Thirteen Cents: A Novel (Modern African Writing Series)

by K. Sello Duiker

  I walk towards a fountain near some toilets. Grown-ups are strange people. How can they put a fountain for drinking water outside a toilet? And I mean right outside the Men’s toilet. I drink some water and fill a plastic container, one of those fancy ones that sell fancy water. I wonder if that water tastes any different.

  I walk further along the beach till I come to the moffie part of the beach. I sit on a bench and wait for a trick. I sit a long while before I hear someone whistling. Soon I’m walking back with a white man to his flat. When we get inside the lift he tells me to take off my shoes. I know the routine. Once inside his flat he will expect me to strip off at the door. We go in and I begin to take off my clothes at the kitchen door.

  “What’s your name?” he asks as he stares at my nakedness.

  “Azure.”

  “Interesting name,” he says drawn by my blue eyes.

  I grin while he strokes my face. He leads me through the house and we make our way to the bathroom. The house is clean and warm. I walk carefully as though careless footsteps might disrupt the cleanliness. He takes off his clothes and his piel bounces in front. I shudder to look at it and wait for him to lead me into the shower. But I know his type, he probably just wants to play, nothing else.

  “Why are you so quiet?” he says while the water runs.

  “I’m just listening.”

  “To what?”

  “Your house. It’s so quiet.”

  “Oh that. Do you want me to put on some music?”

  “No, I like it like this. Please.”

  He rubs the soap quickly between his hands and slides his hands on my back and bum. I’m forced to smile. That’s what they expect. Grown-ups, I know their games. I smile. He slides his hands around my waist and touches my belly. Not so quickly, I say to myself before he goes any lower. I bend down to pick up the soap.

  He gets out to dry himself and leaves me with a few minutes of heaven with warm water and fresh-smelling soap. I slide the soap all over my body, blowing bubbles when I can, a silly grin that only I can enjoy on my face. The water falls on me with pleasure. I tingle with cleanliness.

  “Are you coming? I’m waiting,” he says after a while.

  They don’t like you to know their names, in case you bump into them in the street. Most times they don’t even nod or say hi, they walk past as if they don’t know you.

  “Come now, I’ve got things to do,” he says in a serious grown-up voice.

  I turn off the taps and shake off the water still clinging to me. He slides the door open and hands me a towel. A fresh-smelling light blue towel. I sigh with pleasure as I dry myself. His eyes follow my every move.

  “Come now, we must get on with it,” he says a little anxiously and grabs the towel. I walk behind him as we both walk naked towards the bedroom. Morning light pours in through fancy curtains with slits. Above his bed there is a framed poster of a young boy taking a piss. There’s a dreamy look in his eyes as he looks towards us while pissing. I look around the neat room with awe while his piel begins to grow.

  “Lie down,” he says and lays me beside him. Then he starts playing with me. I have to concentrate hard to get excited. I think of Toni Braxton and Mary J Blige. They usually do the trick for me.

  We use a lot of baby oil. I close my eyes while he moans a lot.

  “Tell me when you’re going to come,” he says politely, strangely.

  “I can come any time. I was waiting for you.”

  “In that case let’s come.”

  He stands over me while I lie down and we both masturbate. After a while his eyes roll into their whites and I feel warm drops across my chest and face. He hands me a towel to dry myself.

  With a wallet in his hand we go to the kitchen.

  “You did good,” he says and hands me a twenty-rand note. Peanuts. I’ve earned fifty bucks from a single trick. But I know not to get greedy. He could become a regular. I get dressed quickly and let myself out. Just before going out the door to the flats another white man looks at me with come-to-bed eyes. A lot younger than the other guy. I decide to follow him. He stays on the first floor.

  “Don’t worry about that,” he says as I start to undo my shirt. “You don’t have to take off your clothes. I just want to be sucked off. Don’t worry, I won’t come in your mouth.”

  It doesn’t take long before I make him come on his bare chest. He pays me forty bucks and sees me out of the flat.

