by Sarah Lotz
At first it was just the locals who were trying their luck but then the foreigners started arriving. There weren’t that many at first, but the next thing you know, they were rolling in. It didn’t take long for our local crooks to get in on the action. Some of the sharper ones even offered their services online. Soon there were syndicates organising these tours in just about all of the townships. None of them had accreditation permits. But that didn’t stop the punters falling for the scams. Jis, man, some of them even paid up front. It was like shooting fish in a barrel, and I can tell you off the record, I wouldn’t be surprised if some of the cops were in on the action.
I can’t tell you how many punters got stranded at the airport waiting for their ‘all inclusive package’ to come and pick them up. We got professional bounty hunters coming out here, ex-cops, even a few of those blerrie big game hunters! Some of them were after the cash and didn’t give a shit if it was true or not, but quite a few who came really believed the kak that preacher was saying. But Cape Town is a complex place. You don’t just waltz into Gugs or the Cape Flats or Khayelitsha in your fancy hire car and start asking questions, no matter how many lions or cheetahs you’ve shot in the bush. Quite a few of them found that out the hard way when they were relieved of their valuables one way or another.
I’ll never forget these two big American guys who came into the station one evening. Shaven heads, muscles on their muscles. Both of them were ex US Marshals, used to be marines. Thought they were tough, told us afterwards they’d been instrumental in bringing some of America’s Most Wanted to justice. But when I first met them they were shaking like little girls. They’d hooked up with their so-called ‘guide’ at the airport and he’d taken them where they wanted to go–into the middle of Khayelitsha. When they arrived at their destination, their guide relieved them of their Glocks, cash, credit cards, passports, shoes and clothes, leaving them with nothing but their boxers. Toyed with them as well. Made them walk barefoot into an old outhouse that stank to high heaven, tied them up and told them that if they shouted for help, he’d shoot them. When they finally got free it was dark, they reeked of shit and the skelm was long gone. Couple of locals took pity on them and brought them to the station. My guys laughed for days about those two. Had to drop them off at the US embassy in just their undies. None of the spare clothes we had at the station fitted them.
Fact is, people here are tough, most of them fight just to get by every day, and they’ll take a chance if they can. Not everyone, of course–but it’s hard here. You got to be streetwise. You got to respect the people or they’ll naai you big time. What, you think I’m going to breeze into downtown LA or wherever, act like I own the place? I swear, these moegoes who came here might just as well have handed over their valuables to the guys at immigration, cut out the middle man. Eventually we had to put up signs at the airport to warn people. Reminded me of that movie, Charlie and the Chocolate Factory. The hunt for that golden ticket with everyone going befok.
I mean, it was a major headache for us guys, the police and that, but it was lekker for the tourism industry. Hotels were full, tour buses were packed, everyone from the street kids to the hoteliers were coining it. Especially the street kids. See, at one stage, the rumour spread that Kenneth was living on the streets somewhere. People will believe anything given half a chance.
It was Kenneth’s aunt I felt sorry for. She seemed like a nice lady. My cousin Jamie was on the security detail for her when they unveiled the Dalu Air memorial statue and she flew down from Lagos. He said she was bewildered, kept saying that as those other kids had survived miraculously, why shouldn’t Kenneth be alive?
Those fundamentalist fuckers gave her unrealistic expectations. Ja, that’s what it was. False hope.
Didn’t even stop to think that what they was doing was cruel.
Reba Neilson.
It was all becoming too much for me. It felt like Pastor Len was turning his back on his real inner circle in favour of people like that Monty. Did I mention Monty to you, Elspeth? Can’t quite recall if I did. Well, he was one of the first Lookie-Loos who elected to stay–came to Sannah County soon after Pastor Len got back from that conference at Houston. Within days of showing up he was padding along at Pastor Len’s side, loyal as a stray dog that’d just been fed. I didn’t take to him right from the start, and I’m not just saying that because of what he did to that poor Bobby. There was something about him, something shifty, and I wasn’t the only one of that opinion. ‘That fella looks like he could do with a good scrubbing,’ Stephenie was always saying. He had these tattoos all up his arms–some of which didn’t look very Christian to me–and his hair needed a pair of shears taken to it. Looked like one of them Satanists they sometimes feature in the Inquirer.
