The Peculiars

by Jen Thorpe

  She took another step towards the Centre and could finally look inside. The interior seemed dim against the glare of the patio light. She could see about ten people filling in forms handed to them by the receptionist. She looked grandmotherly – comforting and calm. Nazma hated filling in forms and always seemed to mess them up. She’d run out of blocks for her details and would end up squishing them into a tiny space on the paper. Or she’d write her full name in her surname box or her postal address where her residential address should be. The rigidity of tiny blocks didn’t seem to match the way her mind worked.

  She could smell a cigarette behind her. She thought of sitting on the stoep in Westbrook when she was little, her grandfather smoking behind her. They used to watch dolphins and whales. The sea breeze and cigarettes would forever be coupled in her memory. Now, the wind blew the smoke smell away quicker than she would have liked and she turned to see where it was coming from.

  The smoker’s eyebrows were unruly, like fine veld grass pointing in whichever direction it was blown. He didn’t look much older than her, but he was a lot taller. As he exhaled another breath of smoke, Nazma compared their respective nervousness. In her last few seconds of sizing him up she noticed he chewed his nails too. She turned back around, not wanting to be rude. It was her turn to step into the building, and she didn’t have time to look back again before she was inside.

  She removed her earphones from her ears and switched off her music. The interior of the Centre was a relief. An old gas heater crackled in the corner, and the room smelled inexplicably like laundry. The ceiling was low, and though she was short she felt the need to stoop. Stairs led up from the reception area to the offices above. The room had a bay window and a large kitchen, making her think it must have been a family home before it was a help centre. A garden at the back was visible through a window, but the outside lights did not illuminate it enough for her to see the extent of it.

  The old man was in front of her, his cane balanced against a bookcase while he sat on a chair completing the form. Sitting down, he seemed less aggressive. The cane was cracked at the bottom and the gilded handle was embossed. She leant closer to read it. To Simon, my support. She suddenly felt guilty for judging him. Maybe it was an accident that he tripped those people. Maybe he was coughing, not laughing. His hands were wrinkled and frail, and she felt sad that he could be so old yet still so afraid of something. She wondered if the person who gave him the cane was still around or whether he was all alone. He stood shakily after completing his form and turned to go out, unsteady without the support of his cane. She reached for it to pass it to him.

  ‘What are you doing?’ he growled.

  ‘I’m sorry … I noticed … Would you like some help getting out?’

  ‘Don’t be stupid, girlie,’ he sneered. ‘I’m fine. And keep your eyes off that cane. Can’t get the gold off it anyway … I know what you’re after.’

  ‘I wasn’t … I’m not … you …’

  ‘Out of my way.’

  He pushed past Nazma and she didn’t know where to look. Heat flooded her face and tears sprang to her eyes. She tried to breathe normally but felt the pressure of the sob beneath her windpipe. A gruff voice drew her back into the room.

  ‘Don’t worry about him. He’s just old and grumpy. Come and sit down and fill in your form. It will be all right, come on now.’

  It was the receptionist. She had a kind smile and was gesturing for Nazma to sit down. Her name tag said ‘Mel’. Nazma sat down, her mind hazy with embarrassment. She began to fill in the form.

  Name: Nazma Matthews

  Surname: Matthews

  She couldn’t believe she had already messed up, and asked Mel for a new form. Mel said not to worry. ‘Everyone makes mistakes,’ she whispered in a nice kind of way, or at least Nazma took it like that.

  Age: 27

  Address: 8A Mountainview Road, Rondebosch

  Fear that you would like to talk about: I’m afraid of driving.

  Year that you first became afraid: 2 years ago.

  Was there any particular incident that brought on the fear? No. Just as soon as I got in the car to drive I became afraid.

  Have you been for any counselling? No.

  What actions have you taken to combat your fear? I have been for a lot of driving lessons. I’ve had 40 lessons now, maybe more. But I just drive around the block, and then I can’t do any more.

