“Orright. What shebeen is King George going to?”
“Fatty Boom Boom’s.”
“Jinne, but Little Miss mos knows her shebeens, jong! King George smaaks Fatty’s place. Such a big woman, that one. Lekker vettetjie! King George can’t touch sides if he wrap his arms around that tjerrie, and that’s mos how King George likes it.”
I ducked my head back under the stained blanket and kept enough of a gap open so that I could get air. I was breathing through my mouth because the blanket was so stinky it made me want to gag. The streetlights had come on by then, and they whizzed past overhead in flashes of sickly yellow. King George switched on the radio; nothing but static came out. He gave it a few smacks, but that didn’t fix it.
“Ag well. King George will just sommer sing rather. Little Miss will smaak it. Listen.” He cleared his throat a few times, paused and then cleared it again before warbling his way into a very loud and impassioned song.
I listened for a minute or two out of sheer politeness, but eventually couldn’t stand it anymore. “Stop! Stop that noise!”
“Noise? Jinne tog, King George not making noise. King George singing opera. Little Miss not like it?”
I didn’t know what opera was, but since it sounded like a tomcat having a seizure, I knew I didn’t like it. “No, it’s horrible. And it doesn’t even make sense. Those weren’t real words.”
“Ja, is real words. Is ‘Nessun Dorma’ which is mos a very famous opera by Puccini. It all fancy and kak in Italian.”
“Don’t you know any English songs?”
“Ja, Little Miss. King George thought it be lekker to have some classy music, but he can also sing anner songs.” With that he burst into a loud rendition of “Pretty Belinda.”
He was butchering the lyrics and I yelled at him to stop once again so I could correct him.
“It’s not a goat house. It’s a boathouse.”
“A boathouse? What kak is that?”
“It’s a house that’s a boat.”
“Nee, fok. That not a real thing, Little Miss. A house can’t mos float.”
“It is a real thing. A goat house isn’t a real thing.”
“Ja, it is. Is a house where goats live.”
There was no setting him straight so I gave up and hummed along softly, buoyed by the knowledge that I was finally doing something to try to fix the damage I’d done.
“Fokkit.” King George’s singing ended abruptly and his curse was uttered with a twinge of panic.
“What? What is it?”
“Roadblock just at the exit. Lotsa cops. Quick, off the seat and on the floor. Pull the blanket over Little Miss proper, orright.”
I did as he told me, fighting off the claustrophobia and pulling the blanket close. King George reached his arm around and wildly patted at my head to make sure it was covered. He started flinging things from the footwell over me and onto the backseat. The car was a mess of bottles, wrappers, newspapers and other junk, and it felt like he was trying to turn me into a human garbage heap.
“Little Miss must stay very still and be very quiet. They find Little Miss in this car and King George is moer-toe.”
He continued to curse as he slowed down and must have lit up a cigarette because I smelled smoke. It wasn’t sweet like his normal cigarettes; it smelled like one of Edith’s regular ones. Our crawl soon halted to a stop, and the window squeaked as it was wound down. A light shone inside; it must have been bright because I could make it out even through the blanket.
“Good evening, Officer, and how’s the officer tonight?”
“Pull over to the side of the road and wait for me.”
“Yes, Officer. King George do as the officer say.”
King George used a sickly syrupy voice with the cop, but he cursed again as soon as we pulled away. I could hear the fear in his voice and it made me start to tremble. When we came to a halt again, I could make out other sounds: choppy voices magnified through walkie-talkies, the crunch of tires, cars whizzing by on the highway, the beeps and wails of sirens and the barking of dogs. A few minutes went by with nothing happening. I couldn’t take it any longer; I had to know what was going on.
“What’s happening—”
“Shh,” King George hissed.
A few seconds later, a voice instructed King George to get out of the car. His door creaked open and then slammed closed. I could make out most of the conversation coming in through the open window.
“Good evening, Officer.”
“Where’s your passbook?”
“No, Officer. Coloreds don’t mos need no passbooks. Jinne, they not quite as low as kaffirs.”
“You’re colored?”
“Yes, Officer, colored. Has the officer mos never seen a colored ou before? King George know there aren’t a lot a klonkies in the good old Transvaal coz they all live inna Cape. Has the officer gone to the Cape? Lekker mountain and kwaai beaches, not that King George really know coz the klonkies mos aren’t allowed to sit on the blerrie sand for a minute with their brown gatte. Only the whites. But the officer will mos like it. Does the officer know how to swim?”
“Where’s your proof that you’re colored?”
“Proof, Officer? Can the officer mos not see King George’s skin? It look like weak coffee with lotsa milk, can’t the officer mos see? Where that torch? King George will mos shine it on his skin so the officer can see lekker.”
“Whose car is this?”
“Is King George’s car. Does the officer like it? Is mos only twenty years old. Says ninety thousand kays onna clock but the clock reset at a hunnerd thousand. Reset about three times already. The car is a skadonk, but it mos get King George where he need to go.”
