Dragons & Butterflies

by Shani Krebs

  All of a sudden, the swing door that led into our dormitory was flung violently open. Seconds later, a figure was towering over me aggressively and demanding to know what the hell I thought I was doing. I was stunned. Before I could answer, the boy began punching and kicking me and accusing me of being a thief. Instinctively, I raised my arm to protect my face and pulled my knees to my chest to block the blows and kicks, just as I did when I got a hiding from Janos. This beating wasn’t too severe, though, nor did it last long. I had had far worse from my stepfather. It ended with me being hurled across the length of the room. As I crashed to the floor, it dawned on me that the beginning of my so-called new life rather closely resembled the world I thought I had left behind. I prepared myself for the worst.

  I later learnt that the person responsible for my undeserved hiding was none other than the acting head boy, Danny Lasker, who from that day on became my sworn enemy. My sister was furious when she heard what had happened to me, and went at once to confront him. She strongly advised him to get his facts straight before he found it necessary to get physical, and warned him in no uncertain terms that if he ever dared lay a finger on her brother again, he would have to deal with her.

  I cannot recall ever having any problems with Danny after that, although most of us juniors were roughed up by the seniors from time to time. We accepted this as part of life in Arcadia.

  Those early days were hard. I had no knowledge of Judaism, and, having been brought up as a Hungarian, not to mention thinking that I was a Catholic, I was different. The other kids were more than willing to teach me and help me out. One day when I was showering I noticed something odd: all the other boys were circumcised, while I had a foreskin. I didn’t know why but it made me feel uncomfortable, so much so that I tried to hide it and thereafter took my shower after everybody else was finished. In the event that somebody came to the bathroom, I would pull my foreskin back, which made it look as if I, too, were circumcised. Somebody must have noticed, though, and one of the seniors spoke to the principal. Before I knew it I was booked into the Brenthurst Clinic.

  On a Saturday night a couple of days after my operation, we had a disco at Arcadia. The majority of the younger kids went to Saxonwold Primary School, and many of their friends came to the dance. It was here that I met a pretty girl named Andy Raven, who may have been slightly younger than me. She had long black hair that cascaded down her shoulders almost to her lower back. While we were slow dancing and she was really close, I became aroused and experienced an instant pain in my groin. Without saying a word to her, I ran to the toilet and pulled down my pants. My stitches were stretching and the wound had opened up. No more slow dancing for me that night! The revelation of me being Jewish was both painful and interestingly educational as I began to embrace the culture bestowed upon me by my maternal grandparents.

  During school holidays the children in the orphanage who weren’t able to spend the holidays with their loved ones had the choice of either going to Durban and staying with a Jewish family there (Joan chose this option) or attending Bnei Akiva youth camp down on the coast. From the first year at Arcadia this was what I opted for. Going to Bnei Akiva camp was the best thing that ever happened to me in those early days at Arcadia. Each of us at the home had, at some stage in our young lives, experienced things that were too painful to think about, let alone talk about. Those experiences would nevertheless have a profound impact on the way we thought and functioned. Not only did Bnei Akiva enable me to suppress some difficult childhood memories, but it also gave me a sense of belonging and worth. Finally I could begin to embrace what appeared to represent the beginning of a more wholesome life.

  Instruction in Judaism, and the requirement to keep Shabbos (the Sabbath) and daven (pray) three times a day, formed an integral part of our routine. I remember one year, on our return from camp, Danny had become much more religious and was influential in encouraging some of us to become more observant and devoted. It was also compulsory for all the children to learn basic Hebrew.

  In 1972, Doc and Ma retired. The new incumbents at Arcadia were Philip and Sylvia Duzzy, and their arrival coincided with preparation for my Bar Mitzvah, the ceremony where a Jewish boy of 13 years old becomes recognised as an adult. There were three of us who were having our Bar Mitzvah. Mr Duzzy was an excellent chazzan (cantor) and he taught me my Bar Mitzvah portion, but, because my Hebrew wasn’t up to scratch, I learnt it by rote. I dreaded my sessions with Mr Duzzy. He had the most terrible breath, which made me even more eager to learn my Torah portion as quickly as possible.

