by Carol Gibbs
“What’s a legacy?” I whisper.
“Don’t know.”
Mr Benade drones on, but at last he says the magic words we have all been waiting for.
“You’ve got half day.”
“Yippee, yippee!” but we say it softly, under our breath, because we know this is serious business, all about death.
“Goodbye, Alice, see you later. Bring your paper dolls and your marbles.”
Jannie Smuts had a grey pointy beard and he was old. That’s what Mommy says. He was a kind man because he gave cigarettes to the soldiers in little silver tins and Ouma Smuts knitted jerseys for the war orphans. My mommy has one of the silver tins and she keeps her buttons in it. She says it made all the South African soldiers’ hearts glad when they were in the desert. It has a springbok head in a V and there’s a picture of Jannie Smuts and Ouma in two gold circles and it says Christmas 1943. Inside the lid it says: ‘Good luck and alles van die beste.’ I don’t know why my daddy wasn’t in the army. Uncle Nick was in the Royal Navy and Uncle Philip, too. Uncle Neels, who is married to my Aunty Catherine-Jean, belonged to the Ossewa Brandwag. He has a certificate to prove it, hanging on the wall in the passage of his house in Tiervlei, but we are not supposed to talk about it. Jannie Smuts was a SAP. We listen to endless arguments between our household and Aunty Ruby’s, because she loves Jannie Smuts with all her heart and she and my daddy have almost come to blows over the NATS and the SAPS. They were even no-speaks for a few weeks. Now that Jannie Smuts is dead, says Mommy, perhaps they will stop their nonsense.
We gather round the radio and Gabriel turns the knob. The radio is curved at the top, with five shiny brown knobs and material hiding behind cut-out wooden patterns. Daddy says it looks like the Voortrekker Monument in Pretoria. The light comes on, the valves warm up, and then we watch as Gabriel sweeps the needle from left to right. Gabriel is the only one allowed to fiddle with the radio. Daddy says Gabriel is highly qualified for the job because he spends so much time with the Selbourne boys, but all Gabriel really wants is a crystal radio. Gabriel is stuck like glue to the radio, but it’s hard to sit still and listen to the ins and outs of the funeral. I leave halfway through.
“Y-you’ll be s-s-sorry … This is h-history.”
It’s stuffy in our lounge and I’m glad to be outside in the bright sunlight. Alice is sitting at the foot of our tree, flat on her bum, with her paper dolls spread around her.
“Let’s dress them up for a ball.”
My paper dolls are the perfect family. I want our family to be just like them. The mother is blonde like my mommy and the father is dark like my daddy. The children have wardrobes full of beautiful clothes and lots of shoes.
“For my mommy, a pink dress, pointy shoes, a tiara and long gloves. For my daddy, a tuxedo, a white shirt, bow tie and black shoes. A white silk scarf and a wristwatch.”
The paper mommy and daddy make the perfect couple, smiling and happy. They’re off to the Blue Moon in Muizenberg. We know that that’s where Mommy is going when she puts a mudpack on her face and frightens everyone who comes to the door. Fuller’s Earth makes your skin smooth and makes you look young. We are not allowed to make her laugh because then it cracks and doesn’t do a proper job. When Mommy gets dressed, Desiree and I lie on her bed on our tummies, chin in hand, and watch her every move. One day we will do the same. Gabriel always has to spoil the fun.
A-after the ball is o-over …
Gabriel giggles and stutters so much he can hardly get the words out. We get goose bumps every time he recites the bit about removing the glass eye.
We ask Mommy to read from the perfume bottle.
“Give yourself new glamour with this most thrilling of perfumes,” she reads in a hoity-toity voice like the people on the radio. “Evening in Paris adds charm and mystery, subtly blending itself with your personality.”
Desiree and I love the little blue bottle with the picture of the moon on the label. It fits in the palm of my hand. When I’m big, I’m going to buy my mommy Evening in Paris by the bucketful. We watch the magic as Mommy dresses up. Finally she slips her black velvet cloak around her shoulders and steps out the door in a cloud of Evening in Paris.
“I’m tired of playing paper dolls,” I tell Alice. “Let’s climb our tree!”
