by Jaco Jacobs
Miranda was very angry when we got home on the quad bike. So angry that she threatened to tell Vusi’s mum what we’d got up to.
‘What if something had happened to you? How would I explain that to your mum?’ She sounded ready to burst into tears.
‘But nothing happened to me,’ Vusi said. ‘Why can’t you people understand? I don’t want to spend my days in that stupid bed. I’m not dead yet!’ Vusi chucked his backpack to one side and ran into the house.
Miranda and I remained outside, alone.
‘I won’t tell Vusi’s mum,’ she told me. ‘But please don’t let him do something like this again.’
Walking home, I felt guilty, as if it had all been my idea.
Lying in bed that night, I realized I had to get some sleep, otherwise I’d be deadbeat the next day. The word ‘dead’ again. But I guessed people who died were deadbeat.
The electronic digits on the alarm clock said it was 01:33.
12 + 32 + 32 = 19
12 + 92 = 82
82 + 22 = 68
62 + 82 = 100
12 + 02 + 02 = 1
It wasn’t even exciting to work that one out since I already knew that 133 was a happy number.
Zero is one of the most difficult numbers to understand. Last term we had to write Miss Meyers a factual composition, and I wrote about zero. Cindy teased me about it, saying that she hoped I wouldn’t get a zero for it, but actually that was the first time I scored good marks for a composition.
The History of Zero
By Martin Retief
Zero was not always a number. Well, actually it was, because without zero, one would never have existed. But people didn’t always know that, because when you count, you usually start with one. In India and China they only started using zero around 400 BCE, and the ancient Greeks had long debates about whether zero really was a number or not.
Today we know that you cannot do maths without using zero, and without zero computers couldn’t be programmed. Zero is also called nil, nought or nothing. Zero is:
•a whole number,
•an even number,
•a real number as well as an imaginary number (but that is very difficult to explain).
If you add zero to a number or subtract it from that number, the same number remains. If you multiply any number by zero, the answer is zero. No number can be divided by zero – the answer is meaningless.
I yawned. Dying was like the number zero. It really existed and without it nothing would make sense. But that was very, very difficult to understand.
Riding a Bicycle Around the World
‘Now remember: no rough play, and keep your jersey on,’ Vusi’s mum warned him on Thursday afternoon when she dropped him off at our house. ‘And if you don’t feel well, call me immediately. I’ll fetch you at five sharp, OK?’
‘Yea-eah, Mum,’ he said impatiently.
His mum drove off, then stopped and started to wind down the window as if she wanted to say something else. But then she apparently changed her mind and headed out of the gate.
‘Thank goodness,’ a relieved Vusi sighed. ‘Do you have any idea how I struggled to convince her to let me visit you this afternoon?’
‘I can’t believe you talked her round,’ I said.
He nodded. ‘If it hadn’t been for Miranda… Believe it or not, she was the one who convinced my parents. And she didn’t breathe a word about yesterday with the quad bike.’
I looked at my watch. ‘Chris will be waiting for us.’
Vusi looked disappointed. ‘Aren’t we going inside first?’ he asked and pointed in the direction of our house.
I shook my head and started walking towards the garage to fetch the bicycles. ‘There’s no time.’
Vusi ran after me with the backpack bouncing on his back.
‘C’mon, Clucky, I’ve never been inside a real actress’s house!’
‘My mum’s no longer an actress,’ I said. ‘Besides, she sleeps in the afternoon.’
‘Flipping heck, you have a lot of chickens!’ exclaimed Vusi when we came around the corner of the house.
The chickens were lazing in the afternoon sun. Here and there one was scratching the ground, searching for bugs.
I shrugged. ‘They belonged to my dad. Since he died I’ve been looking after them.’
‘I’m sorry,’ said Vusi. ‘About your dad. And about Cheetah catching one of your chickens.’
‘Kathleen,’ I said.
‘Huh?’
‘The chicken’s name was Kathleen,’ I said while taking my and Uncle Hendrik’s bicycles from the garage. I couldn’t believe he’d forgotten Kathleen’s name yet again. ‘You can ride on mine,’ I said and gave him the bicycle with the basket in front. ‘The gears on Uncle Hendrik’s bike are a little dicey.’
