28 Boys

by Ashleigh Giannoccaro

Pushing out of her chair Ma gives me a look that says ‘try be nice’ and leaves me in the kitchen, alone with Francis.

  “Nag Ma.” Night mom, I say loudly after her.

  I am hungry, so I sit down and do my best to ignore him and his freshly poured coffee while I eat. I can’t help look at him though, sitting here in my home, like he is not a killer. Like he is just one of us, part of the family.

  Even though I forgive him, I don’t trust him. People don’t just change. The curried beef mince and mash is too hot to eat and I have to blow it like I would blow Danial’s porridge.

  The silence in the room is awkward and uncomfortable, not the way I imagined the end of my work day at all. Shifting around so I am comfortable in the chair, I turn to look at him again and catch him staring at me. Something in me cracks lose.

  “Why will you not just walk away, Francis? What do you want from us? We have nothing as it is.” I feel my teeth grind as I clench my jaw, trying to stop myself from screaming at him to get out.

  “Your mom invited me in, Engela, I am not going to be horrible to the only person who has shown me any kindness since I came home. We talked about my Ma, and about my sister.” He takes as sip of coffee and looks at me, his dark eyes focused on mine “And how it was she ended up in the middle of a gang, not even my gang but a rival one.” The sound as his cup bangs down startles me away from the intensity of his stare. I see his rough hands wrapped around it and remember the lives they took. “But you know that story, don’t you Engela? You know what happened to her. You made some very stupid mistakes.”

  He reaches under the counter. My heart starts pounding, almost certain he is reaching for a gun or a knife, the killer in him is shining through. He is going to kill me for making her follow me to the Sewes (Sevens). His lips are pulled thin in an angry grimace as he pulls up a half crumpled envelope and slams it down in front of me. I let out a gasp of relief when my life isn’t in direct danger.

  “Your post got delivered to me this afternoon, since none of us have post boxes anymore.”

  I see the letter is opened and the relief is short lived. Anger and shame bubble in me, because I know exactly who sent the letter, and from where.

  “Jy het my pos oop gemaak? Dis ongeskik!” You opened my post? How rude! I grind the words out so my anger is clear, but my voice won’t wake my son.

  “You are not going to visit him, and you are definitely not taking that baby there!” His hand wraps around my wrist, steadying the shakes so I can see the words on the page in front of me. The sound of his voice is laced with warning, but he has no idea what I face if I don’t go when Nathaniel calls me. “Hulle kan jou nie hier kry nie, Engela. Hulle sal dood wees, een voet op die straat en ek sal dit rooi werf met hulle bloed.” They can’t touch you here Engela, if they set one foot on this street I will paint it red with their blood.

  I push my half eaten food away, my appetite lost. Ignoring him I keep reading the letter in my hand, the hand he won’t let go of.

  Engela, my skat.

  Ek hoor dinge hier binne wat my baie bekommered maak. Ek hoor daar is ’n ag en twintig in jou huis. Ek hoor hy het my straat oor gewat en my booitjies kan nie aan jou kyk nie. Die dinge wat ek hoor maak my kwaad, Engela. Ek wil hê jy moet kom kuier, bring my kind saam lief.

  Ek is togesluit maar jy behoort nogsteeds aan my, en ek dink ek moet vir jou ’n herinnering stuur. Watch out Meisie, ek sien vir jou.

  Ek is lief vir jou, en my seun Engela, maar ek is teleurgesteld. Ek wil julle sien, dis nie maklik hier binne nie.

  Nathaniel

  Engela, my darling

  I hear things here inside that make me very worried, I hear there is a 28 in your house. I hear he’s taken over my street and my buddies can’t look in on you. The things I’m hearing make me angry, Engela. I want you to come visit, and bring my son with you.

  I’m locked away but you should still see me. Maybe I need to send you a reminder. Watch out, Girl, I see you.

  I love you and my son, Engela, but I am disappointed. I want to see both of you, things are not easy for me in here.

  Nathaniel.

  His words are laced with threats and promises, but that little mention of love tugs at my insides. Once I believed in love I let myself experience those feelings, and I ended up pregnant and beaten.

