Faceless
Berend Van der Poll
Copyright 2012 Berend Van der Poll
Faceless
Berend Van der Poll
Sixteen-year-old Siphewe Fasala, the town’s go-getter, had a lot of time for his friends, but none for his family. His most loved family member was dead, and those remaining only served to remind him of what he’d lost. That wasn’t something he could cope with
Siphewe fought many battles, and walked away from most of them victorious. He was only human and the fights he fought – and lost – as a gangster brought him near death on numerous occasions. However, neither this nor his enemy’s size fazed Siphewe, for he wasn’t afraid of death. He believed that, if a man bled like him, he could be defeated.
Siphewe never slept at home. When he had, his mother, Nala, had tried everything to keep her only son under her roof. Ever since Siphewe’s father had died three years ago of a heart attack, the sixteen-year-old just didn’t care.
Nala tried communicating with her son, but Siphewe always cut the conversations short. Talking to his mother reminded him of his father.
Since Thabo had died, Siphewe’s attitude changed; the boy took on a nickname in a different part of the township where nobody knew his face or name. He was an alien there. What he did in his part of the township, he did here. He was bad. It was what Siphewe wanted – a nickname and trouble. He loved it.
Everybody had heard of Ampie, the name with no face. The bigger gangs tried to find him, but ‘Ampie’ was just a name they were hunting.
Later, Ampie became known throughout the township. Everyone feared the things he had done.
At times, the township’s people had thought that maybe Ampie was just a name somebody had made up to be foolish and to scare them.
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There was a section in Masiphumelele, also known as Site Five, where outsiders never dared set foot due to the gunshots and the screaming most weekends.
Everybody was welcomed into Site Five, as long as you remembered where you were and respected the locals. Walking down the streets of Site Five, every third or fourth house was a shebeen. Site Five residents polluted the streets with their presence as they stood on the pavements in groups, talking. A few of them stood in total silence, watching and trying to catch the visitor’s eye.
Three gangs controlled Site Five. The Seven-Ups, all mature members, ran the back of the township. The Paperboys, its members aged sixteen to eighteen, controlled the front of the township while The Juvies, also teenagers, controlled the middle.
There was a huge fight between The Seven-Ups and The Juvies one Sunday. The Juvies were outnumbered. However, they weren’t afraid to stand their ground, and their seventeen-year-old leader, when offered a chance to be recognised in Site Five when going to war against The Seven-Ups, accepted immediately.
The chances of The Juvies losing to The Seven-Ups were great, and it was obvious that the gang members knew this, but, as brothers, they had to stand together and fight. The Juvies asked The Paperboys to stand with them when they took on The Seven-Ups.
The Paperboys refused, because three members had been murdered by The Seven-Ups the previous year just for visiting their territory.
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In The Seven-Ups’ territory, large crowds gathered around the two gangs.
It started when the two leaders approached each other and talked. The crowds went quiet as the leaders’ hands waved in each other’s faces.
It was on!
The leader of The Juvies dug his knife into his enemy’s stomach and sprinted back to his gang. The Seven-Ups charged forward, weapons raised; one member ran to his leader and pulled him to safety.
Those watching roared, shouted and screamed.
It was a massacre. The Juvies were no match for The Seven-Ups and they knew this, but Mongo, The Juvies’ leader, couldn’t walk away. It wasn’t his pride that made him accept it, but the fact that a man must stand up for himself. The fight was for respect, and although they were going down in large numbers, for respect, it was worth it.
Somewhere in the middle of all the fighting, Lover, The Seven-Ups’ leader, regained some of his strength after being stabbed by Mongo. He scanned the fighting crowd, simultaneously grabbing enemies and dropping them with a powerful punch or his sable’s blade.
He found Mongo.
Lover pushed through the crowd, pulling and throwing people out of his way. He was about ten metres from his prey, and charged towards him like a lion after a dog.