“I want to see your identity document and ownership papers.”
“Yes, Officer. King George will get them from the car.”
There was the crunch of gravel and the creak of the car door again. I could hear him opening the glove compartment and digging around in there. I hoped it was neater than the rest of the car or he’d never find what he was looking for. While he was searching, a bright light suddenly flashed just above my head; its halo shone right through the blanket, and I closed my eyes against the glare. The policeman was shining the torch into the backseat.
“What’s all this shit in the back?”
I tried to hold my breath, scared that the cop would see the blanket rising and falling over me.
“That kak? It mos just a moerse mess, isn’t it? Garbage and anner kak. King George must clean it, but he a vuilgat. Here the papers, Officer. King George found them.”
The light shifted and I could hear papers rustling as the policeman looked over them.
“Where are you on your way to?”
“Eldorado Park, that mos where King George live. He first just quickly making a draai at a lady friend if the officer must know the truth. But the officer moenie worry nie, the tjerrie is also a klonkie! King George mos know all about the Immorality Act and he mos don’t stick his light brown stick in white or black holes. King George needs to visit his stukkie once a week with geld and presents, or she’ll blerrie move on and find another man. The officer mos know what tjerries are like. A good-looking ou like the officer must have a few stukkies hisself—”
“Listen, stop talking shit to me. I’m not your friend, okay? Shut the fuck up and do as I tell you. Open the boot.”
“Orright, Officer. Sorry, Officer.”
A key turned and the lock surrendered with a click. The boot popped open.
“Just more kak as the officer see. Jammer for the gemors—”
“I’m not going to tell you again. Shut up.”
“Orright, Officer.”
There was grunting as things were shifted about. Finally, it closed again.
“Is that all, Officer? Can King George go?”
An iciness spread across my skin, an earthquake of fear that made the blood rush past my ears, almost blocking out what was being said.
“The backseat? But King George mos told the officer that it just full of kak and—”
“Now! I want to see it now. Get out of my way.”
“But—”
“If you touch me again, I swear to God I’ll break every finger on your hand.”
“Sorry. Sorry, Officer.”
“Step back.”
My heart was thudding so loudly that I was sure the policeman could hear it. I tried to slow my breathing and take shallow breaths. The handle by my ear yielded and the door opened with a rush of cool, blessed air. I waited for the blanket to be ripped off of me, but there was no movement at all. Everything was still. Finally, the seat behind my head creaked as pressure was placed on it, the vinyl making a noise like a fart.
The policeman was so close that I could smell the aftershave he was wearing. It was cloying and made my nose twitch; the scent was so strong that I could smell its strange mixture of spice and musk through the stink of the blanket. There was a thunk as something hard connected with the papers behind me and I flinched.
“What was that?”
“What, Officer?”
“That movement. Something moved.”
“Really? Fokkit, King George mos thought he rid of that thing.”
“What thing?”
“It a hell of a big rat. Moerse long teeth like knifes. King George mos checked it out a few times and tried to skop it dood.”
“No, I don’t think so. What’s this under—”
The sound of gunshots suddenly tore through the night and the policeman cursed. Voices nearby started commanding someone to stop running, and another round of shots was fired.
“Let the dog loose,” someone ordered and the policeman cursed again, slamming the door shut behind him.
There was a lot of commotion with men shouting and dogs barking. A squeal of tires was followed by hooters being blasted. It sounded like someone had made a run for it, trying to escape across the lanes of the highway. Before I could figure out exactly what was going on, the engine fired up and we were reversing.
“Jurre, fok that was close. King George almost kakked hisself.”
With a roar we were off, and by the sounds of things, the cops had enough on their hands without trying to stop us. I jumped up from my hiding place, desperate to get away from the rat.
Fifty-four
ROBIN
3 OCTOBER 1977
Soweto, Johannesburg, South Africa
There she is!” I was so relieved to see Phumla that I almost fell off King George’s shoulders. He’d hoisted me up so that I could see into the room without having to drag the drum out again.
“That the girl Little Miss must speak with?”
“Yes.” I didn’t know what I would have done if Phumla wasn’t working that night; I simply hadn’t thought that far ahead.
“Orright. King George will go inside and tell her Little Miss needs to speak with her.”
I was about to hop down when something else caught my eye. I yelped in frustration and brought my foot down on King George’s ear.
“Eina!”
“Sorry!”
“Klim af,” he ordered and I obeyed, jumping down.
He rubbed his ear, wincing as he did so.
“Sorry!”
“Is okay. Now tell King George what the problem is.”
“I saw that man inside. The one who blindfolded Beauty and then made Phumla lie to her. I think Phumla’s scared of him, so she won’t talk to me while he’s here. I need to get her by herself.”
“Orright. What his name and what he look like?”
I gave King George a description along with an explanation of where he was sitting. He scrunched up his wrinkled old face and then nodded a few times. “Okay. Orright. King George think he can do it. But he going to need funds.”
“Funds?”
“Some bucks,” he said, rubbing his thumb and index fingers together. “Moola. Dough. Geld.”
