Thirteen Cents: A Novel (Modern African Writing Series)

by K. Sello Duiker

  I nod.

  “And what’s this sign on my wrist?”

  “What does it look like to you?”

  “It looks like a man sheep.”

  “You mean a ram.”

  “What does it look like to you?”

  “It doesn’t matter.”

  “Today is my birthday,” I tell him.

  “Liar. Today isn’t your birthday and you know it. Do you see what your parents did to you?”

  “No, Gerald.”

  “They taught you how to survive. I had to kill them so that you would learn never to spill another’s blood. Blood frightens you, doesn’t it?”

  I look at him and think of saying yes but I don’t.

  “It isn’t supposed to be on the outside,” I tell him.

  He laughs and drinks from the glass, all of it.

  “Do you understand what Richard did to you?”

  “No, Gerald. I’m stronger.”

  “He made you understand everything. You had to understand what hunger is, what thirst is.”

  “But I know that already.”

  “Let me finish,” he raises his voice. The candle crackles.

  “You had to understand everything so that you could live. People are trying to kill you.”

  “Who, Gerald, who?”

  “Everyone. Gangsters, the mafia. Everyone. You had to understand that. You had to understand pain.”

  “But I hate pain.” He sees my fear.

  “You had to understand that. You had to understand what it means to be a woman. That’s why they did that to you. I know that you understand what it means to be a woman already. You bleed through the anus when you shit, don’t you?”

  “I’ve always been like that.”

  “Your mother did that to you. She loved you too much. So much that you wanted to understand everything about being a woman. Do you know how evil that is?”

  “No, Gerald.”

  “You say you’re thirteen but your piel looks like you’re five.”

  “I know that.”

  “Your father did that to you. That’s why he was going to kill you. You didn’t want to grow up so that you would always be with your mother. Do you see that?”

  “No, Gerald.”

  “You must go back to Sea Point.”

  “And do what?”

  “Let me finish,” he raises his voice and the shack seems to shake a little. “You must go back to where you sleep. I’ve been watching you. I know where you stay. You must go back there and take a shit. And then you must never go back there.”

  “There is a woman I know there, she . . .”

  “Forget about her. She’s the one who sold you. All that money you made. She sold it to others so that they could make money out of you. The mother of evil. She’s the devil herself. All that food she’s been giving you. That’s why you lose things. People have been stealing from you all your life. Your father knew this but still he beat you when you came home and said you lost things.”

  “I remember.”

  “He was cruel, your father. He made you wash in his dirty water. Do you know what that does to you?”

  “No, Gerald.”

  “That’s why you have blue eyes and love water. You’re always thirsty because he did the same to your mother, before you were born. When you were in your mother’s stomach you taught yourself how to swim, to love water because already in your mother’s stomach you knew that dirty water is bad. Your father wanted to destroy you. The same way he killed his brother. He hated his brother enough to watch him being killed and he never did anything. He just watched and did nothing. He never cried. He should have cried. You know what happened? That water in his eyes turned to poison. That’s why your father was evil. He made your mother wash in his dirty water. Do you know how evil that is?”

  “No, Gerald.”

  “It is worse than killing someone. It is like pissing in milk and making someone drink it.”

  I pour myself some water and drink.

  “Good,” he says, “water has always saved you. But now you must stop washing in the sea. Do you understand?”

  I look at him and say nothing.

  He goes to the corner of the room and brings back two plastic dishes: a red one and an orange one. He closes the door and pours water from a clear plastic drum into both dishes. He gives me a little rag, the same one I used at the house Richard took me to. He also gives me Lifebuoy soap. I stand with one leg in the orange dish and wash. We both wash. I dry myself with the rag. He uses a towel. Afterwards I get dressed in my new clothes. He puts on his bright orange T-shirt and white jeans.

  “Do you know what that is?” he says pointing to my T-shirt.

  “A lion.”

  “No, that is a king, a predator.”

