As she left the class, Gia found herself walking next to Sonella Pretorius. The girl gave her a shy smile.
“I’ve seen them,” she said. “Dust bunnies.” She shuddered. “Horrid!”
Gia laughed. “They are!” she agreed. “What have we got now? Maths?”
Sonella nodded. “Two whole periods of it.” She sighed. “And I’m already starving.”
-oOo-
When Gia got home that afternoon Saraswati was refining a new pattern for a formal jacket, her work spread all across the kitchen table. Mandy grumbled about it, as she wanted to bake a pie for supper, but there was nowhere else for Saraswati to work. One of Karel’s designs occupied the large cutting table in the studio.
As Gia crossed the kitchen, Saraswati, both hands occupied with a length of white muslin, was talking with the phone clamped between chin and shoulder. She was also trying to keep Nico away from the paper pattern laid out on the table. Gia kept her head down to avoid catching her mother’s eye. She’d had an idea for setting up bookshelves in her new bedroom, and she did not want to be saddled with Nico.
Mandy can help her, she thought as she put her foot on the bottom step. But the phone call must have ended because her mother appeared behind her.
“Gia, could you look after Nico for me? I need Mandy to help me with this job I’m working on. I just don’t have enough hands to do it by myself. It’ll just be a few minutes.”
“More like a few hours,” said Gia under her breath, but turned back to the kitchen and, after some persuasion, got her brother to follow her to the living room.
This was a good place for homework. With the balcony door open she could see the street below, as well as a slice of Table Mountain. Nico sat at the table, drawing. Minou, the cat, watched over him, graceful as a vase with her tail curled tightly round her front paws. Pouf lay on the balcony, wistfully watching the scene below. He was a large, black cat who would be impressive if it wasn’t for his look of earnest, round-eyed stupidity.
Something beeped in her pocket, and Gia pulled out her texter. It was a message from Fatima, as usual.
Can I come round later?
She quickly typed out her reply.
Just finishing homework. Come in an hour?
She finished her math and English homework as quickly as she could, then spent some time leafing through Brink and Moolman.
What had Miss Huisman said? Elementals, Household.
She found the “Elementals”, and paged through the sections on air, earth, and fire before finding what she sought under “household”.
Vernacular: Dust Crawler, Dust Bunny, Stoffelaar, Lazy Marys, Devil’s Dust, Devil’s blanket.
A non-sentient accumulation of dust, sand, hair, or other household detritus imbued with the appearance of life. They appear as the result of long-term exposure to magic-working, and as such, Dust Crawlers often occur in the houses or workspaces of practitioners of magic. Dust Crawlers are harmless, and seem to be entirely reactive; they do not move by themselves, but only if disturbed, typically by a broom or duster.
Folk belief: Dust Crawlers are said to be a sign from the Devil to shame a lazy housewife. There are also some references to the use of Dust Crawlers in clay, from which golems can be made. This has not been corroborated through any reproducible experiments.
Classification: Neutral.
Note: There is some controversy over this classification. There are accounts of Dust Crawlers smothering babies or young children. These accounts are, however, as yet unverified.
Gia noticed this last fact with interest.
Great! I’ve found one controversy already. Just one more, and my Supernatural Studies homework is done for the day.
“Gia—” said Saraswati from the door. Then she stopped, and frowned at the pieces of paper scattered across the table.
“Where’s Nico?”
At Gia’s blank look, Saraswati’s hand went to her heart and she stared at the open balcony door.
“Mom, I think I’d have noticed if he went out there!”
But Saraswati was already striding across the room to look out at the street below. Then she looked in rapid succession behind the couch, the curtains, and the door.
“Nico,” she called, her voice deceptively calm.
“Mom, I’m sure—”
But Saraswati was already out of the door. Gia heard her gasp in the corridor. She followed, just in time to see her mother disappear through the open front door, closely followed by the cats.
But that door was closed. I’m sure that door was closed. I locked it, didn’t I?
