by Kurt Ellis
Kyle slid in hard. There was a sickening crash of bodies, and the ball flew out of bounds as the winger tumbled to the ground. He screamed out in agony. A fair tackle, but a strong challenge that had the crowd gasping out in unison.
“Now that is what I fucking want from ya’, lad!” Charlie shouted from the sidelines. “Give ’em more of the same!”
Kyle took control of the rest of the first half. His tackles were well timed and well executed. And his distribution was incredible. He ventured further into the midfield with the ball at his feet, and slid an excellent through ball between the two defenders with his throbbing, weaker right foot. His team mate ran onto it and slotted in the goal.
The second half began as the first had ended, with Kyle controlling everything. He read the opposition’s attacks and intercepted their passes. When he did not make the interception, he always made the tackle. He marshalled his defence, as well as the whole team. The local team won a corner, and Kyle made his way into the opposition box. The ball was floated over. Kyle attacked it with his head and so did the defender. There was a midair collision as they both went for the ball, but Kyle got to it first. The ball cannoned off his head and flew past the goalkeeper. It struck the base of the goal post and bounced out, back into play. It landed at the foot of one of Kyle’s team mates and he tucked it easily into the goal. They now led by two goals to one.
The opposition attacked harder, but Kyle and his defence held firm. In the dying seconds of the game, they won a free kick in an attacking position. Kyle trotted forward to take it. The ball was about thirty yards out, a bit too far out for a serious strike on goal. He placed the ball and took four steps back. He filled his lungs with a few deep breaths and waited for the whistle. When it came, he rushed forward. His eyes were focused on the spot of the ball that he wanted to strike and he connected with the spot sweetly with his left foot. The ball flew like a round white bird. It soared gracefully yet swiftly through the air. It looked as if it was flying wide and over, but then it began to turn in mid-flight. The ball began to curl and swoop down. The opposition goalkeeper flapped at it, but it nestled in the top left corner, in the postage stamp of the goal.
The crowd went berserk. Kyle’s team mates charged at him with leaps of joy. Kyle could not even manage a smile.
When the final whistle came a few seconds later, his team mates celebrated, but Kyle dropped to his knees on the turf. He was exhausted. Not only physically, but mentally too. His brain throbbed ten times worse than his foot and he felt a strong urge to cry.
Charlie rushed over and yanked him to his feet. “You did it, son! You did it!” He hugged Kyle roughly.
“Are they … taking me?” Kyle asked timidly.
“They’ll be idiots not to, after that performance,” Charlie grinned. “Come, let’s go get that foot sorted. It don’t look good.”
47
Kyle looked in the direction of Amia’s house from his rooftop sanctuary. He couldn’t actually see it, though. In fact, he didn’t know why he even looked there in the first place. He had tried to call her many times, but not once would she answer. It had been a week since they’d had that telephone conversation. He hadn’t spoken to her since, and in that time his pain had grown larger, a cancerous weed spreading through his heart, mind and soul.
He turned his eyes back over Sydenham, wondering why she would do this to him. How could she not love him, after what they’d had? He was full of questions, with the only answer to every question being hurt and sorrow. He’d tried to write her a letter, but it had ended up being more of a short story of six pages. He’d written down all the words he wanted to say to her and couldn’t. All his emotions had overflowed as ink onto white paper. He’d written until his hand cramped and he had to stop. He’d felt as if there was not enough ink or paper on the planet for him to express his thoughts and feelings. His heart had overflowed with emotions. With words not yet made word.
The clouds in that afternoon’s sky opened and embraced him, and as the raindrops washed over his scalp, he began to feel small clots of pain dissolve in the tears of God. He sighed and placed his face in his hands and wept. He was thinking about every word he had ever said to her. He thought of every word she’d said to him, searching for the omen pointing to this despair. He found none. He shut his eyes and tried to remember her face, but he couldn’t. God, he missed her. God, he loved her.