  Rate your feelings now:

  Done with the form, she looked up and saw that the woman who had been watching her from upstairs earlier was at the foot of the steps. Rich brown hair was bundled on top of her head and she was wearing a beautiful printed skirt – green and blue. She was striking up close, and, minus the pair of binoculars, had wide eyes that made you want to look into them.

  The rain began to beat harder against the patio windows and Nazma cringed at the thought of walking in it. She had told her dad she’d be home before dark, but the queue had taken so long that she’d have to call him to come and fetch her, though he must have assumed as much already. She stood up quickly, thrusting the paper into the receptionist’s hands and walking right into the smoker as he stepped forward, her face pressing against his chest. His shirt was softer than it looked. He smelled earthy, like dirt and pine and cigarettes. She took a deep breath without thinking, then pulled away to look up at him.

  ‘Sorry!’ She stepped back quickly and moved towards the red door, which at that point looked like a lifeline.

  As she rushed past, Mel called out to her, ‘Wait! Have something to eat before you go. Don’t get wet while you’re waiting for someone to come get you.’

  Nazma looked over in the direction Mel was pointing and, for the first time, noticed a tray of petits fours, red velvet cupcakes and macaroons on a table. Her stomach lurched with desire, and she wished she were somewhere baking those rather than standing in the Centre for Improved Living making a fool of herself.

  Thinking about how the smoker must have heard the man with the cane chastise her, and then feel her breathe him in, she was embarrassed all over again. He hadn’t said anything, just smiled. He had a gap between his front teeth. Not big, but noticeable. She looked at the woman from upstairs, waved, and walked out into the sopping night, dialling her dad for a lift as she walked. Hiding in the dark was better than being stared at in the light.

  3

  Sam

  Lygophobia: Fear of darkness

  Sam watched the girl go. He felt like he had seen her before but wasn’t sure where. He wished he’d said something, but couldn’t think of anything that would have been comforting. She seemed anxious, especially after that old man had had a go at her. What a knob. He stepped forward and received his form from Mel.

  His thoughts were still on the girl, wondering if she was okay. The rain was drumming on the windows and he was already dreading walking down a dark road to his car. He reached into his pocket, making sure it was there. He held it tightly, and then released it, taking his hand out of his pocket.

  He felt someone looking at him and saw that, behind Mel, a woman was staring. When he looked at her, she dropped her gaze and walked past him towards the kitchen.

  ‘Almost done, Ruby.’

  ‘Great, Mel.’

  ‘A cup of tea would be good.’

  ‘I’ll make you one.’

  She walked with grace, like a heron. She had an athletic body and was perhaps a bit older than him. He sucked in his stomach. Unable to keep that up for very long, he sat down and looked at his paper, picking up the pen.

  Name: Sam

  Surname: Edwards

  Age: 30

  Address: 9 Common Road, Rondebosch

  Fear that you would like to talk about: I’m afraid of crime – of being mugged or robbed. I can’t sleep at night without several alarms on in my house.

  Year that you first became afraid: About 9 months ago.

  Was there any particular incident that brought on the fear? My mom was mugged at knifepoi
nt about a year ago.

  Have you been for any counselling? No, I don’t think it would help.

  What actions have you taken to combat your fear? I installed an alarm in my house. And one on the balcony. And one in the door frame. And I have a portable panic button on my car keys.

  Rate your feelings now:

  He signed the form and stood up. Mel thanked him, and he walked over to the table for a cupcake, wondering if the rain would stop. The cupcake was over-iced but moist. Ruby was drinking her tea in the kitchen, flipping through a Clicks Club Card magazine, Mel’s tea steaming beside her.

  The cupcake was smaller than he’d thought, and he finished it quickly.

  ‘Good night, everyone.’ Sam gave a last nod to the others, and stepped outside into the night past the few remaining people still waiting to apply.

  Obs had a split personality. The day was friendly, welcoming, all chit-chat with strangers who were amiable and witty. Students visited the corner coffee shops and second-hand bookshops. Old, over-tanned men drank beers at sidewalk bars. The streets brimmed with hip young travellers. There was often an excess of tie-dye. But night time made shadows stretch out from under doors, waiting to wrap around the ankles of those who lingered for too long. Dark streets were lit by glowing cigarette cherries. On a rainy night, the neighbourhood appeared even more ominous.

