The Lazarus Effect

by H. J Golakai

  He misread her expression as an accusation. ‘No, no, I didn’t mean it like that. I don’t mean I helped her bugger off or do something stupid. Or …’ he gulped, ‘that I did something horrible to her. I’m saying we were close. I could help with information.’

  Vee crossed her arms. Cool, if he insisted on playing. ‘All right. There is one thing that keeps running around in my head, and you’d be the best person to clear it up. When you say y’all were close, how close do you mean?’

  Lucas looked blank.

  ‘Were you having a sexual relationship with your sister?’

  He took a step back and his chin dropped to his neck, a hundred twitches zipping across his face. Vee did a quick read on him. He was genuinely appalled and disgusted by the idea, but she sniffed something else lurking in the background. So Rosie was right: most of the lusting had come from his side. The fantasy hadn’t been realised, but Lucas had certainly thought about it in shameful, wanton detail. Vee automatically had little doubt that if Jacqui had allowed it – and there was no question she’d held all the power – the line into the unthinkable would have been crossed. A highly unlikely pairing, though; Lucas wasn’t in her league and a girl like Jacqueline would’ve made sure he’d known it.

  Lucas nearly swallowed his tongue in his jumbled spew of denials. His heart was thumping so hard he was certain it was audible above the downtown grind. Rosie, that miserable moron, and her stupid mouth. But nothing had ever happened, nothing.

  The Johnson woman sliced him up with her eyes all the while he babbled. It appeared she believed him, because finally she placed a hand on his arm and squeezed. Her skin was a deep, burnished brown next to his.

  ‘Go home, man. Really, I don’t need you for anything.’ The smile she flashed was kind and lightly teasing, but he knew pity when he saw it. Her teeth were small and white, like those plaster casts the dentist used for demonstrations on proper oral care. She wrote his number down on the lid of the pizza box and promised to reach out if circumstances changed. With that, he was dismissed.

  Lucas got back in his car and hyperventilated after she walked away. He watched her all the way to the other side of the street, where she stopped to open the pizza box. He continued watching as a man came out of nowhere and jumped her from behind.

  ANATOMY OF A MURDER

  Call me

  The train was packed. Jacqui reached the station in good time and sprung for the extra one rand fifty that separated first class from third. This time of day, a ticket was no guarantee of a seat but managing to elbow out a standing spot was good enough. Much as she was ashamed of thinking so, smell was a deal-breaker. If it made her a snob that she found the air in the first-class cars more pleasant, then so be it.

  A pregnant woman boarded as soon as Jacqui plopped into a seat. Jacqui tried ignoring her and pretending to fixate on the view outside the window, but couldn’t do it. The dark-skinned woman gave her a bright, grateful smile as she lowered herself into Jacqui’s seat.

  More and more people filled the compartment, until bodies were mashed skin on skin. Sporting team colours, one group started up a catchy song while others tried blowing their vuvuzelas up at the ceiling. Jacqui groaned, remembering that Ajax Cape Town and Orlando Pirates had a league match at Newlands Stadium that day. It must’ve just let out, and this mob of domkops was heading to the central station in town.

  Jacqui let her mind wander over the noise. The call she’d got during the tennis match with the girls was still eating her up. The whole point of today was to offload stress and have fun. To stop feeling like a liar and a fraud who was stretched in a hundred different directions. Picking up her cell had poured cold water over all of that.

  Absent-mindedly, she reached for an ear and fondled the silver hoop piercing with a cross attached. It drove her mum crazy that she hadn’t outgrown the habit, but the squashy feel of her earlobe was comforting, especially when she ran her finger over the outline of the cross.

  Being born again made it easier to ditch more and more of her old self and embrace the new. It wasn’t always easy, but she was catching on. Shoplifting, for instance – over and done. She’d miss all the cool treats and comforts she could buy with the stuff she sold, but it wasn’t a path the Lord wanted her to continue on. And Tamara. Lord Almighty. How much more difficult did it have to get to stay friends with her, to remember why they’d even become friends? They used to be inseparable, and now they couldn’t have a decent conversation without Miss Judgemental taking the piss out of her choices.

