by Jaco Jacobs
Softly I tore a sheet from my exercise book and started to do one of the sums on it. I’d noticed that some people were scared of maths. People like Mr Faure. But I knew maths wasn’t something to be scared of. Dad always said that it was a kind of game, like crossword puzzles or chess. The better you understood the rules, the better you got at it. When I saw a maths sum, a lot of roads immediately opened up in my mind. I don’t know how else to explain it. It’s like only reading the first page of a story and then closing the book and trying to imagine all the different ways the story could end. When you do a sum it’s like telling a story in such a way that you get to the happy ending by the shortest possible route.
‘Have you perhaps seen my notes?’ asked Miss Cullen, startling me.
I gasped and quickly pushed the pile of papers aside. Then I caught her eye on my desk.
‘Oh, this is where I left them.’ She gathered the sheets and arranged them in a neat pile together with the books. ‘All right, you may go now. But don’t get into trouble again, OK!’
I was surprised to see that the time had passed so quickly. I was also surprised to see that Miss Cullen had let us leave ten minutes early. When I looked at her, she winked as if that was a secret between the two of us.
In the bus everyone was sulking, waiting for me.
As I got in, Mr Oldman growled, ‘Clucky Retief, if I miss my rugby on TV this afternoon, I’ll have you for dinner.’
A Bloody Scene
‘What have you got in there?’ Chris wanted to know as Vusi unpacked his backpack. ‘I hope there’s something to eat because I’m starving – and of course that’s all due to you-know-who over here who had detention.’
I felt the blood rushing to my face. Everything was always my fault. It was my fault that everyone in the bus had to wait. It was my fault that Mr Oldman might miss the rugby on TV. It was my fault that Chris didn’t have time to eat lunch because she had to walk all the way from her house to the shed after the school bus dropped her off. I’m sure she was even going to blame me for the fact that her dilapidated old bike had a flat tyre. I was about to open my mouth and say something when I saw that she was smiling.
‘Hey, I’m just teasing, Clucky,’ she said.
I grinned, feeling embarrassed.
‘This afternoon we’re going to shoot a very scary scene,’ Vusi announced. He held the zombie mask and a transparent plastic bag up in the air. ‘Clucky, you’re going to be the zombie again.’
‘All the zombies can’t look exactly the same,’ Chris said with a frown. ‘Can’t it be a girl zombie this time?’
Vusi shook his head. ‘No, you’re the girl who’s hiding in the shed. You can’t be a zombie as well.’
‘I can be a zombie with one arm. Like Mr Oldman,’ I suggested. I pulled my one arm out of my jersey sleeve and held it tight against my chest while I stumbled forward and hollered ‘AHHHHH!’ the way Vusi had taught me.
Chris laughed.
‘Cool!’ Vusi was impressed. ‘That’s a great idea. But wait till you see the best part…’
My eyes widened when I saw what he took from the backpack. ‘Vusi… where did you find that?’
‘Relax, it’s just a toy,’ Vusi said and wielded the pistol with apparent ease. ‘Look, I also brought an old T-shirt. We’re going to stick this bag of fake blood inside your jersey, then you just have to press on it hard so that it’ll explode and soak your entire shirt with blood.’
Vusi looked very pleased with himself. But Chris didn’t look happy at all.
‘Vusi, haven’t you learned your lesson with the dog and the quad bike?’ she asked impatiently.
‘What now?’ sighed Vusi.
‘You can’t just suddenly have a firearm in the movie,’ Chris explained. ‘Why didn’t you use it the first time the zombie attacked you? Why didn’t you use it to save Killer?’
‘Erm…’ Vusi looked devastated.
‘I have a better plan,’ said Chris immediately. ‘I’ll rescue you from the zombie.’ She took the pistol from him. ‘The zombie’s chasing you and you’re running to get to the shed in time. And then, the minute you open the door, I grab hold of you… and then… BOOM!’ She aimed the pistol in my direction.
‘Arrrrgggh!’ I groaned and collapsed.
Chris pretended to blow some smoke from the tip of the barrel. ‘Take that, you living corpse!’ she growled.
