The Peculiars

by Jen Thorpe

  The laptop was gone, and his kitchen drawers had been rifled through. His room showed the same signs of the presence of strangers. His books were strewn around the room, and most of his clothes were gone. Two of his pillows were missing, and, walking back into the lounge, he saw that the radio was gone too. Everything seemed touched by someone else. The pillows were on the balcony; he thought the intruders might have used them to climb over the railing. He looked for his phone to call the police, but of course his phone was gone.

  A strange feeling crept over him as he realised that he had been robbed and would not have defended himself. It was like looking in the mirror after a long time away and seeing that you looked different from how you remembered yourself. He knew for certain that if someone had responded to his pitiful ‘Hello’ he would have sprinted down the stairs without looking back.

  He opened the dishwasher and checked the soap box. His dad’s watch and his grandfather’s cufflinks were still inside. The jewellery of men’s men – to be protected and safely stored. He always stashed them there when he went out, believing that unsuspecting robbers wouldn’t check the dishwasher for valuables. It was something his grandmother had told him before she passed away. When she died, her dishwasher never used, the family found loads of jewellery in there, including several pairs of clip-on plastic earrings. Now, he held the watch and cufflinks in his hands, surprised at the delight he felt in heirlooms that had, until now, served as a reminder of his lack of appropriate manliness. He put the watch on for the first time, intending never to take it off.

  He walked downstairs and knocked on Minnie’s door. She was an old woman who fed all the complex’s cats and talked to them as her friends. He pitied her, and, when she opened the door wearing her regular litre of perfume and bright pink lipstick, he almost felt too bad to trouble her. Her hair had been done recently in a purple rinse.

  ‘Sorry, Minnie, but I’ve had a spot of trouble. Would you mind if I use your phone?’

  ‘What?’

  He raised his voice. ‘Could I use your phone?’

  ‘Of course. I love a visit from a good-looking young man like you. I hope it’s nothing serious? Come in. Have you been exercising? You’re very sweaty. I used to keep fit in the old days, not so much now. Calisthenics.’

  She thrust her pelvis in a way he wished she wouldn’t have as he moved into the flat, the smell of perfume temporarily disorientating him. It was everywhere. Her smell receptors couldn’t be working. Maybe it was her age. The walls were adorned with pictures of cats, and clippings from magazines covered most tabletops. The television was on full volume. Minnie’s phone was on a small ornate side table, next to a couch that was clawed to shreds.

  ‘Not too serious, just had a break-in upstairs.’

  ‘You need to do some repairs? It’s a bit late at night now, Samuel.’

  ‘NO, I HAD A BREAK-IN UPSTAIRS.’

  ‘Heavens! Impossible, I would have heard it. Must have been an inside job.’

  He looked over at the television. Even someone with fully functional hearing couldn’t have heard anything over the din. It was the news in Sepedi. He wondered if she realised.

  ‘Still, nothing serious. I just have to make a phone call.’

  ‘Of course, of course. You carry on.’

  ‘Do you mind if I put the television volume off, just for the call?’

  ‘Well, I am watching the news. But just this once I suppose that’s fine.’

  He muted the television. He knew he probably shouldn’t already know the number off by heart, but he did. He had been expecting to dial it again at some point, but he didn’t realise that it would be so soon. He listened to the ring, fidgeting with excitement. It rang and rang. He hung up, watching the interpreter on the television. Minnie moved about in her slippers, getting another magazine to cut things out of. She looked over at him, checking to see that he was all right.

  ‘Was there a problem?’

  ‘No answer.’

  ‘CANCER?’

  ‘NO, no answer.’

  ‘You should have said. Try again. No sense in giving up, and in any case it’s nice to have you around. I’m making a collage of Jennifer Aniston. Isn’t she just lovely? Do you want to see?’

  He didn’t feel like he could say no, while in her house using her telephone. He remembered that he had left his front door open upstairs, and instead of the desire to rush to lock it, he felt liberated by the idea that someone could come in and finish the job the other burglars had started. That way, it would all be over in one go.

