Five Bop added, “It’s bad, jo. It’s bad.”
Before she could move from behind the desk, Basi was waving goodbye.
“I’ll be back before we close!” he yelled and hurried out, with Five Bop taking his place at the till.
Mama looked in disbelief from the door to the till and then turned to Papa, who was stacking groceries onto the back shelves. He dismissed her concerns with an easy laugh. For some reason he was quite fond of Kgosi. He had once told my mother, “Nothing holds a man together like a childhood friendship. Let them be.”
Unlike him, I was stunned—and quite irritated. Basi and Five Bop had worked together as if it had all been a simple part of their day: say hello, give cigarette, take over the till. I knew enough to realize that it hadn’t been planned, that most things never were, that Basi and a lot of young men in Kasi spoke a secret men’s language that required no translation. If Basi needed something and he wanted to make up an excuse, of course someone like Five Bop would understand, without even an explanation. Five Bop didn’t need to know why—he just knew he had to help.
That was OK, normally. It was just that this time I knew that what Basi really wanted was to go and see Moipone, and he hadn’t wanted to tell me the truth either. I had not been the one to cover for him. He had sold me almost the same story he had sold our parents. I realized then, as I had started to when I first met her, that Moipone was very much unlike any of the other girls Basi had gone out with—and that for reasons I found hard to grasp, I didn’t like this fact at all. What’s still curious is that to this day I haven’t got a clue why he never talked about her with me.
***
Although I had been thinking obsessively about him, Kitsano was not the person on my mind when the phone rang that Monday evening.
Unlike a lot of boys, he had not waited too many days before he phoned for the first time. Even more surprising since he was older and in Standard Nine, and more reserved than most boys at his age.
Before Mama called my name at the top of her voice, I had been lying back in the bath, my feet resting at the far end. Once in a while when it got too cold I turned the hot water on with my toes. I liked the room very steamy so I always made sure the windows and the door were tightly shut when I filled up the bath.
“Save water,” Mama used to say. “In Ethiopia people are struggling for enough water and you’re wasting it.”
“Two minutes from here people don’t have water,” Papa would say.
Once in a while I would get up to wipe the steam off the mirror that was across the room. Of course, every time I did this I would tread water across the floor, making the cream bath mat (which matched all the cream bath towels) wetter and wetter, so that by the time I was finished my bath the floor was slippery and the bath mat soaked, which quite annoyed Mama. It was just as I was putting my feet back in after one of these trips that I heard the phone ring.
Although I had been hoping it would be Kitsano every time, this time I had been in the middle of wondering about Basi and the rather bizarre end to the day involving him and Kgosi.
Basi had stayed away for a really long time and not come back until the very last minute to help with the money counting and everything that had to be done before we closed the shop. Five Bop had dutifully stayed at the till and happily earned a small sum, leading me to understand also that Basi had probably factored in how much money Five Bop would earn at the till, and how grateful Five Bop would be if Basi inconveniently disappeared.
But why had Basi been gone for so long? And more importantly, what had happened to their faces—his and Kgosi’s?
Of course he had been with Kgosi, who later—after all the questioning and Mama being all deurmekaar and running to the bathroom aisle of the shop to find Band-Aid—helped us close up by packing away some of the stock that Papa had not had a chance to get to. Neither one of them said much, in spite of the fact that Kgosi’s clothes were dishevelled and his hair powdered with sand. Basi’s eye was swollen and his shirt had what looked like a drop of blood on it. Yet neither of them looked out of sorts. Kgosi went straight to the back and started chatting cheerfully with Papa, helping him with the last bit of stacking the back shelves. He said something to Papa that I couldn’t hear from where I was standing, stunned, and they both roared with laughter. Papa even patted him proudly on the back.
Basi gave me a smile and a wink with the eye that was not purple and swollen, and proceeded to go to the office to help Mama count the money. I just stood dumbfounded and stared.
“Basi! Basi! Dula, dula!” Mama was saying.
He must not have bothered to obey, because eventually I heard the screech of a chair being dragged across the floor. That was when I finally managed to move from my position and run after him to the office, knocking over a box of tampons from the bathroom aisle and thinking how much more embarrassing that would have been if Papa, Kgosi, or Basi had seen it. I flew into the office to see Basi standing behind the desk, composed as ever, counting the last of the bank notes, which Mama would take to the bank early the next morning. He smiled easily at me and continued to count.
“What happened?” I tried to steady my voice but was unsuccessful because I was out of breath.
Mama held on to the back of the chair that she had only a few moments before dragged over for him to sit on.
“Basi?” She was as agitated as ever. “Who was it? Tell me. Who was it?” She put her hand on her mouth and then dropped it. And then: “How many times have I told you to stop—” but I cut her off.
“Did you have an accident?” I asked.
“No,” he said, without looking up at either one of us.
Mama and I looked at each other curiously.
Basi put an elastic band around the ten-rand notes he had been counting and slowly put them beside the rest of the money. Then he picked up a bunch of fifties, licked his thumb and started counting. Then he paused.
