Jaz & Miguel

by Raven, R. D.

  Abbey laughed calmly. "Oh, please."

  "Yeah, yeah, he did," said Jaz.

  Miguel grabbed Abbey by the lapels, just strongly enough to get a message across. "In fact, I could fucking swear you wanted to have sexual intercourse without consent. Do you know what that means? And, don't forget, you are among a group of people here"—Miguel gestured with his eyes toward the other students hanging out—"who don't take lightly to people like that. Sure, you could fight it out in court—but you'd have to get to that courtroom first. And there's also a march on outside, just waiting for an excuse like you to start swinging their

  knobkerries. From what I could see, they'll be going past the gate any moment now."

  Abbey pried Miguel's hands off of him, his smile gone. He tipped his head. "Ladies. Mr. Pinto." He walked off, scribbling away at his notepad and digging in his pants pocket.

  What if he had been recording that?

  "Where did you come from?" asked Thandie. Jaz looked down at the grass again. This was all just too much for her, and it was simply too hard to look directly at Miguel.

  "I've been looking for Sandile for an hour. He's not answering his phone. Have you seen him?" Miguel was talking to Thandie, not to Jaz.

  "I saw him talking to Tsepho by the theater some time ago. When is that moron going to get the point?" said Thandie. The Wits Theater was by the main gate.

  "Probably never." Miguel's voice was cold. "Anyway, Tsepho's a fly—half the time zonked out on tik. He doesn't even know what he's doing most of the time."

  Tik?

  "Hey, Jaz," he said as a greeting. The words hit Jaz like a stake to the ground.

  "H—hey," she said.

  She'd wanted to say more—she really did—but she only sat there, her knees to her chest, her chin to her knees, her hands incessantly pulling little blades of grass out the ground.

  "Well, I'll check out the main gate then," he said.

  Jaz clenched her teeth and said nothing. From the corner of her eyes she stared at Miguel's Nike high-tops as he walked off.

  "What's tik?" asked Jaz.

  "Something you never want to take!"

  Thandie went back to reading, and Jaz was in no mood to call him back to give him his Kindle. Besides, he hadn't asked for it either.

  Minutes of silence went by.

  A trickle of sweat from the scorching dry heat broke its way down Jaz's temple. She licked her lips and tasted salt. Thandie said nothing.

  And then she heard it: a pop, then another. And a third.

  Then screeching tires.

  The heads of some of the kids in front of her turned like the sound had been something important. Fireworks?

  Some students started running toward the sounds.

  Jaz looked at Thandie. Her eyes were wide as she sat there processing the information. "Those were gunshots," she said. "Maybe from the march? Or police-fire to disperse the crowd?"

  Jaz felt a whir of foreboding in her chest.

  And then she heard the other thing—Miguel's unmistakable wails piercing through the Jozi heat, reaching her ears like a galvanizing command, saying only one thing to her: run!

  TWENTY-THREE

  Jaz went into a dream-state where everything happened at once and nothing happened at all. All she would later remember of the first few nanoseconds of it was something drumming at the bottom of her ribcage like bongo drums or a buzzing pinwheel or the rubbing of cricket wings. Later, she reasoned it had probably been a combination of panic and tears knocking away at her chest which had left her with a feeling of not being sure if she should scream, cry, laugh, puke or just simply explode with terror.

  A coil sprung in her legs and, before she knew it, she was up. As far as she could remember, she hadn't pushed herself up with her hands, she'd just simply landed on her feet.

  People rushed past them, all heading in the direction of the main gate.

  The main gate. Right. There had been a gunshot—three gunshots.

  Miguel!

  She ran.

  For the briefest of moments, and for reasons beyond her comprehension, she stopped, and thought that she should get his Kindle—like getting his fucking Kindle would in some way bring him back to life if he had been shot?

  What the—? She was disoriented. It was Thandie's hand that got her moving again. Right, they were moving, in the direction of the gate, to face whatever happened.

  Oh ... God ... no. Please, God, no!

