme answers. “Come through.”
Sam opens the door, and now that we’re here, inside the castle, the awkward feeling of being out of place seizes me. I don’t belong here. What was I thinking?
“Go, Amandla.” Lil Bit understands my fears. She has them, too. “Your granny invited you. She has the answers to all your questions about Annalisa, and she wants to talk.”
She’s right. I’m here for myself and I’m here for my broken mother, who can’t remember the things we both need to know. Mayme can help. She can unlock the past. I take a deep breath and follow Sam into a room that is double the size of our shack, and much, much nicer.
* * *
* * *
“Amandla.” Mayme stands by a tall window, wrapped in a dressing gown with white cranes flying across a blue sky. She holds out her hands to invite me closer. “I had a table set up on the back porch for you and Annalisa yesterday morning, but you didn’t come.”
The sunshine slanting through the glass picks up the fine lines and creases at the corners of Mayme’s eyes and mouth. She is paler, older than in the institute, her shoulders sloped under an invisible weight.
“There was a problem with the gates.” The lie comes out in a high voice. “The security keypad broke and the gates locked and we . . . uh . . . we couldn’t get in. That’s why I came back today.”