  “Like you?” I ask.

  He smiles but his face doesn’t light up. Instead I see all the creases and wrinkles it has gathered over the years. He has too many secrets.

  “I’m tough. No one can destroy me except fire. That’s why they had to burn Staggie to kill him. That was the only thing that could kill him. If they hadn’t burned him the bullets would not have killed him,” he says looking into my eyes. “Are you hungry?”

  “No.”

  “Good. You must go now, the candlelight is going out.” He puts out the candle by wetting his fingers and pressing them against the flame. White smoke rises. He breathes it in and opens the door.

  “Come back tomorrow,” he tells me.

  12

  I take my crutch outside and walk to Sea Point. I think about nothing but Joyce. I ring her doorbell when I get to the door. She opens it and starts shouting at me.

  “Where’ve you been, wena? My food has been rotting out there. No one touched it.” She pulls me by the wrist and lets me in.

  “Sit,” she tells me when I get into her small kitchen.

  “Joyce, I need my money. I’m in trouble,” I tell her.

  “Hey, don’t call me that,” she says and slaps me across the face. “I’m old enough to be your grandmother.” I look at her with surprise.

  “Auntie, please, can you call the bank? I need my money.”

  “Your money? After all I did for you? You can’t get that money. The bank won’t give it to you,” she says with cold eyes.

  “You mean you won’t give it to me.”

  She slaps me across the face again. Hard. My nose starts bleeding. I let the blood drip.

  “Now see what you made me do,” she says gently and runs to the toilet. She comes back with some toilet paper.

  “Where’s the blood?” she says finding my nose dry.

  “I ate it.”

  “You’re an evil child,” she tells me and points her finger at me.

  “I need my money,” I tell her.

  “What do you need it for? I give you food, don’t I?”

  “But I need it. I’m in trouble.”

  “Ja, you’re in trouble because you’re a naughty boy. See what you did to your leg. You’re in trouble with the bank. You haven’t been paying your money.”

  “What do you mean? I need the money,” I tell her.

  “Get out,” she says, “you have caused me nothing but trouble. The bank is very angry with you.”

  “Fuck off,” I tell her and she throws me out. She keeps my crutch.

  “You will rot in your own piss,” she tells me.

  “Give me back my crutch!”

  She slams the door in my face. Without thinking I open my pants and piss. I hear the seagulls. They screech. After pissing I spit into my piss and go.

  My heart races with confusion and anger. What’s wrong with this grown-up? Is she mad? I use the banister to get down the stairs. Outside many seagulls fly above me. They follow me as I struggle to walk. They scream and cry. I get onto the beach road and go towards Broken Bath beach. When I pass La Perla, the place where Joyce works, I spit. The seagulls dive near me in a mad frenzy and follow me as I limp to the beach.

  The sun is
still up and there are a few people on the beach. No, I say. No. I’m going to take a shit in their toilet. The seagulls gather near a large rock and wait. I spit where I used to sleep and tear up the clear plastic I used to sleep on. I leave it there and head towards the fountain.

  Everybody I pass seems to be watching me. I drag my cast along. “Men” it says outside a door near the fountain. I spit first and go inside. I go into the first little room. There is piss on the seat. I wipe it clean and sit. I shit and think of Joyce. I spit in front of me. She was trying to kill me, I say to myself. All the money she stole from me is going to burn her. She will die, I tell myself. Joyce will die. An image comes to mind. I see a white man with black hair. I think hard about that image as I shit some more on top of the toilet paper. I know him, I say. He works at that place where they sell rude videos near that train. He has a pale face. I see an image of him doing it with Joyce. I spit as I shit. When I’m done I wipe myself again with lots of toilet paper. Joyce can have that. She earned it, I say to myself and flush. I watch the toilet swallow the mess. I wash my hands vigorously at the basin and avoid the mirror.

  Outside I bump into Bafana. I’m pleased to see him.

