Thirteen Cents: A Novel (Modern African Writing Series)

by K. Sello Duiker

  I lie on my back and stare at the light till I see half-circles of fire. Then I turn off the lights and destroy the room with half-circles of fire. A volcano rages in my head as I do this. When the fire starts fading I turn on the lights again and stare at the light. I do this for most of the night and sleep during the day. You’re getting stronger, I tell myself and turn off the lights. I start to feed off the light and begin to slowly forget my hunger. Grown-ups, this is how they teach me to be strong. I take in their light and destroy them with fire.

  When I was a child I used to like playing with matches. I used to strike a match and watch the fire burn the little stick until it was black. It was amazing to watch this. I used to steal the matches from my mother’s secret hiding place and play outside behind the shack. I always felt guilty so I only used a few matchsticks because mother needed them to light candles. Once, when I was small, I can’t remember how small but I remember that I still used to sleep in the same bed with my parents, I burned the bed by mistake. I was playing with matches and somehow the bed caught on fire. I tried to put it out. I remember using my spit but the fire had its own mind. It wouldn’t listen. So I ran outside and called my parents who were talking with one of our neighbours. I remember my parents never beat me for that. They were too scared that they had left out matches for me to find and for me to play with.

  My mother cried that day. She sat outside the shack and cried while my father tried to put out the flames. I think she cried because I was a naughty child. I always remember that day when things get hard. I remember how we had to sleep on the floor because I burned the bed. Not once did they hit me. Not once. And that was very strange because my father used to hit me for everything I did that he didn’t like. And that was a lot. But for the fire he never touched me.

  * * *

  It is Richard who opens the door. He finds me sleeping.

  “Hey, gemors, wake up!” he yells and bangs the door. He stands like a shadow at the door. You’re blocking the light, I say to myself. As if he reads my mind he comes towards me and kicks my cast. I get up at once and stand. “You think you’re strong, nè?” he says and pushes me. I fall on the sponge and remain there. “Get up, I’ve got no time for games, you poes.”

  I put on my T-shirt and wrap my torn jacket round my waist. “Take your shit and empty it outside, it stinks in here.”

  I go outside and empty the toilet bowl into the toilet outside.

  “Did you flush, gemors?”

  “Yes, Richard.”

  “Everything?”

  “Yes, Richard, everything.”

  “And you stink too. Go inside!” he says and pushes me again.

  I nearly fall as it is not easy to walk with a cast. At the kitchen door one of the girls gives me Lifebuoy soap and a little rag. She gives me a large plastic dish and tells me to go outside.

  “Wash,” Richard tells me and points to a tap outside.

  I fill the orange dish with water and put it on the ground. Then I take off my clothes. When I look at my reflection in the water I notice that the eye patch has fallen away and that my bad eye is beginning to open up slowly. I splash my face with water first. The swelling has gone down. The girl stands at the door and watches me. I stand with one foot, the one without the cast, in the water. First I soak the rag before I put soap on it. When bubbles start to appear I slide the rag first over my bad leg up to my knee.

  “You must wash everything, you hear? I want you clean.”

  “Yes, Richard.”

  “Even your ballas,” the girl says and giggles stupidly.

  I wash while they watch me. The sun is setting. Clouds start burning with fiery orange. I wash quickly and dry myself with the little rag. When I’m done I pour the water into a drain.

  “Right, let’s go,” Richard says. He walks behind me as we go through the house. In one room I see the girls watching TV. I look quickly and concentrate on walking as Richard is behind me. I get in the back seat. We drive towards town.

  We get off in a coloured area and go towards a block of flats. The lift is broken so we use the stairs. Richard lets me walk in front. I hang on to the banister as I walk. It’s a noisy block of flats. Children run everywhere and the lights aren’t working on all the floors. And it stinks of piss and shit. In one corridor a fire burns in a tin drum. Some of the people look like bergies. We walk past them and past the writing on the wall. “Mandela se poes,” Richard reads out loud the writing on the wall when we reach the top floor. He says it like it’s a doorbell message, like it’s something he says every time he gets there. I stand back as he unlocks the door.