“Oh, you need money?”
“Ja, but is not for King George. Is so King George can spend it on his new chommie.”
“Who’s your new friend?”
“That ou inside. Shakes.”
“But he’s not your friend!”
He winked. “Not yet, but after a few drinks, he will be.”
“Okay.” I slung my backpack down and opened it up, handing across the money King George had previously refused to take.
“Right, now Little Miss must find a lekker hiding pozzie and wait there, orright? King George needs time and dop and maybe a little bit of boom to work his magic. When the girl comes outside here, then it means is safe. Okay? Little Miss mustn’t come out before then.”
“Okay. Good luck!” I turned and headed through the yard cluttered with scrap metal to the back fence where I’d found the gate the last time I was there. It was dark and hidden behind trees, so no one would be able to see me there unless they were looking. Most importantly, I’d be able to see the yard for when Phumla came out. Once I was in place, I watched King George square his shoulders, tuck the money into his pants pocket and casually stride inside.
• • •
A half an hour later, I was still leaning against the fence with my chin resting on my knees. The metal wire was beginning to bite into my flesh, and I could feel each individual diamond-shaped link making an imprint on my back. I leaned forward to ease the strain.
It was a warm spring evening and a half moon hovered overhead. The sky was free of clouds and I looked up, trying to make out a few constellations through the tree’s branches, but I couldn’t see many stars at all. Either the moonlight was too bright or the township’s wood smoke was too thick, but all I could see was the lights from the occasional plane flying over. Seeing the planes made me think of Edith and I quickly batted those thoughts away. She’d made it clear that she’d chosen her job over me, and that was a pain I’d have to deal with another time when I was feeling stronger.
A sudden burst of laughter pulled me from my thoughts, and I looked to the shebeen’s entrance where three people were just coming out. Music filtered out into the night with them like phantom stragglers, and I listened to their voices trail away until only the chirping of crickets remained.
I desperately needed to wee by then and wedged myself as far behind a peach tree as I could to squat down. The wee took forever to come because I wasn’t able to relax, and when it finally did, the stream was so strong that some of it splashed back at me, warm and wet against my bare ankles. When I got back to my backpack, I pulled out a tissue and wiped it off as best as I could. I sat down again to take up my vigil.
I wish I’d brought a sandwich with. Or a chocolate bar.
I hadn’t eaten before we left and the smell of meat and onions being browned over wood fires nearby made my stomach grumble. I clearly wasn’t the only hungry creature in the vicinity; the dog that had eaten my trail of bread crumbs the last time I’d been to Soweto suddenly materialized next to me as though my thoughts of food had attracted him. He sniffed me and my backpack, but when he realized I wouldn’t be a source of any sustenance, he gave a disgruntled whine. I was happy to have some company and reached out to pet him, but he scampered off and I was left alone once again.
Another fifteen minutes passed, and I was falling asleep when a loud voice jolted me awake.
“There plenty more where that came from, chommie. And is good boom too. Not that kak dagga they sell at petrol stations with that Doom and kak sprayed all over it. Is giftig that kak. It will mos poison you dead.” It was King George and he had his arm slung awkwardly over a tall man’s shoulders. They staggered off towards where the ca
rs were parked, and when they passed under a light, I saw that the man he was with was Shakes. They got into the white van, the one I’d first seen Shakes take Beauty away in, and then they drove off.
Before I’d had time to panic about King George leaving me all alone, the back door of the shebeen opened and a figure stepped outside. It was Phumla. She looked around nervously, and then took a few tentative steps in my direction before pausing to listen. She stood still for a few moments, expectant and waiting for something to reveal itself to her.
“Molo,” she whispered. “Ufuna ntoni?”
I stood up at the sound of her voice and came out from my hiding spot, stepping from the darkness of the shadows into the silvery light cast off by the moon. Phumla’s head snapped in my direction, her eyes widening and their whites glowing when she saw me. I could only assume, from the shocked expression on her face, that King George hadn’t given her any context about who wanted to speak to her. Whatever she’d been expecting, it wasn’t a white child.
“Hello,” I said. “I’m Robin. And you’re Phumla.”
She looked around again, as though searching for the person who was playing the joke on her. I was nervous that she’d turn and leave to find King George so he could explain himself, and I cleared my throat to hold her attention. I’d prepared a whole speech but in that moment, as my heart thudded wildly in my chest like fists beating against a door, all I could come up with was, “I need your help to find Nomsa.”
Her eyes narrowed. “Nomsa?”
“Yes, Nomsa Mbali.”
“What do you want with Nomsa?” She took a step forward, her eyebrow raised as she regarded me suspiciously. Before I could answer, she stepped forward again and grabbed my wrist. “You! You are that girl from the park that day. The one Nomsa spoke to, the one her mother looks after.”
“Yes.” I nodded, relieved that she knew who I was.
“She wanted to see her mother to speak to her, but her mother never came.”
Hum If You Don't Know the Words Page 34