  Minnie’s collage was elaborate and seemed to span many years of YOU magazine’s coverage of the star. Some of the clips were even taken from People. Theoretically, it was quite a feat to have collected pictures for so long. He searched the room for family photos, but there weren’t any.

  ‘Wow, Minnie. Just wow.’

  ‘I know. Unbelievable, isn’t it! Would you like some tea?’

  ‘Oh, no thanks. I’m okay.’

  ‘But I’ve seen you having some before. Don’t pretend that you don’t drink it to be polite.’

  ‘Oh, okay then.’

  ‘Right. Don’t have any then. Carry on.’

  Bemused, he dialled again, tapping his leg on the ground. He hoped this time there would be an answer. As he waited, he tried to remember how everything looked in the flat before, in case he needed to describe it to the police. He wondered how the burglars got in and why the alarm hadn’t worked. It seemed strange that it didn’t even deactivate itself. Come to think of it, he had never heard its alert sound. Had it ever worked?

  ‘Hello.’

  Her voice startled him out of his mental inventory. ‘Nazma?’

  ‘Sam? Guess what?’

  ‘I can’t guess now, but guess what has happened to me?’

  ‘What?’ She sounded annoyed that he didn’t want to hear her story. For some reason this made him begin laughing again, and he had to block his nose in order to stop. ‘Sam? Whose number is this?’

  ‘I’ve been robbed.’

  ‘WHAT? Are you all right? Have you called the police? Oh my gosh, Sam. This is terrible. What are you going to do? Do you need a place to stay? Are you okay, Sam?’

  He listened to her panicked questions and watched the sign-language interpreter move his hands rapidly on the television. He was mouthing the words as he did so, and making vigorous facial expressions. There was a silence at the end of the line that triggered something in his brain.

  ‘Nazma, it has happened. Maybe that means I don’t have to worry any more.’

  ‘Have you been drinking? How can it be a good thing? What did they take? Sam, are you all right? Answer me!’

  ‘It’s a good thing because it has finally happened, and I’m all right. I didn’t get attacked, and even if I had, I wouldn’t have been able to do anything. So that’s a relief. To know.’

  ‘Sam?’

  ‘And, the best thing is that the alarm didn’t even go off.’

  ‘That’s the best thing? Sam, I think you are having some sort of strange reaction to the shock. I can come over if you need me to. We can get a doctor to bring you something to calm you down – or the equivalent for someone who is inappropriately calm.’

  ‘Could you rather just call the police for me? My phone has been stolen. You can call them and tell them to come over. I’m so glad this has happened. I’ve got to go now. I’m at Minnie’s and using up her phone bill.’

  ‘Sam … wait. Who’s Minnie?’

  ‘Got to go.’

  He hung up and smiled at Minnie. Thanking her, he got up and made a mental note to collect any pictures of Jennifer Aniston he came across for her. She seemed sad that he was leaving, offering him biscuits as he hurried out the door. When he got back upstairs he surveyed the extent of the chaos. Thirty minutes later, the police arrived.

  35

  Ruby

  Ophthalmophilia: Love of being looked at

  Ruby sat at her desk, legs crossed, and w
ent over the evaluation form for the study one last time. The forms needed to be done in an hour so that Mel could print them before everyone else arrived. Ruby couldn’t believe the study was finished. Each participant would hand in a copy of their workbook at the end of the day and she would probably never see any of them again.

  She was definitely relieved to see some of them go. Simon was one face that came to mind, with his red nose and ill temper. With others she felt she had missed an opportunity. Her lust for Sam had faded, though she still enjoyed looking at him. She wondered if anything had happened between him and Nazma, or whether Simon was just picking up stompies.

  Mostly she was thinking about Jericho. Her conversation with Cambada remained in her mind like an annoying song repeated on the radio. It wasn’t the words as much as the emotions that built pressure beneath Ruby’s temples. She knew that it wasn’t only for personal gain that she had visited Jericho each day in the hospital bed – a crazy prophecy wouldn’t have spurred her to spend each evening talking to him like an old friend. But she didn’t quite know why she had done it, only that her reasons weren’t completely altruistic. She felt as if Cambada had been misled into thinking this somehow, which made Ruby feel guilty. She crossed her legs the other way to relieve some pressure in her back. She wanted to be honest, but she didn’t have the words to explain.