“Look,” he said in English, and continued counting as he spoke, “it was nothing to worry about. Some guys just said some things, and Kgosi and I got excited. It’s all sorted out and we’re both fine.”
Mama sat down on the chair and took a deep breath. With much drama, she put both hands on the desk, and spread her arms across and gripped the edges. She bowed her head and whispered with much gravity, “Basimane. I have told you to stay away from down there. I have told you many times—many times!—to stay away . . . away from that boy!” She lifted her head and pointed towards the office door.
I immediately closed it and hoped that Kgosi hadn’t heard.
Basi stopped counting. He put down the money and folded his arms, looking straight down at the notes, and took a deep breath through his nose.
He took another deep breath and then another.
No one moved. You could have heard a snake’s hiss all the way in the Kalahari. Then he closed his eyes for what seemed like a long time. When he picked up the money he counted it so quickly and furiously that I was worried he was actually going to throw something. But he didn’t. We both watched him, holding our breaths until he was finished. He took the bank bags, filled them, fastened the drawstrings and walked out of the office.
“Five!” we heard him call out. “Let’s take Chief home.” Most people called Kgosi by the English translation of his name.
Before we could say anything, we heard the car rev up outside and the boys were gone.
“What happened? Did Kgosi tell you?” Mama asked Papa later as the three of us set off for home in Mama’s car. Basi and Five Bop had given Kgosi a lift home in Papa’s car, as they sometimes did with the other employees—that being Papa’s work-and-errands car, and not his personal, fancier one, which he left at home.
“Ah, boys,” he said, steering the wheel to turn towards our gate. “Girl business. What else?” He laughed—heartily and alone—leaving my mother and me with our own private turmo
il.
***
I was thinking then, as I got back into the bath, that if Basi had claimed when he left that Kgosi was not well, the fact that Kgosi had seemed perfectly fine later on hadn’t bothered anyone. I wondered also how long Basi had been going out with Moipone, and how long it had taken him to bring her over to our house and introduce her to me. The only person to ask would be Kgosi—but he would also be the last person to tell.
So my mind was a bit muddled when Mama opened the door and stretched her hand, with the phone in it, towards me. I stood up to reach it but she pulled it back before I could, her eyes surveying the wet floor. I wrapped myself up with my bare arms and wished she hadn’t let in the draught.
“You’ll have to wipe that floor before you leave this bathroom,” she said in a loud whisper.
I glared at her, but that was a bad idea because she took the phone back and put her hands on her hips. Not quite knowing what to do, I sat down in the bath and looked at her with what I hoped were apologetic and pleading eyes. She squinted at me, deciding on her course of action. It was all taking a long time and whoever was on the other end of the line was probably getting impatient, if they were still there.
“It’s a boy,” she finally said, accusingly.
My heart nearly jumped out of my chest.
“Who is it?” she asked.
I thought back to the social, and I thought it was best to keep quiet. So I shrugged. She handed me the phone and walked away, leaving the door open.
“Sorry,” came the soft and excitingly deep voice from the other end. “Was it not a good time to call?”
“Ummm . . . no! No, it’s . . . it’s fine. Really. Uh . . . ”
“Hi,” he said with a little laugh.
“Hi,” I said, trying to compose myself.
There was a long pause. I was trying to think of what Limakatso might say right at that moment. Don’t sound silly but don’t seem like you’re trying too hard, I kept thinking. I’m breathing too fast, my knees are too wobbly. I need to stop fidgeting. I’ve been quiet for too long—he’ll think I’m a spaz.
I cleared my throat. “Um, sorry. Hi. How are you?” That’s normal enough, I thought, but it doesn’t sound very interesting. I’m not interesting. He’ll be bored already.
At the time he seemed a lot more at ease than I felt. He said, “I’m all right, you? I’m sorry. I guess you must be a bit . . . well, I should say why I called, shouldn’t I?”
In retrospect I think he must have not been all that relaxed.
“No!” I pretty much screamed. Gosh, Naledi, you sound so stupid. I bit my lip and slapped my forehead. I felt my heart sink. I was completely lost.
Kitsano let out a soft laugh and said, “OK, well. Actually—”
But there was Mama at the door, tapping her finger on her wristwatch and holding up her hand with her pinky out and her thumb pressing her ear. I held up one finger and nodded furiously.
“Sorry. I think my mom wants the phone,” I said.
“Wait!” he said, raising his voice for the first time. “I’m one of the Standard Nines who get to go to the matric dance this year—”
“Na-le-di!” Mama shouted.
“Oh,” I started, walking to the door and mouthing, “Sorry, one minute,” to her.
She clicked her tongue. I went back to sit anxiously on the bed.
By the time he said, “Do you want to be my date?” my fingernails had almost dug through the pillowcase.
“Um . . . I’ll think about it,” was what I said, because that was what Limakatso had told me you were supposed to say when boys asked you out. Even if you just wanted to scream, “Yes! Of course! I’d love to!”
“Oh, OK.” He sounded surprised.
“OK . . . I mean . . . yes. I’ll come. Thank you . . . I think . . . you know . . . I mean . . . yes. Thank you.”
“Thank you . . . ”
“For asking, I mean.”
