Pop wipes the drop off with his sleeve.
‘Still is the night,’ Treppie starts singing.
‘Pop,’ says Treppie, ‘Pop, where’s your mouth organ? Hey, Pop, don’t go to sleep now, man. The night’s still young. Where’s your mouth organ?’
‘Leave him,’ says Mol.
‘You leave your glass, Ma,’ says Lambert. ‘That’s what you must leave, now, right this second! Go cut the grass, so we can get some peace around here!’
‘Sweet the moments, rich in blessing,’ Treppie sings. ‘Hell, but I feel like singing tonight.’ He gets up and pours himself another drink. ‘I feel like singing, singing and dancing. Waltzing. I feel like waltzing. And you, Mol, you also feel like waltzing?
‘Waltzing Mathilda, waltzing Mathilda,’ sings Treppie. He does a few steps with his arms held out. ‘Click-click’ go the blocks on the floor.
‘Outside! Get outside and finish the grass! Now!’ Lambert shouts. He plucks his mother up and pushes her out the front door, slamming it behind her. This is no time for dancing.
He watches her through the window. She stands on the stoep with her hands against her sides. Her one side is yellow from the stoep-light. Her other side is blue from the moon. Slowly she moves towards the moon’s side. Where the fuck does she think she’s going now? The mower’s right in front of the stoep. What’s wrong with the old bitch tonight? She must work the machine. She must make a noise. She mustn’t go wandering around now. It’s now or never. He goes out the front and starts the engine. His mother wants to get away from him. She grabs the mower and quickly pushes it away. ‘That’s more like it!’ he shouts after her. Then he goes inside and watches her through the side window in the lounge as she cuts the grass on the moon’s side. The lawn’s looking nice and even. Except for the patch where the grass grows long, near his scrapheap. All Flossie’s old parts. Pieces of the old Austin for just in case. He always keeps things for just in case. Then he knows he can look for things in the scrapheap. But he doesn’t always find what he’s looking for ’cause the grass grows too long around his stuff. Then he burns the grass. When he does that, everything else burns as well. All the metal stuff, till everything’s pitch black. But the grass has to be short, otherwise things get lost.
There she starts on the patches of grass around the scrapheap. Yes, he’s been waiting for it – right over a piece of iron. The engine dies. Sounds like a blade has gone too. Here she comes now, pulling that thing behind her again. He walks to the front window to watch her. She’s standing on the stoep. She’s sniffing, but she doesn’t come inside. She turns around. Then her eyes open wide. She didn’t think he’d stand here at the window and watch her! The old cunt looks scared out of her mind. He must go fix her up.
‘Nearly finished, nearly finished,’ she says as he comes out.
‘This is the last time, you hear me! The last time! You’re looking for me, Ma, and if you look for me you’re going to get me! You’re going to get me!’
‘Okay, okay, Lambert. Just start it for me. Quickly.’
Her hands show he mustn’t hit her, she’ll cut, she’ll cut till she falls over, but she’ll cut. She’s nicely broken in. That’s the way it should be. At least there’s one person in this house who does what he says.
It’s long after twelve. Lambert’s peeping over the prefab wall. He’s wearing nothing but his shorts. The moonlight’s bright now, but it’s still hot. His mother gave him no more trouble. She cut the grass obediently, but nothing further happened, and he began to get sick of starting up the engine all the time. So when Pop said it was time to go to bed he was actually glad. His mother was ready to fall over in any case. And Treppie was so drunk, he’d started shoving handfuls of grass into his mouth, ‘mooing’ like a cow on the front lawn. He had to help Pop carry Treppie inside, the mad wanker. They’re all sleeping now. The house is dark. Now he can peep over the wall in peace. Why Fort Knox stopped complaining he still doesn’t know. Must’ve had too much beer.
It smells of cut grass where he’s standing. They’re playing light music next door. He stretches his neck.
First he sees nothing. Then Blue Bikini and Speedo come shuffling past. Speedo’s got both his hands on her bum. Lambert can see he’s working her bum again. They’re dancing so close you can’t see Speedo’s bulge any more.
The faces aren’t visible but he can hear them kissing – it’s a sucking and spitting sound, like eating a mushy guava, as Treppie always says. Mushy guava and cucumber power.
