Chantal told me later she was busking it. She had no clue about the law. But she turns a key in the commander’s tight little mind. He gets Constable Chandler to radio for an ambulance. They call the doctor from his nice braai.
The doctor smells of burnt meat. He’s got a soft little beard that doesn’t wanna grow. He’s got dimples that have turned into ditches. And he can’t see, can he, with those skew eyes? He pulls his white coat on, it’s all scruffy at the sleeves. It’s like this ou’s just keeping the doctor’s place till he comes. The nurse looks way too young to be working. A quiet black girl, like he’s borrowed a child.
Cock Eyes thinks he’s gonna examine Josie alone, but Chantal does her expanding thing, goes right in. I slip in behind her, my legs all trembly. Josie grips my robe. Cock Eyes asks Josie questions, shines a light in her eyes. Sticks a needle in a syringe. Chantal strokes the top of Josie’s feet.
‘Think of your feet, girl. Don’t think of your ear.’
Josie goes, ‘Eeeeee,’ all the way through, in waves. Going up in volume with each pulled stitch, softer as he clips the thread. Seven for Josie to sew her ear back.
Ten for my head.
The burning like petrol inside my flesh. The anesthetic runs out of the cut. I let the tears go. Let them free, quietly, while Cock Eyes is clipping, threading, tugging through burning petrol. Chantal rubs my feet hard. Josie hums to me. When Cock Eyes turns away to get something, I point at him, make both my eyes stare at my nose. Josie giggles, a bunch of silver bells bounces off the white walls.
I won’t take off my robe. Chantal makes me listen. Says, ‘To make a case. You must so you can make a case.’
Cock Eyes sends Josie out, pulls the curtain closed. Talks to Chantal like she’s my mother. Pulls in his spotlight. Presses my knees to the sides. Goes there where Evil just went. Collects fluid. Puts the sample out of sight. Another big needle, I go where it’s black, behind my eyelids. He sews up my bum. Sixteen stitches. I count the whipping pages of Josie’s book. Fast and violent, behind the curtain. The doctor draws a picture of the rip. Chantal helps me turn over. Points at my shoulders. Asks, ‘What about these?’
He stabs my skin, says it’s a tetanus shot. He draws pictures of the bite holes, the brand new bruises.
‘What about Aids?’
‘It takes six weeks to show.’
‘Can’t they test him?’
‘The court must order it.’
Chantal freaks, ‘That will take too long. She can’t wait like that.’
Chantal watches him stick a new needle in. Suck up my blood. It’s like she reads it there in my blood. ‘Isn’t there medicine that stops you from getting it?’
He nods. ‘Haart.’
‘What?’
‘Highly Active ARV Therapy.’
‘Where’s it?’
She looks around like she’ll go fetch it herself. The doctor gets a little key from his top pocket. Leaves the nurse with my sucked up blood.
‘You won’t get Aids,’ Chantal says while he’s out.
I’ve got a flippin one woman party fighting for me.
He comes back with a little white box. Says, ‘Every day for twenty eight days.’
Chantal asks, ‘What are her chances?’
‘If she didn’t already have it, it will reduce the risk by eighty percent.’
I open the box, stare at the big pills in crinkly silver.
‘Will they hurt my baby?’
‘Where’s your baby?’ Chantal panics, like I’ve left it somewhere. Josie sticks her head through the curtain. I point at my stomach.
Josie says, ‘Junne!’ just like her Ma.
Chantal’s eyeballs go skew, thick silver beads hang off them. She sends Josie out. Cock Eyes goes where half of Cape Town’s been. Does a whole examination. Eina it’s sore, but Chantal squeezes my feet.
Baby. Aids. Rape. All those radio words.
She squeezes my feet and I try think of dancing on wood. Of drumming my feet hard, planting my feet deep. Making a hard, hollow beat. Drumming with my feet.
Cock Eyes buckles a band round my stomach. Switches on a hi fi.
Dff-Dff-Dff-Dff.
‘Oh. Oh. Oh.’ Chantal sounds like she just fell from high up.
‘It’s the baby’s heart.’
Cock Eyes nods. ‘The baby’s fine.’
The kid takes over the whole room. It drums, flippin loud and proud. I open my eyes, see a tiny twitch of the doctor’s lips. Behind him, the young nurse looks excited, like she’s never heard a heartbeat before. Me, I dance inside cause I haven’t either.