  The truth was she felt guilty about Jericho’s death, and, more strangely, she missed him. If she hadn’t promised him that boerewors roll … There was no way of knowing, but she imagined she would have gone to see him even if he hadn’t made the predictions. Still, she didn’t want to jeopardise the steady flow of funds that the Centre would receive over the next few years. It would be selfish of her – to threaten other people’s jobs because she wanted to confess. Wasn’t confession only for the appeasement of the confessor anyway? She was selfish either way, and she felt sick about it. She uncrossed her legs completely, and jumped her feet up and down on the ground, shaking out some of her anxiety.

  She’d asked Fairouz to lead the last session to get people’s general feelings about their progress and make sure that everyone left the study feeling positive about the Centre. This type of brand-management, reputation-protection nonsense annoyed Ruby. If people didn’t feel better they didn’t feel better. The Centre had failed them or they had failed themselves. Just because people liked the Centre didn’t mean the study had helped them. Making friends who understood helped, but it wasn’t everything. Ruby would make a call to each of them in a month. Often the call was more honest than their feedback in their evaluation forms.

  Some had already improved. Fathima had been on her first flight, working out that it was actually the stress of forgetting her ID or losing her boarding pass that was scaring her in the first place. Since her flight she began all her sentences in sessions with ‘When I used to be afraid’, which only served to frustrate those who were still struggling.

  The final touches on the review form done, Ruby took it down to Mel for photocopying and walked out into the street for a quick break. The sun was a pleasant relief after the clouds and rain of the past weeks. She was wearing the outfit she always wore at the end of a study: white linen pants and a charcoal-blue vest, with high navy heels. The colours reminded her of the ocean. Winter would soon be over, and she knew she would be cursing the sweat as it dripped down her legs and stuck her shirts to the small of her back. Sleepless nights tangled in the sheets, avoiding the buzz of mosquitoes, would come before long. She tried to be present in the moment, enjoying the warmth, and stretched out her arms wide as she walked, turning them up and down to catch the sun on both sides.

  She walked into the coffee shop, picking up a curry roti for lunch. While she waited for it to be heated, she drank a cup of chai tea that burned her tongue. The roti was perfectly stretchy, the curry a bright yellow. Eating it on the way up the hill, she savoured the small blobs of chutney hidden beneath bits of soft potato.

  As she got closer to CIL she saw that Johnson was waiting outside, half an hour early. He turned to look at her and waved. She became aware of her gait, and walking suddenly felt funny, unnatural. She wondered what could possibly be wrong with him that he was here early, or whether he was just an eager beaver.

  ‘Hi, Johnson.’

  ‘Ruby, I’m glad I caught you early.’

  ‘Is everything all right? Do you want to come inside and talk?’

  She took a big bite of her roti. She had tried to make rotis a million times, but they were never as malleable as these ones – which were almost elastic. Johnson was watching her eat and she hurried to finish her mouthful. He didn’t say anything so she took another bite.

  ‘It’s okay, I’ll come inside in a minute. Actually I came to talk to you. I … um … I was wondering if you would like to go for a drink or dinner with me sometime?’

  Surprised, Ruby swallowed a piece of burning hot potato whole. It scalded her throat and she coughed, only thinking to cover her mouth when the offending potato began to resurface. When she could breathe again, she met his eye, and he looked sheepish. She wondered if he wanted to retract his offer. She saw a tiny piece of potato on the ground where she must have coughed it. Mortified, she looked away.

  ‘I mean, feel free to say no. I just really enjoyed the small conversations that we did have and wanted to get to know you better.’

