Confessions of a Ginger Pudding

by Zelda Bezuidenhout

  Between first and second periods, the school intercom crackles. Hein and Dewald are summoned to the principal’s office. Dewald tells us afterwards that they had to sit through an hour-long sermon from The Grump, and then apologise to one another by shaking hands. When they left the office, Hein told Dewald that he wasn’t sure what was worse: the punch to his eye, the hour-long sermon, or the Banting cookies The Grump had offered them. Dewald agreed. The two fighters parted amicably.

  “So, what about Irma now?” I ask Dewald later, when we have a moment alone in the Kombi.

  “I promised Hein I would talk to her after school today,” Dewald says. “I’ll be as honest and friendly as possible. Hein says she’s got a habit of falling for the wrong guys. He also says I’m stupid to think that The Golden Oven would snub us about something like this. His family isn’t like that. I actually felt like a bit of a jerk. The dude really isn’t so bad.”

  “Can I ask you something?” I scrape together all my courage. I have to know. “The day you were so late for our final meeting at Daniels Panel Beaters ... what were you and Irma doing at The Dairy Devil?”

  I realise full well that I’m treading on dangerous ground. I run the risk of letting him know how crazy I am about him. Maybe he’ll think I’m a clinging vine – Ouma Dina’s term for a needy woman. But I don’t care. I need to know.

  “I wanted to surprise you all with takeaway Dairy Devil shakes. You know, bring everyone their favourite because it was our last meeting. But when I walked in, Irma and her mom were busy paying their bill. I figured it was the perfect opportunity to chat to Mrs Geyer about the tuck-shop bread. To find out if they would be willing to sponsor us. It was a good plan, because, as you know, it worked out perfectly. But then I ran out of time to buy the milkshakes because I was already fifteen minutes late for the meeting. If you hadn’t run out in such a hurry, you’d have realised what I’d managed to negotiate for us.”

  I smile. My crush doesn’t have a crush after all. In three days, Hairspray opens. One of my besties is the lead, and she’s going to be fantastic. My favourite grandmother arrives the day after tomorrow, to visit until the end of the weekend. My friends love me again and On a Roll is cooking with gas. Literally! So what if I never hear from my dad? Dewald doesn’t have a mom any more. I don’t have a dad any more. Life’s not perfect, but mine is pretty amazing.

  But the next day, something awful happens at school.

  Break is almost over and we’re already cleaning up at On a Roll when I spot Estelle Wolmarans and a bunch of her minions walking towards Magriet, Edwin and Charmaine, who are sitting on the lawn. We’ve always expected Estelle to take revenge on Charmaine for tripping her. She’s not the type of girl to forget that sort of thing. Uh-oh, I think. Here comes trouble.

  “Cover for me,” I tell Shaun. I untie my apron and walk quickly towards the group of kids on the lawn in front of the Kombi.

  Edwin, Magriet and Charmaine have stood up and the two groups are glaring at each other in a stand-off, like real gangsters.

  As I approach, I hear Estelle say: “Everyone knows your people are trash, Charmaine. Your mother hasn’t taught you manners, because she’s too busy entertaining the men of this town. Your dad can’t either, because he’s always drunk ...” Charmaine lunges at Estelle, but Edwin grabs her and holds her.

  “Ignore her, Charmaine,” he says. “She’s not worth it.”

  “You know nothing about Charmaine’s life, man. Shut your gob!” Magriet adds.

  “You’re all the same,” Estelle says, her lip curled in a sneer of contempt. It looks as if she’s smelled something vile. “Your parents chuck you in hostel, because they can’t handle you at home. Now you’re someone else’s problem. No manners, no class, no future.”

  “I think you’d better leave now,” Edwin says, tightening his grip on Charmaine.

  She wriggles to try to break free and I can see she’s going to hurt Estelle badly if she manages to escape Edwin’s grasp.

  Then Estelle spots me and finds new inspiration.

  “Ah, here comes the heavy support! Old Hungry Noldy to the rescue! How are you going to save the day, Noldy? Are you going to eat the problem?”

