Dragons & Butterflies

by Shani Krebs

  When all was said and done, I eventually owed Renaldo so much money that he refused to restock me. I kept getting messages on my pager to settle my account. Then the messages became less friendly. When they found me, he told me, they were going to beat the crap out of me. I had fallen so deep into the shit that the only thing I could do was get out of town. By then I knew it was hopeless. I had lost everything. Once again, all I had were the clothes on my back, my revolver and now a group of very angry drug dealers after me. I did still have my car, but everyone knew what it looked like so I didn’t dare drive anywhere. I was desperate.

  For some reason, I called my mother and told her that I needed to disappear. She was full of questions, as always, wanting to know what had happened and where I was planning to go. I told her I didn’t know. All I knew was that I had to get away. She told me I should sit tight and call her back in an hour. Of all people, my mother contacted Janos, who at that time was the caretaker of a farm about 40 minutes outside Johannesburg. She arranged for him to meet me the following day at the Hillbrow Tower.

  I got hold of a girlfriend who used to work at one of the clothing companies I’d repped for. Her name was Charlie. She was also into coke, but not hectically like me. I told her I needed somewhere where I could keep my car out of sight and also hide out for the next 24 hours. She said I could come to her place. Then I scored some Mandrax and weed to help wean myself off coke. Withdrawal can be pretty scary. I still had four grams of coke on me. I explained the situation to Charlie and gave her a gram for her trouble. The other three grams I cooked on her stove and got a nice rock, which I intended to smoke before running away. I was so fucking paranoid that I hid in the toilet at the back of the house, in the domestic quarters, where I smoked till the early hours of the morning.

  Sitting on the toilet with my .38 Special in my hand, sweating like a pig, I waited for the sun to rise. Fuck them! If they found me, I decided, I would definitely shoot. There was no way I was going down without a fight.

  My rendezvous with Janos was scheduled for 10am.

  Charlie dropped me off at the arranged destination. She was a Christian and I could see she was deeply saddened by the state I was in. When she said goodbye, she added, ‘I will pray for you.’ Little did I know it at the time, but those words would one day not only give me the will to survive but also maybe even save my life. With only the clothes on my back, my drugs in my pocket and my most loyal friend strapped to my side, I waited in the middle of Hillbrow, trying to look normal.

  Trying to look normal was difficult, especially when I was convinced that everybody was watching me or out to get me. I had not slept at all. I was unshaven, smelly and totally paranoid. My eyes darted everywhere. I expected something to jump out of the shadows at any second, and my heart was racing. When I was wired I had a habit of clicking my jaw, and I found myself doing this now, too. I kept reassuring myself that I had a gun with five rounds, so what the fuck was I afraid of? The mind is a powerful tool. It does its own calculations. And when it switches into irrational mode, we lose control.

  To my relief, I saw Janos pull up in his car. I hadn’t seen him since the day I’d so badly wanted to beat him up, but I’ve never been more happy to see anyone in my life – ironic, I know, considering that I hated him. But here he was, and willing to help me. He gave me a huge bear hug and kissed me on both cheeks. Shit, I thought to myself, don’t go turning all weird on me now. It wasn’t like I wanted to bond with him or anything. All I said to him was ‘Let’s just get the fuck out of here.’

  The farm, which was really a smallholding, was on about one and a half hectares of ground. Janos stayed in the main house and I was put into a cottage on the property. It had one bedroom, an en-suite bathroom, a kitchenette and a lounge area.

  By now, the effects of the cocaine were starting to wear off and, being away from the hustle and bustle of the city, I started to relax. Janos brought out a bottle of pálinka, the Hungarian spirit he drank, and after downing a couple of tots I came down from my high. We talked a bit, although it wasn’t easy for me, mainly about how his life had been after my mom got rid of him. Actually, it was boring stuff, but I felt the least I could do was to listen. I don’t know after how many hours of listening to him blabbering on I finally fell asleep on the couch.