Mandy emerged from the bedroom.
“Nico’s gone,” said Gia. “Mom thinks he’s gone outside.”
They both ran downstairs. The burglar gate was also standing open, and outside, in the street, Saraswati stood looking wildly about, completely ignoring Minou and Pouf who disappeared rapidly around the nearest corner.
“Mom, the studio,” said Gia, pointing at the open door.
Saraswati darted inside, with Gia and Mandy at her heels.
Nico was nowhere to be seen, and neither was Karel. There was a puzzle of paper pieces on the cutting table to show what he’d been working on, but no sign of the man himself.
Gia, Saraswati and Mandy spread out, looking behind the curtains in the fitting room, in the small toilet at the back, and at last, in the workroom.
There was Nico, sitting cross-legged on the floor, surrounded by the parts of a meticulously dismantled overlocker.
Saraswati gasped with relief. Gia saw that her mother was shaking, could sense her fizzing with shock. As always, her own heart thumped in sympathy to her mother’s fear, yet at the same time she felt an overpowering surge of irritation.
Why does she have to react like that? Nothing happened, did it? Nothing ever does. But every time Nico goes out of her sight—
Saraswati took a deep breath and she stared down at her son, taking in the dismantled overlocker.
Gia knew that it was a disaster.
The other overlocker, the newer machine that Mandy used, was in for a service. This older machine was the only one they had going at the moment, and it was needed for several urgent projects.
Well, this old machine’s had it now, thought Gia. Nico’s done a thorough job of it. How on earth did he manage to do that so quickly?
She noticed her keys among the scattered machine parts, and bent to pick them up.
So that’s how he got out. Must have snuck them from my bag when I was not looking.
“Nico.”
Gia could tell that her mother was trying to sound calm and friendly, but her voice was strained.
“Nico.”
Saraswati stepped carefully through the bits of overlocker and crouched in front of her son.
“Nico, look at me.”
Gia knew what was coming, and winced as Nico closed his eyes and turned his head away, clamping his chin against one shoulder.
Won't she ever learn? It’s best to just leave him alone when he’s like that—
Sariswati held out a hand, but withdrew it as Nico leaned away from her. After a moment, she got up and picked her way back to where Gia and Mandy stood watching.
Here it comes, thought Gia.
“Madam, I’m so sorry,” said Mandy. “I should have seen—”
“No, Mandy, it is not your fault.” Saraswati’s voice trembled with fury as she turned on Gia.
“How many times, Gia? How many times must this happen?”
She hugged her arms around herself, glaring at her daughter. “I cannot trust you to do even the simplest things. Lock the front door! Lock the gate! Keep the balcony door closed. All you had to do was keep an eye on your brother, and once again—”
“But Mom, I did lock the door. Nico took—”
But Saraswati was not listening. “Gia, you are always trying to pass the blame on to somebody else. You are no longer a little girl. You are sixteen years old!”
Gia trie
d to interrupt, but her mother was unstoppable.
“Do you realise what could have happened, if Nico went wandering off by himself in this neighbourhood? Do you know what kind of people— what kind of creatures there are out there?”
Saraswati took a shuddering breath, then glanced over at the workroom door. When she spoke again her voice was softer, but no less vehement. “I don’t know what to do anymore, Gia. Really, I don't. You behave as though you are a guest, not a part of the family. I rely on you. Your father relies on you—”
This was too much. Gia felt her face burn as the outraged answers bubbled up inside her.
Why is it always my fault? Why is it always Nico you worry about, and not me? If something happened to me, would you even notice?
But she could say nothing. The whining self-pity of her unspoken thoughts disgusted her. Maybe she really was the self-centred, immature brat that her mother though her. Feeling the tears start, she pushed past Saraswati and made for the door.
“Gia! Come back here. Don’t you dare— ”
The door slammed behind her in a most satisfying way, and Gia was out in the street, running.