  Tamara was stupid if she thought Jacqui didn’t know she’d stolen her Nikes after tennis, just like she knew Tamara had made a play for Ashwin. The sneakers were ill-gotten gains, the finest sporting footwear she possessed, but Jacqui felt she could let it go. And she could let Ashwin go, too, but not to her girl. If Tam wanted to stay a bitch forever that was her own lookout, but friends didn’t stand by and let stupid mistakes get repeated. This time that shit might actually stick and Tam could end up being his wife and baby mama number three. They weren’t cool like back in the old days, but Jacqui wasn’t going to idle by and let that happen.

  And you’re still saying words like ‘shit’, she scolded herself. Old habits died hard. The phone conversation pushed a nagging finger at her conscience, like a curious child toying with a rotting animal. It was going to be difficult, but she had one more slightly dirty deed to commit before she hung up her boots. It was a case of doing wrong to do right, and she hoped to God that He could forgive her. And–

  The train squealed to a stop. Car doors squeaked open and passengers nudged and muscled out. In the bustle of bodies, Jacqui barely managed to hang on to her gym tote. At last, the doors suctioned closed and there were a few seats available.

  Jacqui slid into one, thinking it was time to return the call and check how things were going at the other end. She went through her tracksuit pockets and came up empty. Where had she put her cell phone? Minutes later, she was in a mild panic as she turned the bag and all its compartments inside out onto the empty seat next to her.

  She’d boarded the train with a phone. Now it was gone.

  26

  Chlöe came through the foyer just in time to see the attack. A man she didn’t recognise rocketed out of a parked car with such ferocity that Vee didn’t have time to react. The pizza box went flying as she stumbled, arms out to brace her fall. She came down rough on her knees and skidded face first into the pizza, smearing her white top and the side of her face.

  The guy wasn’t finished. He sank both hands into her hair and tried to drag her back up. Vee screamed and socked a punch into his stomach. The man bent double and let out a sound like air draining out of a balloon. Vee had time to gather her wits. Only just. Screaming an incomprehensible war cry, the man lunged again and they almost went down together. Punches, scratches and grunts flew.

  ‘Stop!’ Chlöe screeched. It struck her that an assault was going down right in front of her, less that a fortnight into her job, and she wasn’t doing anything to stop it. She bobbed around the scrabble, not sure how to get in and separate them. Vee’s body kept blocking her. The man created an opening by grabbing Vee by the neck and letting loose another roar as he shoved her. Chlöe flinched at the sound of bone connecting with the base of a nearby streetlamp.

  The commotion brought people out of the building. Chlöe nearly burst into tears when she saw Chris, one of the security guards, burst through the front entrance at a run. Vee was slumped over, keeping her balance by holding on to the streetlamp. The man made for her again. She kicked out with as much energy as she had left and got him in the crotch. He crumbled to his knees and Vee collared him and slammed his head into the concrete.

  ‘No!’ Chlöe grabbed Vee around the waist and hauled her off. Judging from the manic glint in her eyes she wouldn’t rest until her attacker’s head was a bloody mess. Shaking, Chlöe held on to her as best she could. Onlookers gathered and rubbernecked as Chris and another guard pulled the assailant
up, keeping a good grip on his arms and a wary eye on Vee. As they radioed for backup, the receptionist rushed back inside to phone the police.

  ‘Oh my God,’ Chlöe whispered. One side of Vee’s face was ballooning. The metal imprint ran along the edge of her forehead, and Chlöe touched her hot flesh. ‘Shit, that looks bad!’

  ‘Who the hell …’ Vee mumbled through a mouthful of blood.

  Chlöe helped her to her feet. Chris and Guard Two had taken command of ushering the staff back inside and breaking up the crowd. Vee hobbled over to them. The guy they restrained, or rather whose weight they supported as his feet dangled inches off the ground, was still rambling and muttering in Afrikaans. Vee tilted his chin and let it drop.

  She exchanged looks with Chlöe. It was Ashwin Venter.

