“You are blind then. She is insanely, annoyingly wild over him. You are taking the mick, aren’t you?”
“Not about that. I mean, I didn’t see her getting so attached or whatever. But, yeah about the gay bit, no. Not as far as I know anyway.”
“Ag nee man! I ought to slap you hard.”
“Couldn’t resist. But I have no idea why he’s so keen on seeing her, and I don’t really care, to be honest.” He saw his chance to segue into his own agenda. “I don’t know what’s going on between you and what’s-his-name – that wannabe Mr. World – but I am going to put my cards on the table, Sarah.”
Sarah gave him a vacant look, as if she had never heard the expression.
He went on. “What I mean is, I need to get things out and see what’s going on ... with us.”
She put her finger on his lips. “Shh. Don’t say it. Don’t go there, Chad.”
“I need to know. I don’t want to play games. I am really, really ... well, I am insanely wild over you, Sarah. It may sound ridiculously sappy, but I think I could love you. I’m not saying I do – yet – but I think … I just want to see where this can go, could go, should go. I need to know where you stand. I need to know what you think, what you feel, what you want.”
“Stop it. Don’t do this.”
“It’s not a big deal, Sarah. It’s a simple question with a simple answer, yes or no. ‘Yes, Chad, I want more than just being friends’ or ‘No, Chad, we’re just friends.’ I can deal with it either way. I just need an answer. I need to know what’s going on inside that pretty little head of yours.”
“I don’t know what you expect.”
“Yes or no. That’s all. Simple enough. You don’t even have to say the words. Shake your head no, and we’ll just be friends, and that’s cool. Give me a nod, and my emotions are going to go wild because I know … I know I’m on the verge of falling uncontrollably in love with you.”
“You are crazy.”
“A shake or a nod. That’s all I’m asking for, Sarah.”
“But it’s not that easy.”
“It is. Shake or nod. I can deal with either. I need to know. I just need to know.”
“You don’t … you really don’t understand. It’s—”
With both hands, Chad slowly moved her head, saying, “Shake … or nod. Yes … or no.”
Sarah said nothing.
***
Peter and Cindy sat sipping drinks and picking at a half-empty bowl of potato chips. Cindy looked pleased, too pleased, Peter thought. He was uncomfortable with her green eyes beaming with such delight. She was expecting more than he had to give, more than was inside him.
He ignored any small talk. “I really like talking with you. It means a lot. It’s been good to have someone that listens. I … well, I just appreciate it. Thanks, Cindy. Thanks for being around.”
Peter said this with as little emotion as possible, but her eyes grew even larger, even greener. She went from being pleased to radiant. God, I said it all wrong. Damn, what was I supposed to say? This is stupid, Peter. Just say it. Just clarify things. She’s just a good friend, and that’s all it is. Tell her that’s all it will ever be. Damn it, just tell her. He opened his mouth, paused, and then put a potato chip in it.
Cindy smiled. “I know. I feel the same. It’s been good, great. I feel good … really good about us.”
Peter glanced at her twinkling eyes; the deep jade reflected a boundless anticipation. He looked down at the table and ate another chip. When he looked up, his eyes fixed upon her hair, those frizzy red locks. He was overwhelmed once again by a head of hair that cruelly demanded attention. He blinked his eyes twice, shook his head slightly, and looked at her again. All he saw was the red hair, the red lips, the red nails, all clashing together into a disturbing visual cacophony. He tried to chase this intrusive impression away. He tried to search again for words, the right words, but his brain refused to offer any assistance. A wave of anxiety produced a fairy tale wish that he could return to the beginning of the evening and start the conversation again but the infamous awkward moment lingered forever.
Cindy appeared to cherish the quiet moment as she continued, “I think we’ve always had a good connection. You’re the first bloke I’ve been able to open up to, feel comfortable with. My dad … well, you know. I think about him and wonder how I can ever trust any man again. I’ve always kept guys an arm’s length away. Even the few I did like ... well, I ended up pushing them away. And I admit I have used a few. But I never trusted any of them. Not one. But you, Peter, are someone I can trust, and I needed that.”
