28 Boys

by Ashleigh Giannoccaro

  She pushes past me and goes inside. The door slams closed behind her and I hear the muffled sob escape as it does.

  The concrete step is hard, but I sit here. I just sit with my head in my hands and listen to her cry and scream, and fight with Auntie. Every time I hear my name it is like a punch to my heart. I wanted to make thing right, not destroy their lives. I know enough about gang life, I know what will happen — bad things will start to happen, she’s been warned.

  The screams carry on, only now I can hear Dan crying louder than they can yell. His shrieks become deafening even from outside. I haven’t heard screams this loud since I got out and it feels almost normal to me.

  The door opens behind me and Engela yells at me. “Francis voetsek, los ons uit. Jy het jou eie huis, aan JOU kant van die straat.” Francis get lost, leave us alone. You have your own house, on YOUR side of the street.

  I don’t move, I just sit. I don’t want to go to my own side of the street, I don’t want to lose the only family I have left in this world, and I certainly won’t just walk away.

  “Is jy nog doof? Kan jy nie hoor nie? Vok af Francis!” Are you deaf? Can’t you hear? Fuck off Francis!

  I sense her coming closer, and can hear how her breaths are hasty and angry, yet I still sit here. The crying baby is the soundtrack to the minute that everything will change.

  Engela leans down and slaps me hard across the back of my cleanly shaved head. The crack is loud enough to silence the baby and make me shoot up from where I’m sitting and grab her.

  It’s like someone else is in control as I grab her and shove her up against the house wall. I don’t hear the words as she spits and kicks at me, I just see how beautiful her face is. The way her cocoa-hued eyes are puffy with emotion and wet from crying, but still full of alarm.

  I hold her there, my hands binding her until she stops. When she is still except for her heaving breaths and sniffing back her tears, in that moment I can’t stop myself and I lean closer.

  She is not only held by arms and hands, but now trapped against my whole body. I feel her trembling and shaking. I can smell her fear. I won’t walk away from this, I can’t.

  Closing my eyes I lean in, and kiss her before she can realize what I have done. She bucks and shoves, pushing me, trying to get free. Her mouth is welded shut while she fights against me with everything she has.

  I like her fight, she will need it in this life, but not against me.

  In a moment something changes. She stops the struggle and surrenders. I release her, and she kisses me back. My hands slide up the back of her neck, pulling her closer, threading into her hair.

  The sound of her breathing changes from angry to heavy, and she wraps her small arms around my waist. I haven’t kissed a girl since Meisie. I’ve forgotten what it feels like to have an actual connection with another person.

  When we stop, I hold her, our heads buried in each other shoulders. And I smell her sweetness, like the good inside her is coming out as a scent. I hear her suck back more cries and I want to take it all away.

  Love is a foreign word for a gangster, perhaps a cuss word to a murderer, but there on the stoep (veranda), with her taste on my tongue, I know that I love her.

  “Go home, Francis. Go home.” She whispers into my neck. The words hurt but her breath on my skin heals the wound right up. “Please just go.” She holds me tight but begs me to leave.

  “Ek is jammer, Engela.” I am sorry, Engela.

  I’m not sorry for what I’ve done, I’m sorry that it might hurt her. But there is no way I can let this go.

  Kissing her cheek softly, I step back and look into her eyes. It’s not a perfect face, or even a beautiful one, but it’s that puffy, tearstained face that has stolen something from me. I don’t have words to say what it is.

  “Gaan, loop net asseblief Francis. Ek kan nie vandag meer nie.”

  Go, please walk away Francis. I can't cope with more today.

  She slides down the wall into a heap on the floor, and it hurts me, like when I was stabbed in the ribs I feel it cutting into me.

  I walk away, to escape the pain. I go home to my side of the street, but I can’t help feeling like I’ve left something behind on her side.

  Touching my lips, I stand at the kitchen window looking at her weep outside her front door. Auntie looks at me through their kitchen window and shakes her head.

  What have I done?