  *

  On Portia’s orders, they took the rest of the day off after giving the cops a statement and hanging around to see Venter carted away. Chlöe drove Vee’s car to the nearest emergency room, where a doctor confirmed a mild concussion but nothing serious. He pushed some strong pain pills at them, stressing caution: Vee had to stay awake through the night, in case the damage was worse than it looked.

  Chlöe couldn’t stop trembling. Just getting them into Vee’s house had been a mission: Vee steadying her jittery hand and guiding the key into the lock.

  ‘I’m not dying.’

  Chlöe jumped a foot. ‘Huh?’

  Vee eyed her over the top of a steaming cup of tea. Chlöe wasn’t sure why she made it – force of habit, really – and Vee complained that her head felt too hot to bear even putting it near her mouth. ‘Calm down. You’ve draped this blanket over me like I’m dying.’

  ‘Sorry. White people are easily shaken by open aggression.’ Chlöe sat down sheepishly. ‘What a total loser. How could he attack you in broad daylight like that? This time I hope he gets buggered so much in jail he has to order a new rectum online.’

  Vee tried to laugh and cringed. The medication had only dulled the pain. Chlöe pressed her and she admitted that everything had gone from strobing out of focus to a dark mass with a flickering orange halo. Chlöe watched her pass her tongue around her mouth for the dozenth time, feeling for damage. She reported that her inner cheek was bleeding a bit, but no teeth were chipped or loose.

  ‘That was some show, by the way. Where’d you learn to fight like that?’ Chlöe asked. A Mona Lisa smile was all the reply she got. Chlöe smiled back and let it go. Vee didn’t have secrets as much as a whole other underground life.

  She kept an eye on the dog sitting at Vee’s side and it kept an eye on her. Since she had crossed the threshold the dog had kept her in sight, whether out of menace or mere curiosity Chlöe couldn’t tell. Neither, she hoped. Monro weighed as much as she did, and her nerves were so frayed she was sure she’d pass out cold if the dog tried anything. Monro had howled and whined at the state his mistress was in, and Vee cuddled his head on her knee and murmured in a lyrical tongue Chlöe had never heard her use. So that was what Kpelle, the tribe she was from, sounded like.

  ‘Is he gonna keep eyeballing me like that all day? It’s very unnerving.’

  ‘Don’t mind him.’ Vee stroked Monro. ‘He’s working out whether you’re responsible for this or not. He’ll make a decision soon.’

  ‘Haha, very funny. How come he doesn’t bark?’

  ‘Huskies tend to howl more than bark. All that wolf blood.’

  ‘Why Monro? Is he named after some famous person?’

  ‘Monrovia.’

  Chlöe chewed on it for a second. ‘So you named your dog after the capital city of your country?’

  ‘Not me. His real owner.’

  ‘Who’s his real owner? Is that him over there?’ Chlöe tipped her chin in the direction of a photograph on the bookcase. It had to have been taken some time ago. A younger Voinjama and an even taller man had their arms around each other, grinning at the camera. ‘He looks a lot like you. Oi, wait, is that your brother? I didn’t know you had a brother. Is he older? Older brothers suck so bad. What’s his name? Where is he?’

  Vee caressed the lump on her head. ‘His name is Quincy. Yes, he is older, and I don’t know where he is. I’m not sure.’

  ‘What d’you mean you’re not sure? How can you not know where your own brother is?’

  ‘Bishop, please.’ Looking worn and strangely sad, Vee angled a nod towards the kitchen. ‘Keep your mouth busy and get something to eat. You must be starving. Right now our lunch is rotting in a trash can.’

  Chlöe microwaved rice and a savoury mix of greens with chicken from the fridge and barely made it past three mouthfuls. She sprinted back to the kitchen.

  ‘Flip, that was hot! What’s in there, devil’s blood?’ she called as she made herself a sandwich. ‘No wonder you kick ass so well. You eat live coals.’

  When she came out of the kitchen, Vee was asleep. Chlöe had to keep nudging her every twenty minutes. By five o’clock, she couldn’t keep her eyes from drifting to the clock on the wall.

  ‘You should go. I’ll be fine. Connie will babysit me tonight,’ Vee said.