  Then the big day finally arrived when I became a man and could now be counted as one of the minyan, the quorum of ten Jewish adults required for certain religious obligations when worshipping in the synagogue. The shul was packed. The only relatives of mine who were there were my mother and sister, but my good friend Harry from Parktown Boys’ High School came along, too. I was dreading standing on the bima and singing in front of all the guests. My legs were shaking. When it came to my turn to sing, one of the senior Arc boys, Gary Joffee, attempted secretly to record me by trying to work between my legs a microphone attached to a cassette recorder. He kept touching me, and, as nervous as I already was, having him fiddling around between my legs made it even more difficult for me to concentrate.

  The atmosphere in the shul was incredibly spiritual. Everybody was silent. I felt as if Hashem was there, watching and blessing me as I made my transition into manhood. After the reception, and when all the guests were gone, we boys sat on our beds checking out our gifts. Unlike the other boys, I received only a few envelopes with vouchers and cash.

  A few months after Joan and I went to live at Arcadia, our mother went back to Hungary. She stayed in touch, but her visits during our time there were periodic and never for very long. After a couple of years she returned to South Africa and stayed for a while with friends in Vanderbijlpark and Johannesburg. Then she went back to Budapest again and would come out on holiday when she could. When she did come to see us, she brought gifts of clothing and toiletries. For her, these visits were always emotional, and I think they brought her as much pain as they did joy.

  As for me, I loved it at Arcadia and it did not take me long to adjust to life there and to accept that this was my home. While I enjoyed my mother’s visits, I didn’t really understand the emotion around them or whether I needed to feel anything. The fact that she came to see us whenever she could, as she had promised, showed us that she cared, but I never wanted to leave when she left or to consider a life outside of the life I had made at Arcadia.

  My two fathers – Fritz, my biological father, and Janos, whose negative influence in my tender years remains with me to this day – played no active role in my life. My sister Joan was my family.

  Television came to South Africa in 1976, and I remember the occasion when Arcadia received its first set. It had been donated by a benefactor and there was a whole ceremony to mark its arrival. Many of us refused to pose for the photo because we saw the whole affair as a publicity stunt intended to glorify the benefactor and to an extent humiliate the recipients. Some Arcs were sensitive to this type of exhibitionism; in comparison to our peers from the different schools we attended, we led an underprivileged lifestyle and we didn’t need to have it rubbed in. Nevertheless, this did not diminish our excitement and enthusiasm at actually having our very own TV.

  On the first night that we were going to witness the debut of the new phenomenon, everyone scrambled to get to the library straight after dinner to try and get the best seats. The table where I ate was right next to the entrance to the dining room and adjacent to the committee room, and so I was the first to reach the door. I grabbed the door handle and yanked, expecting the door to fly open. It was locked. By then most of the kids were piling up behind me and a slight commotion of chatter and confusion ensued as we impatiently waited for the door to be opened. Then we heard the clanging of keys and an all too familiar voice, shouting with authority.

 
; ‘Line, line, line up!’

  It was Vicky.

  The muttering of discontented kids persisted in a low moan as a few of us reluctantly began to form a semblance of a queue. Then, before I could stop myself, I yelled, ‘Would you like us to buy tickets as well?’ This was greeted with an outburst of laughter by the other children, but Vicky didn’t appreciate my witticism.

  ‘Get to your room! You are punished. No television for you!’ he shouted, grabbing me by the arm.

  ‘Who wants to watch stupid TV anyway?’ I mumbled cockily under my breath as I made my exit.

  As they watched me go, everyone fell silent. It was as if there was a collective realisation that, in future, this form of entertainment would also become an instrument of punishment.