“Yeah, I suppose it’s the same for me, only for different reasons. I got hurt, got stuck, and shut everyone out. It’s good, refreshing, even amazing to open up with a girl or a woman, whatever you are. It’s been good, real good for me, but, Cindy, I...” The words were now there ...but it can never be anything more. I’m sorry, but there is no physical attraction, no romantic desire, no feelings, no emotions, only a wonderful friendship. “… But …” He filled his lungs, ready to speak.
Before the words found breath, she took his hands, squeezed them tight, and looked into his eyes, into his guarded soul. Both smiled. Peter began talking about his experiences of the past week. He talked about Soweto and the Africans he had met; he shared about his anger and bewilderment that Simon and Chad did not get it; then he recounted Dumisani’s story about June 16.
She listened. Both became tearful as he described the pain he’d seen in Dumisani’s eyes as he had relived the horrific tragedy of schoolchildren slaughtered. She understood, and she cared. Cindy was a friend. Then, still holding hands, he realized he would still have to tell her that a friend is all she would be – but not tonight.
***
Chad thought he had approached Sarah in a clear, straightforward manner, giving her the option to say, “Yes, let’s get on with it” or “No way. Let’s just be friends.” He could live with either, eventually. Her silence, however, was a cruel and unusual punishment. After he held in his frustration for as long as he could, he finally said, “I don’t get it. If we’re to be friends, that’s fine – even wonderful. But if I’m right about my feelings, my gut … well, I just need to know. I don’t want to play the fool if you don’t feel the same. But everything inside me tells me you feel exactly the way I do.”
For an extended moment, Sarah looked at Chad with pleading eyes. Then she looked down and said, “It’s unfair, I know, but it’s complicated. Please don’t make it hard.”
Chad clenched his fist and barely caught himself from pounding the table. “I don’t believe that! If it is what I think, and if this is what you think, we go for it. We see what grows, what develops, and we deal with whatever happens. If it is right, meant to be, nothing else matters.”
“You’ll have to live with a shrug for now, Chad. I’m sorry. Please don’t pressure me,” Sarah said. “I have a lot to think about, a lot of feelings to sort out.”
Chad detected a mixture of hurt, frustration, and growing irritation in her look and tone. He took the warning to heart and backed off. “So it’s not a no, but a maybe? You need time, and I respect that. I’m used to jumping into these things, but I want this to be right, perfect. However, Sarah, well … if nothing more, I want to be friends. If that’s all it ever is, great. Really. But—”
“No buts.”
“Yeah, you’re right. No buts. However, if it’s that bodybuilder … hell, I’ll fight him for you, winner take all. Just tell me when and where. I’ll fight him to the death. You’d be worth it.”
“That’s charming. It’s a lot of things, and yes, he’s one.”
“For what it’s worth – and I am being very, very subjective here – ”
“Riggght.”
“No, really. I say it confidently, as a friend, not a potential lover. He is not your type. He just isn’t right for you, Sarah. And we could get Peter and Cindy over here to take a vote. I bet my life it would be unanimous.”
/>
“That’s okay. Trust me, Chad, it’s complicated. It just is.”
Chad nodded. He pretended to be carefree the rest of the evening but remained frustrated to the depths of hell; he could not understand this furtive, beautiful, enticing, irresistible young woman.
***
Hands still entwined, Peter and Cindy left for the car. A pastor once told Peter that affairs start with innocent touching of the hands, and then it moves on to touching thighs, to prolonged embraces, to passionate kisses, and ultimately to complete intimacy. The pastor would have known; years later it surfaced that he had had a long string of affairs in his church. No, I can’t have that. I will have to apologize, make sure things are clear. I must do it … next time.
They arrived at the car holding hands.
“What’s this?” Chad gloated.
“Well, well,” Sarah said with a twinkle in her eyes.
Cindy smiled coyly, and Peter felt a concrete block turning in his stomach.
***
“What about your birthday?” Chad asked before he shut the car door in front of Simon’s home.
“I’ll call you.”
Chad asked, “Are you sure?”
Sarah’s head tilted and she rolled her eyes, winked, and drove off.
