The floor is shiny and white, everything feels cold, the opposite of our warm little house. I stand here hugging myself, as if it will keep the pieces of me from falling apart, but there is just nothing left to hold onto. He was quiet all the way here, but if I think hard about it Eiran was always quiet even when we were children, he wasn’t vocal. He would be the quiet one watching them all argue.
“Come in, Engela,” he say when he realizes I haven’t followed him.
I walk slowly behind him, taking it all in. It’s like he left us for another place — the opposite of who he is. Nothing in here seems like him.
“Tee of Koffie?” Tea or Coffee? he asks me, as he turns on more lights in the open plan kitchen.
“Koffie, ek drink nie tee nie.” Coffee, I don’t drink tea.
I answer and walk to the window where he has a telescope set up. I wonder what he looks at?
Boys from the Flats, they don’t know about stars. You can’t see stars through the smog of our home.
I stand here as the twilight of early evening slowly dissolves into the blackness of night, high up, looking down over the city and its light. They look like angels dancing and twinkling. I imagine Ma and Dan are among them.
Eiran stands beside me and hands me a cup of coffee. We just watch the lights.
“I will take care of everything for you, and you can stay here until Martin says you can go home. We will make sure everything is cleaned up for you there too.”
He talks to me but still stares out the widow.
A long while later he leaves me standing alone. He takes our cups to the kitchen and I can hear him moving about, opening and closing things. I just stare out at the world that carries on like I haven’t just lost my heartbeat.
Soon there is the aroma of food. I am not sure what, but it smells good. I’m hungry, but the thought of eating makes me naar (nauseous).
I turn to see him leaning against the cupboard, tapping away on his phone, a deep frown furrowing his forehead. His sleeves are rolled up and I can see dark scars, the old kind that have healed but still leave a mark.
He looks just as broken as the rest of us.
Looking up at me under the frown, he says, “I texted Francis, but he’s not reading them. The guys say he’s not moved all day. I’m sorry, Engela. I told him to come, but I don’t think he will.”
“It’s okay, Eiran. The funny thing is I thought it was him. The whole way to the police station I was prepared for them to tell me Francis was dead. So in a way I already lost him.” I sit on a barstool at the counter, my legs are tired and my feet ache in my stupid work shoes. “I was prepared for that, but not for this.” An overwhelming need to make everything just disappear takes over me, and I ask him, “Do you have something stronger than coffee?”
He smiles a sad smile and opens the cabinet above his head, taking out two bottles of golden-brown liquor and what look like fancy glasses. The glass clinks on the stone countertops and he opens the freezer for ice before coming to sit beside me.
“You can’t drink alone. Not tonight.”
The golden liquor fills my glass, and the ice makes it cold so little droplets of condensation form on the outside. Touching our glasses in a silent toast, we down the drinks.
We do this until the bottle is empty and my vision is double, but at least the pain has gone – for now.
Eiran puts me to bed in a room that is decorated all in black and gray, it’s depressing, like him. His face is always sad, like nothing could make him truly smile.
“Nag Engela.” Night Engela.
The door closes, and I am alone.
It’s funny what we find in our loneliest times. I find that Eiran spies on a woman that lives not too far away – he wasn’t looking at stars.
He doesn’t talk to me unless he has to, for the rest I am left to carry on alone. He left me a pair of track pants and t-shirts to wear. I’m not going out so who cares what I look like. His man’s shampoo has made my hair kroesie (crinkly) and I can’t even get it into an elastic to tie it up.
There is this quiet limbo where I am left all alone. No one talks to me, no one sees me, but I feel everything.
This morning I fantasized over jumping out of that big window.
What do I have to live for anyway?
I see my body falling through the air and floating away from this life, and when I hit the ground they are there with me again. My Ma, my boy, and my brother. But it’s fucking locked, so I can’t jump.
It makes me think about my loneliness – face it. I don’t have anyone. I am in a virtual stranger’s home.
Not a sole has called or visited me. I truly have nothing left.
Except him, I know he is out there. I miss him, and that just makes this pain worse.
“I have arranged everything for Saturday Engela, at the church. All the ladies from your Ma’s ladies committee are helping with the service and tea after.”
Eiran talks softly to me. We aren’t drunk anymore; we ran out of booze two days ago.
“Thank you. I still want to see them. Can we go today?”
Wringing his hands together he avoids eye contact with me. “They will let you see Dan, but not your Ma. I’m sorry Engela.”
I wish he’d stop saying sorry to me.
“Okay.”
Ma is obviously not the same. If they won’t let me see it must be bad. She would have fought to keep them out of the house, to stop them getting to the baby. But, what chance does an old lady stand against a group of young gangsters?
“I will go get you something proper to wear, then we can go.”
He leaves me alone in his home again. I wonder around aimlessly, before I look in his telescope. This time I see him talking to her, they seem to be friendly.
Her eyes shine as she hands him a bag and puts her hand on his chest where his heart is, but he takes it off and shakes his head. It feels wrong watching, so I go and make more coffee in the big kitchen and put bread in the toaster, so I can try calm the nausea building in my belly.