  Her body careened forward. She ran past the pond and the fountains, her legs burning with lactic acid, then past the physics lab on her left—running, running, running! Now her lungs also burned. Shadows of the adjacent buildings covered her, cooling her skin as she made it to the alley between the Great Hall and the Humphrey Raikes hall. Some students were only jogging, others—the rugby players and soccer players—sprinted so fast that they'd long since overtaken her. The theater was up ahead, only eighty more yards or so and she'd be there, at the turn. She heard Miguel scream again.

  Jaz couldn't get there soon enough and yet felt a fist of dread punch against her chest, warning her not to look at what was coming. As she ran, she heard the cries of protesters far in the distance as well.

  As far as she could tell, Thandie was running behind her. She heard Miguel's voice again. Was it his voice?

  "Nooooooooooooo! Noooooooooooo!"

  It was. It was his voice. He sounded strong and healthy, so if he'd been shot, then it would not have been in the chest.

  But then—her mind still racing and her body only forty yards from the turn before she'd see the main gate—her legs felt suddenly even weaker and she felt her arms start to shake because ... Miguel was still moaning.

  Something wasn't right.

  Maybe Miguel had not been shot.

  But if he hadn't, then who had?

  Suddenly, she felt an even stronger dread, as if her mind had—in the fractions of moments that had since passed—almost come to terms with what she was to do. She had thought it fully out in her head. If Miguel had been shot, she would've run to him, grabbed him, given someone her phone and told them to call ... 911 or whomever they called down here! Then she would've held him, and somehow willed him to stay alive.

  She had worked this out. This had been her plan.

  Now she found herself rethinking the plan through. What if it had been someone else? What would she do then? And if it had been someone else, then who?

  She had no time left. She was at the turn. A mob of students were at the main gate, blocking the view to the street. She couldn't see around them. They were all so tall! She was hurtling down the slightly inclined road when her right leg landed awkwardly and, before she knew it, her body was leaning at an uncontrollable angle and she careened forward onto the hot tar, ripping the skin from her palms and bouncing with a painful thud on her right knee.

  She tumbled.

  Thandie paused to help when Jaz told her, "Go! Go! Go!" Then Candy was at her side, helping her up while Maxine and Stefan wriggled through the crowd at the gate.

  Thandie forced her way through while Jaz got up, grimacing. The protesters' cries had become even louder—but they were still far away. Jaz's knee twanged and she struggled to walk.

  Then she heard it—and received an answer to the question she'd been subconsciously asking herself. It was Thandie's voice. "Oh, my god, NO! Sandile! No!" Thandie was screaming, in shock, in pain, in terror. "Sandile!"

  Sandile?

  Jaz hobbled through the growing throng of students behind the gate, security trying to hold them back, Candy muscling some of the students out of the way.

  And then she saw it. An instant impression of the image said all it needed to for her to understand: Miguel on his knees, tears streaming down his cheeks, his head bowed in defeat, and Sandile's red-soaked body in his arms, his head back, motionless, while Miguel rocked his own body back and forth, crying out to anyone who'd listen.

  Maxine started to scream, her hands to her open mouth. Stefan
held her and eased her back into the gate. Candy stood shocked, seemingly incapable of accepting or understanding what she was looking at. Thandie was on her knees, tears falling from the unmistakable clarity of what she was looking at.

  Then Jaz saw the other thing: a throng of people with signs and knobkerries and sticks convulsing into a panic about ten blocks away—the protestors! It had not been they who'd shot Sandile—that much was clear; they were too far away. But whoever did, had galvanized them into action.

  She needed to get Miguel out of here, behind the gates! Everyone needed to get behind the gates!

  "Get back behind the gates! There's a mob on the way!" she screamed. Some listened, others only looked at her. Candy remained paralyzed.

  Miguel laid his hand on Sandile's chest, then put his forehead on it. He shook his head. He laid him down gently and then stood up. Blood marred his complexion; his chest heaved as he looked frantically around for something—an unreasoning fury burning in his eyes. His eyes locked on something, across the street at the Caltex gas station.

