The applause reaches a crescendo, but Dineo isn’t done yet.
“Another thing you may not know is that Arnelia is the mastermind behind our school’s very own tuck truck, On a Roll. I’m sure many of you bought a delicious hero roll or snack there tonight. The tuck truck was her initiative, and she worked around the clock alongside us to make her dream come true. Let’s give our On a Roll Truckers a big hand, people!” She points at Dewald, Ilana and Shaun and once again the audience swings around to look, applauding wildly.
I scan the audience. I’m searching for my mother and grandmother and find them in the third row. Ouma Dina’s face is almost obscured by her enormous white hanky. I suspect she’s crying for the A-Team. Mom makes eye contact and blows a kiss.
Then I see him. My father. He’s sitting next to Mom, and he’s thinner than the last time I saw him. He has a short red beard, but his trademark faded denim shirt is familiar. Tears are streaming down his face.
“Dad,” I mouth. My lips feel numb around the long-unused word.
My dad raises his hand, flashes a melancholy smile and taps twice against his heart. Exactly like he did that day when we went for ice cream, when he took my own hand to pat his chest. Too little, too late, flashes through my mind. I become aware that someone is tugging at my shoulder. Dineo.
“Please say something, Ari. The audience is waiting for you.” Seeing my dad has side-tracked me.
She hands me the microphone. Speeches are not my finest skill. I take a deep breath. Mom’s voice pops into my head, You’re okay, Noldy. You’re more than okay.
“Thank you for this beautiful evening ... And the show ... Wow. Unbelievable.” I struggle to find words. “Neo’s right – this is a night we’ll never, ever forget. Thank you all for coming ... and for supporting On a Roll. Even my dad is here tonight. Yep. All the way from Nova Scotia. I haven’t seen him since I was twelve.” A collective gasp flows through the audience like a gust of wind. I glare at my father until he drops his head. I know this public exposure is a bit brutal, but it’s not nearly as cruel as what he did to Mom and me. Where has he been for the past four years? Four birthdays, four Christmases, four Father’s Days. Hundreds of between-days, when I needed help with everyday things: school projects, a broken tennis racquet, a shoulder to cry on, or a hug before bedtime. Where was he then?
I look at Mom. She’s trying to smile, like the day she brought us Oros in the garage. It’s not quite working.
“Of course, my greatest thanks go out to my mother, Lente van Zyl. Thank you, Ma, for teaching me how to be ... indomitable.”
When cowboys cry
Most of the audience have left. Here and there a car door slams, or the sound of laughter bubbles up through the still night air. There’s still a pool of light and a buzz around the On a Roll Kombi. Dineo’s granny had brought her granddaughter’s jeans and On a Roll T-shirt along to the show. Immediately after the curtain fell on the final encore, Neo swapped her colourful Tracy Turnblad costume for the tuck-truck kit and joined us to help clean up.
“You really don’t have to help, Ms Tshamboko,” Shaun says. “It’s not as if Angelina Jolie helps vacuum up the potato chip crumbs from the red carpet after the Oscars.”
“Yeah, right,” Dewald quips, “like they serve chips and dip at the Oscars.”
“And the actors eat it while walking the red carpet,” I add. We fold with laughter at the thought.
“Hey, I was a Trucker before I became a stage sensation,” Dineo jokes and grabs a dishcloth.
“Never forget your humble beginnings, girlfriend,” Shaun says and hands her the bottle of Handy Andy.
In and around the Kombi the atmosphere is almost festive. Dewald has replaced the show tunes with other cool songs on his phone, and music pumps through the tiny speakers. Twenty One Pilots. Karen Zoid. We all work to the beat.