  3

  I need a new pair of shoes, I say to myself as I count the money. Joyce is not working, she only works nights. I decide to go to her small flat which she shares with another auntie. At the door she is only too happy to see me.

  “Dankie vir die kos, Antie, ek was baie honger. Where’s Auntie Bertha?”

  “She went home for a few days. You know how she gets homesick. Cape Town can be so lonely,” she says, walking around in her lazy flip-flops.

  “Anyway, I’ve got some money and I thought maybe you could put it into my bank.”

  Joyce understands banks and how they work. Me, I have forgotten even how to hold a pen, so how can I go to the bank myself? Grown-ups ask many questions there. You must remember when you were born and exactly how old you are. You must have an address and it must be one that doesn’t keep changing. Like you must stay in the same spot for say maybe five years and when you move you must tell the bank. They must know everything about your movements. Like how many homes you have and whom must they call when you want to do something with your money. If you ask me they are a bit like gangsters, they want to know everything so that you cannot run away from them. And you must have an ID and a job that pays you regularly. And every time you put in money they make money for you by lending out your money. They are very clever people who work at banks. That’s what Joyce says. She says she ordered a banking place for me at First National Bank and that all my money is going to be safe there. Every time I make money I give her some and she puts it away for me in the safe. It’s my plan to do something with it one day. I’m not sure what I can do with it or how much I have saved but I have a feeling that it will come in handy one day.

  Today I give her twenty bucks and keep the rest. What I like about Joyce is that she never asks me how I make my money. In fact, unlike most grown-ups she doesn’t ask too many questions. She’s only too happy to be sitting at the window sewing or doing something with her hands. Sometimes I just sit there with her and we say nothing to each other for hours. It’s so peaceful.

  Sometimes, when she’s not feeling like an auntie, she lets me smoke a cigarette with her but that doesn’t happen often. She never beats me but jeez she can get very angry with me, especially when my clothes are dirty. When I have enough money, because food always comes first, I buy soap and wash my clothes at a public toilet. I wash them one at a time. T-shirt first and when it has dried I wash my socks and when they’ve dried I wash my pants but I wear them wet till they dry in the sun from all the walking I do.

  Joyce pours me a cup of tea. I sit on the floor beside her and we listen to her wireless. On the news Pagad is on the loose again. Another policeman was shot dead in his home.

  “You know, Zu-zu, these Pagad mense they say they are God’s people but they preach the devil’s work.”

  “Yes, Auntie.”

  “You must stay away from them, you hear, Zu-zu.”

  “Yes, Auntie.”

  “And the gangsters. If I ever hear that you are a member of a gang you can forget about Auntie ever giving you food or banking your money. Do you hear me?”

  “Me, Auntie, I’m not like them. I’m not a moegoe.”

  “You must promise me this, Zu-zu. Say you’ll never be a member,” she says and looks at me with a schoolteacher’s serious eyes.

  “I promise, Auntie.”

  “No, you mustn’t promise. Say it. I want to hear you say it.”

  “I promise not to be a member, Auntie.”

  “That’s good, Zu-zu, that’s good.”

  We sit in silence
for a while and listen to the rest of the news. After a while I tell Auntie that I must be on my way.

  I go to Green Point where Allen works as a pimp. I find him standing under a large blue-gum tree talking to one of his white girls. They are arguing about something. I stand back because I know Allen’s temper. He’s killed someone before and I saw the whole thing happen. Knowing him has actually helped me a lot on the streets. I can’t say that we are friends. But if I’m ever in trouble I just have to say that I know Allen and I’m usually left alone.

  “Why must I fucking work today?” she yells at him, her pupils like saucers. Stupid woman, she’s high.

  “Because I told you so, bitch. Who the fuck do you think you are? Don’t pull this shit on me just because you’ve just had your rock.”

  “I don’t see why I have to work today. I haven’t had a day off in two weeks, Allen. What about my pussy?”

  “Fuck you,” he punches her and she falls flat on her face in the street. A car drives near her and hoots at Allen. “You and your pussy, fuck you. You’re full of shit.” He goes on and grabs her by the hair.