  I knew being a free man was a bad idea for me. I don’t know how to do this. I long for the regulations and rules, the routine and the endless monotony of prison. I do know one thing, that is that those two woman and that little boy are mine now, and nothing will stop me from taking care of them.

  I feel as if this is the first day I’ve really lived since I came home.

  My blood is pumping and my whole body tingles with a sensation I’m afraid to name just yet. While I stand here Eiran’s fancy car pulls up and parks in the driveway. He sees me in the window and follows my stare across the road. Engela, is still crying and Auntie is glaring at me with Dan on her hip.

  It is clear that something has happened and Eiran’s frown tells me he doesn’t like it. I left the door open when I stomped my way back over here so Eiran just waltzes in and comes into the kitchen. He sits on one of the white plastic garden chairs that have become furniture somehow. The chair makes a skin-crawling sound while it scrapes on the old linoleum flooring.

  “What did you do to her?” he asks, when I turn around and lean against the sink.

  “I kissed her.” I answer. No point in lying. I’m pretty sure someone will have seen us.

  He laughs loudly and shakes his head. “Kiss the girls and make them cry is just a saying, Francis.” He chuckles and leans back in the wonky chair. “Girls are dangerous things, you shouldn’t even bother.”

  “I didn’t do it on purpose.” I think about it for a second. Did I? “I don’t think I did anyway.”

  He laughs even harder now, it makes me a little angry, but I’m still not certain where I stand with him so stay quiet.

  “Accidental kisses don’t happen anymore than accidental sex, Francis. You meant to do it, and if your face tells the true story you want to go over there and do it again. Don’t you?” he says.

  I do. I want to go pick her up and dry her tears, and tell her I can fix all of this. But I’m an honest man and don’t make promises I can’t keep.

  “But, you can do it later. We need to work today. I need you to come with me.”

  He doesn’t say more, we don’t actually discuss work, we just do it. I shove myself away from the counter and look to see if she is still there. Her stare meets mine, and I give her an apologetic smile before I turn back to Eiran. “Let’s go then. Do I need a bag?”

  “Not today. I’ll take you to my house to change before we go.”

  Now I’m worried. What’s wrong with my jeans? “Okay.”

  We go back out the front as Engela is entering her place. She glances at me and sees Eiran, shakes her head and goes back inside. Some things don’t change, and she is looking for change. I don’t think I can give her that.

  As soon as we drive off, dread fills my stomach. It’s that ominous hunch that things are going to go horribly wrong. I felt this way the day the police caught me.

  “Where are we going that I need to change?” I ask. Because this feels wrong to me, all wrong.

  “The boss needs us to move some stuff for him.”

  He gives me a half truth.

  Wait … him?

  “Him?” I question. “And I thought we clean up?”

  “We do whatever they tell us to do, and yes him. Avery is my boss, but she’s not the big boss. We still answer to higher powers than her.”

  I don’t like it, but I really don’t have a choice.

  This is the out I always wanted.

  It turns out we were ‘moving’ guns to the gang bosses I am so desperate to avoid. The whole thing was uncomfortable and dangerous.

  T
he hostility towards me is clear, no threats were spoken, but were implied by the looks I got from the powers that be. I’m out of place in the smart clothes that Eiran made me put on.

  Swallowing my fear of what they could do to me, I simply did what I was told. I let Eiran lead me. They treated him with respect that not even their own bosses got. And as the last box of handguns were counted and we prepared to leave, he addressed the elephant in the room. Me.

  “Francis is nie meer ’n agt nie. Hy is myne. Francis is no longer an Eight, he is mine. I’m sure you understand what that means ne (right)?”

  I see the sneers and sidelong stares being made at me. I know the size of the target painted on anyone who dares to leave.

  “Myne.” Mine.

  He reiterates his possession of me. I should be used to it now, being owned, but it still feels wrong and inhumane.

  “Hy skuld ons.” He owes us.

  The man in charge speaks. I do owe them, but I’m not willing to pay that debt.

  “Mens kan nie net weg loop nie, jy weet mos hoe werk dit Eiran.” Folks can't just walk away, you know how this works Eiran.

