Tandia

by Bryce Courtenay

  'Shit! Who you?' She wasn't really asking a question and her flat gaze was not in the least curious. She withdrew her hand from the wall which caused her to lurch slightly forward. 'Don't fuck with me, you hear!' Her words seemed to upset her balance and she fell two steps backwards until her shoulders bumped into the wall, whereupon she gave a soft groan and slid slowly to the floor beside the bucket, one fat arm coming to rest inside it. In moments she began to snore. The tight skirt had ridden up her thighs and Tandia now saw that she wore nothing underneath.

  Tandia didn't know what to do. She sat in the dark corner, one arm drawing her legs up against her chest, the fist of her free hand in her mouth in an attempt to hold back the panic she felt rising within her. After a while her breathing calmed a little. What should she do? If she took the woman's arm out of the shit bucket she was fearful that she might wake and beat her up. Her sense of survival told her to leave things as they were and her sensibilities, already deeply offended, told her that she could not do so, that the mess in the bucket was in part her doing.

  Tandia waited until she was sure the woman was not likely to wake from her drunken sleep and crept over to the bucket. The woman's hand rested on the bottom, covered in shit and vomit. Gagging as she lifted the arm out of the mess, she rested it on the floor beside her and carefully removed the doek the woman wore tied around her head. Using the head cloth she wiped the foul-smelling hand and film dean. Tandia's heart leapt with fear as the woman gave il sudden groan, sighed deeply and, lifting her arm, dropped it back in the bucket. Tandia pulled back in horror, the stench was overpowering. She began to cry softly.

  After a while she dried her tears. She was crying too much. Crying was an indulgence she would have to learn to do without. She now realised that the woman had passed out and was unlikely to be roused, so she moved over to her again. Once again she removed the woman's hand from the slop bucket and wiped it as clean as she was able, using the now soiled doek. Then she dragged the unconscious woman dear so that she lay on her side with her lipstick-smeared cheek against the cement floor. This seemed to stop her snoring.

  Several hours seemed to pass in the stinking cell and Tandia, when she felt she could bear it no longer, would concentrate on the tiny window until she could make out the pinprick of stars in the tiny square of darkness. She imagined how fresh and dean it was out there with the stars, how some of the air from the space surrounding them was finding its way into her miserable cell. She was not sleepy and her body ached in even more places when she lay down. Besides, the idea that the woman might wake while she was asleep made her fearful of closing her eyes even as she sat. She conjugated the verb 'lacrimare', 'to cry', in imperfect, future, future perfect and past perfect. Patel had always stressed that she must be good at Latin; he dreamed that she would go on to become a lawyer. She went on to irregular verbs with funny endings and then recited her personal and relative pronouns. 'Qui, quae, quo, quod,' she whispered to herself. It was strangely comforting to be using her mind and she challenged herself to remember Book Four of Virgil's Aeneid, especially the part where Aeneas enters the underworld and finds himself in the Elysian Fields. That was her set text in the end-of-year Latin exam, which she would now never take.

  It must have been quite late when Tandia heard the rattle of the key in the door of the cell. A black constable appeared md without even glancing at the sleeping woman beckoned Tandia to come out of the cell. He was a much older man than the policeman who had arrested her earlier in the day. 'Down there, but wait first.' He spoke quietly and locked the cell door as Tandia waited for him. The light in the corridor was much brighter than in the cell and she held her wrists out to him for the handcuffs. He looked at her swollen and cut wrists and then up at her face. The expression in his eyes was not unkind and he shook his head once and clicked his tongue in sympathy. Then he pointed down the corridor and nodded for her to start walking. 'Go to the end of the passage, the last door on the left.'

  Tandia's rubber-soled school shoes made almost no sound on the cement, but when the policeman turned to follow her the metal tips on the heel and toe caps of his boots sent a. clicking metallic sound racing down ahead of her to the end of the passageway.