Mongo, only one point five metres tall, grabbed one of his enemies who was two heads taller than him and punched him in the chest, then finally swung his knife…
Something caught Mongo’s eye. He looked off and saw Lover, whose face was twisted in anger. Lover already had his knife shoulder high. Without hesitation, Mongo grabbed the man he was punching and pushed him in front of Lover, just in time for Lover to dig his blade into his own man’s neck.
There was no time to say sorry to his gangster brother. Lover was angry. Mongo had made him kill one of his soldiers. Mongo charged forward, knife raised, and swung at Lover.
Lover jumped back, dodging the blade. “You caught me off guard before, boy. Not this time.” He grabbed Mongo’s knife hand and squeezed it so hard that the knife dropped. “Today you are going to die by my hand!”
Mongo pulled and punched, but Lover was almost double his size and twice as strong. Lover let Mongo’s arm go to grasp his neck. Mongo stared helplessly into Lover’s cold eyes as his windpipe closed. Something thumped into Mongo’s body and his eyelids closed.
Lover kept his hand around Mongo’s neck until his body went limp, then pulled his bloody knife out of Mongo’s stomach and dropped it in the dirt.
Loud whistling came from somewhere. The fight between the two gangs came to an end and faces turned to the leaders. The Seven-Ups’ leader stood, but The Juvies’ leader lay on the ground in his own blood.
Lover walked to an old and rusty Ford Cortina that stood not too far away and jumped onto the bonnet. “Your leader is dead!” He jumped onto the roof. “What’s left of you, walk away!” He jumped off the car and watched The Juvies walk away.
Thirty Juvies had gone to war against forty-five Seven-Ups. Only five Juvies returned to their territory that day, and forty-two Seven-Ups remained standing.
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Months later, Siphewe Fasala sat at the table in a shebeen. Three of his close friends, Wandile, Sphesethu and Zeebar, sat around him drinking beer. The townships’ shebeens were always packed.
Siphewe was the one in charge of their gang around Site Five.
“Siphewe,” called Sphesethu.
Siphewe’s eyes turned to the door as five boys walked in and sat down three tables away. Siphewe knew them. He’d had a fight with the bald boy. Siphewe had broken his nose.
Siphewe had walked home after a night of drinking and smoking when Bald Boy and two friends had peeled out of the darkness and tried to mug Siphewe. Siphewe had jumped into the fight and broken Bald Boy’s nose with one punch. When he had pulled his knife, the other two boys had backed off.
Siphewe’s eyes never left Bald Boy…
“Siphewe,” called Sphesethu again.
“What?” asked Siphewe.
“What are we going to do tonight?” Sphesethu asked.
“What are we doing now?” asked Siphewe, still looking at the other table.
Sphesethu sat back in his chair and grabbed his quart.
Wandile followed Siphewe’s eyes. “Who are they?”
Siphewe picked up his beer and sat back. “The bald one is MacGyver.”
“Wasn’t he the one who tried to rob you that other time?” asked Sphesethu.
“Yes.” Siphewe took another gulp from his beer. “And he got fucked up for t
rying.”
“Wait, that is MacGyver!” said Wandile after looking over his shoulder.
“Are you deaf?” asked Siphewe. “I just said that.”
“That’s Lover’s little brother,” Wandile told him.
Siphewe said, “I know.”
“That’s right, yes,” said Sphesethu. “Now I remember him: The Seven-Ups’ leader’s baby brother.”
“I’m not afraid of Lover,” Siphewe stated.
All three boys looked over their shoulder at MacGyver, and then back at Siphewe, who was deep in thought.
Zeebar said, “We must take them on.”
“Listen here! You follow my lead. Understand?”
All three nodded.
Siphewe finished his beer and sank back in his chair, his eyes not leaving MacGyver. “Do you think I am stupid or something? Snotkop told me they’d be here tonight.”
Snotkop was a member of The Juvies, and Siphewe’s friend.
The three boys grinned. There was going to be a fight tonight, and, with Siphewe fighting, it wasn’t going to be a girl fight.
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Siphewe had already planned this night and how the fight would happen. He also planned what was going to happen at the end of the fight. They had already left the
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