Mom and Ouma Dina are chatting up a storm with Dineo’s granny and parents at one of the little tables. Nina and Oom Dennis help stack and load the crates with what leftovers there are. Then they haul them onto their farm bakkie. Dewald counts the remaining boxes of fruit juice, so that Ilana can deduct them from the total stock and work out how much we have sold. Our stock planning was spot on and there’s very little left. Ilana is furiously tapping away at her calculator. Any minute now she will announce our profits. Oom Phillip shuffles impatiently beside her, his hands in his trouser pockets. Every now and again he jingles the car keys in his pocket to show his daughter that he is eager to get home. Miss Heyns and her date sit at another table. It’s turned chilly, and the friendly guy has draped his jacket over her shoulders. Her cheery giggle occasionally bursts through the chatter around the Kombi.
The music volume is turned down abruptly and Ilana announces with pride, “Four thousand two hundred and forty rand and seventy cents. And that’s after I deducted the overheads, Truckers!”
For the umpteenth time tonight we cheer like a group of kindergarten kids who’ve had too much red cold drink.
If we’ve made this much on the first night, we’re likely to match it on the next two show nights. My maths isn’t too sharp, but it doesn’t take a maths genius to work out that our tuck truck is going to cover more than just Dewald’s school and hostel fees for the year.
Now I know how we can help Charmaine without her ever finding out. We’re going to recruit a sixth partner, preferably a hostel boarder, who’ d be available to help Dewald open the tuck truck for an hour or so every afternoon for the boarders. If we’re six people, we can all share shifts, which will give us more time to focus on school once we move to the higher grades. That sixth partner is going to be Charmaine. We just have to find a way to convince her.
I’m mulling over my master plan for Charmaine when she suddenly appears from the dark. She, Edwin and Magriet are done with their work for the night, and they plop down at one of the tables scattered around the tuck shop. Like the On a Roll gang, the technical team also wears black. CREW is printed on their T-shirts in large yellow letters. For a change, Edwin instead of Magriet comes up to the counter to buy food.
“Anything left to eat?” he asks, leaning his strong forearms on the serving counter he built himself. “Or is everything sold out?”
“Sold out for ordinary people, yeah. But you guys are not ordinary people,” I say, and wink at him.
“I kept a Tracy Turnblad and a brownie aside for each of you. The sound and lighting were fantastic, Ed!”
Edwin smiles shyly while he rummages in his pocket for money.
“On the house,” I say, as I push the rolls and brownies across the counter towards him.
“Need a bag?” A silly question. Because it’s plain to see that everything fits quite easily into his big hands.
“Nope. Keep the world fantastic. Say no to plastic.” This time he gives a toothy smile.
I watch him walk away and see him gesticulating to explain to the girls that On a Roll has paid for the meal. Magriet waves an enthusiastic thank-you at us. Charmaine doesn’t even look up. Oom Simon and his wife, Laverne, join them at the table.
I check the time on my phone. Boarders will have to head back to the hostel soon. I hope Charmaine and Magriet have enough time to finish their meals.
Dad’s not mingling with any of the other parents who are waiting around to take their kids home. Instead, he’s leaning against a wall smoking a cigarette. His position allows him a view of me working in On a Roll. His faded denim shirt and the way in which he squints his eyes against the cigarette smoke make him look like a hero in those old Western movies my Oupa Jack loves so much. He’s the new cowboy in town and the townsfolk know nothing about him. I suddenly realise that that’s exactly who he is in real life too. And he thought he could ride into this town on his black horse and reclaim his daughter as if nothing had happened. By now, he and Mom have probably said what they wanted to say to one another. I’d be surprised
if it took long, because he is here for me, not her. I catch his eye and he smiles a little warily. He seems quite prepared to wait patiently for me until I knock off work.
“Guys, do you mind if I go? I haven’t seen my dad in years. I’ll be the last to leave tomorrow night and turn the lights off, promise.” I toss the dishcloth over my shoulder.
My mates are so engrossed in cleaning and singing I’ll get stuck in a small room with you ... any day ... any day now ... along with Karen Zoid that they simply nod their permission to the beat of the music.
Earlier, when I left the stage with Dineo, I had walked straight up to Dad.