  I won’t let love cloud my vision again, no Nathaniel doesn’t love me. But he fears what may happen if my loyalty is no longer with him. I crumple the note up into the palm of my hand, crushing his words into a little ball.

  “Francis, you can’t tell me what to do. You do not understand for one second what my life is like. The street might be ag en twintig (28) again, but I belong to them.” I want to yell and scream and punch and cry, but I keep it inside.

  “The street isn’t agt (eight), Engela, this street is free. Do not go visit him. Was jy fokken mal? Nathaniel? Rerig? Were you fucking crazy? Nathaniel? Really? How many times did he hurt you? Huh? Hoeveel keer het hy jou geslaan, of geskop? Wat dink jy sal hy aan ’n baba doen? Moenie stupid wees nie.” How many times did he hit you? Kick you? What do you think he would do to a baby? Don’t be so stupid.

  His words open wounds that had healed over the last few months. Memories I chose to forget flood back, and I cannot stop my tears from flowing.

  “If I don’t go Francis, they will start to think about things and they will know it was me.” I don’t know why I tell him, but I do. I sit here and look to this man who is just like them, and wonder if maybe God sent him to save me.

  “Wat was jou?” What was you? he asks, a sudden hesitant concern in his voice. It softens and the intimidation is gone, replaced with worry.

  “Ek het die varke gehelp, dit was ek.” It was me, I helped the pigs get him. I confess my treachery, my betrayal.

  “Dit was nie jy aleen nie.” It wasn’t you alone, he answers. I don’t understand what he says. “Daar was mens binne en buite, wat het teen die sewes gewerk het Engela, weet jy hoe loop ek vry? Ek het ook my seel verkoop.” There were people inside and outside working against the sevens, do you know why I am a free man Engela? I sold my soul too.

  His confession shocks me. I obviously knew they had more than what I gave them to take down Nathaniel and the others, but Francis? How? He wasn’t even a Seven.

  “You are not alone,” he says.

  “My Ma het geweet?” My Ma knew you were helping?

  Suddenly her acceptance of him makes so much sense to me.

  He nods his head and finishes his coffee. Whenever we talk I feel like so much is unsaid, like I want to ask him so many questions but I don’t want the answers. I don’t really want to talk to him at all. I think he senses that, he lets go of my wrist. I didn’t even realize he still had it in his hand. He shoves his chair back, he looks so clean now that I can see all of him.

  “Nag Engela, moenie nou iets stupid doen nie.” Goodnight Engela, don’t go do anything stupid now.

  A concern or a threat, either way I took his words I was fucked.

  Francis walked out of my kitchen, a gang symbol poking out above his collar on the back of his neck, and his head shaved smooth and bald. He always had a presence about him, even as a boy. He demanded respect without saying a thing.

  After I clean the kitchen and turn out the lights, I slink into bed. My little angel asleep in his cot stirs, and rolls over. I freeze, afraid to wake him because I need sleep.

  My clothes get left in a heap on the floor, and I slide on a t-shirt and climb onto my small single bed, and say my prayers. I so desperately need sleep but it won’t find me tonight, I toss and turn and try to rest.

  After dozing lightly for awhile, the loud grumble of car engines starting outside wakes me. I see their headlights through my curtains, casting shadows on the ceiling. I don’t get up and look tonight.

  If I don’t see what they do, I can’t get asked and I can’t get in trouble. I don’t want to know. I squeeze my eyes closed and wait for the street to turn quiet again.

 
I have four days off. Four days to avoid Francis and decide what to do about Nathaniel’s letter. I will call Martin in the morning and ask him what the hell I should do.

  The sunlight filters in my window and I can tell it is going to be a gray day just by the dullness of it. It is always crap weather when it’s my day off. I bet by the time we are all up it will be raining and bitterly cold outside.

  My stirring and rolling about wakes Dan, his little face peeks over the edge of the cot where he is learning to sit himself up. I am going to have to lower it down. I am not ready for all these new milestones, sitting up and crawling and pulling and walking. I don’t want things to change, I don’t want time to pass and for him to grow up. Not yet.