  Tandia turned at the last door on the left and found herself back in the charge room. She hesitated at the door and waited for the black constable to catch up. Seated on the table, with his legs swinging over the side, was a white policeman she had not seen before. She felt enormous relief that it wasn't the same police officer who had so intimidated her when she had been brought in.

  The man seated on the table didn't look up. But, aware that she stood at the door, he pointed to the larger of the two chairs, the one which had been previously used by the other policeman. The white officer sat on the end of the table and Tandia was brought to the chair by the black constable. 'Sit.' He indicated the chair beside her.

  'Ja, sit, please,' the white officer added quietly. Tandia, as though afraid to make the slightest sound, lowered herself slowly into the same chair used by her white tormentor of the morning. She noted that the seated police officer held the charge sheet in his right hand and that the typewriter still stood at the opposite end of the table from where he sat.' Apart from the three words, the white police officer remained silent, swinging his legs and blowing a tuneless whistle. Not as much a whistle as the controlled breathiness a person affects when they appear lost in their own thoughts. Tandia grew more and more apprehensive as she waited. The black constable had taken up a position at the door with his legs apart and his hands clasped behind his back. He seemed relaxed and uninterested, his eyes turned downwards.

  After a while Tandia, who had kept her eyes downcast, ventured a glance at the white man seated on the table. He was small for a policeman. She was used to thinking of size in the boxing parlance used by Natkin Patel, and she judged him to be a welterweight. Tandia was used to the policemen around Cato Manor where white police sergeants were generally much older men. This one wore a crew cut with a clipped, blond moustache and seemed to be in his early twenties. His nose had been broken more than once which gave his boyish face a slightly romantic appearance. He looked clean and tough sitting there looking down at the floor. He turned suddenly and looked at her and before she dropped her gaze she saw his eyes. They were very pale blue, like a favourite blue cotton shirt that has been washed a thousand times. His eyes didn't look tough at all and Tandia's heart skipped a beat. Perhaps it wasn't going to be like the other one.

  'You see this?' he said, lifting what looked like the charge sheet Tandia had refused to sign earlier. Tandia nodded, afraid to speak. Then he brought his free hand up and tore the sheet of paper in two. At the sound of the paper tearing, Tandia looked up in surprise. He placed the two pieces together and tore them down the centre once again. Then he dropped the pieces on the floor under his feet. 'You Patel's daughter, aren't you?' He didn't wait for her confirmation before continuing. 'He was a good guy. A bladdy good ref, even a good coach.' He paused, thinking for a moment, 'Ja, I can say it for sure, when it came to boxing, he really knew his onions.' He glanced up at Tandia, the beginnings of a smile on his face, 'You his daughter, hey. Maybe he was a Indian, but sometimes you've got to make exceptions, Patel was a good guy.' He paused, 'Ja, he was definitely a good guy.' Unlike the previous police officer he spoke in English, though it was at once obvious he was an Afrikaner. He glanced up at Tandia quickly and then back at the floor. 'Ag jong, I suppose you people also got feelings, I'm sorry about his death, you hear?' Then he added again, 'He was a okay guy.'

  Tandia sat looking down at her hands. 'Please, sir, I will pay back the money for the gym frock, I have enough money!' She was surprised at her own audacity.

  The policeman's pale blue eyes seemed to stare at something beyond her, as though he saw things in the air behind her back. 'Ag, that!' He pointed to the scraps of paper on the floor. 'That's all finish and klaar.'

  Tandia's green eyes w
ere questioning and she was very close to tears. Before she could speak he shrugged and then added, 'It's the least we can do. Boxing's like that, sometimes there's no colour bar. In boxing Patel was a real white man.'

  'Thank you, sir,' Tandia said quietly, and then added, 'Am I free to go now?'

  The policeman seemed not to hear and turned his torso slightly to face her. He wore a boyish grin as he spoke. 'Lucky you didn't sign the charge sheet this morning hey? Once you sign, there's no turning back, proceedings have to happen, you got to go in front of the magistrate.' He glanced abruptly at his watch and then turned and looked towards the door and nodded. 'You go out there now, I'm telling you, jong, you'll be back here quick smart. It's nearly twelve o'clock in the night and you haven't got a pass.' He grinned. 'A police patrol would pick you up in no time flat. Better you stay here tonight hey?'