  Although the novelty of television had worn off even before I got to watch it, my spirits weren’t that easily dampened. I was only too aware of the conveniences the TV room had to offer. I settled down in my dormitory, but before long I was summoned by Vicky. He put his arm around my neck, pulled me into his embrace, and in an apologetic tone said that I was welcome to go and watch TV if I wanted to. I thanked him and expressed my regret at my disrespectful outburst. I think I learnt a very important lesson that night: it didn’t matter who was wrong or who was right in a confrontation: in order to pacify or bring about a cessation of hostilities between two parties, an apology went a long way. This would stand me in good stead many times in my life.

  In the weeks and months that followed, the library, which officially became known as the TV room, became a refuge and a safe haven from the many distractions that were part of everyday life in Arcadia. For those of us who, on occasion, bunked out of the home, the TV room also became our alibi. When asked where we’d been we would innocently respond: ‘We were watching TV.’

  Watching TV also gave us the opportunity to get intimate with the girls. I mean, what could be more romantic than watching The Brady Bunch of a Friday evening while holding your girlfriend’s hand?

  When I was about 14 years old, puberty set in with a vengeance. My interest in the opposite sex was becoming fervently apparent. By then Sammy Lasker, Charles Goldman and I were well into our unrelenting reign of mischief, and there wasn’t a single room in Arcadia or a building in its vicinity that we couldn’t get into. However, most of our attention was focused on the girls, especially the seniors. One favourite activity was to target a girl and stalk her. Then one of us would distract her while the other would come from behind and look up her dress. Sometimes we even used this ploy on our female teachers.

  The ideal focus for our prying adolescent eyes was the public telephone. Here, the girls seemed to spend hours on end talking to their boyfriends and not focusing on anything else. A pen-size flashlight became an indispensable commodity for us, and Charles Goldman also kept a small mirror permanently in his pocket. We eventually got bored with this game, though. We wanted to see the real thing – a completely naked woman. And so this became our mission.

  At that time I was secretly in love with one of the girls at Arcadia. She oozed femininity and had all the qualities that appealed to me, so we began to devise a cunning plan to see her without her clothes on. After several failed attempts, we figured that the best time would be on a Saturday morning, just before lunch and before the senior girls returned from a morning basking in the sun at the swimming pool, which was a regular activity in summer. Sammy and I swam and sunbathed, the picture of innocence, while inconspicuously keeping an eye on her. She was the type of girl you couldn’t help staring at anyway, and no doubt she was accustomed to it. After a while she began gathering her things together and preparing to go indoors. Sammy and I sprang into action. We sprinted to the senior girls’ dormitory.

  After some careful manoeuvring, we managed to sneak into her room unnoticed. I hid under her bed while Sammy crawled under my sister Joan’s bed. And there we were, anxiously awaiting our target’s arrival, hearts in our mouths. I was suddenly nervous and starting to become apprehensive. I wasn’t sure that I could go through with our scheme, after all. I mean, what if we were caught? We were dead quiet, but the silence was almost deafening. Beads of sweat formed on my forehead. Then we heard the creaking of the wooden floorboards, which intensified with the approaching footsteps and seemed to reverberate with the pounding of my heart.

  I suddenly decided I was too young for so much excitement. I desperately wanted to get out of there. How on earth had I got here in the first place, I berated myself. Much as I wanted to, I couldn’t blame Sammy. I was in it as deep as he was. It was too late to abort the plan.

  The door opened. I covered my eyes with both my hands and pulled my knees to my chest, panic setting in. I expected to be caught at any second. I vowed not to open my eyes nor to move a muscle.

  Nothing happened. After a couple of minutes the sounds of the girl’s distinct, methodical movements, together with sheer curiosity, got the better of me. I straightened my legs and removed my hands from my face. I took a peep across to Joan’s bed where my eyes met Sammy’s. He winked and gave me a thumbs up. My eyes slid towards a pair of dainty feet. Bare feet. I edged forward a little more and there, right before my very eyes, was a fully naked female body in all its splendour.