  He smiles at me, showing off his two tiny little bottom teeth. My heart melts and I sit on the edge of my bed so I can pick him up. Morning cuddles, like this in bed, are the reason I wake up every day. His giggles feed my soul and sloppy baby kisses make my heart flutter in my chest. I love this little person more than words can ever express. He is my whole world in one tiny little body.

  Ma said my life was over and I had ruined my future, but he is my life and my future. Nothing is ruined, it just changed. I changed when I became a mother. The fierce need to protect my child made me do some very risky things. I am reminded of the letter I got last night.

  Fear sneaks back into my mind, robbing me of these happy moments because will they ever truly last? Fear is a thief in the night, taking everything and leaving me with nothing.

  My bedroom door creeks open and Ma steps in, fully dressed and smiling at our antics. “I am going to get my pension. I don’t know how long the lines will be, but I won’t be home until after lunch. Can you manage with him all day?” She smiles as the little guy is making eyes at her from under my covers.

  “We will be fine Ma, I’m not useless you know.”

  She worries so much and he has become her whole world. Fetching her pension each month is a whole day affair. She leaves at the crack of dawn and waits in lines all day to get the meagre amount allowed by the government for old people to live on. If I don’t pick up extra shifts we can’t make it to the end of the month.

  Babies are not cheap. I could get money from Nathaniel’s family, but I refuse to take it unless the world is ending. I don’t want to owe them anything.

  Picking Dan up I stumble out of bed in my old T-shirt and panties, and go in search of coffee and his bottle. I flick on the radio in the lounge and we bounce to the music on the way, my little love giggles and bops with the beat. The beat that is my heart beat when I hold him.

  Ma kisses my cheek, and his, before she opens the front door. There, standing, filling the space shadowed by the gray rainy sky, is Francis.

  “Is Tannie reg?” Are you ready Auntie? he asks her, with a smile that is too friendly to belong to a killer.

  Ma turns to me with a soft look in her eyes, before she says to me. “Francis offered to drive me today.”

  She is apologizing for being nice to him without words, but I know that the two busses it would take her to get there are horrible, so I just nod and come to the mortifying realization that I’m not dressed.

  I feel my face blushing as I try maneuver behind the couch and out of his direct line of sight. She steps out of the doorway, shaking her head at me. “Bye Engela.”

  “Bye Ma, dankie Francis.” Bye Mom, thank you Francis, I say as the door swings shut with a loud bang behind them.

  While Dan sits on the couch with his bottle I call Martin about my mail. I don’t know what to do. I don’t want to just listen to Francis.

  Who does he think he is anyway?

  I made this mess. I need to make sure that no one can see it hiding under my bed. My stomach knots around my coffee as I wait for him to answer my call. Nine rings, nine long rings before I get a huffed out answer.

  “Ja Engela.” Yes Engela.

  Oh, snappy much in the morning? Fuck it, I’m already irritated. “Martin, can we talk for a minute? Ek het ’n probleem, ’n Nathaniel problem.” I have a problem, a Nathaniel probleem. I hear him moving around and a door closes in the background.

  “Praat.” Speak.

  Someone is very grumpy this morning. “Fok, wie het in jou gat ingekruip?” Fuck, who crawled up your ass? I rest my head in my hand and hang it over the table in front of me. “I got a letter from Nathaniel. He is demanding I go visit - with the baby. Hy weet Francis is hier, hy weet dat hy was in ons huis. Hy is kwaad oor die feit dat die sewes van die straat af is, en dat hul my nie kan sien nie. It was a threat, Martin.” There is silence as he listens to me. He knows Francis is here, he knows Francis was in this house and that they can't see me.

  “So jy gaan besoek, maar ek dink nie dat jy vir Dan moet saam vat nie.” So go visit, but I don’t think you should take the baby with you. He sounds different, like he needs to get me off the phone.

  “Martin, luister jy? Francis sê ek mag nie gaan nie.” Martin, are you listening to me? Francis said I shouldn’t go.

