The Peculiars
Page 8
The backseat of the car contained several empty cigarette boxes in a plastic shopping packet. It was the type of untidiness that called to memory overstuffed closets. People seemed to do that with their cars – use them as a place to keep things. She tried not to be nosy and buckled herself in.
‘Have you been a smoker for long?’ she asked.
‘On and off for about five years, give or take. I stopped for a couple of weeks but started again recently. Stress gets to me sometimes.’
‘Ja, it gets us all.’
She looked out of the window as they drove towards Main Road. Her familiar suburb felt different by car – she was lower to the ground than usual. Taxis offered you views up the hill, and walking seemed to make you focus on the people around you. But in a car, you were midway between seeing and not seeing.
They passed the President’s property, and Stardust Café. She’d heard that the President’s place used to be owned by Cecil John Rhodes, who had tried, unsuccessfully, to introduce all the animals he liked into Cape Town. Only pigeons were left. That sort of said what needed to be said about colonialism, she thought.
They turned right up Klipper Road towards the mountain, where someone was once arrested for simply pulling a zap at the President’s fence, so she sat on her hands just in case. Sam watched her. Thinking she was uncomfortable with the speed, he slowed down a bit.
‘Have you been to the forest before?’ he asked.
‘Once or twice a while back. It’s kind of hard to get there when you don’t have a car. Public transport doesn’t go this high up in the ’burbs. Mostly just along Main Road.’
‘Oh, I didn’t think of that. Have you ever driven? I mean … do you have your licence, or are you still going to get it?’
‘I’ve driven about a thousand times. No, I’m exaggerating. Closer to a hundred. I keep taking lessons but never really get past the sense of dread and panic. It is so overwhelming. I don’t feel it at all when I’m being driven. It’s weird. Anyway. So no, I don’t have my licence. I haven’t ever taken the test. But I have passed my learner’s about three times now. I’m a learner’s licence pro.’
He gave her a sympathetic smile. They turned left and the mountain flanked them on the right. Even though it was the middle of the day, people were running along the road, the pavement shaded by tall trees. Who were these people and what jobs did they have that allowed them to run at this time? Nazma had never enjoyed running. It always seemed ungainly and a bit too much like hard work. She loved a good walk though.
‘I’m not going to pretend I know what that’s like. I passed my licence first time. Driving has always been a pleasure for me. If it wasn’t so expensive or bad for the environment and stuff I think I’d just drive places for the sake of it, you know, like in the movies where they take long road trips with great soundtracks.’
‘I really would like to be like that. I’m hoping that’s what this study will do for me, you know … give me some way to get through it. I just need to get past the incredibly sweaty palms and put my foot on the accelerator and go somewhere.’
They turned up a tiny road lined by cars. The thought of driving past and not hitting them made Nazma feel compressed. She flinched as Sam wound easily between them and parked his car quickly.
‘You definitely seem comfortable as a driver, and you go so fast.’
‘Sorry! I hope I didn’t freak you out. It’s only because this is my happy place. I always want to get here as quickly as possible.’
They climbed out and she looked up across the road. The mountain was lush after the rain. She’d heard on the radio that someone on Signal Hill had thrown a cigarette out of their window and set the whole hill on fire the previous December. Nobody owned up, but the black scar on the land screamed of their insolence. Newlands, on the other hand, was pretty green and wet all year round – less likely to burn up in an instant.
‘The place I want us to go to is about a forty-five minute walk. I hope that’s cool with you. I figured that we could talk on the way up and down too.’
‘Sounds cool.’
She looked down at the takkies she’d found in a cupboard in the spare room hoping they were good enough. Luckily she and Nafeesa wore the same size shoe, and she’d kept these from their move. The path into the forest was tarred and there were signs everywhere requesting that people keep their dogs on leads. In defiance, several dogs frolicked around them, sniffing one another and the unsuspecting passer-by at crotch height.