And since Monty arrived, Jim seemed to have dropped out of Pastor Len’s favour. Sure, Pastor Len dragged him out to church on Sundays sometimes, and I know he hadn’t given up the idea of doing those tours of Pam’s house, but most of the time Jim just sat at home and drank himself stupid.
Pastor Len asked Stephenie’s cousin Billy to quote on some construction work he wanted done at the ranch, so it was Billy who told us that those people looked to be moving there permanently. If you didn’t know better, he said, you’d a thought it was one of those hippy communes.
I had so many sleepless nights during those weeks, Elspeth. I can’t tell you how I suffered. What Pastor Len was saying about the signs… it made so much sense and yet… I just couldn’t get over Pamela, dowdy old Pam, being a prophet.
I all but wore out Lorne’s ear talking about it.
‘Reba,’ he said to me. ‘You know that you’re a good Christian woman and Jesus will save you whatever happens. If you don’t want to follow Pastor Len’s church no more, then maybe Jesus is telling you not to.’
Stephenie also felt the same as I did, but it wasn’t that easy to break away. Not in a community like ours. I guess you could say I was biding my time.
Stephenie and I were worried that Kendra wouldn’t be able to cope with all those new Lookie-Loos arriving, and we decided that even though we didn’t agree with all that Pastor Len was doing lately, it was only right that we should go over there and see how she was coping. We planned on doing it at the weekend, but that Friday, the story about Pastor Len’s fancy woman broke. Stephenie came straight over soon as she heard about it, brought me a copy of the Inquirer. It was all over the front page: End Times Preacher’s Sordid Love Tryst. The photographs showed a big woman wearing purple pants and a tight top, but the pictures were so grainy you couldn’t tell if she was tanned, black or one of those Hispanics. I didn’t believe that story for one second. Even after he let the devil in, I firmly believe the real Pastor Len, the good man who had been the head of our church for fifteen years, was still in there somewhere. I refuse to believe that all of us could have been fooled for so many years. Besides, as I said to Stephenie, where would Pastor Len find the time to mess around with fallen women? He barely had time to sleep, what with all he was doing.
Well, just as me and Stephenie were finishing up talking, who should come up the driveway but Pastor Len himself. My heart plummeted when I saw he had that Monty with him.
‘Reba,’ Pastor Len said, the second he came through the screen door. ‘Is Kendra here?’
I told him I hadn’t seen her.
Monty sat himself right down at the table, helped himself to a glass of iced tea without even asking. Stephenie’s eyes narrowed, but he didn’t pay any mind to her.
‘All Kendra’s clothes are gone,’ Pastor Len said. ‘The dog too. She say anything to you, Reba? ’Bout where she might be going? I tried her brother in Austin and he says he hasn’t seen her.’
I told him I didn’t have an inkling where she might’ve gone, and Stephenie said the same. Didn’t mention that I didn’t blame her for getting out of there, what with all those strangers taking over her home.
‘It’s probably for the best,’ he said. ‘Me and Kendra… we ha
d certain disagreements about the role of Jesus in our lives.’
‘Amen,’ Monty said, although I couldn’t see any reason for it.
Stephenie was trying to hide the Inquirer with her arms, but Pastor Len saw what she was doing.
‘Don’t you listen to those lies about me,’ he said. ‘I ain’t never done nothing immoral. Jesus is all I need in my life.’
I believed him, Elspeth. That man had real conviction, and I could see that he wasn’t lying.
I made a fresh pitcher of iced tea and then I decided to air what was on my mind. ‘How are you planning on feeding all the new folks who have shown up, Pastor Len?’ I’m not ashamed to say I looked right at Monty when I said it.
‘The Lord will provide. Those good folks will be well taken care of.’
