by Javi Reddy
“Good Afternoon, Goeiemiddag3 and Sanibona4, ladies and gentlemen. More importantly, let me extend my heartiest welcome to the youth. I do not have Facebook or Instagram, but hopefully, you will try and take me seriously.”
Laughter filled the air as the man fiddled with his collar.
“My name is Dumisane Zondi. Coach Zondi to many. OMZ to those plucky ones.”
He cast his eyes to the front, where a row of boys sat in tracksuits similar to his. They playfully nudged each other and jostled about like sardines in a net.
"Welcome to the inaugural Gauteng Youth Day Showcase. Youth Day has always been a momentous occasion in our country. We’ve come a long way since that haunting day back in 1976. There are times when they may not show it, but the pupils of today are revelling in the chance to excel at schools all over the country. They may not always tuck their shirts in or be punctual for classes, but I have seen the manner in which so many of them have reached their potential. They are not perfect, they make mistakes, but that’s how it should be.
"They have to falter first so that they can learn from it all and later, help shape the future of this country. I may just be a football coach at Rosebank High, but I’d like to think that I teach my boys a little more than just a game. I’d like to think that they know when to stand up for something. When to fight until things are right.
“I too have learnt from them. I have learnt that no matter how many years you have behind you, you have not seen everything and you can be taught by anyone. When I am with my team, I do not care who the teacher is. All that matters to me is that something is being learnt. Ladies and gentlemen, you may see them as the youth, but they are more than just that. They are our tomorrow, today.”
Everyone applauded. How could they not? His team in the front row got to their feet to cheer their coach. Amritha smiled gently to herself. She draped the tent closed and prepared herself one last time.
“Our first performer brings a radiance to the stage with her grace and sheer beauty,” Coach Zondi boldly announced.
"Bharatanatyam is a form of classical South-Indian dance. It is known for its purity and tenderness, and this dancer embodies the beauty of the art with her majestic movement. Our performer is actually of North-Indian descent. Such is the wonderful nature of diversity in this country, this makes her act all the more perfect.
"She became a Kumari, in other words graduated, at the tender age of 12 and has never looked back. She has danced at international level, proudly representing South Africa in countries such as England, Thailand and of course, India.
“Yet, she loves the Mzansi5 shores so much that she could not wait to come back and dance for us today. You’re in for a real treat. Please, welcome to the stage, Amritha Ramnarain!”
Jay had never heard Zondi build up an introduction like that before, not even for a new player joining the team. He fixed his eyes on the girl who was extremely made up. Her outfit snugly sat on her petite self. Jewellery gleamed proudly around her neck and on her nose and her hair was tied back in a bun. The pride with which she wore her garb made him feel anything, but Indian.
He was comfortable in his takkies and tracksuit, but the girl seemed so confident in that fancy do. Amritha gazed up and her heart began to pound. Not because of the endless row of heads staring at her or because of the intimidating silence that greeted her before her act. She was horrified because she could not see her tabla6players anywhere. She walked back slowly, without turning her back to the audience as she pretended to be slowly stretching. She whispered towards Coach Zondi with her eyes still on the audience:
“My musicians are nowhere to be seen.”
“What?”
“I can’t do it without music.”
“Well you may just have to.”
The mutterings swarmed through the crowd.
Amritha finally turned her back on them and faced Zondi.
“The music is my partner. It guides me. The beat of my feet has to be in sync with the beat of the drums.”
“That’s very nice, my dear. But I have no idea where your musicians are. You better improvise. I didn’t build you up for nothing!”
The audience was still rowdy, most of them were young. So much for this being their day. Jay was up on stage as he leapt into the midst of their conversation.
“What’s wrong, Coach?”
Amritha noticed how fairly tall and athletic he was, but couldn’t see his face properly. All she was left to stare at was the blue ‘Rosebank High’ on the back of his white track top.
“Perhaps, you guys should go on before her? It could buy her some time,” Zondi told him desperately. Jay instantly turned to Amritha and placed both his hands on her shoulders. She saw his face clearly for the first time. His eyes reassured her:
“I have an idea. It’ll either save you some face or get us all kicked out. Wanna take a chance?” She raised an eyebrow as he continued:
“I’m not a big fan, but I know there’s some Bhangra music on my laptop. My cousin’s into Bollywood. Can you dance to that?”
“I can dance to anything with the right beat, but I don’t want to ruin this act. It’s very sacred to me.”
“I understand, but look at these people. They’re minutes away from stampeding over the stage like a herd of buffalo.”
“I think you care too much about what they think. I think I did too. I’m not so sure anymore.” Jay smiled gently at her, a stillness in his eyes once more. “Okay, what if I lead? Will you follow?”
“You’re going to dance?”
“Dance? No. Lead? Yes. So, what’s it gonna be Ramnarain?”
She put her hand out and grasped his. “Okay. But only because I’m curious.”
They went to the front of the stage, and Jay nodded to Keith, who had connected the laptop to the speakers that faced the audience. A large explosion echoed through the speakers that signalled the beginning of the song. Only in Bollywood.
