Thirteen Cents: A Novel (Modern African Writing Series)

by K. Sello Duiker

  I go to his shack and lie on his bed. I don’t think much. I just sleep. And I dream of many things. Easy things that make me sleep for a long time. I dream about the swimming pool in Sea Point and eating lots of ice cream.

  I never dream of doing it with a woman. I’m not a moffie. One of the bastards once asked me if I was a moffie. And I told him that I’m not a moffie. But it’s strange that I never dream of doing it with a woman, not even beautiful Toni Braxton. And the other guys are always saying that it happens to them. I just lie about it and say that it happens to me too even though it never has. But this doesn’t worry me too much. It worries me that I have never done it with a woman and that I’ve only been doing it with men even though I don’t like them. They’re hairy and ugly. What’s there to like?

  When I was growing up I used to play with Vincent and the neighbourhood girls. We used to like playing house. Vincent used to like playing that game because he was always the father. And the father gets to do it with the girl who plays the mother. We used to play in the back near the dirty stream where there were no shacks. Vincent would go behind a tree with the girl. “We’re going to sleep now, children,” he would say and they would lie behind a tree in the long grass and do it. The others would do their own thing. Like I was always the brother and I would look after the others who were supposed to be younger.

  Vincent always liked playing the father but the girls never liked playing mother when it meant that they had to go to bed with Vincent. They would soon come back and complain that Vincent’s thing was too big. “But if you open your legs wide, it will go in,” he always answered. Then we would all laugh and we would start another game where everyone shows each other their thing. I never liked this game because my thing was small. So when we played this game I would think hard of doing it with a woman till my thing was hard. The others would laugh and the girls would want to touch it but I wouldn’t let them. But they never said they wanted to touch Vincent’s thing because he had hair around it. He was the only one with hair around it. We all used to look at this hair with wonder and his big thing.

  But one day Ma Ntando saw us and she chased us with her broom. We ran away, and since Mshenguville was big, she never knew where we stayed so she couldn’t tell on us. Those were fun days. When Vincent was feeling naughty we would dodge school together after break and buy a cigarette at the shop. It was Vincent who taught me how to smoke and breathe out of my nose. But I would feel bad about missing school because every day I came home my mother would ask me what I learned at school that day. And I didn’t like lying to her. She always knew when I lied and would give me a hiding. But about school I could lie till my teeth were green and she would never suspect.

  So I didn’t dodge school much with Vincent. I only did it maybe twice a week. And sometimes he would ask me to dodge with him on the days when the teacher was going to ask us to say the times tables. I used to hate dodging because I liked saying the times tables but I dodged for Vincent because he was nice to me. He would beat up the boys who beat me up because I had blue eyes. He was always my friend, Vincent. That’s why I used to dodge school with him. And in the neighbourhood everyone knew he was a rough fighter. He once hit this boy so hard that he bled through his nose. And you know what Vincent did? He licked the other boy’s blood from his knuckles. After that everyone was scared of him, even some of the bigger boys. All the other kids wanted to be his friend but he chose me as his special friend. I never forget that. Sometimes when I feel down, I think of the day Vincent beat up the biggest boy in school because he was bullying me.

  We were at the playground at break. Rotten Sibu saw me eating a lollipop and wanted it. I refused. He slapped me hard and grabbed it from my mouth. I didn’t cry. I never cried, not even when my father beat me. Vincent came along like a dog with rabies and tackled Rotten Sibu. Like the giant he was, he fell. Then Vincent sat on his stomach and started laying in the punches. He punched him till the principal dragged him away to his office. He got ten of the worst lashings on his bum. I think he even bled. For weeks after that he couldn’t sit on a chair without putting damp newspaper on his bum. He was my special friend forever after that.

  21

  I follow Sealy around wherever he goes. I have become his second shadow. Under the bridge there are mostly black people living now. A few of the coloured bitches stayed. But all the coloured guys left. And of course there are those two white men. They don’t say much and only speak to the older people under the bridge. I never see them sitting outside Ma Zakes’ just to have a drink or to talk. But I have stopped worrying about them. I used to think they were up to something. I’m not sure what I thought they were up to but I was suspicious of them. They seem harmless, like Sealy said.