Well, they didn’t look like good folks to me. Specially the ones like Monty. I said something about people taking advantage of his good nature, and Pastor Len got real irritated with me. ‘Reba,’ he said. ‘What did Jesus say about judging people? As a good Christian, you should know better than that.’
Then he and that Monty took off.
I was upset by the altercation, I really was, and for the first time in years when Sunday came around I didn’t go to church. Stephenie told me later it was full of the new Lookie-Loos, and quite a few of the inner circle had stayed away.
Well, it had to be two days later, something like that. I was keeping myself busy, wanted to get the canning done that week (by then we had a good two years’ worth of canned fruit, Elspeth, but there was still plenty to do). Lorne and I were talking about ordering in some wood, storing it out back in case the power gave out, when I heard a pick-up shuddering to a stop outside the porch. I looked out and saw Jim slumped behind the wheel. I hadn’t seen him since the week before when I’d gone over to take him a pie. He’d refused to answer the door and it pains me to say it, but I left it on the front step.
He just about fell out of the car, and when me and Lorne ran up to steady him he said, ‘Got a call from Joanie, Reba.’ He stank real bad, of booze and sweat. It looked like he hadn’t shaved for weeks.
I wondered if his daughter had called to tell him that Pam’s ashes were finally going to be coming home, and that’s why he was so upset.
I sat him in the kitchen and he said, ‘Can you call Pastor Len for me? Get him to come right over?’
‘Why didn’t you just drive on up to his ranch?’ I asked. Fact is, he shouldn’t have been driving anywhere. You could smell the alcohol on him from a mile away. It was enough to make my eyes water. If Sheriff Beaumont had seen him in that state he would’ve locked him up for sure. I fixed him a Coke straight away to take the edge off. After me and Pastor Len had had that altercation, I wasn’t keen on calling him, but I did it all the same. Didn’t expect him to answer, but he did. Said he’d be right over.
Jim didn’t say much while we waited for Pastor Len, though me and Lorne tried to draw him out. And the little he did say didn’t make much sense to us. Fifteen minutes later, Pastor Len showed up, his dog Monty in tow as usual.
Jim said straight off, ‘Joanie went to see that boy, Len. That boy in Japan.’
Pastor Len just froze. Before they went their separate ways, Pastor Len was always saying how Dr Lund had been trying for the longest time to get to speak to one of those children. Jim’s eyes fluttered. ‘Joanie said that Jap boy… said she talked to the boy, but not to him exactly.’
None of us knew what in Jesus’ name he was talking about. ‘I don’t get you, Jim,’ Pastor Len said.
‘She said he was talking through this android. This robot that looked just like him.’
‘A robot?’ I said. ‘He was talking through a robot? Like the ones on YouTube? What in heaven?’
‘What does it mean, Pastor Len?’ Monty asked.
Pastor Len didn’t say anything for at least a minute. ‘I guess maybe I should give Teddy a call.’ That’s what Pastor Len called Dr Lund. Teddy, like they were good friends, although we all knew he and Dr Lund were having issues. Later Lorne said he reckoned Pastor Len was hoping a story like that would make up for the lies about his fancy woman; repair some of the damage done.
Then came the kicker. Jim said he’d already been to the newspapers about the story. Told them the lot, ’bout how Joanie had been round to see that Jap kid and talked to that robot that looked just like him.
Pastor Len turned as red as a canned beet. ‘Jim,’ he said. ‘Why didn’t you tell me about this first before you went to the papers?’
Jim got that stubborn look on his face. ‘Pam was my wife. They offered me money for the story. I wasn’t going to turn that down. I gotta live.’
A ton of money was coming to Jim from Pam’s insurance, so that wasn’t any excuse. Lorne said he could see plain as day that Pastor Len was ornery because he wanted to use that information for himself.
Jim banged his fist on the table. ‘And people gotta know those kids is evil. How could that boy survive and not Pam, Pastor Len? It’s not fair. It’s not right. Pam was a good woman. A good woman.’ Jim started crying, saying how those children were murderers. How they’d killed all those people on the planes, and he couldn’t understand why no one could see that.