On his fridge is a picture, a faded photograph with bent edges. I look closely as I close the door after I put the milk back. It’s him, Danial, Francis, and Martin. They were about twelve. Before they all fell apart and bad things happened, their arms arm wrapped over each other’s shoulders and the smiles the happiest smiles.
I remember where that was taken. It was a birthday party in our back yard. My fingertips trace the face of my brother. I know Ma is with him now, and that makes me happy. I wonder how we got from there, from that happiness to the utter destruction and eternal sadness that became our lives since then.
Eiran returns as I finish the second slice of dry toast. He looks more upset than normal, but I don’t think it’s my business to ask him why. He hands me the bag from the smiling lady.
“Go get dressed so I can take you, I need to work later today. So we have to go now, if you want to.”
Pulling on the strange clothes that smell of another woman, I wonder who she is and why he watches her so closely. He’s made no secret of it, he watches all the time. The shoes are a little bit too big, but they will be fine. I am going to ask if I can go get my own stuff from home while we are on that side today.
We take a lift down underground to Eiran’s car, the dark black thing that looks like it is driving bad news even in daylight. He opens the door for me like a gentleman, but I know better than that. As I slip into the car I catch sight of the gun holstered inside his jacket.
Instrumental music plays as we drive at a speed that feels too fast. The sound of jazz vibrates in the car and I regard the man beside me carefully – he got away, and I want that now more than ever.
I don’t think he is free from it all. No, you don’t get set free, you just drift a little bit away from the destruction. I have no reason to cling to the sinking ship of home any longer.
“Have you spoken to Francis?” I ask, when the silence begins to frighten me and my mind drifts to the nothing that I have left.
“Ja.” Yes.
One word answers, I have learned that they are all you really get from him.
“Is hy okay?” Is he okay?
“Nee, maar jy is ook nie.” No, but neither are you.
He’s right, I’m not okay. I’m not falling apart or crying, but I am not okay.
My child is dead, I will never be okay again.
I stop talking, because I don’t want to say the things inside me out loud yet. I want to pretend, just for this short drive, that it’s all still just a bad dream, where I go home and they are there waiting for me.
They are, thankfully, not at the government morgue. I am guessing that Eiran and Martin took care of that for me.
The purple Avbob sign is big outside the building as we pull into it to parking lot, right next to a hearse that looks like it is about to leave. I can see the flowers on top of the casket through the window. They are pink and yellow.
Eiran opens the door for me, and holds his hand for me, to help me get out of the car. He holds it all the way inside.
Not like Francis did, no, this a friend holding me up when all I want to do is fall down.
I lean against the stranger beside me and we go inside the small building that houses death, and sells graves.
17
Francis
small coffins are filled with the biggest heartache
Engela is with Eiran. It makes me want to kill him with jealousy, but thankful that she has a place to go.
He phones me every night when she goes to bed and begs me to go see her, but I can’t face her knowing what she’s lost because of me. What we have all lost. I should have stayed in jail. They would have been safer with me locked away.
Tomorrow is their funeral. I wasn’t this sad when we buried my sister, or when I heard my Ma was dead. But, this … when I close my eyes I see his little face as he slept beside us. Now I sleep alone, on the couch, watching the house in case she comes home.
Martin let us clean the house after his useless police clean-up people left. It’ s like it never happened, except for the stain on the floor by the front door that won’t lift. When we finished I just sat there for a very long time, watching the cartoons with no sound, letting my heart feel full just one more time before I say goodbye to them all tomorrow.
“Eat.” Donnie flops down beside me and hands me a sandwich.
It tastes awful, and I miss Auntie’s food as soon as the first bite hits my tastebuds.
“Dankie.” Thank you, I say with my mouth half full.
“I’m sorry, Francis.”
He settles into the chair as if he’s going to stay in here a while. No one has come near me, they let me be alone, but today I am happy for his company.
“I let myself fall in love and believe I could have a better life than the one that sent me to prison. I wanted that family – my family. All the things I missed because I was locked up. You know I murdered her brother, he was my best friend and I killed him.” I shake my head at the irony of what I am saying.
“I didn’t know that. I knew this is where you grew up and that you had a past with them. I am not from the gangs. Eiran hired me because I got arrested for hacking into the banks internet banking. His boss said I was helpful. I just clean because it’s lonely being the computer guy no one talks to. The extra cash doesn’t hurt either.”
He talks to me like I am a person, which feels strange. I haven’t had friends in a long time.
“Eiran, Danial, Martin, and me, were best friends. But these streets, and the gangs that run them, are a hard place to survive. I chose a different path to them and it cost me twelve years of my life, and it cost Danial his life when I had to kill him to live. When I came home from Pollsmoor there was no one waiting here for me, no one cared that I was even alive, but the Auntie. She forgave me for what I did, and offered me a warm meal.” I remember that night when Engela brought me a plate of food, her eyes were still so full of anger. “Fok, fuck, they forgave me and now this happened because of me. I should have left them alone, let them hate me.”
I take another bite of the shit sandwich because my stomach tells me I am hungry.