  He growls into the phone before answering me. “Engela, go visit him. I don’t think listening to Francis is something you should be doing. Stay away from that man.” He lets out a loud sigh. “Engela, I don’t know what to say or do, fuck this wasn’t the plan at all. Ek kan niks oor Francis doen nie, hy het iemand gehelp, ek weet nie met wat nie. I can’t do anything about Francis, he helped someone, I don’t know with what. My sergeant says he is ‘off limits’. Ons mag nie met hom praat nie. We are not even allowed to talk to him. Engela, dis gemors het te groot geword en ek is nie meer deel van dit. This mess has become huge and I am not even a part of it anymore. Ophou om dom dinge te doen, gaan net aan en wees versigitg. Stop doing stupid things, just carry on like we planned and be careful. And for the love of God go and visit him, we both know he thinks you are some shiny savior to him, don’t fuck him off.”

  He is angry and I hear the stinging tone of his voice loud and clear. I’m too much of a risk now, too much of a problem. They won’t protect me like they said.

  I am going to get killed.

  I see cars pulling in across the street, guys and women going inside. I know Francis is with Ma, but it looks like a party is about to start before it’s even nine in the morning. I thought we were done with this when the gangs left our road in peace. Looks like we just got another bunch of hooligans. I groan out loud.

  I settle Dan in his little camp cot with the TV on cartoons, so I can go have a shower and wash off this feeling of impending doom that is sticking to me like the rain from the dark sky outside. I am going to have to go to Pollsmoor tomorrow and visit Nathaniel, a waste of one precious day off work.

  Music from across the road, laughter and screams, distract me. I keep peeping through the window to see, but they keep it off the street and in the backyard.

  I bite my nails and pace around the house. My fears become enormous monsters that grow with every minute I am alone to think.

  9

  Francis

  faces the truth

  I offered to take Auntie to get her pension in town. I need to go see a doctor anyway, so it’s not really any trouble. I would have offered even if I didn’t need to go.

  The prescription that I left prison with is almost finished and I want to see a real doctor. I am not stupid. I know that I am sick and need to take care of myself. I wouldn’t say it out loud with real words, but I admit I was in prison. I was in there a long time and in that time I had sex, I had sex with men. Wyfies wives are not really considered men though, so it’s not wrong, it’s not gay.

  God I love women. I want to say something better than I raped them, but I can’t. It’s the honest truth, I raped many of them. One, or more of them, made me sick. When I got TB the first time they tested me and treated me, well not really, they just stopped me from dying. After that positive diagnosis I became a weapon to be used to punish those who needed a lesson. I held a new weapon inside me. A ‘slow puncture’ - a silent death sentence.

 
Secretly I feared it. On the inside I wept for my lost future, but on the outside I used it to earn respect and power.

  “It’s been decided.” The old man who has his whole face covered in tattoos, and has lived inside here for nearly forty years, nods in my direction. I know what is expected of me, I know what I need to do to keep them happy with me.

  I nod my head and stand. They all stay there squatted on their haunches. I walk from where I stand to the iron bars that confine us, squashed into the cell, fifty-two men and nineteen beds.

  My skin itches with days of dirt, and as much as I look forward to my shower I now know that it will be tainted with the act of punishing another. Today I dish out a death sentence, I am the deliverer of the disease to another. Two of my own stand beside me, ready and waiting for them to come and collect us. They will hold him down and subdue him on the concrete floors.

  The sound of the metal rolling open, and the instant ease of breath as the bars disappear, makes me relax. I conjure images of things that excite me, that will make my dick hard. After a long time in here your mind tricks you into lusting over men, when I know that I don’t desire them, but my body needs release and my mind will tell me anything to let that happen.

  Five at a time, on a rotating schedule, we get taken to shower. The warden has already been told who must be in there with us; they fear us. The wardens do not hold the power in here, we do, the nommers.

  As we walk I get cheered along, arms through bars and voices that champion my mission yell and screech, egging me on, feeding my hunger for power. I can feel my cheeks aching from the smile I wear, a sick smile that tells the truth about what gives me pleasure in here; the rioting noise.

  I touch their hands as we pass, my arms outstretched like I am a God among them, accepting their praises. Clattering objects banged against the metal, a chorus building up the crescendo that is to come soon.