  Tandia looked up at him fearfully, her heart beating wildly. 'Please, sir, do not take me back to that cell, there is a woman there!'

  The white sergeant turned and looked enquiringly at the black constable at the door. 'A shebeen prostitute, she is drunk, sir,' the black man answered.

  The sergeant turned back to Tandia. 'Ja, I know what you mean.' He looked up at Tandia suddenly. 'This gym frock, the one you burned. What school was that?'

  'Durban Indian Girls' High School, sir,' Tandia replied. She looked up at the policeman, 'I will pay for it, for everything.'

  The white policeman gave a low whistle as though he was impressed. 'Ja, I already heard of that school. That's the one down at Brighton le Sands.' He paused. 'I'm not from Durban myself you understand.' He said this as though to indicate that he was superior to the local police product. 'I come from Jo'burg, they don't have such a thing as a Indian private school in Johannesburg. There are not so many rich Indians there, because, you see, we got the Jews.' He gave a short, bitter snort. 'The Jews are even better at rooking the public than the coolies.'

  'Yes, sir,' Tandia said softly.

  'An' now you not going there no more, hey?'

  'No, sir.'

  'At this school, do the girls talk about…you know, sex?'

  Tandia looked up, shocked. 'No, sir! Never, sir! On my word of honour!' She was aware of her sudden outburst and lowered her voice. 'It is forbidden, sir.'

  The police officer's eyes resumed their faraway look, but his voice was suddenly hard. 'Has a man ever done it to you?'

  The shock of the question caused Tandia to gasp. She could feel the panic beginning to suffocate her and she was breathing hard, her face deeply flushed.

  The black policeman's voice speaking in Zulu came suddenly from the direction of the door. 'You do not have to answer that, umFazi. Do not answer him, it is better you start to cry.'

  The white policeman turned furiously to the door. His look was met by the impassive face of the black constable. 'Hey, jong, what did you say to her?'

  The black policeman looked directly back at the white man. 'I said she must be quick and answer the questions, sir.'

  Tandia began to sob. Quiet little sobs which shook her shoulders and could barely be heard. 'Listen, you black bastard, when I want you to speak, I'll ask, you hear?' the white officer snapped.

  The black policeman pulled himself to attention, 'Yes, sir!' he replied in an automatic way. His eyes held steady as he met the white sergeant's angry glare.

  The white policeman turned away. 'Cheeky bladdy kaffir,' he said as though to himself. Then he called, 'Okay, take her back to the cell. I can't interrogate a subject who is crying.' He jumped from the table and started towards the door.

  Tandia rose from her chair quickly, 'Please, sir. You said I was free, sir!' she cried, beginning to follow after him across the room.

  The white policeman whirled around to face her. 'Who said that?' he cried angrily. He turned back to the constable at the door. 'Did I say that?' He turned again, pointing an accusing finger at Tandia. 'Did I say this black person was free?' Tandia was unable to meet his gaze and lowered her eyes. 'You won't answer my questions. That is not cooperating with the police. Now, all of a sudden you want to go free. I am a police officer and I am asking you questions in the course of my duty. You refuse to answer!' His pale blue eyes were flecked with cold, bright anger and a small muscle in the left side of his cheek jerked suddenly.

  'No, sir, I have not done this thing. I am a good girl, sir,' Tandia burst out.

  'You are lying!' The white man shouted, pointing to the smaller of the two chairs. 'Sit there!'

  Tandia sat down and covered her face with her hands, trying hard to stifle her sobbing.

  The black constable took a step towards her. 'I will take her back to the cell now, sergeant?'

  'I thought I told you to mind your own bladdy business, constable? You speak again, you on report, you hear?' He turned to Tandia. 'I haven't got all night to waste. I asked you nicely, now I'm going to ask you one more time. Have you had sexual intercourse with a man?'