  Sam estimated the danger level of being on this street, at this time. The rain meant there weren’t going to be as many people loitering about, which made him feel somewhat relieved. The road was dimly lit; many of the street-light covers were filled with water, their filaments flickering like eels in ponds, and immediately his heart began to race. The blood throbbing in his ears was deafening. He looked around him, double-checking for anyone else in the road, and put his hand in his pocket. He didn’t see anyone, so he moved off the Centre’s patio and walked towards his car. It wasn’t far away, just two blocks, at the bottom of the street. He gave himself the usual pep talk. ‘You can do this. You will be fine. Nobody is going to murder you. You can do this. You will be fine. You can do this. You will be fine …’

  His feet hit the pavement, crunching the loose tar beneath them. It echoed, and he turned around every few steps to look up the street, checking for people behind him. He was approaching the four-way stop. Four roads; four possibilities for someone to be waiting down one of them. His heart was beating so loudly he could hardly hear anything else. He launched into a quick jog and crossed the intersection, looking left and right. He saw a flash of movement and shouted ‘Hey!’ to scare the person off, but it was only a cat, her back raised in alarm. Feeling stupid, but not stupid enough to stop running, he continued to zigzag across the road – a tactic to make it more difficult for someone to chase him.

  When he was almost at his car, his jog turned into a sprint. He reached into his pocket for the keys but they dropped to the ground, skidding into a shallow puddle. Looking left and right again, Sam bent down to pick them up. He pressed the button and his Ford Fiesta peeped loudly. He climbed in, pressing the button again immediately to lock himself inside. He closed his eyes and rested his head against the headrest for a few seconds, slowing his breathing down, beginning to feel calmer.

  Sam turned on the ignition and windscreen wipers and pulled out into the road. The traffic lights were against him and turned to red just as he reached the intersection. He watched the wipers flick back and forth, repeating calming words to himself, feeling his breathing return to normal. A loud rap made him jump. He looked up to see a homeless woman standing at the passenger window of his car, making the sign of the cross. Her wrinkles were deep, her eyes bloodshot. He shrugged his shoulders sorry, and tried to look away.

  ‘Please. Please, just one rand for bread. I just want to buy bread. God will bless you, sir. It’s so cold and I just want a loaf of bread.’

  Her hair was wild, and she was wrapped in a blanket that could have once been grey. The hands that clutched the blanket were calloused, and her nails were long and yellow. If I’m scared in here, how does she feel out there?

  ‘Please. God will bless you. I don’t do crime. Please, I just ask for bread. I just want something to eat.’

  He reached for his wallet, pulled out a ten-rand note, and opened the window slightly. He passed the money through the slit, her long nails taking it like tweezers.

  ‘God bless you.’

  The lights changed, and he watched her walk down the road for a second. As he pulled off, the radio began to play Bon Jovi. Despite himself, he smiled – he was safe, for now. He indicated right, and headed towards Main Road.

  4

  Ruby

  Decidophobia: Fear of making decisions

  In the morning, Mel and Ruby began counting the registration forms into ten equal batches of twenty-five. Ruby watched as Mel roped elastic bands around each pile and put them into large yellow envelopes. She photographed each envelope so that evidence of the registration process could be sent to the Ministry.

  Soon Fairouz, Ruby’s co-facilitator, and Welly, the office administrator, would arrive to help them work through the bulk of things. She was glad she could rely on them both, though they had distinctive personalities. Fay was the office mother, round-faced and equally round-bodied. Welly was their office clown, tall and lanky with a goofy smile and small dreadlocks. Ruby wondered what label they gave to her.

  She thought more about the man who had registered near the end of the evening. He’d seemed normal, almost too normal to be there. She was curious about him, curious about them all.

  ‘Mel?’

  ‘Ja?’

  ‘Where is that last batch of forms? I just want to have a look at them quickly.’