Sam walked fast, pointing out indigenous plants to her and explaining about the pine needles making the sand acidic. She thought they made the forest smell amazing, and wondered if this was the pine smell she’d picked up on him at registration. It smelled like earth, and she started to enjoy herself despite the steep climb up to the contour path. She rested her hands on her hips to support her body.
‘So, did something happen that made you have a phobia?’ she asked, then felt bad. ‘Are we allowed to ask that type of thing? Am I being rude?’
He hesitated a short while before replying. ‘I guess it was because my mom got mugged last year. It really scared me. But it doesn’t really make sense to me – I mean nothing bad happened to her. Well, physically or anything. She just gave them her stuff and they ran off, but it’s mostly the what ifs that get me freaked out, you know.
‘Like what if next time they don’t run off? Or what if it happens to me? Or worse, what if they break in? I feel bad that I wasn’t there to stop them. But I don’t know what I’d do if it happened to me. Or what I would have done if I was there. Anyway, ever since then I feel super paranoid. I check the locks all the time and stuff. I guess I want to at least believe that my house is safe, if the world out there isn’t.’
Nazma nodded. ‘Ja. That must have been scary. Are you and your mom close? And is she okay now?’
‘We get on okay. She is … was an artist. A good one I think. She mostly did landscapes and flowers. That’s why I came to love the forest. We’d walk here a lot. But we haven’t really spent much time together since my dad died. She mostly stays at home now. I guess so do I. What about you and your mom?’
Nazma thought about her mother’s secrecy and deliberate obliviousness to her father’s grumpiness. She thought about her nonsensical addiction to TV shows like The Bold and the Beautiful and Days of Our Lives, the characters’ realities nothing like her own. Her mother seemed to take solace in their predictably ridiculous lives. Nazma couldn’t relate to that. But she loved her through all her frustration.
‘Sometimes we are close. Sometimes we’re not. Depends on the day really … she lives in a different world to me.’
They walked a while in silence, but rounding a steep bend Nazma needed to talk again to distract herself from the burn in her legs. She’d let herself get unfit sitting in the kiosk day after day.
The ground beneath their feet was crunchy in some places and slippery in others. The forest streams ran cool, brown with tannins. She steadied herself with her arms as they crossed, and on the other side the ground changed again. It felt like walking on sponge.
‘So, what made you join the study though? I mean surely most people who have been mugged get a bit freaked out. It’s normal, isn’t it … to feel scared?’
‘Ja, well, I think so, but I guess all these alarm systems are starting to take over my life. I don’t feel relaxed when I’m at home. That’s where it happened – right outside her house. Not even the neighbourhood patrol guy on his bike saw anything – probably in cahoots with them. So now I wake up in the night with alarm keypads flashing in my eyes and I have to keep checking that they’re on. I haven’t had a good night’s rest since I had them installed. Isn’t that crazy?
‘I feel great in the forest though. I don’t feel afraid at all. I figure it’s a bit of a walk if anyone really wants to get to you … I don’t mind being scared every now and then, I mean that’s normal. But I just want to wake up in the morning and not have to de-burglarise my house, you k
now – it feels like I need to de-burglarise my life.’
She couldn’t resist. ‘In cahoots? You sound like my gran … but I know what you mean I guess. Our house here doesn’t have an alarm, but when we lived in Tongaat we got robbed a couple of times. Cars left on bricks, and laundry taken and that, but nothing serious. Nobody worried about the what ifs back then though. I’m not sure how I’d feel if it were someone who actually had contact with us. It’s that they can look at you and see you are a person and ignore that. That’s the scary part. Stuff is just stuff.’
They turned up again and Nazma grimaced inwardly. The path was maintained with large chunks of wood placed on it like steps so that if it rained heavily it didn’t wash away. She had to walk more slowly to keep up the conversation and tried to imagine the beat of a song to keep her motivated. When she began humming Sam laughed at her.