  That’s the problem with the white bitches. I find that they never know when to shut up and here the ouens don’t give them a chance. They are heavy-handed. They just whack. And if that doesn’t do it, they naai and then they fuck them up even more.

  “You weren’t complaining yesterday when that client paid you a three hundred rand tip. Don’t think I don’t know about that, bitch. I know about it. You can’t hide anything from me, meisietjie. Daai glad hare, it does nothing for me. This isn’t Joburg,” he continues slapping her. “I’m going to moer you for your mouth, you must learn when to shut up.”

  By this time she has a serious cut under her left eye and bruises all over her face. Her clothes are also torn. He grabs her by the scruff and bundles her to his flat which is on the same road. People walk by.

  “What the fuck do you want?” he says as he walks past me.

  I show him forty bucks. That’s the only thing Allen understands best – money. He doesn’t answer. He just calls me with his head. The white girl is bleeding but she doesn’t cry.

  “I should naai you for all the shit you cause, you stupid bitch,” he says and throws her on the couch that looks flea-ridden. The cats scurry away. She doesn’t say anything.

  “Go clean up before I fuck you up again,” he yells, the devil in his eyes. He kicks her hard in the ass as she gets up. She falls on her face and starts crying.

  “Get up, you cunt! Poes! Fokken naai!”

  She gets up slowly and goes to the bathroom.

  “Now what the fuck do you want? And who said you could sit down? Fuck off your naai, get up,” he turns to me.

  “Allen, I need shoes,” I say looking at his feet.

  “Fuck off, why didn’t you come yesterday?”

  I wait for him to slap me but he doesn’t.

  “Hey, what’s your fucking problem? Look at me when I’m talking to you.” He straightens my head by the chin.

  I look at him, hiding the terror in my eyes.

  Unexpectedly, he smiles and shows off his mouth of mostly gold fillings.

  “You’re my my laaitie, you know that? Where’s your money?”

  I give him the moistened notes.

  “Wait here,” he says. “Don’t sit. I’ll have a look in the bedroom.”

  On the floor around me there are boxes of stolen items, things that Allen or whoever it was got from house breaking. A pair of Reebok tackies that look like my size stare at me from the corner. Allen returns with ten-rand flip-flops. He throws them at me and says I must return in three days’ time to get proper shoes. What he means is that I must return in three days’ time with more money. And when I do I must not say anything about today, otherwise he will beat the living shit out of me. He’s like that, Allen; you must never remind him of anything. He knows everything. I take off my shoes with holes at the bottom and put on the thin strops. Give me those ones, he orders me. I nearly hesitate but give him. What is he going to do with them? I walk out his flat and try not to think of my money as wasted but as protection money.

  I can walk a little safer knowing that Allen has my money. Money is his language. It’s the only thing he remembers, everything else is unimportant. I wouldn’t be surprised tomorrow if he asked that girl who beat her up. Of course she would be forced to say that someone else beat her up in fear of upsetting him again. And then another stupid argument would start and more blood and tears. He’s totally messed up, Allen. I don’t know if he’s crazy or just likes playing games.

  I feel tense and walk towards the bridge hoping that Liesel will be there.

  I’ve learned something from Allen and that is money is everything. It’s everything because you can get a house and call the shots. When you’re dressed properly grown-ups give you a bit of respect. But as long as I’m me and have no home and wear tattered clothes Allen will never give me proper clothes because that would mean that I can look like him. And no one who knows Allen looks like him. He makes sure of that. Even if it means he strips you himself. He always has to outdress you, outsmart you. It’s his way. It’s the grown-up way. He only wears Nike shoes and expensive jeans and tops. He always gives me clothes that are just about to fall apart, so that I’m always dependent on him. So that I will always go back to him for more and spend my money on him. But I understand. I have to do it. It’s the only way I can be safe on the streets. There are too many monsters out there.

  4

  I get to the bridge and find that Liesel is not there. So I hang around Ma Zakes’ spaza shop with Sealy. He buys me mageu and rolls a joint.

  “Keep an eye out for the pigs,” he says.