Vusi put his backpack in the basket I always put the eggs in when I went to sell them. ‘OK, let’s get going,’ he said.
Suddenly he looked very pale to me. What if something happened to him? His mum and dad would blame me because we hadn’t stayed home all afternoon like we’d promised. ‘Are you sure you’ll be OK?’
He nodded. ‘C’mon!’
The gears on Uncle Hendrik’s bicycle made a grinding noise as we got going. When we rode out of the gate I carefully checked both sides of the road to make sure there was no sign of Vusi’s mum. Fortunately the place Chris had talked about wasn’t too far away.
‘I’ve… never heard… of a girl… called… Chris,’ wheezed Vusi after we’d covered some distance.
‘Her real name is Christine,’ I explained. ‘But no one ever calls her that.’
I shot a furtive look at Vusi to see if he was OK. He was slightly red in the face, but at least it didn’t look like he was going to faint or something.
‘Did you know that someone from Scotland cycled around the world in 194 days and 17 hours?’
Vusi gave me a surprised look. ‘Clucky… how come… you know about… things like that?’
‘I read about stuff on the internet, during our computer lessons.’
‘Yes, but normal people… never remember things like that.’
I didn’t answer him immediately. I was hoping he wouldn’t think there was something wrong with me.
‘I like numbers,’ I said after a while. ‘My dad was also good with them. He was a data analyst. That’s someone who works with numbers all day. Maybe I’ll also do that after school.’
Vusi didn’t answer. I suddenly felt bad that I’d talked about what I wanted to do after school. Did Vusi ever think about that, or did he only think about the 40% chance the doctor had predicted for him?
Fortunately there wasn’t any more time to wonder or feel bad because Chris was standing by the side of the road, waiting for us. She had an old bicycle that looked even worse than Uncle Hendrik’s.
‘You guys are late,’ she said. ‘Move it.’
The Perfect Place to Hide from Zombies and Killer’s Unplanned Demise
‘Wow!’ Vusi said excitedly when the shed door slid open, creaking and moaning. ‘It’s perfect!’
Dust whirled up in the shards of sunlight that fell across the cement floor. I peeped inside. The shed smelled of grease and dust, and a white Volkswagen Beetle was parked in between lots of cupboards and boxes.
‘Whose place is this?’ I asked.
‘My uncle’s,’ Chris answered and put the small bunch of keys in the back pocket of her jeans. ‘My mum rents it from him. For my brother’s car, and his furniture and stuff.’
The moment Chris spoke about her brother, I knew I had to find a way to stop Vusi from asking any more questions.
‘So where’s your brother then? Overseas?’
Too late.
Chris shook her head. ‘No. He’s in Greenside.’
Vusi’s mouth fell open. ‘But Greenside is…’
‘… a prison,’ Chris finished his sentence. ‘You’re absolutely right.’ She pushed a box aside. ‘Come on in, but don’t touch my brother�
��s stuff, OK?’
I secretly gestured with my finger in front of my lips that Vusi should keep quiet, but he pretended not to see. ‘Why is your brother in jail?’
Chris swung around, brushing the hair from her eyes. I saw that her eyes were blazing in her slender face. ‘Let me see…’ She counted on her fingers. ‘Breaking and entering, possession of an illegal firearm, assaulting a police officer, obstructing the course of justice. Any more questions?’
When nobody said anything, she turned away and walked off.
There was just one single row of windows in the shed, high up close to the roof. Only after Chris had switched on the light could I see all the boxes and furniture and things in the shed clearly.
‘Why would your brother need three microwaves?’ Vusi wanted to know. ‘And what are these? Hey, it looks like–’
‘I told you to leave his stuff alone!’ Chris hissed. ‘Let’s just forget about this. I thought I was doing you guys a favour, but–’
‘OK, OK!’ Vusi said and threw his hands into the air like someone who was giving himself up to the police. ‘Sorry!’