“Oh! I think, you know . . . thank you, really. For agreeing to come. I’m relieved. I won’t have to wait by the phone.”
“For what?”
“You know, for you to call.”
Confused pause.
“You know . . . because you were saying you’d think about it.”
“Oh! Oh, I mean . . . ” We both laughed nervously. I took a deep breath. “I’m really excited,” I admitted.
He said, “Me too,” and I immediately wondered if that was the most desperate thing I could have said. I didn’t know.
I’ve never felt sorrier to have to drop the phone. I wanted to phone both Limakatso and Kelelo straight away, to go over the conversation and the notes I had in my head. What had I done right, what had I done wrong and what should I have added? But I knew it would be too much to ask Mama after being on the phone for so long.
With a boy.
8
IT WAS EXACTLY TWO DAYS later that Mama came in, looking as harried as I had ever seen her. I know it was two days later because that was how long I took before picking up the phone and phoning Kitsano back. Limakatso and Kelelo had had two very serious discussions with me about how to behave at this juncture.
“OK,” Limakatso had said as she nibbled on a carrot because she was on a diet, “don’t look desperate.”
We were sitting in our usual place on the grass, legs crossed, our lunch boxes in front of us.
“Sound like you have other offers,” she said.
“Say you have other offers,” Kelelo said opening her Tab—because she was watching her weight too.
“No! No, no, no! Don’t say that.” Limakatso was firm. “Just make him think someone else wants you to go.”
I looked down at the egg-mayo sandwich that I had hurriedly prepared that morning and wondered if it was fattening and if maybe now was the time to lose some weight. As if they were reading my thoughts, Limakatso took the sandwich and examined it and Kelelo said, “Mayonnaise is very fattening.”
I took a sip of her Tab and eyed Limakatso’s lunch box, wondering if I would manage to not feel hungry on just carrots. She handed them to me before I asked.
“So what exactly did he say?” Limakatso was always really bossy about what to do with boys, which Kelelo and I liked and respected because she was six months older than both of
us and had experience.
“OK. He said, ‘Do you want to be my date?’ ”
“Just like that?” asked Kelelo.
“Just like that.”
“And he sounded sure of himself? Really confident?” Limakatso now had her elbows resting on her thighs and her hands intensely clasped together, both forefingers pushing up against her chin.
Kelelo and I laughed.
“Hey, you guys! Boy business is serious business.”
“Yes.” I nodded emphatically in my mock-serious voice. “He sounded confident.”
“Then he’s dead serious, and from what I’ve heard—and I’m hearing a lot—he doesn’t play around. So. Two days is what you give him.”
“Two days?”
“Two days. One just to make him wait longer and two just to say, ‘I’m not desperate.’”
“Two days. OK. Yes, ma’am.”
Limakatso rolled her eyes with a faint smile.
Then I grinned anxiously and said, “You guys, I actually already said yes.”
“Oh my gosh!”
“Naledi!”
I had been imagining that Kitsano might change his mind. Maybe he had been thinking of another girl to ask if I said no. If anyone has had other offers, it would surely be him, I was thinking. I knew that there were a lot of girls in Pretoria who really wanted to go out with him. Limakatso had found out from what she called her “inquiries” that I was, as she put it, “lucky” to have had him ask me out. I never admitted this to my friends but I had secr
etly wondered if it had anything to do with his obvious admiration for Basi. Of course, I didn’t like to think of it that way.
So it was later on when I was home—and about to phone Limakatso just to go over what she really thought of me saying yes immediately—when Mama interrupted. I think that I had probably only dialled the first two numbers when I heard her yelling from the sitting room, “Ba-si-ma-ne!” and I put the phone down knowing that whatever it was, it was bad. Mama hardly ever called Basi by his full name. She said “Basi,” or “ngwanake,” or sometimes when we were around, say, our aunts or some of the other parents at Basi’s school, she would say “son” in English. “Basimane” was reserved for only the most egregious offenses.
I put my finger on the receiver’s drop button and listened from the passage, a few steps from the sitting room but well within earshot if I kept quiet and they didn’t close the door.
In the kitchen Aus’ Tselane stopped washing the dishes and I could see her wipe her hands on her apron as she made a swift exit, quietly closing the door behind her. She was probably going to her room. Aus’ Tselane was the quietest, most polite of all the helpers we had ever had. I remember a stout woman called Mme Maria, who had been with us a few years before that, just before I started high school, who would sit with me for an hour when I came home from school and tell me all kinds of things about her family and the families of the people who worked at the shop, because many of them were her neighbours. I had loved her, with her colourful scarves that she sometimes wrapped around her head and sometimes around her waist. She was a tall, stout, and opinionated woman who Mama had said talked too much. Mama would say that in English in front of her, because she didn’t speak a word of English. She made me the sweetest, most delicious tea and we would drink it in the kitchen in the fading light of the afternoon sun. She was with us for quite a while. I loved having her around, but she had been transferred to the shop because Mama found her “too much.” Aus’ Tselane was fine, but I wished she would talk more. I never knew what was on her mind—like on this particular evening.
This Book Betrays My Brother Page 7