A lady began to sing. Her voice was high-pitched and resonant. It was also strangely hypnotic. A light beat of the tabla ensued. Jay gripped a ball and began to do taps on stage, mirroring each connection to that of the beat. Suddenly, the bass of the song kicked in. He found himself moving quicker with the ball across the stage, pulling out a host of tricks like flipping the ball over himself before catching it with the back of his head and doing taps with his knees and shoulders. He couldn’t help but let the music guide his rhythm. The woman’s voice was enchanting, sparking him on.
And then, Amritha joined him. She placed her palms together in a praying gesture and began moving her head from side to side. She moved her arms out and legs to the side. She effortlessly let the music dictate the pace. It seemed so easy for her.
Jay continued to kick the ball up in the air without letting it touch the ground, as he circled her in the process. He made sure that she was the centre of it all. He was merely a guest. A guest who had been welcomed by the contagious melody. She gradually upped the pace of her dance as he revolved around her. Her facial expressions dictated that she was telling a story with every movement, whether it was with her eyes, a smile or a grimace. It was hard not to look at her, but he made sure that he remained focused. He did not want to drop the ball. He never wanted to drop the ball. Amritha marvelled at how Jay had kept his promise of leading. She didn’t know what to expect next and that genuinely excited her. Jay gripped her left hand. He twirled her around and then held the curve of her back as he gently lowered her to the ground. He did all of this whilst still kicking the ball. She was in awe of his skill and how his mind was so sharp. He was always one step ahead in guiding them through the rhythmic duet which they found themselves locked in.
The song was coming to an end and she wondered what he had planned for the encore. Or was the onus on her to come up with something? He duly delivered. He kicked the ball high into the air, gripped her and lifted her off the ground. He turned her in the air, on her back, before returning her to a normal position. He pulled the sh
awl off her outfit and caught the ball with it before it reached the ground. The song promptly came to an end.
There was a second of silence that seemed to linger on forever. The crowd rose to its feet and the applause echoed. Jay looked at Amritha and grinned, before he pointed at her with both arms out, as if to gesture to the crowd that this was her doing. She gripped his hand, and he was surprised at first but soon embraced it like he had everything else. They locked their hands together and lifted their arms into the air as the applause grew in its intensity.
“How about that, ladies and gentlemen?” Zondi said, bellowing into the microphone. “Tradition meets modernity. South African youth at its peak. And we’re only just getting started…”
The crowd was certainly warmed up now. Jay gazed back at his new dance partner and her smile grew larger as the audience continued to applaud. Mission accomplished. It was time he got off stage and returned to his teammates. He was not sure when they would be performing tonight, but he was certain that this would be a hard act to follow. As he made his way to the stage stairs, Amritha gripped the back of his arm, and he turned to face her hazel-brown eyes.
“Who are you?”
“I’m Jay Chetty. Still curious?”
19 September 2013. 4:01 PM
Amritha got up from the ground. As long as Jay danced around in her mind, her heartbeat would keep going. A slight shimmer hit her face. A different sort of light. Sunlight. Where was it coming from? As she tried her hardest to focus her gaze on it, she wondered why it seemed to have such an odd pattern. Then, she realised the light was shining through glass. There was glass above her. Which meant there was something to crack open.
* * *
Sari – traditional Indian garment used by females↩
Takkie – South Africanism for sneaker↩
Goeiemiddag – Afrikaans greeting↩
Sanibona – Zulu greeting↩
Mzansi – Zulu word for South↩
Tabla – Indian drum played with the hands↩
Chapter 13
27 September 2013. 2:56 PM
A police van blinked its bright-blue lights. There were now three suits and two policemen standing on Jay’s porch. James peered through the bushes just outside Jay’s house.
“Did you properly identify the suspect?”
The man who James nearly blinded with his bare hands shook his head. “He was tall. Dark hair. But fuck sakes, that could be anyone!”
“Do you have any proof that he was actually inside the house?”
“We’re not allowed inside, remember?” The policeman scrunched up a form that he had started to fill in.
“You ever gonna do your job properly?” the suit pleaded with him.
“Are you?”
The police van swiftly made its way to the front gate, before making its exit. James snuck in again, even though he had Jay’s remote. He hid in the front garden. It took him two hours to get his break, when two of the suits took a walk to the garage to get coffee, with the third urinating just around the corner of the front garden. James stealthily moved in through the front door, where he found Jay looking out of the front window.
“What have you done now?”
“Aaaaaaaaaaagh, you know the police, sticking their noses in where they can.”
“I’m sure.”
Jay made sure the curtains were fully draped.
“You can’t afford to draw this type of attention to yourself. I gave you the remote for a reason. I thought it would make it easier for you to come and go as you please.”
“Nothing’s easy now.”
“Well, then we’ll have to find an alternate way for you to move in and out. I need some fresh air. Let’s go out into the back.”
James sat on the swing as Jay lay on the ground, crumpling the leaves with his bare feet. He told James his next story.