  And the police come in more often since Gerald died. They’re always raiding us for drugs. Sealy has never been busted but he knows they are watching him. They are waiting for him to fuck up. They don’t seem to mind the dagga that much. I guess because we don’t sell that much. I mean, I’ve never seen anyone being arrested for a measly stop. But you can never be too sure with these assholes. They are capable of anything. I’m always careful when I smoke zol outside. I keep an eye out.

  Sometimes when Sealy feels friendly he packs the car with his roughneck friends and we go to Muizenberg. We park outside the beach and set up a braai. With Tupac belting out of the car we eat, drink and dance. But I don’t drink that much. When everyone is shit-faced and drunk I sneak out and take a walk with the seagulls.

  There are always chip packets floating at sea. And I’ve heard that some of the skollies throw their needles into the sea or they leave them lying on the sand. You never find that sort of thing happening in Sea Point. There’s always someone watching. And white people are full of shit anyway. If they saw you leaving your rubbish lying around they would probably tell you off or something like that. It’s a pity because the water is warmer at Muizenberg.

  I like watching people swim. There’s a certain order about it. Out at sea there’ll be one or two white faces, mostly surfers. They don’t fear the sea. As always they go at it like they own the sea. And then still out at sea but closer to the beach you’ll find the coloureds, laughing and frolicking in the water. I must say, no matter what anyone says, coloured people know how to have a good time. They just seem to know how to have fun. Wherever there’s laughter and mischief on a beach, there’s usually a coloured face not far from there. And then at the water’s edge you find black people. We always seem to be scared of water. Usually women will be wading in the water wearing their swimming caps to protect the chemicals in their hair from reacting with sea water. And they like to wear tights and funny-looking swimming things. We dress funny at sea, black people. You can always tell by how we dress that we are scared of water. Once I saw a woman with one of those air things around her arms and waist and she didn’t even go into the water. She just stayed near the water’s edge. But black men are a little more adventurous. They go in with the coloureds and have their fun. And black people always take home with them a bottle of sea water with sand. They drink it and do all sorts of rituals against evil with it. White people and coloured people aren’t interested in that. Sometimes I see them collecting shells. And they like bringing their dogs to the beach even though you’re not allowed.

  Sealy says that a long time ago before there was land there was only water. And that everything, even people, lived under the sea. He said black people were the first to leave the sea and live on land and then others followed. And because we left the sea a long time ago, far longer than the others, we forgot how to swim and started to fear water. It made sense to me when I heard this. But it still didn’t explain my blue eyes and my love of water.

  * * *

  Sealy goes to Salt River a lot. And he starts leaving me behind when he goes. I slowly watch him change. First he gets a gold filling in his front teeth and then he starts buying flashy clothes. And the kind with expensive labels. Arrogance grows in his eyes. When he looks
at people it is with a sort of hatred. He even stops eating with me. He starts reminding me of Allen but doesn’t have Allen’s dirty mouth. I don’t know who’s worse. On the streets they start to know about him. I worry, as the police are watching him. He also takes a lot of other drugs, not just buttons. He sniffs cocaine and even smokes crack.

  One night three police vans come in. They come straight to Sealy’s room and wake us up in the middle of the night. In his room they find three parcels of cocaine and some crack. They beat him up badly and it doesn’t help that he puts up a fight. Dogs also sniff around in other shacks and his roughneck friends also get caught. They take them away in their van and they leave the bridge screaming like demons from the back of the van. I don’t sleep much after that.

  The next morning four lorries come in. They wake up everyone and tell us that we are moving. They start taking apart shacks. The women scream and shout and swear. It takes about two hours for them to pack our belongings into the lorries. A bulldozer follows behind.