The air is cool and the branches form a secret world. Alice climbs to the top of the tree, hooks her legs over a branch and hangs upside down. Her skirt falls over her head and I can clearly see Perfection Flour written across her bum. From our lofty perch we watch the neighbourhood. Aunty Dolly is parking her Prefect, and Spencer and Maureen are watering their garden. Mrs Bester is calling André to do his homework. We are free just to be.
Gabriel pushes his bike down the path and squints up at the tree.
“I’m going with Ben to the rubbish dump at the Mowbray depot.”
Ben is Gabriel’s best friend and they stand together through thick and thin. Ben’s father works for the navy and he teaches him about knots and how to read a compass. Their surname is Benson and Ben has lots of brothers and sisters. They all have biblical names: Matthew, Mark, Luke, Sarah, Naomi and Ruth. We ask Ben if his mother is holy.
“No, she just never knows what to call the little buggers and it’s easy enough to look in the Bible.” Then he laughs and recites.
Matthew, Mark, Luke and Benjamin,
The bed be blest that I lie on.
Four angels to my bed,
Four angels round my head,
One to watch, and one to pray,
And two to bear my soul away.
Ben is the eldest and he has to earn his keep by working after school. He works at the butcher’s shop for Mr Pepler and he delivers the meat parcels on his boss’s bicycle. Sometimes Ben brings a big juicy bone for Bessie. He does a trick where he pulls a cigarette from behind his ear and he can blow smoke rings too. One of his favourite tricks is wiggling his ears. Ben takes Gabriel around the neighbourhood playing toktokkie, knock-knock, after dark. He thumbs his nose at most things, including exams, and just lives for whatever the day brings. Mommy doesn’t like his devil-may-care attitude and she says he’s going nowhere, but he’s hard to resist because he has a soft centre like the Black Magic chocolates.
Gabriel and Ben are going to smash soda bottles for the prized sodies. He’s still wearing his school uniform and he’s going to get into trouble when Mommy comes home. The boys get up to all kinds of mischief. They smash the shiny marbles on the stop signs and shoot the street lights out with their catties. They load their kleilatte with fresh mud and they show no mercy to the enemy. They drag their feet instead of using the bike’s brakes, because they like the noise it makes. If the damage is not too bad, their fathers can fix their shoes on the shoe last. Otherwise Barksole Shoe Repair has to come to the rescue. The label in the back of Gabriel’s school shirt says Gibby’s and there’s a picture of a Spaniel tugging at a garment to show how tough it is. That’s all very well, but it doesn’t really work. Bessie is a spaniel and we tried it out on her, but her sharp teeth made little holes in the shirt and we got into big trouble. Gabriel knows he is supposed to look after his shoes and clothes, because there is no money for new ones.
“How many sodies do you think they’ll bring?”
“Who knows? Maybe Gabriel will give me a sodie to add to my collection of marbles, ironies, ghoens and glassies.”
We pretend we’re on bikes and follow them in our minds, down Third Avenue, left into Kromboom Road, then through the drift across the Liesbeeck River. They will pass the stone wall of the house belonging to Dr West, where I had my head stitched, and soon they will pass the spook house, where the singer Cecilia Wessels lives. It’s a three-storey house with a turret that sticks right up into the sky. Cecilia Wessels’s voice is so loud that on a still day the neighbours can hear her practising her scales for miles around. Gabriel will probably tell Ben about the night we went to her concert at City Hall. Then between giggles he’ll open his mouth, clutch at
his throat and make strangled sounds and high-pitched screams.
Rosie had given Mommy free tickets to the Cecilia Wessels concert. “All chiltren like concerts. Give tem some culture. Let tem go out at night and see how de udder half lives.”
There were enough tickets to go round, but Daddy didn’t want to waste his time watching some dame screaming her head off.
“Please, Mommy, come with us!”
“Your father wants to stay home and listen to his Al Debbo records. I’d rather keep the peace.”
We understood and so we stopped pleading straight away.
“What can we wear?”
“Why not wear your silver dress and your golden shoes?” suggested Mommy, so it was back to basics.
“I-f it w-was good enough for the Q-queen, it’s g-good enough f-for Cecilia W-wessels.”
I got to wear Desiree’s accordion-pleated skirt she had outgrown. The hem of the skirt had been let down and the rubber buttons on the Liberty bodice had been moved, so the pleats of the accordion skirt didn’t know which way to go and ended up sticking out at a funny angle. I wished I could have worn my Desert Scene jersey, but it still wasn’t finished. Something went wrong and Mommy stopped dead at the camels’ knees. My blouse pulled tight against my growing body and Daddy had to cut peep-toes in my shoes with his penknife, because they were too small for me.