  It was ... that reporter. That fucking reporter was standing there, a camera to his eyes, shooting, shooting, shooting—shooting Miguel and then Jaz and then the protestors in the distance. And as Miguel looked at him, the reporter—that Abbey—just shot some more.

  Miguel pointed at the man.

  Miguel: "You. You just watched. You could have done something!"

  The reporter stepped back, still firing away. Miguel ran after him. Some looting from the protestors had begun in the distance. She heard police sirens and a bullhorn and a window smashing.

  Miguel—at the gas station on the other side of the street now—caught Abbey and flung him against a pump. The man's head hit it and then hit the ground like a ragdoll. Miguel kicked him, red rage burning in him as his leg swung at the guy like a ten-ton pendulum. Then he grabbed his camera and threw it across the street as if it were a cricket ball.

  It smashed.

  Three other students were now also there—and Stefan. The other students also started kicking the reporter, but Stefan locked his arms around Miguel and pulled him back. Miguel's legs flailed as he struggled against him. "No, Miguel! It's not worth it!" shouted Stefan.

  This was not good. No, this was not good.

  Jaz knelt by Sandile's body. Her hand went to her mouth and she closed her eyes, not able to look any more at the bubbles that had formed on the blood on his chest and lips and head. There was so much blood she could not tell if he'd been shot in the chest or the stomach. His eyes were open, looking up at the cloudless sky. His glasses were on the floor.

  This cannot be happening.

  Then, gunfire. She looked to her right and saw a gas around the crowd as well—and now they were running! They were dispersing violently into the adjacent streets and some toward her. The security guards of the campus were telling all students to go inside. They were going to close the gates! They needed to get the fuck out of there!

  "Oh, my God!" And then a scream, from Nita. She was now also outside the gates, a high-pitched shrill pouring from her lungs, her hands to her mouth like Candy, staring at Sandile's body.

  "Nita, get inside!" shouted Jaz, but Nita didn't move.

  Jaz looked up and saw Abbey's body across the street being lifted by a small crowd of students which had since joined in, like he was a rock star riding a wave—but he was no rock star, and this was no wave. But she couldn't see Miguel. A mixture of students and pedestrians stood around her so that it was now impossible to tell who was who. A small crowd was forming.

  She looked again at Sandile. He was dead. This she could no longer deny.

  Sirens played in the distance. Some more shots were fired. By now, the fastest of the protestors were running past her. Then there were more people around her—crowding in. The heat and the smell of bodies made her nauseous. Nita's screaming stopped.

  "We have to move him," said Thandie, tears in her eyes.

  "Someone help us! We need to move him!" screamed Jaz. Without delay, two students were there—Stefan as well—helping them move Sandile's body inside. "Miguel! Miguel!" she shouted. He needed to get inside!

  "Miguel!"

  Someone pushed against her so heavily that she fell to the ground, her hand landing on Sandile's blood on the pavement. And then Nita's body crashed next to her, landing on her right shoulder, and Jaz saw her head hit the pavement, then a bounce, then her eyes rolling back, a drop of blood from her nose, then a foot on her waist but no expression of pain on Nita's face, a man stumbled and fell, he got up, looked briefly behind at the girl he'd just trampled, and ran!

  Jaz flung her body over Nita's protectively, hands and knees on the ground, Nita below her, and screamed for help.

  Too much was happening at once now for her to accurately process.

  "Help! Someone help!" More and more protestors were running past them now. Jaz looked up. Only bodies around her now—running, sprinting from the gunfire and teargas and the bullhorn! Then three more students were around her, two grabbed Nita while the third ran interference. Someone ran into him and the student pushed the guy down. Then two other protesters started hitting that student!

  Jaz was losing orientation.

  "Miguel!" Her voice was drowned by a cacophony of gunshots, cheering, shouting, chanting, hooting, breaking windows, a crash of metal against a wall, a bullhorn, sirens, sirens, another siren, now an ambulance siren, then a police car, grunts, moans, fighting, scuffles, a punch, things said in African languages, a swearword she recognized—

  And where was Candy? Where was Stefan?