  I woke up later that evening to find that Janos had prepared a scrumptious Hungarian dish for us. I couldn’t remember when last I had eaten such a good meal. After dinner I took a shower and Janos lent me a pair of pyjamas. They were these really old-fashioned blue-and-white-striped longs, which made me feel like I was in a mental hospital. I told Janos I was going to smoke drugs. He understood and left me to do my thing. I smoked one and a half Mandrax that night, and over the next days I cut down to a quarter. Weaning oneself off makes it so much easier to stop.

  Every morning I jogged, and I began to feel fit and strong. There was this open field on the farm, about 30 by 100m, which was covered in weeds and blackjack stalks that were taller than I was. Over the next three months, I cleared the entire field with my bare hands. The labourers on the neighbouring farm, who saw me at work every day, started calling me the White Lion. I stopped drugs, I gained weight, and my mind became clear again.

  When there was nothing left for me to do, I contacted an old army buddy whose family were cattle farmers out near Potgietersrus, and he invited me to spend a few months there with him. I said goodbye to Janos and hitched a ride. I got a job as a waiter in town at the local steakhouse. I soon realised that, in this conservative Afrikaner town, I stuck out like a sore thumb. I’d kept my hair reasonably long ever since the army, and this didn’t go down well in Afrikaner Weerstandsbeweging (AWB) territory, where most of the young male inhabitants dressed in khaki and had brush cuts. The AWB was a far-right political party, not known to be friendly towards blacks, or Jews for that matter. When customers walked into the steakhouse I could see them whispering, wondering what this long-haired Englishman was doing in the middle of nowhere. I thought sometimes that, if they’d known I was Jewish, too, I might very well have got myself lynched. However, being a waiter there was a lot of fun, but, as with so many of my previous jobs, the inevitable happened.

  After about three months of putting up with the manager’s shit, I had an argument with him that almost resulted in a fistfight, and I walked out.

  I went back to Johannesburg and moved in with Joan and Malcolm, who were by then living in Bedfordview. Having lived for some time in a small town and on a farm, where there was barely any traffic or pollution, it was strange to be back in the city.

  The first thing I had to do was go make it right with the people to whom I owed money. I knew that Renaldo had a business on Louis Botha Avenue, so I went there and walked straight into his office. Sitting with him at his desk were two of his cronies. When he saw me, at first he was shocked, but then he gave me the warmest of smiles. It seemed genuine. If anything, Renaldo and I had always been good friends. His boys were asked to leave. We shook hands and hugged. I apologised to him for fucking up but assured him that I planned to make good. I was looking healthy and he was impressed. He told me that, as soon as I was ready, we could do business again.

  One of the waiters at the steakhouse in Potgietersrus, Kobus, had cracked a managerial position at Late Nite Al’s, a famous steakhouse on Bruma Lake, which wasn’t far from Bedfordview. Before he’d left he’d told me that if and when I went back to Joburg I should get in touch with him if I needed a job, so I did, and I started working at Late Nite Al’s the very next day. In those days Bruma Lake was a popular entertainment venue. The restaurant, which also had a bar, looked out over the lake, and on certain nights, when they had live music, the place really used to get packed out. Fights were as common as brawls in a sailors’ bar and there were two bouncers who worked on the front door. I worked every night and the tips were good.

  It was here that I met Sarah-Lee. The instant I laid eyes on her, I wanted to fuck her. When I asked around, I learnt she ha
d a high-school sweetheart but he had gone off to the army. I don’t know what arrangements they’d made, but Sarah-Lee seemed to make herself available. She was very sexy and knew how to flaunt her body and strut her stuff. She was very popular with customers and with the other waiters. She was also quite a flirt. To be honest, though, I didn’t think she would even give me the time of day.

  Most nights I went home after work, while the other waiters would converge on the popular night spots in Yeoville’s Rockey Street, places like Dylan’s, Speakeasy and one or two others that stayed open till the early hours of the morning.

  One night, I could see that Sarah-Lee wasn’t her normal self. Although we worked together, we had never officially introduced ourselves, but we’d exchanged bits of small talk now and then. It was almost closing time and all the waiters and waitresses were busy cashing up. I sat down facing her at the table where she was sitting and remarked about her being down in the dumps. We began to talk. She told me that she and her boyfriend had had a tumultuous relationship and that he had now broken it off.