“You’re here,” I said, and when he leaned in to give me a hug, I stepped back.
“I’m here, kid.”
“Four years later,” I said bitterly.
“It’s complicated, Arnelia.”
“No, Dad. That’s where you’re wrong. It’s not complicated. The love between a father and a daughter is supposed to be simple and unconditional.”
Mom and Ouma Dina had diplomatically moved away, to give us some privacy.
“Arnelia, there are things you don’t understand.”
“Yeah, Dad, you’re one hundred per cent right about that. For example, I don’t understand how you can be okay with not seeing your only daughter for four years.” I was suddenly furious with the red-bearded stranger who had appeared out of the blue to play Dad on one of the most important nights of my life.
“Noldy, I ...”
“My name is Arnelia, Dad. Look, we’ve managed fine without you for four years. Why did you have to come and ruin my evening? Haven’t you caused enough heartache?” With that, I left the hall to go clean up at On a Roll. Too angry for tears.
Now the night is almost over. Dad and I stand just beyond the pool of light spilling from the Kombi.
“How did you manage to be here tonight, Dad? And why didn’t you tell us you were coming?” I ask.
He grinds his cigarette butt into the ground with his boot. He seems close to tears.
“Actually, I did let your mother know, Arnelia. Weeks ago already, by satellite phone from the North Atlantic Sea. I assumed she would give you the news. Your Ouma had told me about your big night, when you were still going to be the lead in the play. I’ve already missed so many of your big moments. That’s why I wanted to be here tonight.”
I’m trying to make sense of the fact that Mom told me nothing. Why would she keep something like that from me?
“I know what you’re thinking, Arnelia,” Dad says, reading my mind. “You’re wondering why your mom didn’t tell you anything?” He swallows and looks away. “I think she was worried that I wouldn’t come in the end. It would have been yet another disappointment. One more reason for you to be angry with me. Let’s be honest, I’ve never been in the running for the Father of the Year award.”
He’s right. Maybe Mom was trying to save me from possible disappointment.
“Where are you sleeping tonight?” I ask, softening.
“I’ve booked into the hotel.”
“How long are you staying?”
“I was hoping that I could pick you up after school tomorrow and take you for a milkshake? After that, I’ll have to hit the road. I only have one week’s leave.”
Wow, I think. The scene I’ve daydreamed about so often will actually play out tomorrow. My dad wants to fetch me from school. I can sit in The Dairy Devil and drink a milkshake with him. We’ll be like any normal father and daughter.
Only, we’re not. Because afterwards he’ll disappear and who knows when I’ll see him again. He probably has to share his limited time with his brand-new fiancée now. I guess she has children of her own and they’ve already claimed him for themselves.
“Mom told me you’re engaged,” I shoot from the hip.
“I am, Arnelia. But it’s complicated. Not many women are prepared to stick with a man they don’t see for months at a time.”
No kidding, I think.
“Is that why you and Mom aren’t together?” I ask the question I have wondered about for so long.
Dad looks away, but I keep my eyes fixed on his face. For the first time I realise what Ouma Dina told me must be true. There are three sides to this story: his, Mom’s and the truth. While we’re quietly standing there, I become vaguely aware of music playing somewhere. It’s Blondie’s ‘Call Me’.
I automatically swing around to search for Dewald in the light square of the Kombi’s serving hatch. But I only see Shaun. When my eyes adjust from looking at the light, Dewald appears in my field of vision. He is walking towards me. When he’s close to me, he holds out his hand. “Dance with me,” he says, with his wonky James Franco grin.
I look at Dad, then back at Dewald. Go, Dad indicates with a nod. As if I need permission. I take Dewald’s hand, and he twirls me around wildly.
A few people around us cheer and whistle. “Wheeeee!”
Shaun turns up the volume and Debbie Harry sings, Cover me with kisses, baby, cover me with love. All around us people applaud and whistle, yelling silly things like “Yes, baby!” and “Kiss her!”