  "Miguel!!!" Her voice was hoarse, her body squashed between bodies.

  Two hands grabbed her and turned her. It was Miguel.

  Fucking Christ Almighty thank God you're alright.

  Miguel's face was grimy, smudged with blood and black dirt. "You need to get out of here. Go!" he urged as he shook her by the shoulders. People pushed against them and became more violent.

  Jaz grabbed Miguel's soaking shirt with a grip like a Rottweiler's teeth into meat. "No. Fucking. Ways! You're coming with me. I can't lose two people in one day!" Her words came from clenched teeth and she tugged at him with all her might as she said them.

  Miguel's eyes flicked around. "OK, let's go," he said, putting his arm around her and forcing his way through the crowd to behind the gates. Four security guards opened them up for them, keeping the non-students out.

  Miguel was in. But two thoughts came to Jaz before she was fully inside: the other students still outside, and that camera. Whatever happened would be on that camera! She couldn't let that be published—Sandile didn't deserve that! She tore herself from Miguel and jostled her way through the mob to get to it.

  Miguel called her. She shouted back, "Just go! I'll be right there."

  "Jaz!"

  Jaz wrestled and fought and struggled and made it through to where Miguel had thrown the camera. There were too many people now. If the camera was here—or even just the smashed parts of it with the SD card—then it could've been kicked anywhere. People jostled and pushed around her.

  Then more gunshots. Crowd dispersal. Now space where before were legs. Jaz saw the student who'd run interference earlier, on the ground, blood on his lips, but he was breathing. And Candy also, holding her ribs, leaning against a wall—oh, no.

  "Candy!"

  Runners pushed Jaz against the Palisade fence as they went past her, one person elbowing her in the stomach. Then there was almost no one around her again—all of them having now moved twenty yards back, chanting and swinging their sticks in the air and singing and stamping their feet on the ground like a war cry.

  "Jaz, what the fuck are you doing?!" It was Miguel, shouting from behind the gates. The security guards weren't letting him out.

  She looked at him and then at the ground for the camera, then at him. Someone must've kicked it away. It could be anywhere!

  And then she saw him: Abbey! He was limping, soaked in blood, and hol
ding onto a wall across the street, the camera parts clutched in his hands. Jaz twitched forward toward him—

  Crash! Someone's shoulder blasted into her neck, momentarily lifting her off the ground—then she landed on her back, woozy. This was followed by an incongruous volley of apologies from probably the very person who'd just hit her. "I'm sorry! I'm so sorry!" The person tried to help her up but then gave up when Jaz's delirium prevented her from moving.

  More gunshots.

  A police bullhorn telling the crowd to move.

  "Jaz!!" Miguel's voice.

  She got up on her elbows, her vision hazy. Dozens—hundreds?—of people were charging toward her, eyes filled with panic as they ran from the pop of rubber bullets bursting behind them like kernels of popcorn. She saw one man fall on the ground and tumble. Her breath caught with panic as the inevitability of what was about to happen hit her: she was either going to be trampled, or shot.

  Then she felt her body being lifted so that only her heels were on the ground and someone had their hands underneath her armpits, dragging her away like a sack of potatoes. She looked up.

  It was Miguel. He was dragging her! She caught her composure again and got herself to her feet and ran for the gate, some other students had grabbed Candy and pulled her in. As they all got inside, a swarm of runners raced past them.

  Someone was giving CPR to Nita. Stefan and Candy were on the ground but conscious, groaning. She saw Thandie, next to Sandile.

  Then an ambulance siren. Since they'd gotten through the gate, a new wave of protestors had formed outside, as if they came in tides, dispersing with bullets and then reforming almost immediately after.

  Miguel dropped down on his knees next to Thandie.

  He shook his head and grabbed Thandie's hand. He rested his other hand on Sandile's chest.

  Thandie was bawling, her other palm to her eyes.

  Miguel … was silent.