  Mel looked at Ruby, one eyebrow raised. She knew exactly why Ruby wanted to see the forms. She had watched Ruby eyeball Sam from across the room.

  ‘They’re there, at the end of the desk, the last pile. I think the one you’re looking for is fourth from the top. Sam, right?’

  ‘Bly stil, jy!’

  Ruby smirked as Mel gestured at the right pile with her finger and turned back to elastic-banding. Ruby picked up the forms, paging through the pile until she found his name. Sam Edwards. She put the form back in the pile. He was only thirty – a spring chicken. She smiled to herself, about to say ‘cluck’, but, remembering where she was, closed her mouth tightly instead. She turned back to Mel, who was pretending not to watch her.

  The doorbell rang and Ruby peeked through the blinds to see who it was. Jericho. She looked at his face, wide-set eyes, broad nose, matted hair that had minced in the rain the night before. The way he smiled reminded her of someone, but she couldn’t place it.

  ‘Morning, Jericho,’ she shouted through the window. ‘Anything particular you want?’

  ‘Ja, I had a nice bath, hey, in the rain last night. Verrrry nice. Freshhhh. Can you tell?’

  He turned in a circle, spinning on his feet.

  ‘Beautiful, Jericho. What is it this time? I’m busy.’

  ‘Ag nee, Ruby, always in a rush, hey. Never taking in the beauty of it all. I need a piss anyway. Your wall is calling.’

  He walked towards the wall of the Centre. Ruby closed the blind and looked away to avoid observing the ritual.

  ‘Press the panic button, Ruby.’ Mel laughed. ‘That will give him a skrik.’

  They waited for him to finish and walk away, then Ruby went out and washed down the wall again. The wind blew the door closed behind her, and, as usual, she couldn’t get it to open. The silver handle taunted her as it spun round. She tried to nudge the door with her shoulder instead of her usual bum-bumping move. No go. Fay and Welly arrived behind her, both trying their own ways of opening it with no luck, and eventually Mel opened the door from the inside.

  Ruby walked to the kitchen to make her daily cup of very strong coffee. It was black and tasted like cigarettes. She preferred her coffee milky and with sugar, but felt that black sugarless coffee was healthier, and so drank this one terrible cu
p each day at work. Opting for this tasteless cup also meant that nobody asked her to make them coffee any more, and that nobody ever offered her instant coffee. That, and she stayed awake.

  She packed up her things from the kitchen table, getting ready to go upstairs. Mel was typing away in the reception area, and Fay and Welly were at their respective desks.

  ‘Guys?’ She spoke to the whole office, waiting for them to look up. ‘Shall we start with the forms upstairs in the boardroom in half an hour?’

  Mel looked over at her, nodding. She gave Ruby an endearing smile, batting her eyelashes.

  ‘Good idea. Should I order some snacks?’

  ‘I suppose so. What about some of those nice muffins from the health shop down the road?’

  Mel made a face that indicated she’d rather watch her cell phone charge than eat wheat-free, gluten-free, sugar-free muffins from the health shop. Ruby contemplated the alternative – sugar-crammed, iced, artificially flavoured luminous pink creations from the muffin factory shop at the petrol station – and felt equally uninspired.

  ‘Or you could get me a muffin from the health shop and something else for the rest of you? Take the money out of petty cash.’

  Relieved, she left an equally relieved Mel to ask Fay and Welly what they’d like. Ruby climbed the creaking stairs up to her office, switching on the lights in the stairwell as she went. She opened the blinds to let the light in through her windows, and opened the windows in the boardroom to let in some fresh air. Clean air equalled good thinking. She put her diary down on her desk and saw the note to call her mom, with added smiley face. She grimaced, but picked up the phone and dialled Johannesburg. Unfortunately, it rang.

  ‘Hello, Bates residence. Can I help you?’

  ‘Hi, Mom. It’s me.’

  ‘My god, I nearly didn’t recognise your voice. It feels like months, young lady! At least you’re still alive. How’s the weather there? Are you taking your medication?’