  “You’re not going in there,” he says and lets his mate in. He opens another door near the flat. I go up a little staircase in the dark. Richard puts on his lighter and unlocks the door. He pushes me onto the roof and locks the door behind me.

  From where I’m standing I can see the city. I can see the library, the train station, even the Cape Sun with its golden light. I put on my torn jacket and sit against the warm wall. My stomach moans. Sshhh, I tell myself. You’re getting stronger. I must repeat this to myself.

  When it is dark and the moon is out Richard opens the door and gives me a loaf of white bread wrapped in newspaper and a pint of milk. I eat half a loaf and drink half of the milk. I save the rest for morning. About an hour later my stomach starts grumbling like something is cooking and boiling inside it. After a while I grab some newspaper and run towards one corner of the roof. I drop my pants and my bum explodes into a terrible fart, shit flying out in a soup. I go like that for most of the evening. I decide to eat the rest of the bread but stay away from the milk. Maybe tomorrow I’ll be lucky and they’ll let me go, I say but not with too much hope. I say it because that’s what a grown-up would say if a grown-up was in my shoes. Maybe tomorrow, I repeat and hold my asshole tight.

  I sleep well because I’m outside and the air is warm. When I breathe in I can smell the sea.

  * * *

  In the morning, before sunrise, Richard opens the door and leaves out a plate of chicken, a whole chicken. I eat all of it and feel very thirsty afterwards. I look at the milk but I don’t drink it. I explore the roof and watch people below. I watch them getting into their cars and getting out of their flats. I watch children running down the street playing soccer. I watch pigeons, ugly fat pigeons, flying around me endlessly and settling on the roof. Some of them only have one leg. And the men pigeons are always trying to screw the women pigeons. They bully them and hop on their backs. They are not very nice to look at, the men pigeons. They look fat and have this heavy throat that just hangs like an extra piece of meat. Every time they get on the roof I scare them away. But it’s no fun scaring them one at a time. You have to wait. You have to wait till they all gather, maybe twenty of them. And then you just get up suddenly and run towards them. They make a nice sound when they fly away.

  I get very thirsty so I stop running up and down. And there isn’t any shade on the roof so I take off my T-shirt and sweat in the sun. The pigeons gather and watch me. They clean their wings and shit on the roof. They also make irritating noises that only pigeons make and the men ones as always run after the women ones. They’ll do anything for a quick lay.

  I’m about to fall asleep when a strange thing happens. Seagulls fly by. They make a lot of noise and terrorise the pigeons. I get up and watch the pigeons clumsily flying off, some of them falling over each other. I laugh when one seagull attacks a man pigeon. It isn’t much of a fight. With its strong beak the seagull rips off some of the pigeon’s feathers before the pigeon flies away. It takes only a few seagulls, nine of them, to scare away maybe thirty stupid pigeons. They are beautiful seagulls. They have white feathers that they look after and you never see a seagull that looks battered with dirty wings like some pigeons. Seagulls have pride, they always wash at sea with cold water. Like me. I watched the seagulls a lot when I first came to Cape Town. They’re not stupid like pigeons. Pigeons are stupid because they let themselves get us
ed. Where did anyone ever see a seagull being used as a messenger bird? Never.

  The seagulls walk around the hot roof awkwardly, all the time crowing angrily. After a while the sun gets too much for them and they fly off somewhere. But they soon return if only to irritate the pigeons that start to gather. I forget my thirst when I look at them and think of swimming in the sea. I think of white waves crashing on the rocks and bubbles flying in salty air. I think of how sea water makes your skin dry if you don’t rinse off at once. I think of Bafana and start to feel sad. Why is he outside and I’m up here? Why do I get into trouble and he doesn’t even though he takes millions of drugs? And where are the police? Why are they never around when you need them? Why do they speak with people like Gerald? Why are they only interested in the big guy with the BMW who gets his car stolen in daylight? Why are they so scared of the night? Why don’t they ever come out at night when you need them the most? Do they sleep well or are they also scared of bad things that come out at night?