“They warned her. This isn’t all on you, Francis. That girl was mixed up with some dangerous men. I saw who came to see her that afternoon. I might not be gangster but I am not stupid, and I spend my life scratching in police files that I shouldn’t look in. Sy het kak gemaak, ’n deel met die duiwel, She made shit, a deal with the devil. I don’t think this is because of you. I think they found out what she did, and blaming you covered it up nicely and opened a new fight between the gangs.”
He has a point, but my guilty conscience doesn’t want to hear it. “The stupid thing is I even imagined marrying her. I thought we could be the ones that broke the cycle.”
But, this place is vicious and no one can just walk away free. The life we are living right now, with death knocking on every door, is as good as it’s going to get for me.
“That’s not stupid. I have a girl, but I doubt she’ll marry me. She wants me to get a real job. One with less criminals as bosses.”
He’s so naive.
“You should listen to her while you still can, Donnie.” His face looks sad and a little lost.
“I am not an idiot, Francis, you don’t get out of this company unless it’s in a body-bag. Otherwise Eiran would’ve walked long ago.” Standing up, his skinny frame is tall, but all bones. “This job kills us all a little every day, but rather dying than dead eh?”
It’s the truth I guess. Right now dead sounds almost appealing to me, because the agony that I am hiding beneath the surface is too much to take much longer.
“Francis, she forgave you once. Don’t just give up.”
With that he leaves me alone again. When I look outside I see the front door closing and Eiran’s car is parked on the street.
She came home.
The curtains didn’t open. I kept looking to see if I could see her, or him, but nothing moved. Maybe he came to check the cleaning job.
I want to go over there. I even get to the front door, but the image of Auntie and Dan come flooding back into my head and I can’t do it.
The sun is setting when Eiran comes back out the front door and our eyes meet through the window. With his head down he gets in his car and drives off. I go sit on the top step, out front, in the hope she’s in there and I can catch a small glimpse of her.
My phone vibrates in my pocket.
Sy het vandag Afbob toe gegaan. Sy het jou nodig. Go to her she’s all alone in there.
She went to the funeral home today. She needs you.
Eiran’s text stops my heart. She is in there. So close to me, yet I know she’s further away than ever before.
Watching, holding my breath just to catch a glimpse of her, I sit on the step until my butt aches from the concrete and my back is stiff. My nose is running from the cool air because I don’t want to go inside and blow it, I don’t want to take my eyes off that house again in case something happens to her.
When the sky turns murky and the streetlights are almost ready to flicker on, I see her for the first time, looking at me from the kitchen window.
Her big brown eyes are dull and the shine is all gone. Her smile is now replaced with the strain of heartache, and the life I fell in love with is gone. Death stole it from us.
We stare at each other through the glass for a while. I watch her cry for what I have cost her, and when I cannot take the guilt any longer I get up and take a step down towards her, but she shakes her head at me and leaves the kitchen so I can’t see her.
The vise grip of pain in my chest, as my heart breaks again, makes me crumple back to the concrete beneath my feet, and I sit there until it’s so dark I can see the moon and hear the dogs barking in the township.
When I stand up on my cold, unsteady feet, and stumble back into the house that feels nothing like home, I am a broken man. Prison couldn’t break me, gangs didn’t kill me, and these stree
ts didn’t eat me alive with drugs. But the girl across the road, she has killed me with love.
I will never have a son, but that little boy was mine. Blood didn’t matter, love held us together. And now it’s all gone.
One day we get up and everything we care about is just gone. My Ma, my sister, Auntie, Dan, all gone. And I have never felt so alone in all my life, not even in solitary confinement inside Pollsmoor.
Collapsing on the couch I fall asleep, never dead asleep, twelve years in prison taught me not to sleep dead but rather with one eye open.
A car drives by late in the darkness, and I can hear that it’s about one block from breaking down as it whines and clanks down the road.
Dust from the couch makes me sniff more than the tears did earlier, and it’s hard to breathe through only one nostril, but fatigue stops me from moving to my bed.
Here I can see if I open my eyes.
I can see her house.
There aren’t many birds here to sing in the morning, but the first chirp of a mossie (cape sparrow) outside wakes me. The sky is that misty mix of night and almost day outside the window, and the streetlamps still glow yellow, but will go off soon.
Rubbing the sleep from my eyes I sit up and look across the road. There is no sign of life other than the stoep light that burns and the moths that fly around it, hitting into the glass jar that is a makeshift cover for the globe. The bottom is filled with dead bugs and it’s discolored from the heat of the globe too close to the sides.
I leave for a few minutes to make a warm cup of coffee, and I grab a dry rusk from the bottom of an open box on the counter in the unusually messy kitchen. I don’t sit for long, when Eiran’s car pulls up in front of the house and he gets out, looking smarter than normal. His suit is all dark and all three pieces are pressed perfectly. He has a hat in one hand, a suit bag in the other, and he comes up my front steps and into the unlocked door.
“Francis.” He calls from the entrance.
“In hier.” In here. I answer, my eyes still on the porch light across the road.
28 Boys Page 15