Daddy stopped the van in Darling Street, gave us nine pence to buy peanuts, and we piled out.
“Hold hands when you cross the street.”
“You can be poor, but you don’t have to show it.”
“Don’t pick your nose or eat it in public and don’t fart in the dark!”
“Don’t forget, wait on the steps.”
We’ve heard it all before. Daddy’s instructions.
“Where your parents?” Mr Essop called from his stall.
“We’re going on our own to the City Hall,” Desiree told Mr Essop.
“Young man,” Mr Essop turned to Gabriel, “you must always remember women are precious. It’s an honour to look after your sisters.”
Gabriel didn’t know what to say to that, but Desiree smiled at Mr Essop because she knew he’d said something good that involved girls.
“Some peanuts?”
Gabriel held our hands so tight it hurt and Desiree clutched the brown paper packet. She couldn’t wait to get inside the City Hall. Anyone would think she was the one on the stage.
“This m-might be as close to the L-london Palladium you’ll get.”
Desiree stuck her tongue out. We stood in the foyer, clutching our free tickets and our peanuts, staring in wonder at the people around us. Gabriel called it sissy stuff, but I could tell he was as thrilled as the rest of us.
“Let’s go upstairs so we can see the people properly!”
We raced up the marble steps and stood looking out over their heads, smelling the mingled perfumes. It wasn’t every day we got to see gentlemen in dress suits and ladies in gossamer. The ladies wore bangles around their wrists, diamonds at their throats and snake bracelets winding up their arms, trying to outdo one another in their satins and taffetas. We felt so grown-up being out at night with these people from another world, but we were like fish out of water, giggling behind our hands. We heard people say that Cecilia Wessels was the best opera singer ever to grace the stages of South Africa, but we didn’t really understand. At interval we cracked our peanut shells noisily, while the rest of the audience ate their Black Magic chocolates all around us.
“Shush! Be quiet!”
We watched them popping chocolates into their mouths with gloved fingers, then squinting at the pictures in the lid and reaching for the next one. Hazel Cluster, Orange Cream, Truffle and Nougat, Strawberry Cup and Butterscotch. We’d only had them once or twice, but we knew the names by heart as well as the pictures inside the lid. I was so busy watching everyone that I dropped our peanuts and had to bend down and fish around under the seats.
“Come and see the shoes.”
Desiree and I gazed slack-jawed at the dazzling display of feet. Diamond clips, suede, ostrich skin, patent leather, snakeskin and beautiful red ones.
“Shush down there! This is a sophisticated gathering. Why don’t you go home where you belong?”
Then Cecilia Wessels stepped back on to the stage with her overpowering bosom and her low-cut willpower dress. She opened her mouth so wide we could almost see her tonsils. She sang in a strange language and we didn’t understand a word, so we giggled and yawned our way through the entire performance, bored and clapping at the wrong time. When she finally closed her mouth for the last time the audience got to their feet and clapped and clapped.
Ever since then Gabriel can’t resist imitating Cecilia Wessels every time he passes her house. When Ben and Gabriel finally get past her house, Rondebosch Common will be on their left. It’s where the soldiers marched and pitched their tents in the olden days. If they turn right into Klipfontein Road they will see the Mowbray Depot. The giant brick arch was built to take the Clydesdale horses and the big green-and-cream dirt-carts. Gabriel has made friends with the dirt-cart men and they will let him in without any trouble. I tell all of this to Alice because I don’t think she knows anything about how to get to Mowbray all on your own, like Gabriel does. We can’t wait for them to come back with their treasure.
“I want to tell you something,” Alice says earnestly, “but I have to pee first.”
We squat in the dry Cape Flats sand and our hot pee rushes out of us, making two lines, wet and smelly.
“Shake your bum up and down to get rid of the last drops.”
“Please, Alice, tell me your secret,” I remind her when we are back in our tree.
The light filters through the branches, making leaf shadows, and Alice’s eyes are closed behind her goggles.
“Mr Lester, the builder, touched me down there,” she blurts out. She opens her eyes, the worst part over. “He called me into his hokkie where he keeps the cement and the spades.”