48
Captain found Kyle sitting next to the shed in the back yard. In the same spot that he himself had been sitting in after he’d killed Wesley. The spot where they used to sit at their grandfather’s feet and listen to him tell them stories.
“You look like shit, Kyle.”
Kyle looked up at him with bloodshot eyes. But no witty comeback.
Captain sat down on the step next to him. “Still no word from the stekkie, ek sê?”
Kyle sighed and shook his head. “Nope. I try calling her, but she doesn’t answer.”
Captain nodded. Kyle had arrived back from Johannesburg the previous day and had told him about being dumped.
Captain decided to change the subject. “And what about Birmingham?”
Again, Kyle shook his head.
“Don’t worry, cuz. They will call.”
The afternoon sun had descended behind the house and had cast a shadow over where they were sitting. Captain caught the scent of overripe mangos in the breeze and felt a tingle in his arm where the mango tree branch had impaled him when he was younger. He absently scratched at it as he got to his feet. “Hey, anyway, bru … I can’t stay long. I need to get going.”
Kyle looked up. “Where are you off to? Nazneen?”
Captain shook his head. “I’m meeting up with the brus to plot the next move.”
Kyle grimaced. “Damn, Anthony, don’t you think this is enough?”
“Enough?”
“Yes, enough. Your friends are dying here, bru.”
“You think I don’t know that? And yes, I have had enough, which is why I need to end Tyson as soon as possible.”
“And if you miss? How many more of our brus need to die?”
“Hey!” Captain shouted, angry. “Every one of the Godfathers knows what we are about. They all want this. We understand the risks involved. It is the price we have to pay.”
“And the innocent people?” Kyle asked. “The moms coming out of the shop after buying bread, who gets the stray bullet in the chest. Or the lighties playing in the park, who catch a stray bullet in the head? Or …”
Captain laughed scornfully. “Come on, ek sê. We won’t do that. We can shoot straight.”
“What about Nazneen and the lightie?”
The smile left Captain’s lips. “What about Nazneen and the lightie?”
“You’re being selfish, bru. What happens to them if you die? What happens to me and Jimmy? And your ma? What would Oupa have said if he saw this?”
Captain laughed again, but even to his own ears it sounded forced. He began to walk away. “I got no time for this shit, Kyle,” he said. “I’ll see you later.”
49
It felt as if a tractor was lumbering through his head and ploughing through his brain. Captain sat on the pavement in Hay Place and tried to wrap his mind around what had taken place over the last few weeks. He looked at those around him. There was no Wahied. There was no Lester or German. They were all dead. They were gone. Good friends who were no longer with them, because of his actions. Unknown potential snuffed out too early.
“Captain,” Spider started. “We need more ammo, bru.”
Captain was silent. He stared at the ground between his feet. Fighting the feeling of despair, he scoured his mind for some kind of a plan. Any kind of idea of how to move forward. He came up with only one. And he cursed Kyle for putting the idea in his head.
“Hey, Captain. Are you okay, bru?” Bruge asked.
“Ek sê,” Captain said slowly, “I think we should call this whole thing off.”
A heavy silence desc
ended upon the Godfathers. The looks of puzzlement on their faces told Captain that this was the last thing they had expected him to say.
“What the fuck are you talking about?” Spider asked.
“I’m sorry, ouens,” Captain said with a sigh, “but I can’t do this any more.”
They looked stunned.
“So what now?” asked Bruge. “This ain’t a fucking game, Captain. We can’t just waai up to Tyson and say we’re not playing any more.”
“I know it’s not a fucking game, Bruge. Don’t you understand, bru? Lester is dead. Germs is dead. Wahied is gone, and they ain’t coming back, ek sê.” Captain got to his feet and rubbed his forehead. He wanted to say that he was also going to be a father. Before learning of Nazneen’s pregnancy, he hadn’t cared whether he lived or died. Now, he did. Now he wanted to be there for his son or daughter.
“Look, what I am saying is I don’t think we should continue. We are losing too many brus here. And …” he hesitated. “I just can’t do this any more.”