‘Are you humming “Moving on Up” by M People?’
He sang a few lines from the song.
‘You seem to know the words rather well.’
They both sang as they walked until they ran out of chorus.
‘I hate how that happens,’ she said. ‘I always remember all the words as the song is playing, but never when it’s not. Why is that, do you think?’
‘Dunno. But me too. So it’s probably normal.’
‘Oh thanks, glad I’m normal. That’s what I’ve been striving for. You’ve cured me!’
He turned and smiled.
‘Nearly there!’
‘Yes, sir!’
They reached a path made out of planks and continued to walk on. Nazma was so relieved it was flat that she finally began to look around properly. They were high up, above the forest, and it felt as if they had entered another world. The dense shade made the path cool and fresh, and the trees were mottled with moss and orange lichen. Sam stopped, and she almost walked into the back of him as he extended his arm to point.
‘We’re here.’
14
Sam
Scelerophobia: Fear of bad men, robbers and thieves
Sam watched as Nazma walked down the steps to the tiny circular picnic area that was built around a large tree, like a tree house for grown-ups. When you sat down, all you could hear were millions of leaves being blown in the wind. It sounded like the ocean.
People had written their names and a few other choice statements on the wood, and Nazma was tracing her fingers along them. Young love stopped at nothing, and it was clear that Kimaan loved Tanya the most, as it said so on nearly every bench. Sam wondered how the kids remembered to bring a permanent marker all the way up here. He put his hand in his pocket to check it was still there. It was.
Happy that she seemed to be enjoying herself, and that the day wasn’t too hot for their walk, Sam opened his backpack and took out a flask. He’d always meant to have tea up here, and finally bought a flask the day before so he could have some with Nazma today. There was something intimate about sharing a flask, and he wanted to try it with her.
‘Do you want a cup of tea?’
She looked back and nodded. Sam felt his hand shake a little when he passed her the tea. He wanted to appear cool and natural, but what seemed to be coming out of him was information about the forest and M People lyrics. Everything he’d learned was pouring from his lips and he couldn’t seem to stem the tide.
‘It’s so nice here, Sam. I feel cheated that I’ve never been up here. It’s like The Magic Faraway Tree or something.’
‘I always mean to come up here and have breakfast with friends, but most of my colleagues are too unfit – that’s what happens in the online world – and so I don’t really get the opportunity. I’m glad you’re here.’
‘Me too.’
‘I’m thinking of one day starting a company to protect this type of thing, well … rather to celebrate the ones that aren’t making it worse.’
‘Cool. When is one day?’
‘Who knows.’
They sipped their tea, and ate Granny Smith apples and trail mix that she’d brought for them. Sam was feeling better already. He wished he could just live up in the forest, and then he’d never need an alarm system. He’d be like Tom Hanks in Cast Away without the ball – rugged, bearded and free up here, where everything seemed too far away to touch him.
The silence between them was comfortable, and, from his seat on the bench next to her, he watched her taking the forest in.
‘I guess we should get started,’ she said, looking back at him.
He packed away the flask, putting his feet up on one of the benches. He pulled out his activities workbook from the Centre and passed Nazma hers, feeling sad that they needed to start working.
‘So, do you want to go first, or should I?’ she asked.
‘I’ll go first and get it over and done with. Okay, so first question: what is the thing you are afraid of? So for me it’s that I’m going to get mugged, or robbed, or attacked … and possibly murdered, in my house. I’ve been scared of this since my mom was mugged at knifepoint right outside her house and been scared I can’t defend her or myself ever since my dad sent me on Scouts as a child. I think that’s a story for another time. Anyway, they stole her stuff from her. But I guess it’s really that I got freaked out by the fact that we were all supposed to feel like she was lucky. Like, a whole bunch of dudes can attempt to knife you, and you should feel grateful you got out alive. You?’
She was nodding and he wondered if she knew what he meant. Talking about this with her felt easier, somehow, than it did with anyone else.