  The seagulls come back again and scare off the pigeons. After a while I start to feel sorry for the pigeons. They’re not strong like seagulls. Some of them have one leg and bad rashes that leave them with patches of pink flesh where there were once feathers. But they’re stupid for not living like seagulls.

  Night comes and they still don’t open for me. My mouth is dry with thirst. I look at the milk and find that it has gone off. With nothing to eat and nothing to drink I sit on one corner of the roof, my legs dangerously dangling over the ledge. Then the door opens.

  “Gemors, what are you doing there?” Richard asks but stands at the door.

  I get away from the ledge and walk towards him.

  “Don’t you want something to drink?” he asks.

  “Yes, Richard.”

  “Come in then.”

  We go to his flat. Three other guys are in a room without chairs and a table. They sit on bean bags and watch a big TV. In the middle there is a silver tray with crushed buttons and zol and three bottlenecks. Richards gives me a plate of food and then goes to the tray.

  “My sister made this breyani,” he says. His eyes are not as aggressive as they usually are.

  “Thanks, Richard,” I say.

  “Don’t thank me, just eat.”

  I sit near the TV without getting in anyone’s view. It plays a string of music videos. The others start smoking bottlenecks. I eat quickly and put back my plate at the sink. I take an empty jug from the sink and just fill it with water. I drink as much as I can without getting sick.

  “Hey, gemors, you finished?”

  “Yes, Richard.”

  “Was it nice?” he says, spaced out.

  I nod my head.

  “Come here,” he calls me to one room. I follow him.

  “This is where I sleep. You see?”

  “Yes, Richard.” His room is stuffy and a mess.

  “Close the door.”

  I close the door. He opens his fly and lets out his piel.

  “Come here.”

  I hesitate.

  “Hey, gemors, don’t make me shout. I just gave you nice food.”

  “Yes, Richard,” I say and come close to him.

  “Sit on the bed,” he says.

  I sit on the edge of his bed. He stands with his dick in my face.

  “Tsek jou naai! Jy dink jy’s mos ’n kleuring, nè? Suig. Suig,” he says and shoves his dick in my mouth. “Open properly, jou naai. Poes. Tsek. Take it all in.”

  I do as I’m told. He stands there and starts rocking his pelvis. My jaws get tired. I take his dick out of my mouth and wank him.

  “Tsek, jou naai! Suig. I know how to skommel.”

  I put it back in my mouth. The door opens.

  “Hey, what’s going on in here? I also want to join the party,” one of them says and laughs. Richard smiles as the other unzips his fly.

  “It’s my turn,” he says and shoves his semi-erect dick against my cheek.

  “Tsek, Richard,” he jokes.

  Richard takes out his piel from my mouth but he doesn’t put it away. He starts playing with himself while I suck the other’s piel. Soon they all join in and take turns with my mouth. “Suig, suig,” they keep prodding me. In my head I hear seagulls screeching violently, swooping over the sea as waves come crashing down. They are giving you their salt. I tell myself. Eat it, be strong. I start sweating. After a while my jaws become stiff but I continue sucking their smelly dicks with white stuff like pap on them. They make me give them blowjobs till they all come. At least they don’t come in my mouth. They come all over my shirt. Afterwards they all sleep in various rooms. I go to the toilet and wash my T-shirt.

  “Gemors,” I hear Richard’s voice, “where are you?”

  I come out with my wet T-shirt and just look at him. He just looks back at me for a while and says, “You’re sleeping outside again. It’s too hot in here en julle kaffirs stink.”

  I follow him out the door and onto the roof. He locks the door behind me. I wait at the door till his footsteps fade. When I look out I see seagulls perched on the edge of the roof. They stand there like statues till one of them opens his wings and drops onto the warm roof. It’s a man seagull. You can tell from the way he walks. The others stand there and wait. I also stand at the door and wait. He waddles towards me and stops about a kick away. Then he shits there and flies back to the others. Without thinking I walk over and put my finger into the mess. I scribble a cross on the door with it. They start crowing and flapping their wings. Then I walk to the mess and piss in it. I go back to the wall and sit there. They all fly towards the puddle in a mad rush and put their feet in it and then they all fly away except for the man seagull. He stands guard on the edge of the roof. I smile and close my eyes. I’m getting stronger, I whisper to myself before I fall asleep.