  I’m about to open my mouth to say something when the school bell rings. Saved by the bell. Literally. Edwin leads the furious Charmaine away, and Magriet follows. But not before she makes an ‘L’ with her thumb and index finger, flashes it at Estelle and mutters “Loser!”

  Estelle watches them with satisfaction, smug at having the last word.

  I can’t stop myself. I go and stand directly in front of her and say: “You think you’re so cool, Estelle. But you’re about as cool as yesterday’s toasted cheese sandwich. Catch a wake-up, man!”

  It may not be a speech in the same league as Martin Luther King’s ‘I have a dream’, or Madiba’s ‘An ideal I’m prepared to die for’, but it makes me feel better.

  I fill Shaun in on what happened while we’re cleaning the tuck truck after break.

  “That bitch!” he spits. “Estelle Wolmarans is a nasty piece of work.”

  “Is it true about Charmaine’s parents?” I ask cautiously. “Not that it matters. I mean, she’s my friend, and I like her. Nothing’s going to change that, but maybe there’s something we can do to help?”

  “Don’t go there,” he says. “Charmaine will hate you if she thinks you’re feeling sorry for her. She’s a tough cookie. But, yes, her home life is complicated. She doesn’t always want to go home over weekends. She often goes home with Magriet instead, or she just stays in the hostel.”

  “Is it because her mom is a, you know, prostitute?” I whisper the word.

  “Jeepers! No! Where did you hear that? Charmaine’s mom is the hostess at the Adams Hotel. The hospitality manager. She works long, irregular hours, but taking her clothes off isn’t part of the job! That Estelle is spreading a rumour that could cause a lot of damage. Flippit, she’s pure evil!”

  “And her dad? Is he an alcoholic?” I realise that I must have picked up the habit of asking too many personal questions from Mom.

  “He drinks too much, yes. He can’t keep a job and has been unemployed for a long time. That’s why Charmaine doesn’t want to go home when her mom’s on duty at the hotel. And, unfortunately, I think that happens quite often.”

  I look at Shaun’s grey trousers and blue school shirt. Even in his school uniform, he manages to look cooler than the rest of us. And because he is hysterically funny, it’s easy to forget how very wise he is. He understands people on a deeper level and often sees the truth lurking just beneath the surface.

  “How do you know all this stuff, Shaun?”

  “I’ve lived in this town my whole life. Plus, I’m not blind.”

  I suddenly remember what Shaun had said about Hein. That Hein would never beat him up, because Shaun “knows too much”.

  “What is it you know about Hein?” I ask.

  “Listen, Ari, I don’t know if I can trust you. I think I can, but I’m not sure. It’s kind of ... sensitive ... information.”

  “You can trust me,” I say, with my hand on my heart. “Secrets are sacred to me.”

  “No one at this school knows what I’m about to tell you, and that’s the way it has to stay until Hein Geyer decides that others should know.”

  I’m dying of curiosity. “I swear on my Ouma Dina’s recipe for apricot jam!” I proclaim dramatically.

  Shaun lets out a long sigh, as if he knows he’s making a mistake, but is going to go ahead anyway.

  “My cousin Dean is a bouncer at a gay club in Johannesburg. I went to stay with the family in Jozi last December. One night, very late, my Aunt Liz gets a phone call from Dean; his shift is over, but his car won’t start. He wants to know if Aunt Liz will come pick him up. She’s afraid of driving alone at that hour on a Saturday night – actually Sunday morning – so
she wakes me and asks me to go with her. Well, when we get to the club the last few dudes are trickling out of the building. That’s when I spot him.”

  “Who? Your cousin?”

  “No. Hein Geyer.”

  “No ways!”

  “Yes ways. Drunk as a skunk. He and another guy hanging onto one another. My aunt asks me to go call Dean, and I have to pass Hein and the other guy. They’re in a tight embrace and they’re kissing like actors in a soapie. I kid you not. I was squeezing past them when Hein looked up, straight into my eyes. I think he sobered up instantly from shock.”

  My jaw drops. “But how old was he last December? Was he even allowed in a place like that?”

  “Dean told me Hein was actually at the club to celebrate his eighteenth birthday. The other guys deliberately got him drunk.”

  “I can’t believe it. So much makes sense now.”

  I’m gobsmacked.