“Damn it! She doesn’t have to leave me hanging like that.” Chad’s angry tone indicated he would be taking his frustration out on Peter and Simon for the next hour.
Before they reached the door, Sarah backed the car up and yelled, “The four of us, Friday at seven, ice skating, Jo’berg!”
CHAPTER 14
Just a Human Being
Peter wobbled around the skating rink, certain that all eyes remained fixed on him. Giggling and chattering nonstop, Cindy assisted him in his struggle to remain upright on the ice. As the night wore on, she became more affectionate, more adoring, causing Peter’s guilt and shame to intensify. In the recesses of his brain, a debate raged. Damn it! Tell her. Go get a drink, sit her down, and tell her … No. This isn’t the time or place. That’d just be cruel … It’s cruel not to tell her, to let her keep thinking that you … No. I’ll do it another time. Do it NOW! … No, later … No, NOW! Toward the end of the evening, Peter said, “Let’s go talk a minute.”
They sat at a small round table in the corner of the skating rink’s tiny café. Peter, looking at his iceless glass of Coke, said, “There’s something I need to tell you.” He looked up and gazed at her childlike smile.
Cindy said, “Ja?” She reached under the table and squeezed his knee.
“It’s … it’s just that … I really need to say something.” He stopped and looked into her green eyes; eyes that revealed a heart full of naïve love and simplistic joy. “I’m glad you didn’t wear your red lipstick and those red nails. I like you better without the extra … all that red.”
“Oh, I see,” she said, a bit embarrassed. “Why didn’t you tell me you didn’t like it? You should have told me before, silly.”
“Yeah, you’re right. Let’s get back out there. I’m gonna get the hang of these skates if it kills me.”
Sarah exuded confidence and brashness as she and Chad skated circles around one another. She teased and laughed. She was overjoyed, and rightfully so. After all, she had just turned eighteen, and the world was hers for the taking.
Chad had been waiting for this day; it was to be a magic day. However, as the evening went on, he noticed a foreign emotion distracting him. It was something he could not identify, could not verbalize. Was it disappointment, hurt, fear, helplessness, love, frustration? He wasn’t sure. Perhaps it was a cocktail of all of them jumbled together, playing havoc with his mood and demeanor. It surprised Chad that Sarah did not appear to notice his rather pensive mood. He decided her adrenaline and endorphins made her oblivious to his personal turmoil; so he, too, tried to ignore his jumbled emotions and doubled his effort to treat her as a princess should be treated.
***
On their way back to Vanderbijlpark, traffic slowed to a stop. The line of cars extended for a mile or more. The inconvenience raised frustration, and complaints multiplied as time passed.
“God, I hate this!” Chad blurted out. “I feel like getting out and walking. What do you think it is? Probably damn road works. What’d you bet?”
“Could be a police checkpoint, looking for drunk drivers,” Sarah said, and then moaned. “It’s a pain.”
“Hear that Peter? Could be the law! Better throw your joint out the window quick,” Chad teased.
“You’re so funny, Chad,” Peter said, flicking the back of Chad’s head.
“It’s likely an accident. We have to be patient. There’s nothing we can do, and somebody might be hurt or something. Hey, did you hear that?” The sound of approaching sirens confirmed Cindy’s assessment.
Edging closer to the scene, they could see an individual lying on the shoulder of the road.
Cindy clicked her tongue and said. “Oh, dear. I hope he’s not hurt badly.”
Passing by the scene, they saw a mangled bike and a lifeless man on the pavement. A large pool of blood surrounded his crushed skull.
Chad, who had the clearest view, observed more details and said, “It’s only a Kaffir.”
Sarah quickly corrected him. “Bantu, not Kaffir. That’s a terrible word. It is banned. Use Bantu. Better, use Black.”
Chad nodded, and said, “Oh, yeah. Bantu.”
Peter felt blood rush to his head. His hands started trembling. He started shaking his head.
Cindy put her hand on his knee and asked, “What’s wrong? Are you okay? That was awful. God, just awful. Are you alright?”