Pink Bikini and Blue Jeans lie on a blanket. They’re kissing. All he can see is their legs, as far as their backsides. The flap of the canvas sail over the fast-food stand blocks his view. He can see legs folding over each other and feet clawing and curling into each other. The Cotton Prints and the Paunches are nowhere to be seen. Must be sleeping by now. Jesus, he wishes he could see a bit better. If he could just get a bit higher he’d be able to see over the top of the sail. But then he’d have to stand on the prefab wall and he wouldn’t have anything to hold on to.
He goes to his den and fetches some beer crates. He stacks six of them on top of each other, against the wall. Like this he’ll be able to hold on to the gutter with his one hand. But how’s he going to get up the crates? He fetches another three crates to use as a step.
He lifts himself on to the stack of crates by climbing on to the lower lot first. Now he’ll be able to see what’s what in Fort Knox! He’ll be two crates higher than the prefab wall.
As he finds his footing on the topmost crate something starts to wobble underneath him. He grabs the gutter and holds on, but he’s falling. He sees the wall and the middle food stand coming towards his face. It’s the hamburger stand. More than half his body’s already over the wall. He makes a grab for the canvas sail. ‘Crack!’ goes the frame. ‘Grrrts’ goes the flap as it tears in his hands. First he falls a dent into the hamburger stand, then he thuds down on to next door’s cement floor.
The next thing he hears are the screams of the bikini girls.
‘Kiepie, Johnny! Come quickly, it’s that piece of shit from next door again,’ shouts Speedo.
Oh fuck me, Jesus, what now? He’s jammed between the hamburger stand and next door’s wall. His one side’s on the cement, and now he can’t move. He’d better get a move on, fast! Now he’s really gone and made big shit. And now their fucken dog’s gunning for him too, biting and barking from under the hamburger stand.
‘Voetsek! Voetsek!’ Lambert shouts. He flexes his body and kicks wildly at the dog, making more dents in the stand. Speedo and Blue Jeans are worming their way between the wall and the stands from both sides to get at him. He lunges for the top of the wall. It’s easily two heads higher than on the Benades’ side. He heaves himself up, gets his feet on to the stall, and pushes himself right over the wall. But before he can clear it, someone gets hold of one of his feet. He gives a hard kick backwards and feels his foot sink into someone’s warm, wet mouth.
‘My tooth, my tooth, my fucken tooth!’ one of them shouts, letting go of Lambert’s foot.
He falls head first between the two heaps of crates. The skin on his skull splits open and warm blood runs down his face. His foot throbs from the kick. What the hell’s he going to do now? His head feels dizzy. Speedo and Blue Jeans are screaming at him over the wall. He sees their arms waving in the air. Then he sees Treppie’s light coming on. Within seconds Treppie’s outside.
‘What the hell’s going on now?’ he shouts in a voice that sounds like it’s breaking.
‘I fell!’ says Lambert.
Blue Bikini’s head pops up over the wall. She’s as blonde as a Barbie doll.
‘Fell? The hell with fell! He was peeping at us! The fucken pig was peeping, that’s what he was doing!’
Five heads pop up over the wall – Speedo, Blue Jeans, Pink Bikini, Kiepie and Johnny. There’s blood running from Speedo’s mouth and nose and he’s spitting out red gobs. The Fort Knox people are on top of the food stands, shouting and poin
ting at Lambert, who’s still on the ground, holding his head with one hand and his foot with the other.
‘He fell straight into his glory!’ says Little Flowers, whose head also pops up now.
‘He fell smack on his backside, that’ll teach him!’ says Big Flowers, joining the Fort Knox party. Little Flowers and Big Flowers are both in their nighties.
Speedo’s been back inside to change his shirt and put on a pair of jeans. He looks a sight. The whole of one side of his face is swollen. He grabs the prefab wall and climbs to the top.
Through the blood running down his face, Lambert sees him grab on to the gutter. Just two big movements and Speedo’s on top of the Benades’ roof.
‘Come,’ he says to Blue Jeans. ‘Come up here with me. Give me your hand, I’ll pull you up. Then we’ll see what happens to people who peep, to fuckers who peep at other people when they’re braaiing.’
‘Ja!’ says Kiepie.