  “Yeah,” Shaun says.

  “But why doesn’t he just come out with it? I mean, the fact that he’s gay?”

  “He’s not ready to come out yet, Ari. It’s a very personal thing. And something he has to do himself. You and I can’t split on him, or force him to do it sooner.”

  “So why is he so mean to you? How can he call you and Dewald food fairies? I mean, him of all people! Isn’t he afraid you’ll lose it one day and tell everyone what you saw that night?”

  “He knows I’d never do that.”

  “How can he be so sure of that, Shaun? I mean, you just told me.”

  Shaun shoots me a warning look. “Hey, you and I have a deal.”

  “Of course. His secret is safe with me. You don’t have to worry about that. But I’m asking you again, why does he treat you like that? Isn’t he terrified you’ll take revenge and blast his closet doors wide open?”

  “Do you know who’s the kitchen manager at The Golden Oven?”

  I stare at him. Who said that truth is stranger than fiction? Was it Mark Twain? Well, he was right.

  “My dad, Leo Asja.”

  “But ...” I’m trying to figure out this game of chess.

  Shaun decides to put me out of my misery. “Hein knows that I’d never do anything to put my dad’s job at risk, Ari. He knows he can do whatever he wants to me.”

  “But what does he get out of making your life miserable? By pretending he’s anti-gay, when he is gay himself?”

  Shaun looks at me, a grown-up expression on his face, as if he’s thinking, Oh, I’d better explain the facts of life to this ignorant child.

  “That’s exactly the point. When a man is openly homophobic, he is often at war with his own sexuality. He wants to keep the fake straightness intact at all costs.”

  “That’s ridiculous,” I say. “Why not just be who you are?”

  Shaun puts the cleaning products in the cupboard under the counter. He straightens up from his squat and looks me in the eye.

  “Here’s the short answer, Ari. Because it’s so much easier to be straight than to be gay.”

  I think about all this new information for the rest of the day. Hein: Mr Handsome with the perfect body all the girls are mad about – if they only knew. Shaun: the guy who’s been bullied since primary school. I just don’t understand it. Why bully someone because they’re gay when you yourself are gay? Maybe Hein Geyer bullies my friend because he wishes he could be as honest and brave as Shaun Asja.

  I can’t get Charmaine out of my mind either. It’s as though I’m seeing her for the first time. To be honest, I’ve been a little wary of her since the episode with Dolores and my school dress. Now I notice how tatty Charmaine’s own school uniform is. Her school shoes don’t look great either. She uses a black felt-tipped pen to cover the scuffmarks, just like Julia Roberts’s character in Pretty Woman.

  The truth is, if I were going into battle, I’d want Charmaine on my side. She’s bright and tough, and she’s already shown me how loyal she is. I like her. She’s honest and direct, and that counts for a lot in my book. I don’t care how many ‘Don’t-go-there’s!’ Shaun throws at me, I’m going to help Charmaine. I just don’t know how yet.

  I hear the opening bars of the theme song of The Chronicles of Noldy start up in my head, but I turn it off immediately. How fragile and strong these friends of mine are, I think, as Shaun and I cross the lawn to go into the school building.

  I hear Ouma Dina’s laugh before I even open the front door. Her laughter is like medicine. It can mend what’s broken. In fact, her laugh should be named ‘Tiramisu’, because it really is a pick-me-up. She laughs so long, so loudly, that people who aren’t part of the conversation often laugh along, even though they don’t have a clue what the joke is.

  I burst through the door, throw my bag down so that it goes skidding across the floor, and run into my grandmother’s arms.

  “Oumie!” Her soft body is warm and I get a whiff of her favourite perfume. It smells like gardening and wood shavings.

  “Dollypop!”

  Nobody hugs like Ouma Dina. Just when I think I’m about to suffocate in all that wonderful benevolence, she releases me and I can breathe again. Now comes the let-me-have-a-look-at-you part. I have to stand in front of her and twirl a couple of times so that she can inspect the full glory of Arnelia van Zyl.

  She claps her hands and lets out a little squeal. “Van Zyl boobs and De Beer pizzazz!” she shrieks, loud enough for the neighbours to hear. “Where would you find a finer combination?” She hugs me again.