  I give away all Sealy’s stuff and vow to go back to the streets. They can go wherever they’re going without me, I say to myself and leave as the bulldozer takes apart everything in sight.

  I go to Sea Point. It seems like a long walk. I count to a hundred many times before I get there. I go to the moffie place at the sea and stand near the water’s edge. The sky is angry with dark clouds. It rumbles and lightning flashes between clouds. I feel tired and lost. I stand there and wish the water would take me back to the sea but it doesn’t. Huge waves come crashing down and white froth gathers at my feet. I look for the seagulls but they are nowhere to be seen. I stand there alone. My feet get wet. When it starts to rain I move. A painful arrow crawls up my legs and stops in my stomach. I haven’t eaten. I feel weak but walk as the rain gathers strength. I have no place to go to, I say to myself and look at the mountain. It is also cloudy up there, dark moody clouds that look like dragons.

  I walk towards Green Point, the rain on my back, but I have no energy to hide or to run. I just keep walking. After a while the rain falls at a steady pace. I pass Green Point and head into town and then I go for the hills. It rains harder. The wind starts blowing in my face. I struggle to go up. I reach the trees and continue walking. Raindrops fly into my face and get squashed. They are like little bombs. I walk further up and feel depressed. My mother has died. My father has died, I say to myself. I say it over and over like a song, a chant. The trees are wet. When I move past them more rain falls on me. I get to the beginning of the mountain and look up. It looks dark and wet and there are no cars parked outside. I watch raindrops falling from a great height only to smash into smaller drops on my face. I start climbing. My stomach has no chance to moan. It works with the rest of my body to carry me up the steep mountain. I start shaking from the cold but I keep walking. The higher I climb the harder it rains. I trip on a rock in the ground and fall. I bump my head against another rock and get a cut on my head. I bleed and my body feels weak. I pick myself up and continue. My clothes feel heavier. They are soaked with rain. My mother is dead. My father is dead, I say to myself again.

  I keep walking. My head feels light, a little dizzy. The wind blows and I nearly fall backwards but it blows in the other direction again and saves me. I get to the top of the mountain. It is misty and it rains. How will I find my cave? I wonder and start walking towards the other hills. The ground is muddy and there is water everywhere. I slip and slide and fall. I pick myself up and keep walking. Lightning flashes. I nearly fall down a steep drop because it is so misty. Eventually I begin to see that I will never find my cave and start to look for the nearest place I can find to rest. I walk down a familiar railing and stay on a cobbled footpath. Further down the mist clears. I go past the bridge and head down a hill. I begin to see large rocks. There must be a place where I can stay, I say and fight the wind. Barbed wire is around the rocks. I climb over it and cut one finger. I bleed and suck my blood. I don’t like blood.

  I crawl up the rocks and go down the other side where there are more rocks. My feet are useless in the rain. They slide on the rocks. I have to use my hands more to keep myself from going with the wind. Just before going down on the other side I find a crevice between rocks. It is quite thin. I squeeze in my stomach and go between the crack. Inside it is dark. I take out my lighter from my pocket and flick it but it is wet and doesn’t work. I whistle and the sound carries. I hear flapping wings and get scared. It is dark and sounds deep in there but I have nowhere else to go. I must go in, I tell myself and feel my way in the dark. You’re getting closer, I tell myself. The rain still falls on my back through the hole. My feet touch the bottom and it is more rock. I get on all fours and crawl in. Above, a little light sneaks in through the crack. I see something flying into the hole.

  I start to shiver out of control. I take off my pants and jacket and wring them. It is cold in here. I dry myself with my wet pants and hold my lighter. I blow into it to dry it while I shiver. I blow for a long time. The light coming through the hole even disappears. It becomes completely dark.