Vusi laughed. ‘Yes, OK. I guess that could work. Go on, unlock the shed so that we can start. And wear your hair loose, not in a ponytail like now.’
Chris shot him a puzzled look but then loosened her hair. It fell over her shoulders and almost reached her hips. ‘Satisfied?’
I looked away, feeling awkward.
Vusi seemed really chuffed. Chris unlocked the shed and gave the door a kick to make it open more easily.
‘Look,’ said Vusi when the lights went on, ‘there’s a lot of new stuff in here.’ In awe, he bent over and stared at a music centre that had been placed on one of the tables.
‘Hey, I told you to leave this stuff alone,’ Chris said angrily. ‘Some of it belongs to my uncle.’
‘OK, OK,’ Vusi pacified her. ‘I’ve just had a brainwave! If we bring a CD along, we can play background music for the movie while we’re shooting this scene.’
Chris firmly shook her head. ‘No, you leave this stuff alone or we’re pushing off.’
‘Never mind, it’ll be better if I add the music later.’ Vusi quickly changed his tune. ‘When I edit the movie on my computer.’
Clearly, he knew better than to disagree with Chris.
Good Times and the Value of π
Sometimes a day can be unpredictable. It may look like it’s going to be the lousiest day ever, and then it can suddenly turn out to be one of the best days ever.
‘Stop right there! How d’you know that I’m a zombie? Erm…’
‘Stop right there! I know you’re a zombie! Or rather, I mean…’
‘Stop right there, erm… zombie! Ah, dammit!’
We were rolling around with laughter as Vusi showed us on the camera screen how Chris had struggled to get her lines right.
‘I never said I wanted to become an actress,’ said Chris.
‘Too late,’ said Vusi. ‘You already have a role in a movie.’
Chris threw her head back and dramatically brushed her hair out of her face. ‘In that case,’ she said in a husky voice, ‘I want my own trailer. And a limousine.’
Vusi pretended to open the door of the dusty old Beetle for her.
Chris just smiled. ‘So what’s going to happen next? You flee from the zombies, you discover a pretty girl in a shed and she saves your life… How will the movie end?’
Vusi sat down on a large wooden crate. His dark eyes looked serious now. ‘It has to end with a bang, a big scene… a whole mob of zombies attacking the shed.’
‘And where are we going to find that many zombies?’ asked Chris.
Vusi looked at me. ‘We’ll make a plan.’
I checked my watch. ‘Erm… Vusi, we’d better leave. Your mum’s going to pick you up soon.’
‘Will one of you give me a lift?’ Chris wanted to know. ‘I don’t feel like walking home.’
‘You can catch a ride on my bike,’ I quickly offered because Vusi looked quite tired. ‘I mean, on Uncle Hendrik’s bike. But I’m riding it. I mean, you can get on Uncle Hendrik’s bike with me.’ My face was getting hot.
Chris smiled at me. ‘Thanks.’
I felt nervous while I waited for Chris to lock the shed door. I’d never given anyone a lift on my bicycle. But Uncle Hendrik and Dad used to give me a lift when I was small, so I knew what to do. I sat back so that Chris could get on. She sat on the frame, between the handles and the seat.
‘If you let me fall, I’m going to wring your neck,’ she warned.
I just nodded and carefully started pedalling. She was so light that I almost didn’t notice that she was on the bike. Her hair was blowing gently in t
he wind. She held it against her neck with one hand but strands of hair blew against my chest. I could smell her shampoo.
Vusi rode more slowly than usual. Was I imagining it, or was he very pale?
We’d hardly arrived at my house when his mum stopped in front of the gate.
‘Should I ask my mum to drop you off at home?’ he asked Chris.
She shook her head. ‘No worries, my limo’s waiting,’ she said and pointed at my bike.
‘OK, so see you guys tomorrow,’ he said. ‘Same time, same place.’ His shoulders looked too frail to carry the backpack any further.
‘Hey, look at the little chicks!’ Chris exclaimed and gestured at a hen and her seven little ones walking around the corner of the house, scratching for food.
I nodded. ‘That’s Lizzie, and they’re her first chicks.’ I fetched the tin of chicken feed and spread some of it on the ground. Lizzie and her brood immediately rushed up, clucking.
