I pushed my feet and clipped an empty bottle, sending it bouncing and spinning across the stone. I waited for it to break, but amazingly it didn’t. I retrieved it and placed it on the table, still in one piece. I turned off my cassette player and began the walk back home.
I was almost at the front door when I caught the sound of an engine. Something about it made me stop.
I turned, and beyond our drive I saw a dirt-white pickup leading a trail of red dust as it came near. I urged it to carry on past, for it to be just any old pickup, but already I knew it wouldn’t. Sure enough, it turned in.
Ivan had come to find me.
“Shit.”
I didn’t have time to think. I ran around to the side of the house. Straightaway my old man looked up from his newspaper.
“What’s happened?” he startled.
“Dad. Hi,” I said, feigning calm words very badly. “Where’s Matilda?”
“What?”
“Matilda,” I urged. “Where the bloody hell is she?”
“Now look, Robert, there’s no need to be like that. I thought we’d got through all your issues about your stepmother.”
“We have. I like Matilda. But this has nothing to do with her.”
Although that wasn’t completely true. It did really.
Out at the front of the house, Ivan’s brakes squealed to a halt.
“Never mind, it’s too late. Just stay here, okay?”
“Why?” he tried to crane forward. “Who is it?”
“Please, stay here. And Matilda. Trust me on this.”
And I ran back around in time to stop Ivan getting out from behind the wheel.
“Howzit,” I said, all cheerful.
Ivan looked out and took a long swig from the Coke bottle he held between his knees.
“So this is what your house looks like,” he said at last. “And you’re not dead after all. I’m disappointed, because that can only mean you’ve been choosing not to see us.”
I laughed. Ivan didn’t.
“I’ve been revising,” I explained.
“That’s what you always say.” Another slow swig. “What’s your problem, Jacko? You’ve stopped seeing us in the holidays and at school you haven’t been out with us in bloody months. You’re missing all the fun.”
“I don’t have a problem.”
“So why don’t you join in anymore . . . you know . . . with the games?”
Games, I thought. Is that what the past two years have been to you?
I shrugged. Out of the corner of my eye I saw my old man standing on the grass, looking at us. Then he turned and said something to someone out of sight. It could only have been to Matilda.
“Okay, I’ll come now,” I told Ivan hurriedly.
He seemed pleased by that.
“Really?”
“Ja. It’ll be fun.”
“Well about bloody time. Go get your stuff.”
Relieved that he didn’t even try to move from the car, I darted back toward the house.
“And hurry the hell up,” he called after me. “Five minutes and I’m coming to get you.”
I was out in four.
TWENTY-SEVEN
Most of the boys from school came from rich families but you never really thought about it, it just was. Klompie’s aunt and uncle were slightly different because you couldn’t help notice they were seriously rich.
Their house was in Borrowdale for a start, and it was one of the best. Two stories sitting contentedly in a massive garden on the gentle undulations of the capital’s most desirable suburb, with tennis court, swimming pool, and sauna, and the main gate was an electric one you could control from the car—you didn’t have to wait for the houseboy each time. The garage doors, all four of them, were automatic as well, although they were closed and locked most of the time; you rarely got a glimpse of the dazzling BMW, Range Rover, and Mercedes paintwork, and even Klompie was only allowed near one of the two VW Golfs parked in the drive.
This was a white man’s paradise, and everything my father had ever pointed an accusatory finger at. It was lavish and exclusive, out of reach for the majority, yet I’d always had the feeling the ten-foot wall right around the perimeter was as much to keep us in as it was to keep people out.
I went through the French windows and collapsed onto the sofa in the lower living room, overcome by tiredness or the crushing boredom, I couldn’t tell which. I’d wanted to go to the Graceland concert playing at Rufaro Stadium that weekend but I was here now. It wasn’t just music, it was antiapartheid, and in Ivan’s eyes Nelson Mandela should die in prison and Paul Simon was nothing more than a shit-stirring Kaffir lover, so that was that.