Pastor Len said he’d drive him home, with Monty following in Jim’s pick-up. It took both of them to carry him out to Pastor Len’s new SUV. Jim was crying fit to burst, shaking and howling. That man shouldn’t have been left alone after that. It was obvious that his mind was broken. But like I said he was stubborn, and I know in my heart that he would have turned me down flat if I’d offered to take him in.
Just before this book was due to go into print, I finally managed to secure an interview with Pastor Len’s estranged wife, Kendra Vorhees. I spoke to her at a state-of-the-art psychiatric clinic where she is currently residing (I have agreed not to print the name or exact location).
I’m shown to Kendra’s room, an airy, sun-filled space, by an orderly with a perfect manicure. Kendra is sitting at a desk, a book open in front of her (later I see that it’s the latest in Flexible Sandy’s Gone series). The dog on her lap–Snookie–wags its tail half-heartedly as I approach, but Kendra barely seems to register my presence. When she finally looks up, her eyes are clear and her expression far shrewder than I’m expecting. She’s so slender that I can see every vein beneath her skin. There’s a slight Texan drawl to her voice, and she speaks carefully, perhaps as a result of the medication she’s taking.
She waves me into an armchair opposite the desk and does not object when I place my recording device in front of her.
I ask Kendra why she decided to talk to me and not one of the other journalists eager to interview her.
I read your book. The one where you interviewed those children who accidentally shot their siblings with Mommy’s .38 Special, or who got it into their heads to murder their classmates with Daddy’s semi-automatic toy. Len was spitting mad when he saw me reading it. Course he was, he’s big on that second amendment baloney, the right to bear arms and all that.
But you mustn’t think I’m after revenge for what Len did with that prostitute. A ‘ho’ they call them, don’t they? I liked her, if you want the truth. She was refreshingly honest, which is rare these days. I hope she takes her fifteen minutes of fame and runs with it. Milks it for all it’s worth.
I ask her if she was the one who leaked the story about Pastor Len’s indiscretions. She sighs, fusses with Snookie and nods briefly. I ask her why she leaked the story if it wasn’t for revenge.
Because, the truth shall set you free! (She laughs abruptly and humourlessly.) You can say what you darn well please when you write this up, by the way. What you darn well please. But if you want the real truth, I did it to get Len away from Dr Lund forever. Len was broken-hearted when the big boys kicked him out of their club after he made a fool of himself on that radio show, but I knew it wouldn’t take much for him to go crawling back if Dr Lund snapped his fingers. I thought I was doing it for L
en’s own good, anyone could see that Dr Lund was a manipulator. And Dr Lund wouldn’t want an acolyte with a sex scandal to his name muddying up his shiny reputation, not now he’s got all those political aspirations. Turns out it was the worst thing I could have done. It goes through my head a thousand times a day, what if I hadn’t followed Len that day? What if I’d let it be? I keep thinking, if Len had wormed his way back into Dr Lund’s good graces, would that have made a difference in the end? Would it have stopped him from listening to that Jim Donald’s crazy talk? Everyone’s saying how Len ‘let the devil in’, but it’s not as simple as that. Fact is, disappointment pushed Len over the edge. A broken heart will do that to you.
I open my mouth to comment, but she continues.
I’m not mad. I’m not crazy. I’m not a loony tune. It wore me out, all that pretending. You can’t play a part all your life, can you? They say I’ve got depression. Clinical. Might be bipolar, but who knows what that means? This place isn’t cheap. I’m making my good-for-nothing brother pick up the bill. He’s been working his way through Daddy’s money, got the lion’s share, so it’s about time he shelled out. And who else was I going to ask? I thought of maybe approaching Dr Lund himself. Even when we were at that godawful conference, you could tell he thought I was an embarrassment. I know for a fact he didn’t want me to appear with Len on his show that one time. His wife didn’t take to me either. It was mutual. You should have seen her face when I declined to join her Christian Women’s League. ‘We got to put those feminists and baby killers in their place, Kendra.’
She narrows her eyes at me.
I can see you’re more than likely one of those feminists, am I right?