‘I’m afraid of driving … or maybe it’s more specific than that. I’m afraid of being a bad driver and of crashing into someone or hitting someone. I’m not as worried about me as I am about everyone else on the road. Though I do sort of feel that everyone is watching me when I’m in the car, and that they know how bad a driver I am. I’m convinced people start driving further behind me than they need to, like they’re leaving space in case I mess up and almost kill them. So ja, shall we just say driving? Seems like it will fit in the lines easier.’
Sam nodded and they both wrote down their answers in each other’s workbooks. Sam noticed that her handwriting was oversized but not untidy. He must have been staring because she looked up at him and then straight down again, eyebrows raised in mock judgement. He read out the second question to seem as though he’d been waiting for her.
‘Question number two: do you have a family history of phobias, and if so, what treatment has your family sought to work with these phobias? I think you can go first on this one.’
Nazma looked up, eyes wide, as if by answering she’d betray someone. He wanted to make her feel that she could trust him, the way he instinctively trusted her, but didn’t know how to. She didn’t say anything.
‘How about we break it down?’ he asked. ‘So, does your family have a history of phobias?’
‘I don’t know if they’re phobias or what, but the reason we moved here was because my mom … well, she …’
Nazma looked around, searching for places to rest her gaze. Sam fidgeted and chewed the end of his pen. Suddenly he craved a cigarette again. He watched her take a big breath, and could see something close down inside her.
‘Look, I don’t know if I should go into it. Can we just leave it at “yes” and go on for now?’
She looked back guiltily and Sam felt cheated.
‘You sure that’s your final answer?’
‘Yes, Jeremy Maggs, thanks for checking, my final answer is (a) yes, there are family phobias. Your turn.’
He took a moment to listen to the leaves rustling as the breeze blew through them. The air was so much cooler up here than down in the shallow parts of the forest. The first time he’d run up here he felt like he’d been given a gift – a secret place where nobody could disturb you. He regretted coming to do the work up here. It altered the space, made it about doing rather than just being. He tried to keep his tone neutral, but he could hear the irritation in his own voice.
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‘Okay, so nobody in my family suffers from phobias, and so it’s not applicable for me.’
They both scribbled in their books, and immediately she read out the next question, as though to prevent the silence that would allow him to ask her for more information.
‘Next question – what are your expectations from the study? So mine are to come out of this with a desire to drive, and the ability to do it. I want my lessons to get better, and I want to deal with the fear and sweaty palms and just do it. Maybe even pass my licence. You?’
‘I want to feel safer. Maybe I should set a goal. Like, should I say, Sleep with my house alarm off for a night by the end of the six weeks?’ She looked at him and he suddenly felt silly. ‘Does that sound mad? I mean how ridiculous that I can’t just sleep in my house …’
She reached out to touch his arm. ‘No, Sam. It’s not silly. I think it’s great. Okay, so we have to write promises to ourselves in the book. So yours could be, I promise to allow myself a night without alarms. Mine would be, I promise not to give up on driving.’
‘I’ll make mine, I will sleep alarm free.’
He felt the warmth of her fingers on his arm. Her fingernails were painted, but chewed. He liked that, and just as he was getting used to their lightness on his skin she pulled them away, looking sheepish. They wrote down their promises in their notebooks, promises to themselves and to each other. He wanted to stick his promise up somewhere in his house or repeat it as a mantra: ‘I will sleep alarm free.’ He thought people who chanted mantras were mad, so it was probably for the best that it was short. Next thing Neville would hear him and ask him to join a drumming circle or something crazy.
‘Sam?’
He looked up and she was looking at him so intently that he felt his cheeks begin to burn. He was sure he wasn’t supposed to be feeling like this. He felt like if he said anything, she’d know he found her large eyes magnetic, the sound her bracelets made when she wrote enchanting, and her voice soothing. So he didn’t say anything. He just looked at her.