  And here I thought this would be easy. The younger boy next to him tightens his grip on the gun he holds at his side, and I discern the shift in the vibe.

  “If you want the guns and the money to dry up, touch him. There will be a river of blood flowing down the streets you infest. Francis is no longer a number, he’s a person, and he is my person. Eight isn’t the only number I know, you forget that I am loyal to no one. Push and see what happens,” says Eiran.

  The stupid, stupid kid, aims his gun at me, and before he can blink and aim there is a bullet between his eyes and Eiran tosses the still smoking weapon onto the floor.

  “Verstaan ons mekaar manne?” Do we understand each other? he asks, looking around at all of them, “Of moet ek weer praat?” Or must I repeat myself?

  “Ons verstaan die taal vat jy praat, hy is nie meer een van ons nie.” We understand the language you're speaking, he's no longer one of us. His insincere words are followed by us exiting. “Traitors sleep with one eye open, Francis,” he shouts behind me as we walk away.

  I don’t think I will ever be safe. I’ve slept with one eye open all my life; there is no other way. I knew that today was going to be a bad day, when the sun rose this morning it felt too good to be true.

  I just want to go home and see Engela and Auntie, but Eiran drives back to his apartment and I don’t dare argue. He is in a foul mood already.

  He has changed so much, no longer the boy that I left behind, but certainly not the man I thought he would be.

  I am not sure who he has become, or what devil he sold our souls to, but I think I am going to find out tonight.

  12

  Engela

  the kiss of death

  The smell of death hangs around Pollsmoor like the stench of last week’s rubbish that wasn’t collected. Inside you want to hold your breath indefinitely, so that the germs can’t permeate your sinuses.

  There are fresh scars on his face, and he looks ten years older than he did six months ago. When the drugs dry up they seem to die faster. You can see how they wither a little more every time you visit.

  “Waar’s my kind?” Where's my child? he asks, without even a hello.

  “I’m not bringing a baby in here Nathaniel, this place is infested with fucking diseases.” I snap, already regretting this visit, and it’s only just begun.

  I feel the eyes of the men all around me, as they all leer and give me intimidating stares. They know, I’m sure they know it was me who sold him out.

  “He’s my fucking son, Engela. I wanted to see him.”

  Nathaniel is livid. I can hear it in the way his voice vibrates in his throat, and the fists he curls into tighter balls. I silently thank the good Lord for the handcuffs that are connected to the table stopping him from taking it out on me like I know he wants to.

  Grinding my teeth I try think of a way to divert the conversation away from Dan, I don’t want him caring so much. “He was still asleep, I didn’t want to wake him up. A teething baby is hell enough without waking him early.”

  He looks at me from under his scowling eyelids and shakes his head. “Ek hoor dat daai agt kuier by julle, die een wat jou boetie dood geskiet het? Dat hy bly op my straat. Is dit die waarheid Engela?” I hear that the Eight visits you guys, the one who shot your brother dead. That he lives on my street. Is it true, Engela?

  He knows about Francis, I knew he would find out. I knew it was bad news. Francis has always been bad – for everyone.

  “Ja, jy het reg gehoor. Ek kan hom nie weg jaag nie. Hy het iets met Eiran aan, en hulle het julle klomp weg gejaag van die straat. Nathaniel, dit het niks met my te doen nie, hy help my Ma, dis al.” Yes, you heard right. I can’t chase him away. He’s got something going on with Eiran, and they chased your men away from our street. Nathaniel, this has nothing to do with me, he helps my mom, that’s all.

  He doesn’t look impressed, and I can tell he doesn’t believe me at all. “You think I would risk my life playing games with the wrong number? Ek is nie dom nie, ons het ’n kind.” I'm not stupid, we have a child together.

  I see the way his jaw ticks and he keeps pulling his nose up like it itches that I am in trouble. Nothing I say will fix this shit. Nothing.

  “Engela, passop.” Engela, watch out.

  He warns me with one single word – passop. Be careful. I reach out and touch his tethered hand. Once I thought I loved him, yet now I’m just trying to save my son. But, I know that I cannot save him from this world, from this end, from ending up on his father’s side of this visiting table.