And cause the bulge in the ceiling hides gorgeous gold, not rotten bodies.
Chantal puts both hands on my tummy, like she’s tryna hold the kid. ‘So can those pills harm the baby?’
Cock Eyes sighs, all sad, like his sausage and chops are ice cold. He opens the box and reads the paper. He shakes his head, ‘Just a small chance of anemia in the newborn.’
Chantal rubs my tummy. Says to me, ‘Make sure they check.’
Bonita comes sprinting down the ramp at the police station. She holds Josie for ages. Flip you wanna see a mother cry. She goes backwards up the ramp again, leads Josie up, eats her up with her eyes.
We tell Constable Chandler what Evil did. It’s horrible, cause she can hardly write, I swear. I wanna rip the pen from her hand, write it quick-quick. I mean, she’s a white chick. She must’ve gone to a good school. I hold Josie round the waist, rock us together, side to side. The sore, sore stitches help me not to freak. I’ve gotto keep calm for Josie, cause Bonita’s a wreck. Now she’s not scared of being shot. Now she’s shit scared of the words coming out of us. Her eyes go big and blind, like all she can see is the bush.
‘He raped my bum.’
Josie says, ‘He slat me with a staal.’
We’ve got to go slowly. Geez. I wanna grab the pen, make flames with the ink. But for Josie, I rock, make burning pain. Wait for Chandler’s brain to tell her hand to write the words.
Madeleine’s door’s wide open. She grabs my hand and sinks it deep in her breasts. Sharonne’s inside with Madeleine’s whole family. Madeleine’s husband and Madeleine’s lost daughter. Genevieve. Genevieve’s got millions of rings, millions of bangles. Nothing round her neck. She’s ugly. Geez. Light skinned like her dad, but she’s full of yellow sores. Black scars. Her skin’s patterned with disease, I swear, everywhere. She’s got pink blotches of something, calamine, I think, on the wet sores. Silver paint messed on her fingers. Her hair’s short and tufty. Madeleine’s got her in a yellow dress full of ruffles. The same fabric as one of Madeleine’s skirts, that dark honey with pollen dust. Geez. Queen Honey. Genevieve’s eyes are misty, you can’t see in. And she smiles in all the wrong places.
Madeleine’s husband doesn’t smile. He’s not sour, just tight. Noel’s on his lap, so Honorius stands up with the boy stuck to him. Madeleine keeps my hand trapped in her heart. Grabs a fistful of her husband’s sleeve. Hangs on, like she’s scared he might fly. She talks to him, sweet, sweet. You can tell from her voice how precious he is. It’s like he’s her riches, her jewels. He’s neat. Pleated pants and a clean checked shirt. One thing I like is how he keeps his eyes up. Never once checks out my body. I remember it Ma, cause that hardly ever happens with a man. He escorts us like a gentleman to my door. More sweet words from his wife. He goes off with Noel, leaves us to our woman’s stuff.
Bonita’s still staring, tryna get pictures of what Josie’s seen. She flicks her teardrops with her knuckle, knows not to ask any questions yet. All of them fuss and brush us with their fingers. The last sunlight goes dim then bright, dim then bright as they flit across the flat. Run a bath, put on the kettle, come close to look at our stitches. Chantal says, ‘He didn’t even give you painkillers. Whose got …?’
‘No!’ Madeleine stops her solid.
‘Panado’s fine for pregnancy,’ Chantal says.
Bonita gasps, watches my eyes like news on TV. ‘You pregnant?’
‘Four months.’
‘Junne.’ More reason for her knuckles to flick, flick, flick.
Josie wants to stick with me, but Bonita pushes her gently into a warm bath. Behind Blu Bottle, the sea is innocent. Like it’s got nothing to do with the cold winter wind. The thin new moon. The rape. It sings and rolls, like nothing’s changed. Whistles its way to the bloody shore.
‘I’m going for a swim.’
Madeleine’s worried, ‘I will take you to the shower.’
‘I wanna go into the sea.’
Chantal talks like I’m not there. ‘Does she always swim?’
I feel the movement of Madeleine’s head.
‘Tess, you mustn’t wet your stitches.’ It’s the first time Chantal ever says my name. But I’m out the door.
A whole lot of them follow. Chantal punishes the stairs to catch up with me. Madeleine takes her lost daughter out for a walk. Chantal snorts, keeps up.