  “Sure.”

  “Where were you last night?”

  “Why?”

  “Gerald fucked up this one guy with a goni because he called him driver as he got into his cab.”

  “Who was that stupid naai?”

  “Liesel’s outie. You checked him. He thinks he’s hard because he’s in Hard Livings.”

  “Ja, I know him. He’s a real poes.”

  “I checked you like Liesel.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Don’t give me that shit. You only buy your stop from her.”

  “Ja, because she doesn’t make me wait like you ouens.”

  “Ag voetsek, you just want to naai her.”

  “It’s not like that.”

  “Ay but you’re full of kak. You never know what’s going inside your head.”

  He lights up the joint and takes a long drag. TKZee belt out “Shibobo” from Ma Zakes’. I take a sip of mageu and let it settle at the back of my throat. Sealy bobs his head in rhythm. He’s a bastard on the dance floor. He can outdance anyone and he’s got style. That’s why Gerald likes him. Gerald comes in with his white Ford Grenada. He makes a lot of noise before he parks it outside his shack not far from where we are sitting.

  “Away, Sealy,” he shouts as he gets out of the car.

  “Away, Gerald,” Sealy says and gets up to dance. I watch him from the bench, his feet shuffling pantsula-style, a cool sleepy look on his face. Just before he goes to Gerald he gives me his joint and another stop.

  “Swaai us another pilletjie, ek sê.”

  I pull hard from the joint till it burns my fingers and kill it. “Shibobo” melts into another song by TKZee but I forget its name. I take another large sip of mageu but leave some for Sealy. He disappears into a shack with Gerald. I take my time smoking the zol, patiently waiting for Sealy. I end up smoking the whole zol. My thoughts are like water. I sit and listen to the chaos of the people living under the bridge. Everything just sounds deurmekaar. A toddler walks up to me completely naked. She sits next to me on the bench and we look at each other for a while, a silly smile on my face.

  “Jy! Trek aan jou klere!” Gerald yells and the toddler scurries away.

  “What are you waiting for?” he says, standing over me. Sealy still hasn�
��t come out of the room. But I notice a pigeon flying around Gerald’s shack. The work of evil will never stop, I say to myself.

  “Sealy,” I say, a little nervous.

  “Jy’s dik geroek, nè?”

  “Sorrie, ek bedoel Gerald.”

  “Jy, tsek jou naai, ek is nie ’n kaffir nie,” he says and awakens my calm senses, with a fist across my face. I fall but pick myself up quickly and start running. I run out as quickly as I can. A few blocks away from the bridge I realise that I don’t have my flip-flops. I wait at least five minutes before I go back. Gerald is nowhere in sight but his car is there. I take my strops and run. “Jy, jy!” I hear him behind me but I keep running. Once far from the bridge I slow down and calm myself.

  I feel thirsty and go to a public toilet on Bree Street. A security guard who works near the open parking lot looks at me funny, like I’m a thief or something. But he leaves me alone. At the basin I pour water over my face as it is boiling hot and drink till my stomach swells and I burp. I sigh and feel my high returning. The air is so hot it feels like breathing in a carpet. I take another large sip, this time listening to my throat swallowing mouthfuls of fresh water. Water, I love water, I say looking at myself in the mirror. But I can never look at myself too long in the mirror as my blue eyes remind me of the confusing messages they send out to people. I wear my blue eyes with fear because fear is deeper than shame. I see a large shadow moving towards the entrance of the toilet. I make my way out only to find the security guard and a Rottweiler on a loose leash. But I have a secret and that is I have a way with dogs. Ever since I was bitten by a dog when I was seven, dogs have never bothered me again. He flicks the dog leash but nothing happens. I don’t say anything. I just walk away.

  I drift around town going to the station, the library, even taking a nap in the Gardens. I think of nothing but just enjoy my high. Fat pigeons that might be thugs or dirty politicians fly above me as I lie on the grass. Clouds form different shapes and disappear into the hot air. I could use another stop for tonight but I can’t go back to Gerald empty-handed.