  I eventually got around to asking Sarah-Lee on a date, and when she accepted I almost fell off my chair. On our night off we went to a movie together and then decided to go on to Rockey Street. It was around 11.30pm when we got to Dylan’s. We sat drinking vodka, lime and lemonade and enjoying each other’s company. I found that talking to Sarah-Lee just came naturally, and we were laughing and having fun when in walked our manager, Kobus, and his junior assistant.

  They asked if they could join us at our table. Motherfucker, I thought to myself, couldn’t they see we wanted to be alone? Reluctantly, I agreed and we shifted up. Sarah-Lee excused herself to go to the ladies’, and while she was gone they ordered their drinks and conversation started revolving around work. I was starting to feel agitated. My evening with Sarah-Lee seemed to be taking a turn for the worse. Then Kobus’s assistant, who was not much more than a kid, turned to me. ‘So, tell me,’ he asked, ‘is she a good fuck?’

  I was shocked at such a direct question. I have always been a very private person, especially with regard to my relationships with women, and this little fucker was about ten years my junior. How disrespectful, I thought. I could feel my blood pressure rising. Trying to control myself, I said angrily, ‘Firstly, that’s none of your business, and, even if I have fucked her, why the fuck would I tell you?’ Just then Sarah-Lee arrived back at the table. It was an awkward moment and I could see she sensed something had happened and that I was uncomfortable. The situation became very tense. I felt like punching the little punk.

  I hurriedly finished my drink and motioned to Sarah-Lee that we should leave. We excused ourselves and went across the road to Speakeasy, where the owner was a friend of mine. It wasn’t really busy, so we sat around at the bar close to the end next to the wall where there was a poker machine. We had barely got our drinks when another six waitresses from Late Nite Al’s pitched up and they came over to join us. Not long after that, Kobus and his assistant arrived, too. By now it was well past midnight and I was on my fourth double vodka, lime and lemonade. I must say I was pretty fucked. Sarah-Lee, who had been drinking only soft drinks all night, was as sober as a tightrope walker. I went to the toilet to relieve myself. As I walked in, there was Kobus washing his hands and face. I ignored him and went about my business. I was really drunk. As Kobus walked out, he made some racial comment about my being Jewish.

  I have always been sensitive to any form of prejudice, but especially when it comes to my religion. Not sure if I had heard correctly, I thought, Fuck that, maybe I will let it ride, and so I finished up in the toilet and made my way back to the bar, where Sarah-Lee and two or three of the other waitresses were standing around. And then my blood began to boil. While sipping on my drink, I turned around and on the level below us, staring up at me, was the fucker Kobus. I tried to hold his stare but couldn’t, so instead I asked, ‘What the fuck are you staring at?’ Because the music was pretty loud, I could see that he wasn’t sure what I had said, so he moved closer, mouthing ‘What?’ in an obnoxious way. That was enough for me. I gave him one flat-hand across his face and at the same time I jumped over the railing. A scuffle ensued and the management intervened, asking us to take it outside. So outside we went.

  Kobus’s friend came with him. ‘What the fuck did you say in the toilet?’ I asked Kobus. As I spoke, his young sidekick took a punch at me from the side which somehow I managed to dodge. I pulled out my .38 and fired a shot in their direction. The noise of a bullet being discharged at that hour was so loud that it even rattled me. How I missed him I don’t know, but they both froze dead in their tracks. Jesus, fuck! I don’t know what had possessed me to shoot. I know it was not the alcohol, nor was it fear. Perhaps the long-term use of drugs had caused a chemical imbalance in my brain. Whatever it was, it seemed that my ability to rationalise was in serious question. Could I actually shoot someone? The sickening truth was only too evident. Yes, I could.