  * * *

  The next day Richard wakes me up after sunrise and tells me to get in the car with him and his mates. We drive in silence till we get to the bridge. Richard hands me my crutch as I get out of the car. Gerald is the first person I see from under the bridge. Everybody else is still sleeping except for the pigeons perched above the bridge. They croak and watch with beady eyes. I wait outside Gerald’s shack while he talks in Afrikaans with Richard and his mates. Then they drive off. Gerald calls me over. The burglar bar at the door separates us.

  “What’s your name, Blue Eyes?” he finally says.

  “Azure.”

  “What kind of a name is that, Blue Eyes?”

  “My mother gave it to me.”

  “Then your mother was very stupid because how is anyone . . . how am I supposed to remember that name?”

  I say nothing. I lean against the crutch for all the support I can get and look at the ground.

  “You see, my name is very easy to remember, if you know me,” he smiles. “Do you think you know me now, Blue Eyes?”

  “Yes, Gerald.”

  “Good. So don’t fuck with me again. I think we understand each other now, don’t we, Blue Eyes?”

  “Yes, Gerald.”

  “But your name we have to do something about it. Blue. Mmmh, blue. Blue. Blue, blue. You like it?”

  “What?”

  “Your new name.”

  “Yes, I like it, Gerald.”

  “What’s your new name?”

  I hesitate but say “Blue”.

  “You see, you’re not that stupid.”

  He goes inside and fiddles in the back.

  “You see, I’m not such a bad guy,” he says and gives me my old shoes and a T-shirt with a lion print in front.

  “Thank you, Gerald.”

  “Enough with that now. Just take it. If you’re ever going to survive you better stop saying thank you, thank you. Are you stupid or something? Look at your face and your leg. You’ve got nothing to say thank you about. Okay. So fucking stop it or I’ll moer you. Do you want me to moer you again?”

  “No, Gerald.”

  “No, Gerald, that’s better.”

&
nbsp; I nod my head. New lesson – no thank you, I say to myself. And No, Gerald. No Gerald! No, Gerald!

  “Now just take off that fucking T-shirt,” he says suddenly getting worked up, “and that jacket, Blue. You can’t use it any more, it’s finished.”

  I give him the old T-shirt with bloodstains and the jacket. The pigeons croak and one of them flies away. He gives me one shoe.

  “I’ll keep the other one for now,” he says.

  “Gerald?”

  “Don’t even ask. This is your new home. I own you now. Who do you think paid for your hospital bills? Jy raak my gewoond, nè? Tsek! Who fed you these last couple of days? Tell me who? Because I really want to know.”

  “You, Gerald,” I say and look at the ground.

  “That’s right, me. So now I own you. Understand?”

  I nod. It is too difficult to say Yes, Gerald to that. He walks to the mobile toilets and goes in. He stays there a while before he comes out again.

  “Everybody has a job here. So go and do whatever it is that you do but just be back by five. I’ve got an important job for you. And Blue . . .”

  He looks at me square in the eye.

  “Don’t disappoint me.”

  I nod my head and go.

  10

  I go to town near Subway. It is early. Few people walk the streets. I bump into Vincent working near my usual section.

  “Where’ve you been? I heard about you,” he says.

  “Everywhere and nowhere really. What did you hear?”

  “That Gerald moered you.”

  “Since when does Gerald moer anyone? He got Sealy to moer me.”

  “Oh, then you were lucky. If he moered you himself, he might have killed you. Know what I mean?”

  “No.”

  “Gerald lives at the bridge and keeps a low profile for a reason.”

  “What?”

  “But you can be such a laaitie sometimes.”

  “Look, I know he does drugs and everything.”