“What did you do?”
“Nothing.”
“What do you mean ‘nothing’?”
“Nothing. I mean just that. Okay I was smoking a zol with Sealy and then Sealy left to do some shit with Gerald. So then Gerald comes over to me and by mistake I call him Sealy. That’s what happened.”
“Fuck, you know how that nigger hates black people. You insulted him.”
“Ja, but I didn’t mean to. For fuck’s sake it was a mistake. Shit. Now he’s gonna moer me for it.”
“Listen, stop hiding, ’cause he’s been looking for you. Just go to him and say you’re sorry and that you’ll do anything he wants.”
“Fuck.”
“Got any money?”
“No, I just spent it on these shoes.”
“It would have made it easier if you had some money.”
“I doubt it.”
“Don’t worry, bra, you’ll live through it. He won’t kill you. See this railway line here,” he says pointing to an old scar, eight stitches that run down the side of his head.
“Ja.”
“Gerald gave me that. Look, don’t even think of running away. Believe me, you won’t get far. The man’s got wheels. He’ll fuck you up and kill you if you do that.”
I breathe hard.
“I know you’re scared, bra, but just go. But take off those shoes. You know Gerald, he’s fucked up. He thinks he’s white because he’s got straight hair and a light skin. If you show up with those shoes and your blue eyes, he’ll kill you. He’ll say, Who the fuck do you think you are? Trying to be white?”
“But I’m not.”
“I know that, bra. We come from Mshenguville together. I know that. But that asshole doesn’t. He’d love to have your blue eyes. Everyone knows that except you. You must try and work around you, blue eyes.”
“What do you mean?”
“I mean you have to be the blackest person.”
“But I am dark. Look at my skin. I’m not far from makwerekwere.”
“No, I mean you have to be more black . . . like more black than all of us. You must watch what you wear. Like those shoes. Things like that give you away. Like if people see you and they don’t know you’re right, the first thing they look at is how you look. Right?”
“Right.”
“So now they look at your blue eyes and your shoes and they think blue eyes, veldskoene, he’s trying to be white. That’s how people think. See what I mean?”
“Shit. I think I do.”
“That’s why people have beat you up all your life. They think you’re not black enough.”
“So what do I do? Why does everything have to be so hard?”
“Fuck, don’t panic on me. I’m helping you. Just watch what you wear. Look at makwerekwere. Try and be a little more like them.”
“Okay,” I say pulling myself together.
“Maybe you must buy one of their tops.”
“Are you mad? Allen will kill me. He’ll fuck me up. He’ll say, who are you trying to be? and I won’t know what to say. Fuck no. But I’ll make a plan.”
“Take off your shoes,” he tells me. “I know a guy who knows another guy. I’m sure we can get you other shoes. I’ll sell these at one of the second-hand shops.”
“Don’t go to the one in Long Street.”
“Which one?”
“You know the one near Mama Africa, the one with the nice woman who works there. That’s where I bought them.”
“Ja, I know the one you’re talking about. No, keep the socks,” he tells me.
I take out my strops from my jacket.
“These are the things Allen gave me.”
“Ja, Allen. I’m not surprised. Did he shit you out?”
“Always.”
“He’s another bastard who thinks he’s white.”
“I thought he was white.”
“No, you can see it in his eyes. I know he looks white but if you look at him closely you can see some coloured blood. He hates it, that’s why he’s so fucked up. I mean, imagine being nearly white but not quite. Know what I mean?”
“Mmm.”
“That’s why he’s such an asshole.”
“Ever seen him beat up one of his chicks? The other day he completely fucked up this white bitch who couldn’t keep her mouth shut.”
“Ja, but there’s more to it than that. It’s that white thing. It just eats him up that he’s not all white. Why do you think he’s always so well dressed?”
“I see what you mean.”
“Check.”
“Grown-ups are fucked up.”
“No, Cape Town is fucked up. Really.”
“You’re right, it’s Cape Town, not the people.”