  Tandia pulled her hands away from her face. 'I was raped!

  This morning I was raped!' she sobbed.

  The white officer allowed Tandia to cry for a few moments. He walked back to the table and lifted himself back onto it. This time he sat directly in front of her. Tandia's eyes were level with the table top, so now when she raised them she looked directly into the white man's crotch. Seated like this, his presence was hugely threatening; his legs swung casually, one on either side of the small chair, seeming to trap her between them.

  Tandia tried to sniff away her tears and suddenly started to hiccup. The white police officer called over to the constable, 'Hey, Matembu. That's your name, isn't it? Bring some water, make quick!'

  The black policeman left the room and returned shortly with a tin mug of water. The sergeant took it from him and held the mug out to Tandia. 'Here, take it, drink, you'll feel better.' His voice was conciliatory. She took the mug from him and holding her nose she drank deeply until the mug was empty. In order to avoid his crotch and look into his face she was forced to pull her head back.

  'Thank you, sir,' she said in a voice barely above a whisper. She put the mug down beside her chair.

  'It works with me like that also, funny, isn't it?' the police officer said in a friendly voice.

  Tandia nodded dumbly, then she sniffed and knuckled her tears away. Her nose was running and she didn't know what to do about it. The white policeman turned to the constable once again. 'Go in the lavatory, bring some paper,' he ordered.

  The black policeman returned and placed a roll of lavatory paper on the end of the table. 'Take it,' the white policeman said, 'blow your nose.'

  Tandia was obliged to rise from the small chair and reach past the white officer to get the roll. As she did so his legs closed around her thighs just for a moment then he released her again. It was a crude, intimate gesture yet so quick that she wondered for a second whether it had happened at all. Her heart beat wildly as she sat back in the small chair. Eyes lowered, she unwound a length of toilet paper, tore it off the roll and proceeded to wipe her nose and then blow it hard. The paper was hard and unyielding, not suitable for the task' she was using it for. Having cleared her nose somewhat Tandia was forced to hold the sticky mess in her closed hand.

  The police sergeant leaned backwards on his hands opening his crotch even further. 'Did you report this rape to the police?' he asked.

  'No, sir,' Tandia replied softly.

  'And where did this rape take place, and what time also?' Tandia spoke. in small sobs. 'This morning. About six o'clock. At the Indian cemetery. Where, where…they buried Mr Patel!'

  'The person who you said raped you. Can you describe this man to me?'

  'There were two of them, but I did not see them,' Tandia sniffed.

  The sergeant raised his eyebrows, his voice affecting surprise. 'Now all of a sudden it's two men, hey! Two men raped you, but you did
n't see them? How can this be? It is already light by six o'clock?'

  'From behind, they grabbed me from behind. Only one raped me.' Tandia shuddered involuntarily.

  The sergeant leaned forward and folded his arms across his chest, rocking slightly. 'This is a very curious business. They raped you in broad daylight, or one of them did anyway, and you didn't see them?'

  'He told me to shut my eyes. Also the other one said if I opened my eyes he would kill me. I was very afraid!' How could she tell him that they had been policemen? He wouldn't believe her and any chance she had of getting off would be destroyed forever.

  'And you didn't report this to the police?'

  'No, no sir.'

  'Why not? Don't you know it is against the law not to report a crime?'

  'I was too afraid, sir,' Tandia replied softly.

  'Afraid? All of a sudden you're afraid of the police? Innocent people got no reason to be afraid of the police. You prefer a rapist to a member of the Sou' African police force?'

  'No, sir. I was very frightened, sir. I didn't know what to do, I didn't want to make any more trouble!'

  'Oh, I see, you were already in trouble. What trouble is this? Tell me. What sort of trouble were you already in?'

  'About Patel. Mrs Patel was going to kick me out.' Tandia whimpered, looking up and appealing to him with her eyes. 'She hates me.'

  There was a long pause as the policeman appeared to be thinking. When at length he spoke there was a hard edge to his voice. 'I think you lying, you hear? You lying to me, jong.'