There was further silence, before Big Earl spoke up. “Ek sê, Captain. We can win this.”
“I know we can, but at what cost? Gents, we bit off more than we can handle here. I fucked up. I made the wrong choice and my brus are dying because of it. I didn’t expect …” Captain sighed. “I think we should pull out here.”
More silence.
“Aight, I trust you, Captain,” Bruge said. “If you say enough, then it’s enough.”
Spider sprang to his feet. “What the fuck is wrong with you ouens?” he growled. “Captain, I can understand you’re scared. But this is not over, bru.”
“Scared?” Captain repeated, stung by the insult.
“Yes, scared!” repeated Spider. “Look,” he said calmly, “you played this whole thing wrong right from the start. This war is all because of you. You killed Wesley. You started it, but now you aren’t strong enough, man enough, to finish it.”
“Spider,” Captain said, his anger rising, “you need to watch yourself here, bru. Choose your fucking words carefully, ek sê. I am still in charge.”
“Fuck that,” Spider replied. “Maybe that is the problem. Maybe the Godfathers need to be under new leadership.”
Captain smiled. “Whose leadership?”
Spider shrugged. “Mine.”
Captain forced a laugh. “Spider, we’ve been brus since we wore short pants in primary school, but I think you should leave before I do something to you.”
Spider looked at the faces of the Godfathers, searching for signs of support. He turned back to Captain. “It’s because we’ve been brus for so long that I can tell you that you fucked up. You bit off more than you can chew here. You got us into this mess, and now you want to bail on us. That is the act of a coward. And a coward isn’t fit to be the leader of the Godfathers.”
“But you are?”
“If you had fucking listened to me from the start, we wouldn’t have been in this situation.” Spider turned to the rest of the Godfathers. “Gents, you put me in charge here, I guarantee you, I will bring this shit to an end inside a day or two. I promise you. And you’ll make more money than you ever imagined.”
The remaining Godfathers looked at Spider, then at Captain.
Captain’s jaw clenched tight and for some reason, a single phrase from one the Shakespeare plays that Kyle had helped him study kept repeating in his head. Et tu, Brute? Et tu, Brute? He turned to the Godfathers. “The choice is yours,” he said calmly. “You ouens decide.”
Silence, and no one moved a muscle, until Bruge took a step towards Spider and put his hand on his shoulder.
Spider smiled. “You did the right thing, ek sê, Bruge. I promise you, outie, that –”
“I think you should leave, Spider,” Bruge said.
“What?”
“The Godfathers were born with Captain. The Godfathers will die with Captain. But until then, we will survive with Captain, by any means necessary.”
The other Godfathers nodded, and Spider’s eyes swelled with rage. “Are you all fucking dof?”
“We have spoken, bru. It’s time you stepped.” Captain spoke calmly.
Spider glared at Captain before he stormed off. When he was a few feet away, he called back, “You ous are making a big fucking mistake. I promise you that.”
50
Spider hurried down the road with anger making the back of his neck hot. He looked behind to make sure no one was following him before he pulled out his cellphone. He dialled a number and waited for the other person to pick up.
“Ya?”
“Tyson? It’s Spider.”
“What kind?”
“Bru, things are not going according to plan.”
“What do you mean?”
“I made the play. You know, on taking over the Godfathers. Captain is calling it quits. He’s had enough, but da ous … the fucking idiots won’t turn their backs on him.”
Tyson cackled on the other end. “Now how the fuck is that my problem?”
Spider stopped walking. “Bru, we had a deal. I fucking called you and saved your ass when they came after you at Dora’s. You fucking owe me.”
“Yes, we did have a deal, but I don’t owe you shit. The deal was, you take control of the GFs and we enter into a partnership. From what you’re telling me, you have control of absolutely fuck-all. That means you are no use to me at all, Spider.”
“You need me, Tyson.”
Tyson responded with a laugh.
“We just need to come up with another plan. That’s all. This is what Lazarus wants, after all.”
“All Lazarus wants is Captain gone. And soon. He don’t give a shit about you.”