  “Where’ve you been, son?”

  “What happened to your leg?”

  “Nothing. A small thing really.”

  “I’ve got some zol. I was about to smoke it. Do you want some?”

  My face lights up.

  “Bafana, you must look after yourself. You see how I’m dressed? I don’t live here anymore.”

  “I like your pants.” He touches them. They sparkle in the light. “And that T-shirt? Who gave it to you?”

  “Vincent.”

  “Oh, Vincent. I saw him today. He says he’s going back home.”

  “Really?” I say. We walk to the moffie beach. They have a little place at the sea for them. It’s like a big balcony. A black man watches as we sit there and roll a big zol.

  “You can light it,” Bafana says.

  Bafana likes me because I look after him.

  “So where are you going to stay now?” he says as I take the first drag. I close my eyes and let the smoke fill my lungs. I hear the seagulls nearby. They are going home to sleep.

  “Are you hungry?” I ask him and pass the zol.

  “No, finish. Leave some for me.”

  He’s hungry.

  “Look, you can’t come where I’m going,” I say. I can see that question in his eyes.

  “You work for them now, don’t you?”

  “Who?”

  “The gangsters.”

  I keep smoking. My shoulders drop. The calm settles over me and moves down my back all the way to my feet.

  “I miss this,” I tell him and watch the water rising and crashing in on itself.

  Bafana looks thin. He looks thinner than when I last saw him.

  “But you can find me in town where I park cars.”

  He smiles. He knows it means food. I give him the zol. He smokes it like he’s holding a bottleneck. It burns quickly and is soon finished.

  We sit there and listen to the waves. It feels like flying. I stretch out my arms and stand up to stretch out my back.

  “They said Gerald fucked you up,” he says.

  I look at him and walk over to the water’s edge. If only it was that simple, that easy, Bafana, I say to myself and spit into the water. I stand there and the wind blows. The sun is getting closer to the water. Boats go by. I wonder if they can see me. I wonder how far it is from here to them. They look small in the distance like toy boats. The black man walks beside me and also looks out over the water. He looks at me and grins. There is something familiar about his grin, something naughty about it. He looks like a bad man, the kind who would steal an old woman’s bag.

  I turn back. Bafana has left. I leave the beach and find a park bench to sit on.

  13

  My mind races with a million things. From where I’m sitting I can see everything. I can hear everything. All of it, the music, the patting of feet as people run, the dogs barking, cars rushing. I can hear it all, even my own heartbeat in my ear. And it all makes sense. Not good sense or bad sense, just sense. I scratch my balls and think about all the money Joyce stole from me. She’s a bitch, a fucking cunt. It was a lot of money.

  The moffies walk by. One of them looks at me but I pay no attention to him. I just look out at the sea. Another sits beside me and opens his legs. A big banana is between his legs.

  “I like your pants,” he says and brushes his shoulder against mine.

  “You’re full of kak,” I hear myself saying.

  He closes his legs but still sits beside me.

  “What do you want?”

  “You can sleep over if you want. You look clean.”

  I think about it and say nothing.

  “Okay, I’ll cook for you.”

  “Does your wife know you do this?”

  “No. She’s away on holiday,” he says, looking a little nervous.

  “Well, take off your ring. I don’t want to see it,” I almost shout at him.

  “Done,” he says and pulls it off.

  “Why do you wear it?”

  “Because I’m married.”

  “No. I mean . . .”

  “Oh, I don’t know. Habit, I guess. Also I don’t want to lose it.”

  You’ve lost your mind, I say to myself.

  “You have kids?”

  “Look, I don’t want to talk about my family. Are you coming or not?”

  I look at him concealing his big banana and smile.

  “I’m just waiting for the sun to go down.”

  We sit on the bench and say nothing as the sun gently touches the water. I always imagine that steam will go into the air when this happens but it never does. The sun just goes quietly into the water and disappears. The clouds become red with fire. On the other side of the sky I can see the colour of bruises.