16 June 2013. 7:05 PM
Jay was told that this was once a ballroom. The sign in the front actually told him that. He’d have to pull back the mass of untamed ferns to see the mossy and creamy ‘Tyrwhitt Ballroom’ on the brown walls. In its heyday, he imagined it to be something like the ballroom inside the Titanic. Both were similar in size, and he was fairly sure that both had played host to amazing nights.
Tonight, the floorboards creaked and insects crept through the inside and outside walls of the Tyrwhitt Ballroom. A decrepit chandelier overlooked the main room. Nobody cared to visit here. Nobody except Jay. He’d never brought anyone here. Like the school courtyard, he came here for solitude. Yet, with the last few hours having gone the way they did, it came as no surprise that Amritha was here with him.
They stood in the middle of the ballroom, trying to settle an argument they’d been having all the way from the Youth Day Showcase.
“Really? You really believe that? We’re one of the most advanced cities in Africa,” she told him.
“Don’t mistake modern style for class. We have class. You can smell the art when you enter Rosebank.”
“Kind of like the smell of this place? What is that, by the way? Decaying mongoose?”
“This place has a million stories attached to it. That’s heritage you smell. Unlike those fake skyscrapers in Sandton. Put up another hotel recently?”
“I’d like to take you seriously, but you’re a scared little boy who hides in a burrow like this.”
He mimicked the actions of her hands as she talked to him. “Rosebank has the Crafts Market.”
“Sandton has the Square.”
“We have the Everard Read Gallery.”
“We have the Convention Centre. You do remember where we just came from? Or do all Rosebank people have Alzheimer’s?”
“Maybe, I didn’t feel as welcome there as I do here,” he snarled at her.
She came right up to him and whispered: “Technically, Rosebank is part of Sandton.”
He pulled away and animatedly put his hands over his ears. “Blasphemy! You’ll be punished for that. Unless…”
She strained her eyes at him. “Unless what?”
“Unless you turn out to be worthy of the ballroom.” He put his hand out to her. “Another dance, this time for us.”
She beamed at him and gladly accepted. Her left hand locked into his; her other hand cupped on his shoulder blade. As the dance progressed, she rested her head at the top of his shoulder. There was no music this time, as they guided through Tyrawitt’s abandoned sphere. They moved, in the only manner they had come to know of each other—in sync. “Maybe Rosebank isn’t that bad after all, Chetts.”
He didn’t reply. He was too busy smiling.
27 September 2013. 3:21 PM
James rubbed his chin incessantly as Jay continued to fiddle with leaves that fell from the oak tree.
“It’s such a wonderful thing, hearing about you two.” Jay caught the glint in his eyes.
“Does it remind you of Layla and yourself?”
“Maybe.”
“Layla,” Jay said softly.
She really is something, James smiled to himself before Jay sat up.
“James, he’ll come for her, and he’ll hurt her. He’ll find a way.”
“He won’t!” James couldn’t prevent the words from bursting out. He slowed down.
“I’ll protect her. I’ll never let anything happen to her.”
“Like how I protected Amritha? It’s one thing to have courage. But it’s another thing to face Vinny’s madness. You said it yourself.”
James rubbed the rope of the swing in his palms as Jay continued:
“You love her. You love her more than anything in this world. And when he takes her, what will you do?”
“Listen Jay, I’ll try my best to find Amritha. As I’ll try my best to protect Layla.”
“How James? How?”
James joined Jay on the ground and ran some of the leaves through his hands. He pulled out a flask from an inner pocket of his black corduroy jacket.
“Is that your answer to everything?
”
James took a swig anyway and leant back to gaze into the peaceful sky. The calm before the storm? If only he knew what the storm was and which way it was heading.
“Be honest. Do you think she’s still alive?”
Jay’s words were deafening and what’s worse, sobering.
“I…Look, it doesn’t matter what I think. It’s what you believe; that counts.”
“Okay.”
“Okay what?”
“If there’s that one millionth of a chance that we can find Vinny, then we have to try. I may not like what we find, but I need to know where I stand.”
James put the flask away.
“So, what else can you tell me, Chetts?”
“Well, Amritha had come into my life in the same way a big, beautiful leaf falls into your lap; when you’re looking the other way.”
He hoisted a large leaf off the ground.
“I didn’t mean for it, but I let her in very quickly. I told her that night about my epilepsy. I just opened up to her, and it didn’t feel awkward or anything. I was handling my condition fine. I’m not sure my father was though…”
17 June 2013. Dr Pillai
“Son, your ability to heal is more likely to occur if you were willing to give football a break,” said Dr Pillai.
Ability to heal? Jay wanted nothing more than to crush this man’s glasses on his face. Dr Pillai’s spectacles slumped lazily forward on his nose, and his pushed-back grey hair seemed to shimmer when the sun struck it through his office window. Jay had reluctantly agreed to meet with him, after weeks of insistence from Preega. His father had somehow convinced him that if he just got through this difficult period with a little cooperation, then all would be fine very, very, very soon. In the end, there was no harm in merely sitting and smiling in the room—no matter how cheesy this doctor’s grin was. Bickering with Preega seemed to be draining him more than the actual seizures.