‘Ja!’ says Johnny. ‘Let’s show them what happens.’
‘Just look at our sail!’ says Big Flowers, standing there in her flimsy yellow nightie.
‘Just look at our stand,’ says Little Flowers in her green nightie.
Pink Bikini, who still hasn’t said anything, comes storming out with a glass vase and throws it, ‘bam! ting-a-ling’, right through the den’s side window, glass flying everywhere.
‘Take that, you filthy rubbish!’ she shouts. ‘It’s ’cause you fucked up our whole night!’
Pop comes out the back door. His mouth hangs open. He’s in his shirt and socks.
Then Mol pushes past Pop. She holds the flaps of her housecoat together.
‘Lambert,’ she says. ‘Lambert, get up.’
‘Ja,’ shouts Speedo from the roof. ‘Get up, you fucken freak, so you can see what we do to people who break our things!’
‘And to people who peep at us when we braai!’ screams Pink Bikini.
‘Here we go!’ shouts Speedo.
‘Hoooo-haaa!’ shouts Blue Jeans. They run around on the roof.
‘Crack!’ they break off the TV aerial.
‘Crack!’ they flatten the overflow.
‘Crack! Crack! Crack!’ they rip the gutters out of their brackets and throw them, ‘bam! bam! bam!’, on to the ground.
‘Come!’ says Pop, pulling Mol by the sleeve.
‘Come!’ he says to Treppie, pulling him by the sleeve as well.
‘Come, we’re going inside. Lambert, come now!’ Pop says. But Lambert doesn’t want to go inside. He’s limping along the side of the house to see what they’re doing on the roof, in front. He knows his rights. What they’re doing now is not an accident, it’s malicious damage to property. That’s how Treppie explained it to him last time. This bunch from Fort Knox are breaking their house down, deliberately. With intent.
Lambert runs out the front gate to go phone the police. The women across the road must just let him phone now. But they say no, they’ll phone themselves. It’s ’cause they don’t want him in their house. He knows, he’s seen how they spray stuff to get rid of his smell when he leaves. ‘Jesus, but he honks,’ he even heard one of them say.
‘Ag, thank you very much,’ he says to the short thick-set one who comes to open the door. ‘Thank you, man, but they must come quick. We’re under siege here!’
The tall one dials one-one-one-one-one-one on the phone in the passage. He hears her say something about a ‘domestic disturbance across the street here’.
‘What!’ he shouts. ‘It’s a fucken war, man!’ He shouts at the top of his voice so the police can hear. Domestic disturbance, my fucken foot!
He runs outside again. Speedo and them are back on the ground and they’re busy in front now. They’re actually breaking his postbox. ‘Zack! Zack! Zack!’ go the little iron struts as Speedo breaks them off, one by one. Then he stands back a bit, dances towards the postbox at an angle and gives it a big Kung Fu kick. Lambert watches as the postbox and the platform fall right off the pole and on to the grass. One shot.
He stays where he is in the garden across the road, just behind the gate. But they’ve seen him.
‘Come here, you fucken fat pig, so we can smash you up a bit,’ shouts Blue Jeans.
‘Yes, come here, you waste of a white skin who peeps at us when we braai!’ shouts Speedo.
Waste yourself. He’s not going to move an inch.
Here come the police now. They come from all sides, in yellow vans and yellow-and-blue Flying Squad Golfs. Looks like a bunch of Coloured cops again. No, there’re two whites among them.
‘Evening, evening,’ say the men from the different cars. They know 127 Martha Street very well. But they never do anything. No one ever wants to lay a charge or make a case. It costs too much money. So they come and calm things down a bit, see that no one gets hurt too badly.
The whole lot from Fort Knox are in the street now. They’re waiting for him, Lambert, to come out. He knows the two from across the road are watching him as he stands here behind their front gate. Pop and Mol and Treppie are also outside. They stand on the front stoep, holding on to each other’s sleeves. They’re also waiting to see if he’ll come out.
Well, then, in that case he might as well do it. And let’s see if Johnny has the nerve to grab him by the throat, here in front of the police. The police won’t let them punch him around. They look cool, those police. They stand around with cigarettes, calming people down with their hands.
Toby and Gerty run up and down the lawn, barking.