In the other living room, Klompie and Pittman were at the bar with their forearms locked together and deep in drunken concentration. They were playing their favorite game, the one where a lighted smoke is placed in the crack where two arms touch and the first one to flinch has to drink.
Upstairs, in one of the five bedrooms that had become his during the holidays when he wasn’t seeing his own folks, Ivan was with Adele making noise. I buried my head under a cushion and tried hard to imagine it wasn’t Adele up there he was doing it to, that it was somebody else, anybody, but it was no good.
It was like nothing had changed. This was no different to any of the holidays before when I’d come to stay. No wonder I’d wanted it to end.
I threw the cushion into the corner.
“I’m going to Dairy Den. Who wants?”
And in case anyone heard I quickly slipped out.
Beyond the gate, the tarmac road was a furnace under my bare feet, but already my head was starting to ease. At last: change. For the briefest of moments I was free again, and I wallowed in it.
When I got back the house was quiet. The bar area was deserted. I went down to the lower living room for a smoke.
I got to the coffee table in the middle before I realized Adele was there, too, lying on the sofa.
I started, my cheeks instantly warm. Adele’s mouth pulled upward and sideways as she sat up and I blushed even harder. As far as I could see, she only had on a towel wrapped around her, and she struggled slightly to keep it closed while keeping her cigarette away from the cushions. It was clumsy, but I yearned even more—Christ, anything she did looked sexy.
“Hey, Robert.” She took a drag and blew soft smoke toward me. “I knew it was you. You have a much gentler step than Ivan.”
“Oh,” I smiled, feeling stupid, and then I couldn’t talk anymore because nothing would come.
“It’s nice, I like it. I’ve missed you being around. I borrowed your lighter, I hope you don’t mind.”
“Sure. Lekker. Help yourself.”
Ivan had a lighter she could have used and yet she’d chosen mine.
“Want a smoke?”
“Thanks.” I reached and our fingers touched. At exactly the same time our eyes touched, too, and now she started to blush. It made me braver so I sat beside her, guilty and excited.
Adele didn’t move away, only pulled the towel over a yellow-green bruise on her thigh.
“Where is everyone?” I asked. “It’s like a scene from Ghostbusters in here.”
“They’ve gone to the store. Ivan said we needed more beers.”
“I didn’t see them on the road. Mind you, with Klompie’s driving they could be anywhere. If they’re not back in half an hour we’d better send out a search party, hey?”
Adele giggled and came a little closer. “Robert, you’re so bad. Shame.”
“I know, you’re right. Sorry.” I counted to five. “Better make that fifteen minutes or we might never see them again.”
“Shame, hey!” I got a playful slap. “You’ll get into trouble with them.”
“I’m eighteen. I think I can take care of myself.”
I could have sat there with her forever. I never wanted it to end. I pushed for something else funny to say but all of a sudden something dark fell and before I’d turned around I
knew it was him. He was back.
Ivan was a few steps into the room, his corporals flanking his sides. He was bearing down with a look I knew only too well, the only difference was that sometimes I’d been up there with the other two when it happened. I leaped and moved away.
Gradually, Ivan came in and took my place. He grabbed Adele’s legs and pulled them so they were across his lap, stroking them like he was rubbing down wood while the other hand massaged his upper lip—he’d taken to growing a mustache in the holidays that wasn’t as thick as Mr. van Hout’s but looked just like it.
“Howzit, sweetie,” he said, still checking me out. I lit my smoke again, acting normally while inside I felt my stomach melting. “What are you guys up to?”
“Nothing,” she replied calmly, but her eyes flicked me a look and I saw she was just as scared. “You know . . . talking. Just talking.”
“I saw. What about?” He scraped his fingers lower and began bending her toes.
“Nothing,” she said again, the one answer I’d hoped she would and wouldn’t give because “nothing” was a guilty admission. Anyone who went to school knew that.