  The next moment I felt the barrel of a gun against my head and heard the words ‘Police! Freeze!’ It was two undercover cops, and they were flashing their badges in my face. I had no choice but to hand over my weapon. After questioning them, Kobus and the other guy, who I thought were going to make as much trouble for me as possible, claimed that my weapon had gone off accidentally, and they told the cops there was no problem at all. I was given back my piece and we were told to clear the streets. Kobus and his friend left and I went back into the club to fetch Sarah-Lee. The people in the club were silent. They all knew something had gone down as they’d heard the bang of the gun. I took Sarah-Lee’s hand and said, ‘We have to leave.’ She looked at me questioningly and was a little hesitant to go with me. I said, ‘Don’t worry, nobody was hurt.’ From that point on, I don’t remember anything. Rockey Street vodkas were strong.

  I woke up around midday, heavily hung over. The events of the early hours of the morning came flooding back into my mind, but for the love of a chocolate milkshake, I could not remember taking Sarah-Lee home. What a disaster our first date had turned out to be. I was convinced there was no way she would ever want to see me again. But one thing was for sure: I wasn’t going back to work for Kobus at the steakhouse.

  At around 5pm I phoned Late Nite Al’s and asked to speak to Sarah-Lee. Relieved to hear her voice, I asked her how she’d managed to get home and apologised for trying to shoot someone on our first date. I assured her that it was not something I was in the habit of doing. Apparently I had driven her home … Fuck! I couldn’t believe that, in my paralytic condition, I had got her home safely. Sarah-Lee was quick to inform me that everyone at work was talking about what had happened. Among the waitresses I was a hero (nobody really liked Kobus), but, as far as management was concerned, I was fired and banned from the premises. Fuck it! I didn’t care – getting fired was nothing new to me. Then I told Sarah-Lee that I had to see her again, and soon, and to my surprise she replied that she would like that very much.

  What the fuck was wrong with me? I couldn’t understand it. Why couldn’t I keep a job? What was it about authority that I resented and rebelled against? Or was it something far deeper than that? Did I need pain to feel a sense of worth? What was this constant subconscious craving in me that drove me to violence in the hope of being hurt myself? Is that what I was doing? The only form of love my parents ever showed me was through the beatings they gave me. Maybe that was what I grew up learning, and so that was the only thing I knew.

  Anyway, I didn’t care. Fuck Late Nite Al’s, and fuck their job, and if I ever saw that cunt Kobus again, I was going to fuck him up, too. Anyway, what the fuck was I doing being a waiter at 31 years of age? Or any age. Waitering was for pussies. I was a fucking drug dealer, drug addict, what the fuuuuck …

  After kissing that career goodbye, I wasted no time in contacting my drug supplier. This time, I vowed, I was going to make money. I was going to stay clean and get my shit together.

  Sarah-Lee and I began to date serious
ly and before long we fell in love. She became my girlfriend. I used to wait for her outside Late Nite Al’s to pick her up after closing time. Then one day I got fed up waiting. I walked into the restaurant where I was no longer welcome. Whatever was going to go down, I told myself, I was prepared for it. Sarah-Lee was just finishing cashing up. The employees and African staff were surprised to see me, but for the most part they were friendly, and no mention was made of that almost fatal night. In fact, I was treated to free drinks!

  A short while after this, I got a job with Aïda Real Estate in Randburg. It was the perfect cover for me. My time was basically my own and I could still operate my drug business.

  Life was good, and money was coming in every day. Instead of smoking the profits, now I was banking them. After five months of not selling a single property, however, I realised that I was about as suited to be a real estate agent as I was to be a waiter, and I left Aïda. I went to work for my brother-in-law, Joan’s husband Malcolm, who ran a company called Stromberg Safety and Security. There wasn’t much to the job, as the products pretty much sold themselves. As always, it was juggling the drugs with work that proved the biggest challenge, and it was always work that would come off second best. When an addict wants his fix, he wants it now, and so I was often out of town. After about eight months, I resigned. Resigning voluntarily was quite an achievement and it could have been a turning point in my life, considering my record of being fired from most other jobs I’d tried.

  Selling drugs was easy money. Although it was illegal, the benefits of selling drugs always outweighed the risks, or, rather, conveniently blinded me to the consequences. I took the risk and most of the time I was lucky. Even as a child, while living at Arcadia, somehow I always managed to outwit or outsmart those in positions of authority – the principal, the matron and the housemothers – no matter what I’d done. It was almost as if I had a guardian angel protecting me.