  ‘She should already be here. How many fingers do you see?’

  ‘Get out, Bish.’

  Chlöe rooted through her bag. ‘Take these. They’re my mum’s. They’ll help with the pain … and, y’know, bringing down the intensity of all your feels. Only take one.’

  Vee examined the pill bottle with a highly suspicious look in the one orbital that wasn’t swollen. ‘What you doin’ with your Ma’s drugs, Chlöe?’

  ‘You left your brains on the sidewalk, bosslady. Don’t question shit you can’t understand right now.’ Chlöe hugged her, feeling guilty for leaving. She didn’t dare offer to stay. Today was evidence that beneath Vee’s mellow exterior lay a molten reservoir of otherness she wasn’t equipped to handle. Best she did as she was told.

  ‘I’m really sorry that I didn’t help you more today. I really tried,’ she said on her way out.

  ‘I’m sorry I didn’t let you. Next time.’ Vee gave her the most pathetic version of a wink Chlöe had ever seen.

  27

  Serena watched the couple in the parking lot. It was obvious they were eviscerating each other. Five minutes in each other’s company was all it took to set them off. They had begun with that rubbish couples did in public, whisper-fighting and cold-shouldering. Now the gloves were off. The woman was half out of her coat, the brown sleeve that had no arm in it flapping in the wind like an injured bird. Her colouring was high and hair whipped about her face; every now and again she had to stop flailing her hands as she shouted to yank her hair behind her ears.

  The man was struggling to keep calm. He said something that made her turn away. He kept talking to her back, and then made the mistake of laying a hand on it. She whipped around and yelled in his face, jabbing her finger at his chest, her face crumbling.

  ‘I hate it when they do this in public. They don’t even try to hide it any more.’ Serena turned away from the window, a fist forming in her breast.

  Etienne Matongo, the deputy head of security, dropped a hand on her shoulder and squeezed. Serena watched her father try to pull her sobbing mother into his arms as she fought him off. Good thing it was after 8 p.m., when the car park was all but empty and most of WI’s night staff was inside. So much for a peaceful evening at home, everyone pretending to be marginally sane. She’d ditched her friends and left campus so she could surprise her parents after work, spend quality time with them like a good daughter. Now there was this to look forward to instead, an atmosphere stuck through with razor blades.

  ‘This time of year is hard for them,’ said Etienne. His bass sunk his voice extra deep and at times Serena struggled to follow the strong lilt of French and Congolese. ‘They must come inside this place every day, a place that reminds them of their love for your brother. It is not easy.’

  Serena hung her head. It was true. Sean’s charm had marinated into every part of their lives. A lot of people at th
e WI, the likes of Etienne who had known him too, remembered how great her brother had been.

  ‘We don’t talk about him any more. We either fight or keep our mouths closed so that the wrong thing doesn’t come out. Nothing gets said.’ Tearful rage snagged at her words. ‘Sometimes I just want to talk about it, to scream out everything once and for all.’

  She stared into Etienne’s eyes, eyes that were, like hers, heavy with worry and fear. ‘Do you ever feel like that? That you can’t hold things in for one more second, that you have to let it out or it’ll kill you?’

  ‘The heart is a big place, but it cannot hold everything forever. Even big hearts must put down the load and rest one day.’

  They both turned to the window and gazed out at the lot, unable to look at each other.

  ‘Do people in your country believe the truth will set you free?’

  Etienne sighed. ‘I have seen many bad things in my country, Serena, as I am sure many have seen in other places. Bad things can happen anywhere, but it is up to one person to choose how the future will go. So, yes, ma petite, I think all over this world people believe the truth can make you go free. If you don’t trust it, you can never trust yourself.’

  Hot tears spilled over Serena’s lids. She swiped at her face angrily with the sleeve of her biker jacket. ‘How do you know … when do you feel it’s right to let go?’

  ‘I do not know that,’ he replied. A muscular arm reached over and gave her more pats on the shoulder. ‘But when you know it is time, come to me. I can help.’

  He produced one of the paper towels that came from the dispensers all around the hospital and passed it to her. ‘Now, please, take your parents home.’