Little Flowers looks like she’s flipped completely. She walks in circles around the Fort Knox bunch, who are now closing in on him. ‘Slip-slop’ go her slippers on the tar. They grab him and start pushing him around.
‘Knock him for a six, Johnny, knock him! Knock his fucken block off!’ Pink Bikini’s hair looks wild. She’s explaining to the constables. What does she know, anyway?
‘And it was my anniversary, my party for my first anniversary. And then he started peeping at us.’
‘Ja,’ says Johnny, ‘he peeps at us every time we braai, for years and years now, the fucken rubbish.’
‘They broke our window, on purpose,’ says Lambert. He knows that doing things on purpose makes a difference.
‘That was my fucken vase, my vase that I got for my anniversary!’ screams Pink Bikini. ‘What were we supposed to do? He came over our wall and jumped on the hamburger stand. So I threw him with the vase!’
‘Self-defence!’ says Johnny.
‘They broke our pipe, on purpose,’ says Lambert, pointing to the roof so the policemen can see.
‘Fuck your pipe, man,’ says Johnny, ‘and fuck you too, with or without a pipe!’
‘My mom and them are old, and now the TV’s broken and there’s no overflow on the geyser any more,’ says Lambert.
‘Ag, man, your mother’s cunt!’ shouts Speedo. ‘Your mother’s hairy arse!’
Lambert sees people coming out of their houses all the way up and down Martha Street. Dogs are barking for blocks around. Couples coming home late from their Saturday night dates stop their cars to look. They switch off the car radios so they can listen.
He breaks loose. His mother and them must come now. Why should he take the shouting all on his own? They’re also in this. But they don’t want to come out. They just move a little closer to the wire fence.
‘Just check, old Lambert,’ shouts Treppie. ‘People think we’re famous. Check all the people, Lambert. The fucken Benades’ fucken late night show! Scenes from forthcoming attractions. Bladdy movie stars, that’s what we are!’
Fuck Treppie. He’s fucken drunk and now he’s shooting his mouth off too.
‘What about our sail, hey? What about our stand, hey? Hey?’ says Johnny Paunch, pushing Lambert around. The constables hold Johnny back.
‘Come, Johnny, it’s enough now,’ says Kiepie.
‘Yes, enough,’ says Big Flowers. ‘The police also have to sleep.’ She smiles at the constable. Who does she think she is?
>
‘It was a plain accident,’ says Lambert. ‘There was no intention.’
‘No intention’s backside, you hear me, it’s backside! You, you peep at us when we braai!’ It’s Blue Bikini shouting at him now. She’s wearing a man’s shirt over her bikini.
‘Hit him, hit him, Johnny. Knock the daylights out of him,’ shouts Little Flowers. She still hasn’t stopped walking around in circles in the street.
‘Tell Lambert he must come inside now,’ he hears his mother say. ‘Come, Pop, tell him to come inside now.’ His people move a little closer.
Pop’s mouth hangs open.
‘Button up your pants and go and tell him now,’ says Treppie.
Pop walks up to the gate. He holds on to the fence with one hand and buttons up his pants with the other. He nudges the postbox with his foot, pushing it out of his way. It lies on the grass, its little arms sticking out in all directions.
‘Peeep’ goes the front gate as Pop carefully pushes it open. Lambert sees Pop coming. Pop works his way through the people, through big shoulders in uniforms. He pushes his way through, so he can get to Lambert in the middle. Then he finds Lambert’s elbow.
‘Come now, my boy,’ he says. ‘Come inside now. Everything’s over. It’s okay now. Just come inside.’
Pop pulls him out, backwards, backwards, away from the mob of people standing there. Some of them follow him, trying to block his way.
‘Just you peep at us once more when we braai, you fucken rubbish!’ says Johnny, who keeps following them as Pop pulls him further away.
‘Next time we’ll break your fucken overflow right off for you,’ says Blue Jeans.
‘We’ll pull your wire right out next time! Out, once and for all, you hear me!’ Speedo shouts into his face.
‘So you can stop peeping at us when we braai,’ say the two Bikinis, together.
‘Hey, you lot,’ says Big Flowers, ‘leave the poor bastard now. Leave him. That’s enough now. Come inside.’
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