“And the people. Don’t forget about the people. They’re also fucked up.”
“And now I must face them,” I sigh.
“Look, you better go. It’s best if you hand yourself in. Know what I mean?”
“If he catches me first . . .”
“Fuck knows what he’ll do to you.”
“Remember how my eyes used to get me in trouble at school?”
“Ay, they used to moer you at school.”
“Nothing changes.”
I chew my nails.
“Come back in a couple of days’ time.”
“If I’m still walking.”
“Don’t be so negative. Who knows, you might live to laugh about this one day.”
I look at him and say nothing. This is my life we’re talking about, I think.
“Anyway, come back in a couple of days’ time and I’ll have shoes for you.”
8
The first person I go to look up under the bridge is Liesel. I stand outside her shack while she looks at me.
“Where have you been?”
I say nothing but keep looking at her.
“He’s looking for you. You better go now,” she says and disappears back into her room.
I walk nervously towards Gerald’s shack. I see his white car parked outside his room. Someone is washing it. Sunlight from between the two highways cuts the road underneath in two. I walk in the middle of the light. Ma Zakes’ is open. I can hear TKZee belting out a song. Sealy is sitting on the bench. He sees me but says nothing. I know what I have to do. I walk up to him and ask him if he has seen Gerald. He punches me across the face. I fall down in utter shock.
“Sorry, I have to do this,” he says, “he’s watching.”
He kicks me in the ribs as I’m about to get up. The sun is hot, hot.
“Get up,” he tells me.
I get up, holding my broken ribs. He punches me again with a strong left hook. I stagger and land on my face. He kicks me in the head and stamps on it, grinding me into the tar road. I start screaming and grab his leg. He fucks up my face with his fists. My nose starts bleeding and snot runs. “Sealy, I’m sorry,” I beg. He continues hitting me. Eventually I let go of his leg and roll up into a ball to protect my head. He kicks my back and rips off my jacket. The music plays on. The sun beats.
“That’s enough.” I hear Gerald’s voice. He walks dancing to the beat of TKZee.
Sealy walks away. I sit up as I can’t stand up immediately.
“What did you think you were doing? Did you think you could just say anything to me and get away with it?” he says, towering over me.
One of Gerald’s sluts is beside him. She wears a tight short dress that shows off her loose thighs.
“Moer him,” she says, “he doesn’t respect you.”
I cower away and wait for the next blow but it doesn’t come.
“Get up,” he says, almost tenderly.
I cover my face as I get up.
“I’m not going to dirty my hands on a piece of shit like you.”
“I’m sorry, Gerald,” I say and two teeth fall out.
“You see that car?”
“Yes, Gerald.”
“Clean it and polish it nicely. When I’m satisfied you can clean up.”
I lim
p towards the car. One of my eyes is completely shut. Underneath the other eye is a bad cut. I just let the blood flow.
“And don’t you fucking get any blood near my car,” he says and throws my torn jacket at me.
I take it and wrap it around my waist. The guy who was cleaning the car tells me to only polish the car as it has already been washed.
“Hey, jou naai! Polish it slowly and do it properly,” he orders me. To mock me he opens his mouth wide and flashes his tongue between a gap in his front teeth.
The music from Ma Zakes plays louder.
“Where can I get polish?” I ask swallowing blood.
He points to Gerald’s room. I stand at the door and wait.
“What do you want?” a coloured woman shouts at me. Behind her I can see broken shoes stacked on a rack towards the roof. They look like trophies. I spot my old shoes and hope that Gerald won’t turn me into a rat or a pigeon.
“Polish for Gerald’s car.”
“I don’t have it here. Ask Gerald. Now voetsek,” she says and closes the door in my face.
I limp to Gerald. He sits on the bench and talks to Sealy and the other rats.
“Tsek! Tsek!” one of them gets up and waves his arm at me.
“Los hom,” Gerald says.
“Jy. Wat soek jy?” Sealy asks.
“Polish for the car.”