I tried my best to show that I didn’t condone his prying. I still didn’t know how he’d found out that my mum was a famous actress way back, but slowly and surely I was beginning to understand. He was the most inquisitive person I had ever come across.
‘This place is perfect for a horror movie,’ said Vusi, looking around in awe.
As if on cue, a pigeon suddenly flew up somewhere close to the roof.
I got such a fright that chills ran down my spine.
Vusi dug into his backpack and took out his camera. ‘We have to start with a scene that shows me approaching and discovering the shed.’
‘I thought you were on a quad bike,’ said Chris sceptically. ‘In the movie.’
Vusi frowned. ‘Hmmm. You’re right. But my mum definitely won’t allow me to bring the quad here.’
‘In the movie you can always say that the quad ran out of petrol,’ I suggested. ‘And then you had to walk the rest of the way.’
‘And the dog?’ asked Chris.
Vusi and I looked at each other. We had forgotten about Cheetah – or rather, Killer.
Vusi slapped his forehead with his hand. ‘I can’t believe I was that dumb. What are we going to do? How on earth am I going to get Cheetah here? It’s hard enough to get here without my mum and everyone knowing.’
Chris sat down on a box. ‘What’s wrong with your folks? I mean, aren’t you allowed to go anywhere?’
‘He’s–’ I started to explain, but Vusi immediately butted in.
‘Grounded. As in seriously grounded. I’m not allowed to set foot outside the house for the next month or there’ll be serious trouble.’
‘Oh, OK,’ said Chris.
Part of me was glad that we didn’t have to tell Chris the truth, but another part of me felt guilty because Vusi had lied to her.
‘Maybe Killer changed into a zombie,’ I said.
‘What d’you mean?’ Vusi wanted to know.
‘Well, he bit me in the previous scene, when I was a zombie. Who says dogs don’t also change into zombies?’
‘And then?’ asked Chris, as if she was listening to a story.
Embarrassed, I shrugged. ‘I don’t know… erm…’
Vusi lightly punched me on the shoulder. ‘Clucky, you’re brilliant!’ He picked up his camera. ‘C’mon, we have work to do. We’ll shoot the first two scenes outside, and then I’ll discover the shed.’
A few minutes later, we were standing outside under a tree. Vusi put my dad’s jacket on and dusted off his trousers. Then he picked up the video camera and got it into position. There was a sad expression on his face.
Chris just stood watching, looking terribly amused.
‘OK, I’m ready,’ said Vusi. ‘Start the countdown, Clucky.’
I stepped back a bit. ‘OK Three… two… one… action!’
Vusi looked down for a few moments. Then he faced the camera. ‘I got Killer when he was only six weeks old. From the word go, he was crazy about me. It’s true what people say – a dog is a man’s best friend. Killer was–’
Chris burst out laughing.
‘Cut!’ Vusi shouted angrily and switched off the camera. He gave Chris a miffed look. ‘What’s so funny?’
‘I… I’m sorry,’ Chris laughed. ‘It’s just… you look really funny when you pretend to be so sad… about a dog called Killer…’
‘What does his name have to do with anything?’ a peeved Vusi demanded.
‘Nothing,’ said Chris with a serious face, and then she started laughing again.
‘You’ve messed up the whole scene.’
‘OK, OK, I’m sorry,’ said Chris. ‘Start again, from the beginning.’
It looked as if Vusi wanted to argue some more, but he picked up the camera again and nodded at me.
‘Three… two… one… action!’
Again he looked down for a couple of seconds before facing the camera. ‘I got Killer when he was still a tiny puppy. Only six weeks old. From the word go, he was crazy about me. After the zombie plague broke out, he was all I had left. And now I’ve lost him too… This morning he saved my life when one of the zombies attacked me.’ Vusi stared into space for a moment and then he said, ‘Cut!’
‘Flipping heck, is the whole movie this depressing?’ asked Chris.
Vusi ignored her and looked at his watch. ‘We have to hurry. I still want to shoot the scene in which I discover the shed.’