  It was a breathtaking moment. She was everything I’d imagined, and more. She had obviously just taken a shower as the towel she was using to dry her hair covered her eyes. I could feel my breathing growing heavier. I wanted to touch her, but instead I retreated into the shadows under the bed. She took her time dressing, which allowed Sammy and me a few more good peeps, but soon she was dressed and then there was silence. I couldn’t understand what she was doing that was taking so long so I edged forward again to look, accidentally moving the bedspread. She was busy applying mascara, her face close to the mirror. Unbeknown to me of course, from the angle of the mirror she had a clear view directly under the bed behind her …

  Her shriek was piercing. ‘What the hell are you doing, you little brat?’ she screamed, grabbing the bedspread and pulling it up. ‘Are you mad?’

  I almost had a heart attack. I had to do some quick thinking if I wasn’t going to get myself killed.

  ‘Shhhh!’ I whispered, putting my index finger over my lips. ‘Keep your voice down.’ I looked up at her innocently, my eyes wide.

  A mixture of confusion and bewilderment spread across her face.

  ‘We’re playing catches and I’m hiding from Charles,’ I whispered again, even more softly.

  ‘Oh,’ she responded, her face going totally blank.

  I decided to push my luck. ‘Do me a favour? Could you go and check if Charles is anywhere outside or near the stairway?’

  Almost as if she was in a trance, she agreed. She even told me stay where I was while she went to see if Charles was around. He wasn’t – luck was on my side. By the time she returned and assured me that the coast was clear, I had come out from under the bed. I thanked her hurriedly and was out of there in a flash. By then, Sammy had made his own escape, undetected.

  By lunchtime the girl had clearly realised what I’d actually been up to, and she was furious. She pointed an angry finger in my direction and warned, ‘Watch out, my boy.’

  So ended my secret one-sided romance, and also our peeping-tom days – not a bad thing, I suppose, although I guess boys will always be boys.

  By the time I was 15, although I had never had any formal sex education, I had had several innocent relationships with various girls younger than me, but somehow it was always the more mature girls I was attracted to. This might, of course, have been because, during that era at the Arc, we boys were outnumbered by the girls, most of whom were our seniors.

  One day, what started out as an average Monday evening unexpectedly took an interesting turn. One of the senior girls, Lisa, whom admittedly I had noticed and had on occasion fantasised about, cornered me as I was walking past the public telephone.

  ‘Shani,’ she called out, ‘what is your problem?’

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bsp; I was startled and a bit nervous, too. ‘What do you mean?’ I stuttered.

  She looked at me, mildly annoyed. ‘Do you think I’m stupid?’ she replied.

  Normally I could talk my way out of any situation, but that day, perhaps because of the age difference and because we both knew there was an attraction between us, I felt distinctly uneasy. For once I couldn’t think of anything to say.

  She smiled. I got the impression that she was taking great pleasure in teasing me. And then, with what seemed like a reconciliatory gesture, she stretched out her arm and rested her hand on my shoulder. ‘Come on, Shani,’ she said seductively, ‘I’ve seen the way you look at me.’ She gazed steadily into my eyes.

  Besides being momentarily mesmerised, I was also consumed with desire. In my state of stupor I found myself staring at her exposed cleavage, and I could have sworn her breasts swelled in concert with every breath she took. I had an almost uncontrollable urge to touch and kiss her, and I nearly did, when suddenly we were interrupted by the approaching footsteps of one of the other girls coming down the stairs from the girls’ department to use the phone.

  That night I struggled to sleep, although being an insomniac didn’t help either. Moreover, I found myself replaying the earlier incident over and over in my head. While touching myself, I kept rehearsing what I should have said to Lisa, and I could have kicked myself for not confessing that I was attracted to her.

  It was very possible that she felt the same way, but, even so, I still had my doubts. Girls were generally unpredictable, and perhaps my indiscreet watching of her had actually been more annoying than welcome. I decided that I would do my best from then on to ignore her and refrain from staring. Satisfied with my plan, I fell asleep.

  The next morning at breakfast I didn’t see Lisa, as the places where we usually sat weren’t near each other, and in fact she wasn’t uppermost in my mind – until she walked past me carrying a pile of dirty dishes. I simply couldn’t resist looking at her. She, on the other hand, now seemed blithely unaware of my presence, which came as a bit of a relief and to a degree confirmed my suspicions.