Ivan’s hand stopped. “Do you want to fuck him?”
I blurted smoke. Adele’s eyes opened wide and she slapped his arm—not too hard.
“Hey!”
“I’m serious. Do you fancy him? Because I reckon you’re the one Jacko thinks about whenever he locks himself in the toilet.”
I hid my hand because it was trembling so hard. Adele teetered on the edge.
A laugh burst from Ivan’s mouth. “Oh, man!” he clapped his hands. “You two should check your faces. You’re hysterical. I was joking!”
Klompie and Pittman joined in. I put on a dutiful smile while Adele just stared at a spot on the floor. She could barely hold on to the tears and, keeping her towel tightly around her, she stood and fled the room.
“Jeez, can’t you take a joke?” Ivan yelled after her. “Jacko’s a virgin; a painted wall is enough to get him shooting off.”
A door slammed.
He rolled his eyes. “Chicks! Who wants a swim and another beer? We got heaps, and I made the Kaffir get us real coldies from the back. May as well get pissed before we hit town seeing as I won’t be getting my oats again today.”
Another night, another bar, another club.
“Where are we going?” I asked with disguised sarcasm. “The Causerie? Flagstaff? Captain’s Cabin? Or maybe some place we haven’t drunk dry before?”
Ivan sat back, arms wide across the back of the sofa.
“You haven’t had a night out with us in ages, so you choose”—he nodded at me—“and I’ll get the first round for cracking a joke at your expense. Because you wouldn’t dare fancy my girl, would you, Jacko? Hey?”
I didn’t care where we went so I chose The Causerie.
Adele said she could see the funny side of Ivan’s joke and apologized to him, but as soon as we got there she spotted some schoolmates and went straight to their table. Ivan gave the finger as she went.
We grabbed the table in the corner. The waiter took five minutes to come, by which stage Ivan was furious and told him to get lost; he didn’t want him touching his beer. He made me go to the bar instead, and when I got back he and Klompie and Pittman were in a conspiratorial huddle. They looked serious. I couldn’t hear a word because the music was too loud so I necked my Depth Charge and went back to the bar.
I was happy to stay there this time. As the music thumped and the mix of beer and mint liqueur worked its magic I started to relax. Ivan and his gang could have their secrets. I was content to keep away from whatever they were. Doubly so when the DJ started spinning “True Faith” because Adele couldn’t resist the call of her favorite song and flocked to the floor. Watching her dance made me fall in love with her again. There wasn’t a single guy who wasn’t checking her. I wanted to make eye contact but she wouldn’t quite turn my way; she kept her eyes down and hid behind her hair, biting her lip. She was trying to ignore me, and that made me feel good.
She waved toward Ivan when she caught him looking. He didn’t react, just kept glancing over his shoulder at her, then at me, making sure.
I wished I could leave. I wished I had the courage to walk out and keep walking and never come back. Instead, I simply moved to the end of the bar and ordered another drink.
I lit a smoke. The match broke up and hit my leg, I jumped and smacked it before it could burn a hole.
“Hey! Watch it,” said the guy on the next stool, drawing his beer in and rounding his shoulders. “Spill my drink and I’ll kill you.”
I’d barely registered he was there until then. I started to apologize, then stopped the instant I checked his face. I stared. It was all I could do.
“What are you gawping at? Keep eyeballing me and I’ll kill you.”
It was Greet.
True, he didn’t look much like the senior boy I’d last seen four years before; he had mullet hair and the skin on his face was heavier, but it was definitely him. And age wasn’t the only thing he’d gained: a sagging chin and a belly overhang that smothered the top of his drawstrings showed me a young man who was serious about protecting his beer. Plus I couldn’t get over how much shorter than me he was now when he’d always been a giant. Above all that, he looked tired. Tired, worn-out, and utterly harmless.
Where had the monster gone? Or had I just stopped believing in monsters?