But Dewald’s eyes remain fixed on me, and mine on him. I know Mom and Ouma Dina are out there somewhere in the out-of-focus background. And Oom Dennis, Nina and Dad. Ilana’s dad. Dineo’s people. Edwin and his parents, Charmaine and Magriet. Even Miss Heyns. But I don’t care. I don’t care that Dad is engaged to be married and is leaving again tomorrow. That Ouma Dina’s going home after the weekend. That I’m going home to our cramped flat tonight, where Mom will wander around like a lonely bag lady. I don’t care that my hair is wild and flaming red. That I’ll never find boots that fit around my calves. That my curves weren’t made for blue school dresses. Tonight I don’t care about any of those things. Because tonight I’m dancing with Dewald Fourie in a solitary patch of light in the school grounds. He has eyes only for me, and I have a feeling that he likes what he sees.
Tonight we’re the King and Queen of Planet Okay.
Peppermints
Oupa Jack always says happiness is not a permanent state. Instead, it’s a series of small incidents that often occur when you least expect it. So you can’t be happy in the same way that you can be healthy or clever. One can only experience random moments of bliss, unintentionally.
Happiness is like a forgotten peppermint buried deep in the pocket of your school blazer that you discover while you’re actually searching for a pen. Or that moment you discover that the chocolate Easter bunny’s ears are not hollow, but solid.
I don’t know exactly when I realised I wasn’t unhappy any more. But it must have happened during these past few crazy months in Potchefstroom. All those moments with my friends who accepted me just as I am, all the jokes and laughter, made me happy. The milkshakes at The Dairy Devil. The hours of planning and hard work to set up On a Roll. The Hairspray rehearsals. The small victories in English class. Ouma Dina’s apricot jam. My mother’s muddled but always-there-for-you love and support. But what made me the happiest of all was every single crooked smile from Dewald Fourie.
I don’t know how much I had to do with it, but I think my life’s screenplay has been rewritten.
It’s a day like any other. Mom drops me off at school in the Honda. Dewald is standing near the gate, in the exact same spot where I bumped into him that first week. But this time, we immediately make eye contact and wave at each other. He’s holding one of his beloved Tupperware containers. That can only mean one thing: he has once again converted Matron Deetlef’s inner sanctum into a test kitchen.
“Arnie, wait till you try this. I swear, if you could eat happiness, it would taste exactly like this. He lifts the lid and I smell chocolate and cinnamon. Perhaps, a hint of ginger.
The End
Recipes
Get these together:
•15 ml sunflower oil
•60 ml raw large-flake oats (The old-fashioned kind)
•2 carrots, grated
•1 large egg, beaten
•800 g minced lamb or beef
•50 ml Mrs Ball's Original Chutney
•25 ml white vinegar
•15 ml salt
•pinch of ground cloves
•splash of Worcestershire Sauce
Grab this stuff for the chutney sauce:
•20 ml sunflower oil
•3 medium-sized onions, roughly chopped
•2 garlic cloves, finely chopped
•2.5 ml medium curry powder
•100 ml Mrs Ball's Original Chutney
•50 ml brown muscovado sugar (The dark stuff that looks as if it's alive)
•salt and pepper to taste
•500 ml water
Get busy:
1.Heat the oil and fry the onion until soft and translucent – don't brown them. Set aside.
2.Add the oats, grated carrot and egg to the meat in a bowl. Add the chutney, vinegar, salt, cloves and Worcestershire Sauce.
3.With your mom's two-pronged fork, mix all the stuff in the bowl into a good mush. Use the fork, not your hands – unless you intend making cannon balls.
4.Make 12 round, equal-sized frikkadels – now you can use your hands – and place a single layer of them in a big, greased oven-proof dish. Cover with foil and put in the fridge.
Now for the sauce:
1.Pour the oil into a pan and heat.
2.Add the chopped onion and fry until soft – not brown.
Confessions of a Ginger Pudding Page 14