“Tell this poes I didn’t ask him to polish my car,” Gerald says to Sealy. I’m confused but keep silent. I’m sure he said, Clean and then polish my car.
“Do you want another one?” Sealy says and gets up. He smacks me across the face with a hot klap. Strangely, I remain standing. My face is numb with pain.
“Hey, jou naai.” Gerald kicks me. “I said, clean my car, not polish it.”
The police drive in. A few squatters in the back scatter to their rooms. The cops drive slowly towards us. Gerald remains calm. The car stops near us. I stand with my back to them. If I’m smart I’ll stay like this till they leave, I tell myself. Gerald gets up to talk to one of the officers. They speak quickly before the car drives off again.
“Hey, jou poes, I’m not finished with you,” Gerald says.
I try to remain still but my head sways.
“Clean my tyres with your spit,” he says.
“What are you still doing here? Fuck off,” Sealy says and kicks me in the ribs. I fall but manage to pick myself up again. I untie the jacket round my waist and spit into it. With my blood and spit I clean the tyres.
“Don’t touch my mag wheels, jou naai, poes,” Gerald shouts.
I do it slowly but every time Sealy walks nearby I work faster.
“This poes is finished,” Sealy says after a while. He grabs me by the scruff and drops me near the garbage bins.
“Wait there,” Gerald says.
I remain standing even though my head feels dizzy. Gerald calls for someone on his cellphone. Not long after a brown Ford Cortina pulls in and parks near Gerald and the boys. Two men wearing shiny tracksuits that I’ve never seen anywhere else come out of the car. They greet each other like the gangsters they are. Soon one of them grabs me by my shirt and bundles me into the car. They take me to Somerset Hospital.
One of the gangsters called Richard stays near me. They call me into the examining room. Richard looks at me as if he’s about to spit in my face but he doesn’t. If you’re wise, act like you’re not that sick, I tell myself. Richard follows me into the white room where the doctor is and closes the door behind him.
“What happened?” the white doctor asks.
“They caught him stealing at a shop. The manager fucked . . . I mean beat him up. We watched the whole thing happening so we brought him here. He’s lucky that we were there. He nearly killed him. He was about to get his gun.”
“Trouble with these kids is that you don’t know what to do with them,” the doctor says writing down something.
“Ja, they are just problems. People talk about crime. These kids are crime,” Richard says.
“And they won’t go to school or a home. They spend their lives sniffing glue and smoking buttons.”
Richard says nothing.
“Right, put this on,” the doctor says and hands me a blue dress for patients.
I take off my clothes and stand there naked. I don’t bother with the blue dress. He points to a white bed and asks me to sit there.
“You better put this around your waist, this is not a jungle,” he says. “I’m getting a nurse to clean up your face first.”
I wrap the blue dress around my waist like a towel. He closes a white curtain around me and tells Richard that he can wait outside. We’ll be a while, he says.
The doctor returns with an Indian nurse. He fiddles in the room with his medical things while the nurse cleans my face with swabs of cotton.
“What happened?” she asks.
I say nothing.
“This is going to sting,” she says as she cleans the cut under my left eye.
“Right, I’m ready,” the doctor says and returns carrying a tray with silver instruments.
“With the trouble he’s been causing I have a good mind not to use a local anaesthetic,” he says and injects something near my eye.
“What’s he been up to?” the nurse asks, still swabbing me.
“Caught stealing. Apparently the manager did this to him. Don’t blame him though. He was probably just trying to run an honest business till trouble came along.”
The nurse keeps quiet.
“How old is he? Probably thirteen, fourteen. Ran away from home. They all do, you know. Wild kids. And now he’s caught stealing a bar of chocolate or something pathetic like that. He deserves what he got,” he says sewing up my cheek.
The nurse looks into my eye and says nothing.
“Hold still,” he says impatiently.
“I feel dizzy.” I open my mouth and a little blood splatters on his white coat.