“I said, what the bloody hell are you—”
“Howzit, Greet,” I said. I felt completely calm.
He looked me up and down, taking a long sip. He was very drunk.
“Do I know you?”
“You went to Haven School.” Then: “Selous House.”
“Tell me something I don’t know.”
“You left in eighty-three.”
“Were you a squack?”
“Robert Jacklin,” I told him.
Greet met the news with a shake of his head. How could he not remember?
“Did I beat you?”
“Once or twice.”
“Good. I’m sure you deserved it, you look as though you were a little poof. Give me one of your smokes, I’m all out.”
How could he not remember me? The taunts. The beatings. Day after day, my life of living hell.
My heart began to race. The music pounded. Lights flicked red, green, and blue, then the sharp, stuttering white of a strobe that flashed snapshots of his whole face, with each one a new memory coming back. After all these years, the stinging pain. I could feel every swipe.
“What are you up to these days?” I asked, taking a Madison out of the pack. He ogled it, licking his lips.
“Ach, you know, man. Bit of this, bit of that. Security. Farm help. My old man got me jobs pushing papers but I jacked them all in. Too boring. I’ve been between jobs for the last six months. Maybe something good will come along soon. Hurry up with that gwaai, man.”
He held out his hand. I leaned in closer.
“That’s tough. As you say, maybe it’ll come good soon. Or maybe you’ll never find a job and die a sad and sorry death.” I made sure he got every word. “There can’t be much out there for a sadistic, shit-for-brains dickhead like you.”
I dropped the smoke into his beer. He blinked at it for a good five seconds, openmouthed, before turning to me.
“What are you staring at, you ignorant prick?” I said. “Have you remembered me yet, or are you still trying to place the Pommie squack you used to put your cigarettes out on?”
I stood over him and buried the glowing cherry of my smoke into his arm.
Greet yelped and jerked back, catching his beer with his elbow and sending it flying. The glass crashed to the other side of the bar.
He jumped up from his stool.
“What the . . . ?”
He lurched and grabbed my shirt but it didn’t take much to swat him away. With rolling eyes, he swayed and fought for balance.
“You’re pathetic, Greet,�
�� I yelled over the music, enjoying the words. “You’re not even an excuse.”
He came again. His fist caught me on the side of the head, but it was badly aimed and went too far, and he ended up falling. It didn’t hurt at all, though I suddenly had a dead weight pushing against me. I tried to shove him back only my legs got caught up with the stool behind, and the next thing I knew I was on the deck. The bouncer had Greet with his arms pinned behind his back.
Klompie and Pittman were there, pulling me up, while Ivan dealt with the bouncer.
“It’s okay, they’re friends,” he tried to explain.
Friends? I thought.
The bouncer wasn’t listening. There were fights every night at The Causerie and he just wanted us gone. He bundled us all together and we all fell out of the doors.
The night was warm and still: a sanctuary. I stood on the walkway and breathed in clean air, and the rush in my head quickly started to ease.
“Hey! Where are you guys going? Let’s just go home,” I called out when I realized Ivan and the others weren’t stopping. I followed them down the steps and across the parking lot, then into a dark alley along the side of the hotel. They half carried, half dragged a loping Greet and dropped him into bags of rubbish.
Ivan emerged back onto the street.
“What are you waiting for? This is your chance.”
“For what?” I replied, although I knew.
“To get your own back.” He waited. “You made a good start, now finish it off. Well?”
“I’m not so sure.”
“Shit. Whatever it is, Jacko, you’d better snap the hell out of it. Don’t you want revenge? Stop acting so gay.”
Klompie and Pitters stood behind him. Pitters already had blood on his knuckles.
At the end of the alley, I could see Greet with vomit and grime on his face trying to crawl. Beyond, I caught ourselves in one of the large hotel windows, and in that reflection I was one of them again. Four boys dangerously close to the edge of manhood, together.
Out of Shadows Page 16