But I slow down soon, cause I’m sore. Madeleine’s daughter flies past, excited about the tattoo shop. She stands amazed at the ring display. Earrings, tongue rings, God-knows-what rings. She bangs the glass, says something to Madeleine. She wants them, badly. Lucky the shop’s closed. Madeleine tries to lead her away, but she slaps Madeleine off. Then she spots the tattoo shop man, drinking coffee across the street. Her toes don’t touch the ground, I swear, as she runs over there. She steps over his dog, touches his metal ear tips, growls something. The ou’s sweet though, he doesn’t pull away. Lets her have his ears.
The boom’s up. No train today. I cross the track, Chantal heavy next to me.
This weird relief. I’m on the right side now, the sea side.
The sea’s calm tonight. Rolling, whistling, pure as anything.
Some gulls fly straight lines along the slow running waves.
The sun’s found a peephole on its way out. Lights a whole piece of sea from behind the mountain. I go in backwards, in my clothes. I lived in the sea when I was a kid. I swam every day until I was waterlogged. Before the horrible shadows, the warm Natal sea carried me safe, like a wild, moving womb.
I go into the white powder on the bank, the foam breaks right through me, stings my rips. ‘White girl,’ he swore, chewed me with his white teeth. I bend my legs, sink down. The sea stings like Dettol, cleans his bites. I go under. Hot salt slashes at the cut in my head, but the sea holds my scalp, holds me cold, rinses my brain.
Something bumps against my head, something slides against my face. I shoot up, pull air. It’s just a tube of kelp. Clumsy, the brown of a cow. Hooked to another one, like lost sea cattle. Chantal’s brown legs grow on the sand bank. Her dress tucked into her panties. Arms folded across her big breasts. Watching. I step off the sand bank into the green of my veil. I remember how to swim. Circles, circles, my arms and legs glide the child, the water moving through me, washing away Evil.
Dff. Dff-Dff, Dff.
I feel the explosions in my womb. In my chest. In all my joints. The soft shock of faraway blasts. Muffled by a whole ocean, the navy are testing their guns.
There’s a thin man standing with Chantal now. His arm around her. They’re staring out to sea at me. It’s Lennie. They wait till they see I’m swimming in the green along the bank, not into the blue. They walk back to the beach, sit on the sand. I wave. They wave back like flippin parents. Lennie’s talking, talking, talking. Telling her the whole story I got later on.
The sea protects me and the baby, even from the war guns. That’s when I make the promise. Okay, baby. No more shocks. No more beatings. No more jumps until you’re born.
Genevieve’s collecting something on the beach. I swear she’s graceful as a ghost, like she’s not really real. I know it’s not shells. She’s looking for bright things on the shore. Looking for what she lost when she was a kid. She gets peace from her bits and pieces, she gets off the planet. Like I did with my pills. When she goes a bit far, Madeleine hurries to her, hovers. Genevieve shows her something. Madeleine lifts the girl’s hand up closer to see, holds it like it’s her own.
That’s when I get the brainwave.
I need to tell them.
The sea lets me go, but chases me, playful.
Chantal sees me coming, trots up to some people, there near the toilets. A kid swoops down the silver slide, the mom clapping, the dad catching. The mother stares at me, gives Chantal a towel.
Chantal wraps me up. Rubs me down. Gentle.
I need to tell them.
‘We must all save up.’
They look at me funny.
‘We must get Genevieve a metal detector.’
I get all the stories afterwards.
That day of Evil, Bonita came to visit with Josie. But Josie ran ahead. Bonita missed the whole drama, she was still round the corner, but Nora saw Evil pull off with us. Back from her surf with the boys, all proud in her wet rubber, maybe salt water still running from her nose. Nora raced up to Bonita, ‘Does Tess have a coloured boyfriend?’ She said me and Josie were in a black car. I was bleeding and we both looked upset.
Upset.
A professor of religion was vacuuming his car.
Bonita ordered, ‘Get in. Drive. My daughter.’
He found himself with his foot down, Bonita digging into his arm, shouting, ‘Drive! Drive!’ when he was already driving.
Nora ran dripping to the cops. She was sharp enough to say, ‘my friend’ and ‘a schoolgirl’. Not a prostitute and a prostitute’s daughter.
They sent out a message. Hanif and Pretoria went hunting in their van.