  Ruby couldn’t think of a reason why she shouldn’t or couldn’t go. Anything she made up would only be to avoid the awkwardness of first dates – the long pauses between sentences, the way you noticed the other person’s chewing. She examined him properly for the first time. He had a small scar above his right eyebrow and his eyes were deep brown. He tilted his head when he was listening. His smile engaged his whole face. She strained her memory to recall what he did for a living, then remembered the oil rigs. Fear of heights was pretty common, and, anyway, it wasn’t as if she was a trapeze artist. There was nothing they couldn’t work around. There was no excuse.

  She realised he was waiting for her response.

  ‘That sounds good, Johnson. When would you like to go?’

  ‘Is tonight too soon?’

  ‘Wow – a keen one.’ He laughed. ‘It is a bit too soon though. How about next week, when you are officially not a participant at the Centre any more? We could meet at this place I really like—’

  ‘Actually, I had a place in mind too.’

  ‘Where?’

  ‘It’s a tiny rooftop bar just off Long Street. It’s beautiful in the evening when the sun is setting, if there is sun of course. Hopefully by next week there will be …’

  ‘So you’ve got my number, call me to confirm a time. How’s Wednesday next week?’

  ‘Good.’

  ‘Good.’

  Her roti drooped in her hand and was beginning to get cold. They looked at each other for a bit longer than comfortable, but he broke the silence. ‘Go in and finish your lunch. I’ll see you up there. Just going to wait for Simon.’

  ‘I hope he hasn’t given you too much of a hard time.’

  ‘No, he isn’t as bad as everyone thinks. Really.’

  ‘I think I’ll have to trust you on that one.’

  She walked past him into the Centre. Mel gave her a wink as she passed her. Ruby reheated her roti in the kitchen, taking the last bits of it upstairs to eat in her office before the others arrived. Reheated food was never as delicious as the original, and the chutney had turned gluey, but she ate it anyway.

  Five minutes past the starting time, when everyone but Nazma was inside, she called Fay, just as she did on the first day, and waited to make her entrance. Fay walked in, and, as she did, Ruby opened her doors and stepped into the room. As before, all eyes were on her.

  36

  Nazma

  Amaxophilia: Love of driving in a car

  Finding parking in Observatory close enough to the Centre was a mission only for the brave. Nazma had hoped to catch Sam before the session to see if he was all right and to
tell him about her driver’s, but when she pulled up to the Centre she was five minutes late. It was only her first official outing on her own, and she’d just missed denting her bumper. She was nervous, shaky and out of breath.

  Running up the stairs two at a time didn’t help her chuggish breathing. She burst into the room, interrupting Fay’s speech. Everyone turned to look at her. She was sweating and panting, which was not the final impression she wanted to leave with the group.

  ‘I’m so sorry, Fay. I had car trouble. And the parking in Observatory is just terrifying. I had no idea …’

  Everyone was staring at her, and the blood beat against her eardrums. She moved towards her chair. Her legs felt as if they didn’t have knees, or had knees that were meant to bend the opposite way. She squeezed her arms to her body, hoping she didn’t have sweat patches.

  Fay finally responded: ‘Nazma, I think we need to give you a big round of applause.’

  Fay clapped, as though dusting flour from her hands. Everyone joined in. Nazma felt something between pride and horror, and tried not to look at anyone. She was embarrassed at their excitement for her, and, as she sat down, Johnson gave her a pat on the back and whispered ‘Well done’ in her ear. She looked up eventually and caught Sam’s eye. His smile showed the gap between his teeth and their almost night together flashed before her eyes.

  Fay signalled for them to start again. ‘Anyway, as I was saying, we need you to list the things that you believe have been positive or forward steps for you during the study. So let’s go around the room. Shall we start with you, Nazma, and get all the pressure off? You drove here today. That’s wonderful. Tell us more.’

  ‘Well … I passed my driver’s yesterday.’ A few people clapped again. ‘And so today was my first drive here on my own, which was an interesting experience to say the least. But I’ve really found the whole study experience positive. There have been ups and downs,’ she looked at Sam and then Simon, ‘but I wouldn’t have been able to come here by car if it hadn’t been for this study. I guess I feel really grateful.’