Peter’s words barely came out. “I’m fine, I’m fine.” His hands continued to shake. He took slow, deliberate breaths to curtail a mounting wave of anxiety. After he filled his lungs a second time, he realized this emotion was not anxiety. It was anger; no, it was rage. He took several more deep breaths. With the gruesome scene far behind them, he let out a savage invocation, a primal shout. “Goddamn you, Chad! Damn you!”
“What the hell’s your problem, Pete?” Chad asked, looking back at his countryman a confused expression.
Peter roared again, in a voice anyone in any passing car could have heard. “Did you hear what you just said? Do you even know what you said! My God, Chad! I can’t believe it. I can’t believe you could say such a thing!”
“What are you carrying on about, Pete? What is your problem?” Chad replied, now with anger in his tone.
“He’s only a Kaffir? He’s only a Kaffir! My God! He is a human being! Black, White, Colored, Indian – a human being! He’s no different than you!”
“Jesus! Relax, man. I didn’t mean anything. He was a Black guy. So what?”
“So what? So what! You’ve turned into a goddamn racist, a bigot! And the worst part is, you don’t even know it.”
Chad unleashed his anger, “Fuck you, Peter! Ever since we stepped off that plane, you’ve been on my freakin’ nerves! You’ve turned into some kind of self-righteous, holier-than-thou, bitching bastard! Just shut the hell up!”
The women remained silent. Both gave their companions a look of shock. The two men looked away.
Peter stared out the window, counting the cars as they whizzed by, cars carrying White people because few Blacks owned cars, because Blacks did not have any business being out at that time of night. That was not allowed. Peter’s explosion of rage had shocked him as much as anyone. It came without the filter he always took such care to employ. However, he wasn’t ashamed of his outburst. As far as he was concerned, he was right to be angry, and it was completely necessary and justifiable.
Chad gazed out the opposite window. He watched the lights of the city fading: a city vibrant and alive, a city that declared the greatness of this country. Peter deserved to be cursed. He would not be put down, assailed by another male, especially in front of females. He had done nothing of consequence, and Peter dared to treat him like a mi
sbehaving child. He wasn’t just going to sit by and let that happen.
It was a quiet ride home, and no one spoke a word of the verbal battle – not then, and not ever.
***
Soil covered Peter’s hands and knees. He didn’t notice the clumps of dirt in his hair and a smudge of mud on his forehead. This was his way to unwind: stolen moments without having to think or feel, moments when he could just do. Peter’s distraction was planting bulbs and seeds and tending carefully to them. He would watch and wait patiently for young sprouts to appear and grow, for leaves to form and reach toward the sun, for buds to open and burst forth with their joyous colors. He knew that flowers would soon appear and offer their thanks to the one who cared enough to plant them, nurture them, and water them. They would give thanks to the one who cared enough to will them into existence. Peter was in the front yard pulling out pesky weeds that threatened his young and frail seedlings, cruel intruders anxious to steal nutriments, water, and promise.
A car pulled up to curb and settled right in front of Peter. Even though he had never met the man who emerged from the vehicle, he knew without a blink of the eye that this was the infamous bodybuilder, Chad’s rival. Oh boy! he thought. This should be entertaining. “Can I help you?”
Peter’s polite invitation was ignored, as the man appeared not even to see him.
“I’m sorry, can I help you?”
Still no acknowledgement.
“What do you need?”
The visitor walked past him as if he was an apparition. The man pounded on the front door.
“Excuse me!” said Peter, giving him one more chance. He thought this man must be deaf or blind – or maybe both. Otherwise, there was no excuse for his impertinence.
Chad opened the door before Philip could knock a second time. He showed no response, no surprise, no fear, no concern. “Well, Philip. Hoe gaan dit? This is an honor.”
Philip blurted his words out in his strong Afrikaans accent, “Ag man. Stay away. You stay away from her. Do you understand?”
Chad flashed a deliberate and exaggerated look of sympathetic concern. “Hmm. Perhaps we have a misunderstanding here. Come in and let’s see if we can sort this out.”
The American’s response apparently disarmed Phillip. Without protest, he went inside and took a seat at Chad’s request. Peter followed with balled-up fists and a red face.
The Smoke That Thunders Page 14