-oOo-
She ran as hard as she could, deafening herself to the echoes of her mother’s words.
Running always calmed her.
Back in Plumstead, she’d gone for a run every evening, but she was unsure where the safe routes were in this new neighbourhood.
A thought made her pull up into a walk, breathing hard. How long had it been since she’d sent that text inviting Fatima?
She swore and patted her pockets, relieved to find that she had both her texter and her wallet.
She tapped out a quick message.
Can we meet somewhere else? Motherfight.
The answer came back almost immediately.
Yuck. Where meet?
Gia thought quickly. The new burger place that Fatima wanted to go to was at the Gardens Centre, wasn’t it? That was not so far away. And anyway, she felt like running.
Burger place. Gardens Centre?
Fatima agreed, and Gia set off again, this time at a more measured pace.
It felt good to be moving. Her whole body became a rhythm, legs stretched into an easy stride, the thumping of her feet on the road matched the swing of her arms. Her heart beat strongly and her chest expanded to match the demand for oxygen.
People turned to watch and she felt a touch of pride, knowing that she ran well. Soon she left the narrow roads of Walmer Estate and was into the open spaces where District Six used to be.
The mountain towered over her, and on the other side was Eastern Boulevard, and beyond that, the harbour. The uneven paving forced her to slow down. A slower pace also made it easier to look about, and there was much to see. She’d seen it before, of course, but from a car.
Very different being out on in the middle of it all. It was a little spooky, even in the middle of a sunny afternoon.
Scrubby grass and small thorny bushes covered most of it. There was a church in the distance, the only thing left standing after the government bulldozers, so many years ago. Almost nothing left of the houses and streets that had once been here.
A whole neighbourhood, vanished as if it had never been.
Gia had learnt all about District Six in school, but it was hard to imagine that it had been real. The stories seemed too brightly coloured, too romanticised. A place where black, white and brown, magical and human, had lived together if not quite in harmony, then with energy and gusto. Carnival and sequins, Ghoema, choirs and brass bands. The scent of bobotie and yellow rice, sticky koeksisters. Young men in sharp suits, cobblestone streets.
All of it gone.
The people scattered, the homes razed to the ground.
As she walked past the deserted lots, Gia wondered what it had really been like. That made her shiver so she picked up her pace, feeling safer running than she did when she walked. Soon she reached the other side, where the streets were busy with cars and people again.
At the top of Roeland Street she slowed to a walk again, out of breath.
She was not quite as fit as she’d like to be.
She stopped at the intersection across from the Gardens Centre, waiting for the lights to change. Even here there were referendum posters, up to four or five on a single lamppost.
“Choose the Realistic Choice: Vote Yes for Our Country’s Future” proclaimed one. “Human Rights Equals Sentient Rights!” shouted another. “The Humans Shall Govern,” stated a third.
“No to the Gray List, No to Magic Discrimination!”
“Do You Trust a Troll With Your Daughter? Then Why Trust It With The Vote?”
This last one featured a drawing of a troll grasping at a frightened girl, her dress half torn off one shoulder. The absurdity of it made Gia smile, but the emotion behind the words reached out to her like a bad smell.
Another poster caught her eye; a non-political one, this time, a headline from a newspaper.
“Kavitha: No Virgin?”
This one had a picture of Kavitha Pillay, posing on the arm of her fiancé, Luxulo Langa, the president’s son.
Kavitha had been in the news ever since the announcement of her engagement to Luxolo. Multi-racial couples still drew attention, and the alliance of the president’s son with the youngest daughter of a prominent Indian businessman had created a feeding frenzy in the media. Hardly a day went by without a front-page picture of Kavitha.
Gia felt a stab of sympathy for the lovely Miss Pillay. No amount of beauty or money could make up for being the centre of this kind of attention. But the lights had changed, and she had a chance to cross the intersection.