  A million things go through my mind as I stand there naked in the dark, my clothes around me. It is difficult to breathe, as if breathing in the dark is like breathing in monsters. You’re going to be fine, I keep saying to myself and pray that my lighter will work but the wheel just keeps turning and nothing happens. I hold my clothes carefully and venture a little further but not too far. I get onto a dry patch and sit on the cold rock shaking the lighter and praying for a miracle. Without warning a spark flies out of it. I catch a glimpse of a deep cave. Just in front of me I see another drop. I move back with fright. As another spark flashes the sound of a hundred wings or more fills the cave. I flick the lighter on again and see another spark. I keep flicking it till a flame stays.

  I crawl on all fours and go in front of me. I reach the edge and look down. It is quite steep but I can see the floor. I must get down there, I say. I leave my clothes and find rocks that lead down. I climb down carefully, still shivering. My feet touch soil. Above me I can see a blanket of moving wings. Bats, I wince and tell myself not to look up again. I walk on the floor and look for wood. I trip on stones placed in a circle and shout out with shooting pain. There are ashes in the middle. Wood can’t be too far, I say to myself and walk further. It is a big cave. Around a corner I find broken branches and some logs. One at a time I drag them back. I build a triangle with little branches. I do it carefully as there isn’t dried grass to light up. You can’t fuck up, I say to myself and keep checking the lighter’s fluid. There is still plenty of fire in it.

  I light the branches and blow gently. The fire catches at once. Shivering in the dark I feed it slowly. I don’t think about anything except the warmth of the fire I will make. I even forget my hunger. The branches catch fire quickly and flames start to dance. I start to see more of the deep big cave. As the fire grows I feed it more wood. I look around and see that in another corner there are more branches. I go towards them and hear the rain raging outside. Near the branches water trickles down a rock and a wind blows through. There must be another opening up there, I say to myself and start dragging heavy logs. I bring as much firewood as I can get. The fire grows bigger and even falls out of the circle. I open it up by putting the stones further apart. I start to relax when I feel the heat on my body. When the fire burns steadily I climb back up to the top to get my clothes and bring them down. I drape my clothes on a log and put it near the fire.

  For a long time I do nothing but just sit with my arms around my knees and watch the fire. It becomes my blanket. I think of the bridge and the shacks as just nothing but splinters of wood and rubbish. Rats are probably all that’s left of that place.

  When the fire is near my height I get up and start walking around. My shadow towers above everything. I walk around just to watch my shadow move. It creeps along the walls like a ghost. On one wall there are strange markings. Someone drew stick people and they carry spears and run towards a cow. But the cow
is drawn really well. I can see its horns and its tail. I look at the strange drawings and a funny thought comes to me. I start walking around the fire. I walk in a circle, driven by a strange sensation to move.

  There’s nothing else to do, I say to myself. I start clapping my hands as I walk. The fire burns and smoke rises, escaping in the hole on top. I walk faster and faster and start clapping to a rhythm. I clap and start hopping. And the hopping becomes skipping. And then that becomes bounding and soon I’m dancing. I clap and fling my arms around wildly. I can hear the bats above me. On the floor not too far from me I see their shit. I dance around the fire and close my eyes. I see a vision of myself running like a wind though a forest. I run so fast that the forest becomes blurry. When I open my eyes, the fire asks me to feed it. I put in a heavy log and little bits of fire float and spiral in the air. I start to sweat as I get warmer. I feel every muscle in my body as I dance around the fire. The fire gets bigger and stands tall. With a little wind sneaking through the other hole it makes a sound. It is the sound of dreams burning. I feel feverish with energy and keep dancing.

  When I close my eyes I see animals running at a furious speed. I see rhinos, wild cows with big horns, elephants and even lions. They seem to be running away from something. I even see a swarm of birds that make a dark cloud in the sky. The earth comes alive with the sound of these running animals. I dance around the fire and clap till I start to bleed through the nose. I hold my head up and keep dancing. The hairs on my back stand upright. Like a snake, that sensation crawls up my spine and erupts in my head. I start prancing about, huge leaps around the fire. My body feels light. I only hear the sound of bats and the rain and thunder. My heart beats wildly and for a moment I think it will beat out of my chest and pop out of mouth. I dance till I’m so exhausted that I collapse on the ground.