Chris went down on her haunches close to the chickens. ‘They’re so sweet!’ she whispered. Her eyes were shining and she was smiling. For a minute or so she remained motionless, watching the chickens, then she seemed to remember that I was around too.
‘I have to get home,’ she said.
‘OK.’
I fetched the bicycle from where it was leaning against the wall in the late afternoon sun. Chris got on and we rode out of the gate. I hoped my mum wasn’t watching us through the window, otherwise I’d have a lot of questions to answer about Chris that evening.
The air was cool. Chris shut her eyes tightly while I rode. I took it in turns to look at the road and her. There was a programme on TV once about scientists at a university who used maths to find out why some people had beautiful faces. They measured stuff like the distance between your chin and your nose, and then worked out all kinds of ratios to get to a number.
I was so lost in thought that I was startled when Chris spoke. ‘What are you thinking about?’
The bike swerved dangerously and my cheeks were hot despite the cool wind.
‘Nothing.’
‘Liar. You’re always thinking of stuff – it’s obvious. You think in the school bus as well.’ Her voice was teasing me. ‘C’mon then, tell me something.’
My head was working overtime but I couldn’t think of anything to say. So I said the first thing that popped into my head. ‘OK… erm… do you know what pi is?’
A frown appeared between her eyes. ‘I assume you’re not talking about that stuff that gives people indigestion, so… it has something to do with circles, doesn’t it?’
‘Pi is the ratio of the circumference of a circle to its diameter. Or the ratio between the area of a circle to the square of its radius. It never changes.’ The faster I spoke, the quicker my legs pumped the pedals. ‘The value of pi is an irrational number because you can’t write it down as a simple fraction.’
‘Slow down!’ Chris yelled, laughing. ‘You want to kill us?’
I braked lightly. ‘Sorry,’ I mumbled. ‘It’s boring, I know.’
She shook her head. ‘No, it’s nice to hear you speak, even though I didn’t really understand everything you said! You’re always so quiet. Tell me more about pi…’
I just shook my head.
‘C’mon, Clucky!’ She prodded me. ‘Don’t stop.’
‘People have been trying for ages to memorize as many different digits of pi as they can. It’s called piphilology. A Chinese man learned 67,890 digits of pi by heart – it took him more than 24 hours to recite them. And in 2009 a professor claimed that he knew 30 million digits of pi by heart.’
Chris stared at me wide-eyed. ‘Thirty million? No way, man!’
‘It’s impossible to put him to the test because even if you could speak for twenty-four hours a day, it would take you almost a year to recite that many digits. But the scientists who tested him think he spoke the truth.’
‘No one can learn that many numbers by heart,’ Chris said and shook her head.
I shrugged. ‘People’s minds work differently.’
We stopped in the dirt road at Chris’s gate. In front of their house laundry was flapping in the wind. She nimbly hopped off the bike.
‘You know what, Clucky Retief? I don’t know exactly how your mind works, but you have one of the most interesting minds I’ve ever come across in my life…’
Then she leaned forward and kissed me.
A Chatty Old Lady and an Awful Silence
‘Have I ever told you about the chickens my hubby and I had?’ asked Aunt Hantie. ‘Way back, on the farm. Those chickens laid eggs morning, noon and night! I helped pay my children’s way through university with the egg money I saved.’ She sighed. ‘And what do I have to show for that? Nothing. The old man, bless his soul, passed on ten years ago. And the two children are overseas. They hardly ever call me, only on Christmas and birthdays.’
‘Erm… Auntie, I’m a little late,’ I said gingerly.
Once Aunt Hantie got going, she hardly ever stopped talking. And I was running late; it was almost dark. Only after I’d dropped off Chris did I remember the eggs. The icky fake blood was still sticking to my chest.
Aunt Hantie blew a large pink chewinggum bubble in the cold evening air. ‘Ah, what a strange world we live in. Everything’s so rushed. Well then, I wish you a pleasant evening, Clucky. Thanks for the eggs. At least you’re slightly cheaper than Moosa’s cafe. His prices are criminal – it’s daylight robbery. Talking of robbery, did you hear about the break-in the other day at–’
‘Auntie, I really have to go,’ I interrupted her.