At the entrance to the Gardens Centre she stepped through the metal detector and allowed the guard to inspect her pockets. He was not Special Branch, just mall security and she wondered what he would do if he found anything suspicious. What if she were a marrowmaid, with a bag full of blister? Since that horrible spore explosion the Belle Gente had set off at the Golden Acre, everyone was on edge.
-oOo-
Gia had no trouble finding the burger place. An enormous sign dominated the entrance. The sign was shaped like a black wolf, head thrown up in front of a glowing full-moon, with the name of the restaurant spelt out in blood-red neon.
Wolfies.
And in smaller letters below:
We’re howl’n good!
Gia heard somebody laugh and there was Fatima, waiting at one of the outside tables, and Ben too, both of them smiling at her reaction.
“Good ain’t it!” drawled Ben in an American accent, and then in his normal voice, “wait ’till you see the waitresses.”
“Hey Ben, I thought you were still at math camp,” said Gia.
“Nope, got back this morning. And then Fatima kidnapped me, as you can see.”
“Actually, Mom kidnapped you.” Fatima pulled an expressive face at Gia. “Mom took him clothes shopping. Honestly, you’d think we were going to the dentist, from his reaction.”
“That explains the loot,” said Gia, looking at the two large shopping bags. “Bet your mom had a ball though.”
“Any excuse to shop,” said Fatima.
Gia had known Fatima and Ben since primary school. In fact, Ben was more like a brother than a friend, often spending more time in her or Fatima’s homes than at his mother’s tiny flat. It was only recently that Gia had figured out that, over the years, her parents and Fatima’s had quietly done what Ben’s mother could not. Feeding him when she was between jobs, making sure he had clothes and shoes, and even paying for his school fees, which must have added up to a considerable amount.
Ben’s father was never mentioned.
Gia had the impression that his disappearance was somehow connected to magic, which was usually the case when grown-ups refused to discuss something.
“Come, let’s go find a table,” said Fatima.
They were greeted at the door by a girl dressed in a form-fitting, furry bodysuit. Large
wolf ears were attached to her head and, as Gia saw when she turned to lead them to their table, a bushy wolf tail hung down behind her.
They took their seats, and the waitress handed them their menus.
“I’m Cindy, and I’m your were-tron. Welcome to—”
“A what-tron?” said Fatima, as she sidled between the table and the upholstered bench.
“Were-tron,” said the girl, a touch defiantly. Then she suddenly deflated, and said in a normal voice, “Your menus are there on the table. Anyone want to order drinks?”
“Shame,” said Fatima, when she was gone. “Imagine having to wear that!”
Gia instantly pictured the rather plump Fatima in a werewolf suit, and caught Ben’s eye. It seemed they were sharing the same thought because he grinned and shook with silent laughter.
“Stop it,” said Fatima, slapping at his shoulder, which only made him laugh harder.
Ignoring him, she turned to Gia. “So what’s the problem with your mom?”
Gia shrugged. “Nothing new,” she said. “Just the same old stuff. Are you eating?”
“You bet,” said Fatima, pulling a menu closer.
Gia looked around the restaurant. It was dark, each table haloed with a single, low-hanging light. There were other lights here and there, decorative lights in the shape of the moons and stars. The walls were panelled with something that looked like wood, but sounded, under Gia’s tapping finger, like plastic.
“I think I’ll have a Blood-lust Burger” said Ben. “Or maybe a Bone Cracker. I wonder what that is?”
“Is this an American place?” asked Gia.
“You think?” said Ben.
“But they don’t have any werewolves over there, do they?”
“Which is exactly why they can make places like this,” said Ben. “Not having to actually deal with real werewolves—”
“Like you’ve had anything to do with them,” scoffed Fatima. “I don’t think you’ve even seen one. Outside of the news, that is. But it’s true, they don’t have any magicals in America.”
“Yes they do!” protested Ben. “Just not any indigenous ones. And the rest are all in reserves. Or places like Disneyland. I think.” He sounded uncertain for a moment. “No werewolves, anyway.”
Crooks and Straights Page 5