“I’m nearly done. Just hold still for a little while. Problem with these kids is that they want everything now. They won’t wait for anything. Have you seen how they harass you in town begging you for money after they nearly make you crash into the car you are supposed to park behind? I don’t trust them. And I never give them money. What for? So that they can buy drugs.”
She listens but doesn’t nod.
“Right, I’m done. Give him something to settle that dizziness. I’m just going to clean up.”
The nurse gives me something to gargle and stop my gums from bleeding. She watches me struggle to the basin to spit out the salty stuff she gave me.
“What’s wrong with your leg? Where does it hurt?”
“My ankle,” I tell her.
“Don’t worry, we’ll take an X-ray.”
The doctor returns in a clean coat. He prods my ribs and watches my face for reactions. I wince as little as I can. He also prods my back.
“Your back is black and blue with bruises. Nothing a few days’ rest won’t heal. I hope you’ve learned your lesson.”
“He’s been complaining about this ankle, doctor.”
“I know, nurse. Take him to Dr Michael in Orthopaedics. I’m done with him,” he says and writes something in a folder. He gives the nurse the folder and leaves. She cleans my other eye and puts a patch over it.
“Where are your clothes?” she asks.
“Over there,” I say and point to a corner.
“Don’t get up,” she says, “your ankle is swollen.”
She gives me my clothes and strops and closes the curtain. I hear her open and close the door. I dress slowly and put on my strops. Then I limp to the basin again and look at myself in the mirror. All I see is purple, red and a little blue staring back. My face is swollen. I can hardly tell that it’s me looking back. The door opens and the nurse returns with a wheelchair.
“Thanks,” I say looking at her shyly from the corner of my good eye.
She wheels me down the corridor. We pass Richard and his mate and go into a lift. At Orthopaed
ics Dr Michael takes two X-rays and looks at them from a light on the wall. He tells me that I have a fractured ankle but that it is not severe.
He writes something in the folder and then the nurse wheels me into another room where they put wet plaster around my ankle and foot. The plaster goes halfway up my shin. The nurse lets me try a few crutches before I choose the one which feels right. She gives me painkillers and wheels me back to Richard and his mate.
“Keep well,” she says as I limp out the door. “Don’t forget to come back in about eight days’ time to take out the stitches.”
Once inside the car Richards says, “Hey, gemors, they moered you nè? Poes, I hope you learned your lesson.” He takes my painkillers.
“I can get off here,” I say once we’re outside the gates. “I don’t live far from here.”
“Where do you think you’re going? Gerald isn’t finished with you.”
My heart sinks. We drive past Sea Point and Green Point and head towards town. We drive past the train station and go towards Woodstock. We stop outside a house in Salt River.
“Leave that in there, you won’t be needing it,” Richard says when I reach for my crutch.
I limp towards the gate. Richard goes first, then his mate. I follow behind. A woman wearing hot pants greets us at the door. She speaks in Afrikaans with Richard. They lead me through the building. Other girls pass by. I see an Indian man coming out one of the many rooms fastening his belt hastily. He doesn’t look at us as we walk past him. Outside there is a small room tucked away in the corner near the washing line. Richard opens the door and tells me to go inside. I step into the room. He closes the door behind me and locks it.
9
For three days they don’t open the room. I shit in a toilet bowl they left in the room for me. My bed is just a sponge. For three nights I listen to my wounds, my bruises. For three nights I feel my body healing. On one wall is a mirror and on the other wall a light switch. At night when I’m bored, I play with it and watch the mirror. When the light goes off the mirror seems to suck in the light. I’m getting stronger, I tell myself, even though my stomach grumbles. When I start to feel weak, I sing. Made-up songs that have nothing to do with words, just nonsense sounds that keep writing themselves in my head. Sometimes I just hum one note and see how long I can hold it. I do that for a long time. I’m getting stronger, I tell myself again and feel my stomach muscles forming in hard ridges. Destroy, destroy, the music plays on in my head.
Thirteen Cents: A Novel (Modern African Writing Series) Page 6