  “Ouma brought apricot jam. And mosbolletjies,” Mom says. She and Ouma Dina both have enormous mugs of coffee in front of them.

  We have a ritual: I’m allowed to eat the first teaspoon of my ouma’s award-winning jam straight from the jar.

  She removes the lid from the jar, wipes a teaspoon with her napkin and hands it to me. “Go for it, Dollypop!”

  Of all the people who have given me nicknames – and there are many – my Ouma Dina is the hands-down winner in terms of productivity. She conjures up names that have nothing whatsoever to do with my real name. I let her get away with it because she’s truly one of my favourite people.

  I sit next to her and dip my teaspoon into the sticky gold of her winning recipe and lift out a hefty scoop. Then I take tiny bites from the spoonful of heaven, to make it last longer.

  “Oh, my child!” she cries, pinching my cheeks. “I’ve missed you unbearably, man!”

  I shoot my mother a questioning look. Have you told Ouma about the changes in the cast of the play? I ask with my eyes. Her eyes answer: Yes, just chill, Noldy. Well, Mom would never use the word ‘chill’ unless she’s reading from a recipe book.

  “What’s this I hear about you, Miss Lollypop? That you gave your lead role in the play to a friend because you have such a kind heart?”

  Ah. So that’s how Mom sold it to her. Lente van Zyl has her moments.

  “I’m so proud of you, my little angel. That kind heart is a De Beer trait, of course. Other people’s happiness has always been more important than our own.” While she’s talking, she exchanges a look with my mother and they share a moment that I don’t quite understand.

  I sit on the bed with Ouma for the rest of the afternoon and help her unpack. Mom has given Ouma Dina her bedroom and she’ll bunk on the couch in her workroom.

  “Is this suitable for the show tomorrow night, Popsicle?” Ouma Dina holds up a red, bell-bottomed pair of pants and a long tunic covered in sequins and beads.

  When I hesitate, she immediately asks, “Too much?”

  “No, gosh, Ouma, you’re going to look fab! Totally lit.” I shoot a look at the doorway to make sure Mom can’t hear us using slang words.

  “Ach, you know, Oupa Jack and I don’t get out much. This old thing has been in mothballs for who knows how long. People will probably think I’m trying too hard. But I don’t care. I’m g
oing to shine beside my granddaughter tomorrow night.”

  “Ouma,” I say, while folding one of her colourful scarves into an increasingly small square. “I’m sorry I didn’t write back.”

  “Never mind, Sweetie Pie. I know you’ve been terribly busy.”

  “It’s not that, Ouma. It’s just that I don’t think you understand. My dad isn’t really—”

  “Who’s ready for hot chocolate?” Mom calls from the deep recesses of the flat, interrupting our conversation.

  We drink our hot chocolate in the kitchen. Three generations of women around the old table. Mom’s wearing one of her wash-worn white cotton shirts over baggy jeans that have seen better days. Ouma clucks around her.

  “Are you eating properly, Lente, my love? You look way too skinny.”

  “I’m very healthy, Ma.”

  I can see Mom enjoys having someone faff about her. She’s always ready to support me and everyone else. But no one really supports her.

  Maybe happiness skips a generation, I think as I watch the two women. Through all their years together, Ouma Dina has been blissfully happy with Oupa Jack. They’re obviously still very much in love, and often giggle together like school kids. Mom only had a few stormy years with Dad before it was all over. I guess it depends on the fall of the dice. I wonder if I’ll ever find someone who accepts and loves the strange package that is Arnelia van Zyl.

  Hours later I’m lying in bed with Miss Cuddles in a beam of moonlight streaming in through my window.

  “Tomorrow’s an important day, Missy,” I tell her. I wonder whether I’ll be able to sleep at all tonight. It’s On a Roll’s first real public event. Until now, we’ve only traded during break time at school. Tomorrow night we go big. As if he’s read my mind, a message from Shaun pings on our WhatsApp group out of the blue.

  Okay. I managed to beg a huge wig off Mrs Elgin for Dolores today. And I got a can of hairspray for her left hand. You can thank me later.

  Ilana answers instantly.