  “We better go,” he says, “it’s getting late.”

  You mean you’re worried that someone might see you, I say to myself.

  “I’ll do it for fifty,” I say as I get up.

  “A bed, food and fifty. You drive a hard bargain,” he says.

  “Have you ever slept out here?” I say and look into his eyes.

  He says nothing and walks in front. White people are full of kak, I say to myself.

  We walk slowly as I don’t have my crutch. Joyce, that bitch, I think.

  “What happened to your leg?”

  “I fell and broke it.”

  “What, your leg?”

  “No, this part here,” I say and point to my ankle.

  “Is it sore?”

  “Not really. I’ll have it off in a couple of weeks. This thing, I mean.”

  “I know.”

  We go to his car first. He takes out two boxes and a plastic bag, the type dustbin people use. He gives me the plastic bag to hold. We go to a nice block of flats near Sunset Beach. It’s the best block I’ve ever been to. Outside there’s a guard.

  “Hi, Alfred,” he greets him as he lets me inside. When he’s not looking Alfred gives me the evil eye. I stick out my tongue between my gap and cross my eyes.

  “You better park your car in the garage, Mr Lebowitz, we’ve had some burglaries outside the building,” he says in a deep grown-up voice.

  “Fine, Alfred,” he says as we get into the lift. We go up many floors, almost reaching the top floor. As we get out I look out of a row of large windows and see the sea.

  “You live here?” I say.

  He smiles and brushes my bum. We go into his flat. Almost everything is white. Strangely, I feel calm. He takes the plastic bag and offers me a seat. His manners are sickening. They are perfect and make you feel a little strange, like you’re a dog with fleas. And he has to be careful around you. I ignore his manners and make myself comfortable. I sit on a white leather sofa. It’s so soft I could fall asleep on it. He does something in the other room. I can hear cupboards
opening and closing. I get bored and my eyes stray to the big TV. I’m shocked to see myself on the screen. I move closer and the image of myself moves closer as I move closer to the screen. I sit back and the image also sits back. For a while I just stare at myself stupidly. White people are evil, I say, and turn off the TV. I sit there and wait for him but I can’t stop wondering about that TV. Where are the cameras? I wonder and look around the room. I can’t see any cameras, only a neat room with lots of beautiful things. This guy is sick. He’s going to film the whole thing.

  “I thought we’d take a shower first,” he says when he comes in.

  “You mean you’re horny?”

  “Are you always this direct?”

  “Do you want to fuck me?”

  “Good God,” he says and walks over to the piano where there are pictures of his family. He turns them all over as if they will see and hear everything.

  “Look, if you’re going to be like that you can get out now. I’ve tried being nice to you.”

  “Sorry,” I say and grind my teeth.

  “Just don’t do it again.”

  “Look, that’s how it is. They all speak to me like that.”

  “Well, I’m not them.”

  “Don’t worry, I won’t ask you your name.”

  “Good.”

  “Just relax, okay. I also want to have some fun,” I lie and put on a smile.

  “Well, I’m tense now,” he says and goes to the other room.

  “Can I put on the TV?” I ask.

  “It’s broken,” he says and returns with a glass of wine.

  “Is it all right if I take off my T-shirt? It’s a little hot.”

  “Ja, sure, but I can put on the air-conditioning.”

  “Don’t worry. I’ll be fine,” I say and take off my T-shirt.

  “You’ve got the most incredible blue eyes for a . . .”

  “Darkie,” I smile.

  “Yes,” he says awkwardly. “Are they real?”

  That is the strangest question I’ve ever heard.

  “What do you mean?” I ask and sit closer to him.

  “I mean, are they contact lenses?”

  “What?”

  “Never mind. I guess they’re real.”

  He puts down his glass on the table. I put my hand on his crotch and rub it. He opens his pants and his dick pops out. I stroke it gently.