“Did you tell your mother?”
“No.”
“Why not?”
She shrugs her shoulders. “Because he gave me a big bag of sweets and he said it’s our secret and, anyway, my mother is so busy baking bread and making broeks or going to the Kritz she never has time to listen to any of us.”
“Look!” I change the subject as I see Gabriel and Ben turn the corner into our road. “There they are!”
Ben is sitting on the carrier and puts his feet out to slow the bike down.
We swing down from the tree like monkeys, from branch to branch.
“How many did you get?”
“Haven’t counted yet.”
Gabriel holds his in his cupped hand, the sun glinting on glass.
“Please, Gabriel, can I have one?”
“It’s not easy to find sodies. Y-you think the s-soda bottles jump u-up and say hello? B-but, all right, you can have o-oone.”
Ben feels sorry for Alice so he gives her one of his.
On the way to Alice’s house we see Mr Gordon with his new grandson.
“Come!” says Alice. “I want to look at the baby.”
“Not on your Nellie!” I tug at Alice’s sleeve. “He’s evil.”
I look over my shoulder, but Mr Gordon is gone.
“Why? He do what Mr Lester did to me?”
But I keep walking and I don’t answer her.
The Haroldsons’ kitchen is like Grandma’s when she’s cooking for the boarders. Big pots steam, hiss and bubble. I feel sorry for Jean, the Haroldsons’ eldest. Stirring the pots, she wears an apron that’s much too big for her. By the time the food is dished onto plate number six, plate number one is cold.
“Never look in others people’s pots,” Mommy says, “and when they start rattling plates, make yourself scarce.” So as soon as I see the plates coming out and the table being laid, I head for home.
The warmth has left the sun and the shadows are long. I keep a wary eye out for
Mr Gordon. I wonder what it’s like to have all those brothers and sisters, like Alice does. Maybe some of them are adopted like Leonore. Maybe I’m adopted too. It’s a big worry.
“Where’ve you been? It’s supper time.”
Queenie is presented, roasted. My lips are pressed together as the tears spill down my cheeks.
“Don’t be silly, it’s not Queenie!” says Daddy.
But I know it’s a fib, because she’s not in her usual place in the fowl hok. Queenie is old and she must be tough, but still it’s hard to stop myself from biting into the flesh.
“Please excuse me from the table.”
Mommy puts her fork down, slips her hand under the tablecloth and squeezes mine. I sit in the yard and gaze at Queenie’s empty space. Desiree finds me.
“I’ve saved Queenie’s wishbone for you.”
All things bright and broken.
Lying in my bed later, with Queenie’s wishbone under my pillow, I think of Alice and her secret. It’s another thing to carry in my head. I’ll have to dodge Mr Lester’s hokkie.
The next morning I stumble into the kitchen half asleep. Something’s different. Then I see it. Light streams in through the tiny steel window and the dark green walls have new life. I run barefoot down the kitchen steps, over cold earth, to find out where my precious tree has gone.
“Come, Desiree, come and see the tree.”
The wind that whipped around our house during the night has uprooted my beloved tree. It’s lying on the ground, never to blossom again. The roots hold stones and bits of earth like a giant claw. We clamber over branches we could never reach when the tree stood tall against the sky. It feels strange to climb a tree lying on the ground. Never again will Alice and I view the world from above as we share secrets.
CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE
Our voices ring out in the quiet street.
Salt, mustard, vinegar, pepper!
Red Rover, Red Rover, turn the rope over!
Salt, mustard, vinegar, pepper!
We trail off as the ambulance stops right outside the Beelders’ house. The children say her body is still warm. There’s not a sound in the street except for the skipping rope slapping the tarmac. Desiree nudges me and gestures with her chin as the unsmiling ambulance men carry out her shrouded body. I see Sylvia’s toes peeping out from under the snow-white sheet. There’s a knot of people gathered in the road, whispering behind their hands. Gabriel arrives, skidding to a halt on his bike. Edna says Sylvia’s colouring comes from her father’s side. Mrs Selbourne pushes past to give Mrs Beelders some sugar water. Sylvia’s father stands beside her body, his tears flowing, and places his hand on her head and makes the sign of the cross. He seems glued to the spot, not knowing which way to turn. The ambulance man turns the key and the engine splutters to life. Maureen starts jumping and our voices ring out again.