‘All right, my boy,’ she said. ‘Till next time then.’
I shifted around uncomfortably. ‘Erm… Auntie…you haven’t paid me yet.’
For a moment she looked confused. ‘Goodness, child, I’m sorry. Where’s my head today?’ She counted out the money for the dozen eggs into my hand.
While racing home, I thought of Aunt Hantie. She said that her husband died ten years ago. That amounts to 3,652 days, if you add two days for leap years. And that amounts to 87,648 hours. How do you survive that many hours when you’re as lonely as she is?
By the time I got home it was dark. I put my bike away in our shed. Mum, Uncle Hendrik and Cindy were already sitting at the table when I got inside. I could smell fish and chips for supper.
‘Sorry I’m late. I had to go and sell eggs and…’ My words dried up when I saw my mum’s face.
‘Go and wash your hands then come and eat,’ she said.
When I sat down at the table, Cindy glared at me as if she’d just heard that I abused puppies. (Whatever it was, it wasn’t that – I had never treated an animal badly. Except maybe that time when I was small and forgot to clean the fish bowl and they all died, but that really had not been on purpose.)
My mum dished up for me without breathing a word. Uncle Hendrik didn’t look up from his plate.
The fish on my plate reminded me of the dead goldfish, and I was no longer hungry. But I suspected I was in trouble already, so I didn’t dare say that I didn’t want to eat.
‘What are you and the neighbours’ son up to?’ Mum asked as I put the first bite of fish into my mouth.
I swallowed. The fish felt dry in my mouth. ‘We’re making a movie. About zombies.’
Oh no. I immediately knew what this was all about. Vusi’s mum had probably found out that we’d sneaked away on the bicycles to shoot the movie somewhere else. And she had probably talked to my mum, and now there was trouble…
Mum’s eyes pinned me to my seat. ‘Have the two of you been in your dad’s and my room?’
It was so unexpected that I didn’t know what to say. I took a sip of milk to gulp the fish down. So I’d been wrong about Vusi’s mum. It was much worse…
‘Clucky, where is Dad’s leather jacket?’ Mum asked with a dangerous tone in her voice.
There was an awful silence as everyone waited for me to answer.
‘I… I just borrowed it. For the
movie.’
Mum took a deep breath and made a wheezing sound before she let fly. ‘Borrowed? To play with? Don’t you have any respect?’
‘Trisa…’ said Uncle Hendrik softly, but there was no stopping Mum.
‘Your dad’s gone, Clucky…’
I gritted my teeth and fought back the tears that were burning behind my eyes. My breath was racing, burning my nose.
‘…and you’re playing with his clothes!’
I jumped up, not paying attention to the chair falling over and clattering to the floor. ‘He isn’t gone!’ I screamed. ‘He’s dead! But no one in this house ever speaks about that. You all pretend that nothing has happened. He’s dead! Have you forgotten? He went to buy fish…’ I shoved the plate of fish and chips aside. ‘And there was an accident and he’s never going to need a jacket again and he’s never going to…’ I choked back my tears. ‘He’s not gone!’ I screamed. ‘He’s never going to sleep in a bed again–’
‘Clucky, stop it!’ yelled Cindy.
‘He’s not a zombie!’
Mum was surprisingly fast. The imprint of her hand burned on my face where she slapped me. The same cheek that Chris had kissed earlier that afternoon.
For a split second, everyone was dead quiet, like in a movie. Then Cindy started crying and I stormed off to my room.
My Dad and a Brilliant Plan
Ten things I remembered about my dad:
1. How he would get home in the afternoon and shout, ‘Good afternoon, slaves! Bring my tobacco and bring my pipe!’ Even though he didn’t smoke.
2. His golden tooth that you could only see when he was having a really good laugh.
3. The time when he and Mum polished off a whole bottle of wine in the lounge and danced to old-fashioned records while Cindy and I egged them on by clapping our hands.
4. The way he always went outside to shake off the loose hairs after Mum had cut his hair.