Spider felt panicked: he had gambled and lost. But then he thought of something to say. “With Captain gone, the Godfathers will want their revenge. You’ll need me to calm the situation down, or they won’t let you rest.”
Tyson chuckled on the other end of the line. “Aight, bru. I’ll call you later with plan B.”
51
Tyson smirked as he cut the call. “Spider is not happy.”
“I can’t imagine why,” Lazarus said sarcastically. “And I am not happy either. And it is your fault.”
The smile slipped from Tyson’s face. “Me? What the fuck did I do?”
“It’s what you didn’t do,” Lazarus said calmly. “It’s what you didn’t do. You didn’t get rid of Captain like you’re supposed to.”
“I’m working on it.”
“Not fast enough. José called me yesterday. That fat fucking Mozambican is not happy about us going after Captain. He’s plotting something. I know it. And if José gets involved, then we’re all fucked.”
“But Spider is not doing his part, ek sê. He’s fucking up.”
Lazarus sighed and took a sip of the Jack Daniels and Appletiser that was sitting on his desk. Spider had done more than enough. Lazarus grinned. That Spider was a sneaky motherfucker. After he’d persuaded the Godfathers to take Captain away, Spider had wrapped his claws around Wesley’s throat and strangled him. Tyson didn’t know that it was Spider who had killed his cousin. But he would once Captain was gone. Then Tyson would get rid of Spider. He, Lazarus, didn’t want Spider anywhere near him in the future. Someone who was willing to betray his best friend would not hesitate to betray him too. So Spider had to go as well, and that would leave him with this dumb pitbull Tyson again. Tyson, with none of the others’ desire to usurp him.
52
His legs were not doing what he wanted them to do. They weren’t running fast enough and they weren’t working hard enough. In fact, he struggled with every stride he took to get his one foot in front of the other. Kyle was training by himself, as he often did during the off season. He was still waiting for feedback from Charlie regarding Birmingham and he was feeling extremely stressed. Charlie was supremely confident that his performance had got him in. But Kyle didn’t want to count his chickens before they’d hatched. What he did want to do was to cl
ear his mind. To get those hornets and bees that buzzed around his cranium to flee.
His breathing was measured, yet his heartbeat was fast. Too fast. His lungs and heart did not seem to be working in unison. He began to feel dizzy, so he surrendered. He could not concentrate on his training. He trotted to a stop. With his eyes on the green and brown grass of Kings Park, he stood on the halfway line. His hands rested on his hips. He had barely broken a sweat, nor did he breathe more heavily than usual, yet he felt absolutely exhausted. Drained. He turned and trudged off the field. He made his way to the change room in the bowels of the stadium. It reeked of Deep Heat, moisture and stale sweat. He sat himself on a bench and buried his head in his hands. His insides felt heavy and saturated with the tears he no longer allowed to leave his eyes. It was not an unfamiliar feeling for him. It had been exactly the same way after his mother’s death.
He felt like such an idiot, because no matter how much he tried, he still could not figure out what he’d done wrong. He knew this was somehow his fault, but he just didn’t know how. He wondered why he would be foolish enough to allow himself to get hurt like this, and why he was being such a wimp and whining about the pain. Why had he allowed himself to get distracted from his plan? It had been a simple plan. Grit through the final year of school in Sydenham, then be off to play football professionally. This had not been part of the plan. She had not been part of the plan.
He glanced at the clock in the change room and it told him that it was half past three in the afternoon. That morning, Captain had asked him to meet them at Zoom for a chance to have a few beers and to let loose. Kyle had turned him down, because he’d intended to work himself weary in training. To run all his anger, pain and depression out. Unfortunately this plan was not working. And plan B, which involved getting absolutely pissed drunk, really began to appeal to him.
After a brisk, ice-cold shower, he called Captain from the payphone to announce that he’d be coming through. Captain did not restrain his glee. Kyle hung up the receiver and battled his way towards the club. Battled to keep thoughts of her out of his mind. That battle was a fierce one.