  “Ek watch jou. I watch you. Just because I’m inside doesn’t mean you aren’t mine, that you can go be a whore for an agt. Moenie stupid wees kind.” Don't be stupid, child.

  He squeezes my hand but the threat is understood. I need Francis to stay away from me.

  “I won’t be stupid, I promise.” I let go when the warden looks at our hands, touching isn’t allowed in here. “Things are changing outside Nathaniel, ek is bang. Die wind verander, iets sit net nie reg nie. Eiran loop die straat en Francis sê hy is klaar met die nommers. Nathaniel, ek is nie stupid nie. Ek sien alles.” I am afraid. The winds are changing, something isn’t right. Eiran walks the road and Francis says he’s finished with the numbers. Nathaniel, I'm not a twit, I see everything.

  There is a ruckus from one of the other tables and chaos breaks out; an alarms sounds. I am happy the visit will be cut short, but I know that this is only the beginning of my problems.

  He grabs my hand again and the look in his dark brown eyes isn’t love, it’s a death threat. I know too many things to live long.

  “OUT.” A yell comes over the noise and madness around me.

  I look at the boy I once thought was my knight in shining armor and see the dents in his tinfoil disguise.

  “Bye Nathaniel,” I say, not that he can hear, but he knows.

  “You visit every week from now, né Engela.” Right, Engela.

  He hisses at me as a guard comes to unlock him and I am shuffled away with the hostile crowd of friends, and families that have had their visits cut short. I get elbowed in the boob about six times before I help an elderly lady out the door without being trampled.

  The sun and fresh air is so welcome, but does nothing to lighten the lead block in my stomach. I thought I could save him, once upon a time, now it’s me that needs to be saved.

  I threw my life away.

  I don’t even get to the bus stop before I am surrounded by men. Some I know, some I don’t, but they are all Nathaniel’s gang mates; their tattoos and guns identify them.

  My steps get a little faster. I dare not stop, I just keep going. The cat-calls and whistles, as they move so I am in the center of a circle, make me want to cry.

  “Hallo Engeltjie, ons hoor jy was stoud.” Hello Engelky, we hear you were naughty.

  The taunting begins and d
oesn’t stop, they keep going until I do cry. Then they laugh like hyenas at my tears. These aren’t boys, these are dangerous men, and this is cat and mouse to them.

  “Fok af man, los my uit.” Fuck off man, leave me alone.

  I shove a groping hand off my ass and climb onto the waiting bus. They all follow, without tickets, but the driver wouldn’t dare ask. Their knives and guns are all the tickets they need to go anywhere. I sit against the widow and hold my bag tight on my lap, I don’t think they’d rob me, but you never know.

  Isaak sits down right beside me, pushing me against the bus, squashing me on purpose, letting me know I am not in control of this situation. I never was, but at least before this I was untouchable.

  Nathaniel’s girl made me a no-no to every one of them, now though, he’s locked up and I’m on the shit list. My bottom lip quivers so I bite it, as my tears fall in rivers down my face when he puts his dirty hand too high up on my thigh.

  His friends laugh when he makes a show of what he’s doing.

  “Jou jean is lekker styf.” Your jeans are sexy tight.

  His breath smells when he talks next to me. I knew I should have worn tracksuit pants.

  Turning my head to look out the window I shut them out. I tune it all out and think of my baby. I know he’s at home playing with Ma, his little three toothed smile.

  My button is popped open.

  The way his nose crinkles up if he doesn’t like the taste of something.

  My zip is open.

  He sucks his thumb when he is overtired, and rubs his eyes with the other hand.

  His filthy hand is in my panties.

  Danial’s eyelashes stick together with tears when he’s cried real heartsore tears, not the fake pick-me-up mommy ones.

  The fat fingers are rough, and hurt me as they tear my skin and force their way inside me.

  He is the sun in a dark dark world, his soft snores at night are my lullaby, and his cries are a love song I will never get tired of listening to.

  They laugh at me and smell his fingers, making vissmeer (fish paste) jokes.