‘When are we going to see more zombies?’ asked Chris. ‘I thought it was supposed to be a zombie movie. I’ve never heard of a zombie movie with only one zombie.’
I could see Vusi gritting his teeth.
‘Vusi knows exactly what needs to happen in the story,’ I said quickly.
Chris grunted. ‘OK, if you say so.’
Vusi gave her a look. I’m not very good at knowing what certain kinds of look mean, but I was sure this look meant that if there was ever a real zombie plague, Vusi wouldn’t mind if they got hold of Chris first.
Problems
Mr Faure didn’t do maths – he attacked it. When he was writing on the board it looked as if he was trying to demolish the numbers with the chalk. He never spoke about ‘sums’; he always called them ‘problems’. As in, ‘For homework I want you to solve all the problems on page seventy-four.’
Mr Faure regarded us plot plodders as problems too – I once overheard him saying to another teacher that the lot of us were mostly problem children.
At the beginning of the year, I raised my hand when he was doing a sum on the board. I told him that there was an easier and quicker way to get to the solution. ‘Fine, if you’re that bright, why don’t you play teacher from now on?’ he snapped. ‘Here’s the chalk. Come and stand at the front and teach the rest of this lesson.’ The entire class burst out laughing as I took up position in front of the board. I wasn’t sure if I really was supposed to do the rest of the sums on the board, so I just stood there while everyone laughed at me. From that day on, Mr Faure despised me. I always made sure I scored somewhere between 60% and 70% in my maths tests so that he would leave me alone. Had I scored any higher, he probably would’ve thought that I was trying to look clever again.
That Friday morning, he was battling with a graph on the board. He explained it very slowly and it sounded like he was already angry in advance because he knew some kids wouldn’t understand the work. My eyes drifted off to the piece of paper on my desk. Vusi had said that we were going to shoot an exciting scene that afternoon. I picked up my pencil and started drawing.
‘Martin Retief!’
I jumped with fright.
A couple of children giggled, but Mr Faure quickly shut them up with a stare.
‘Is it asking too much to expect you to pay attention in my class?’ He snatched the page from my desk and took a look at it. ‘What’s this?’
I gulped. ‘Just a picture, sir.’
&
nbsp; ‘And does this look like the art class to you?’
I shook my head. ‘No, sir.’
‘How many times do I have to ask you to pay attention in my class?’
I lowered my head. ‘I don’t know, sir.’
Again, a few kids dared to laugh.
‘You’ll sit in detention this afternoon,’ he said and walked back to the board.
‘But, sir!’ It popped out before I could stop it.
‘Enough!’ he bellowed.
I sank back into my chair. Safraaz gave me a killer look. Sitting in detention on a Friday was the worst punishment on earth. It meant the school bus had to wait for you for an hour, so Mr Oldman and the other plot plodders would be angry at you for days.
For the rest of the lesson I didn’t dare take my eyes off the board.
‘Clucky, you idiot,’ said Chris during break when she heard that I had detention. But then she smiled unexpectedly. ‘Don’t worry. Mr Faure is a grumpy old fart.’
The funny thing was that teachers also hated detention. They always looked bored to death when they had to supervise us for an hour. That day it was Miss Cullen’s turn. I thought she was given this horrible job because she was still a student teacher. She had to teach at our school for an entire term before she could qualify for her teacher’s diploma. Fortunately she was very kind. She sometimes took us for an Afrikaans lesson.
When I walked into the media centre, I saw that she was already seated at the desk and working. Two Grade Sixes and I were the only ones in detention. Miss Cullen looked up and smiled.
‘Well then,’ she said. ‘Welcome to our labour camp. Find something to keep yourselves busy. And I don’t want to hear a sound, understand?’
I took out my English textbook and started doing my homework. After I finished the comprehension test, I looked at the clock on the wall. There was still another half an hour of detention left. By this time, everyone waiting for me in the bus was probably livid.
On the right-hand side of my desk was a small pile of books and papers. Miss Cullen was sitting with her head bent, working. I picked the books up one by one and flipped through the papers. They looked like photocopies of old maths tests.