Bonita made the professor swerve off the road. Asked Natasha if she’d seen us. Funny I didn’t see Natasha, must’ve been when we nearly killed the Twins On Board. But Natasha saw Evil turn into Capricorn Park. Me in the front, she said, and some chick in the back. Bonita and her driver skidded into the stables, but the only sign of life was Lennie, busy with his little addiction, and a mounted policeman just dismounting. Bonita shouted at the cop, ‘He stole Josie and Tess! They’re in the bush here somewhere!’
Bastard recognised her from the beach. Refused. Said he worked three times a week, eight till two. Not enough funds for full day, he said.
The professor started tuning him about moral duty. Lennie interrupted, ‘Tess? Prostitute Tess?’
‘And my Josie.’ Bonita cracked then, started bawling.
Lennie spun in circles, battling to think. Then he pulled the bridle off the policeman’s sweaty horse. Ran to the field. Stopped. Only to talk to the mad horse. When he tried to slip on the bridle, the horse launched at him. He roared one word, ‘Pienkie!’ and slammed the bit between her teeth. He dropped a gum pole down on one side and jumped on like a flippin Red Indian. Pienkie reversed into the fence, tryna get rid of Lennie, but he pushed that horse with his legs, pushed her forwards, straight into the bush. The white mare and her big boy came out of nowhere, along for the ride. So Lennie rode with a herd. He rode like a Red Indian, through the wild.
He broke his toe on me, that time he cut past me. The horse didn’t touch me, not a hair, but Lennie’s feet were turned out, pumping at the horse’s belly.
After Lennie flattened Evil and sent me and Josie to the road, Lennie whipped the car. He whipped the roof to keep Evil in. Lennie said he was shit scared Evil would go for the gun. But he made Evil think he was some kind of flippin he-man on a steed. It helped that the horse broke nearly all of Evil’s ribs and three of his front teeth.
Hanif and Pretoria were driving round blind till me and Josie got to the police. They told them on the radio exactly where to go. By the time those two cops arrived, Evil was homesick for prison. Lennie said it was dead easy to cuff him and get him in the van.
Lennie rode home on the horse. Across Prince George Drive, I swear, the other two horses following. He tried to chase them, shouted, ‘Go back!’ but they ran through the traffic. Stuck to him out of horse loyalty. Lennie arrived home on a foaming, red mare. He waved the neighbourhood kids away, ‘Watch out. She bi
tes!’
Pienkie snatched at the kids like they were blades of grass, made them scream and scatter. The other two horses just dodged the kids, like they do in the Vrygrond. When Lennie reached his house, the white mare and her kid trotted past, tried out the neighbour’s grass.
Chantal couldn’t believe her eyes. Lennie was meant to be shit scared of horses. Pienkie pawed at their tiny square of grass, wanting to roll. Lennie dragged Pienkie’s head up, shouted, ‘Pienkie! Pienkie!’ tryna stop her. Tryna tell Chantal about the attack. ‘Please, Chantal. Go help them. Go up to Muizenberg police.’
The children watched, their fingers hooked in the fence. Went, Whoaa,’ when Pienkie’s legs buckled and she went down. Lennie went loose, rolled off slack, into the daisies. The horse grunted a whale grunt, balanced upside down on her spine, collapsed to one side. Back up on her spine. Another demolition thud. Drying her sweat on their only grass, her hooves loosening the half bricks at the edge.
Chantal could see Lennie was finished. ‘I’m phoning your dad.’
‘No … phone my brother.’
Chantal left Lennie with the mad horse, came to find us. Lennie’s brother came quick-quick. Thank God Lennie had firmed up by then, tied Pienkie to the fence. Damon was shocked by the story, but too cocky. He tried to take over and ride Pienkie back. He untied the reins, but Pienkie went for him like he was enemy number one. Lennie shouted, ‘Watch out, she bites!’ like a minute too late. Lucky Damien was fast, else he would’ve been eaten. Lennie stood on his post box, jumped on. The wrestler drove slowly next to Lennie and his herd, escorting them through the traffic. Bull neck, big arm out the window, his hazard lights on. Big, brave brother, protecting Lennie with his brand new Tazz.
Okay, let me get this straight. After the police, Nora went to tell Red Scalp, that’s Phyllis. Phyllis went to tell Madeleine and Madeleine went to tell Sharonne.
Sharonne was heating up spaghetti in the flat. She felt so shit later cause there she was, heating tinned spaghetti and singing.
‘What were you singing?’ Josie asked later.
‘The Tide is High.’
‘Atomic Kitten,’ Josie said.
Whiplash Page 25