Читать книгу Stargazer - Jan van Tonder - Страница 6

I headed up the street to get out of Pa’s sight before he could think of something else to send me to the bathroom for.

It was almost time for Mara to come home. When the girls went to town on a Saturday morning, they had to be home by one. Ma liked having all her children round the table at lunchtime.

If I waited at the bus stop, Mara might buy me something at the café. She didn’t like it when Pa gave me a hiding. If she was home, she’d stop the first ice-cream cart that came along and allow me to choose whatever I wanted. Real ice cream too, not the ice suckers Ma bought.

“Pa almost gave me a hiding today,” I told her as soon as she got off the bus.

“Why?”

“He asked me how my arm got broken.”

“And?”

“So I told him.”

“The truth?”

Was she going to start with me too? “Yep.”

“Even that it happened on a Sunday?”

“How do you know it was a Sunday?”

“Joepie’s mom. She says she’s worried about you.”

“If she was really worried about me, she wouldn’t have told Pa.”

It seemed I’d been waiting for Mara in vain. We’d already reached the vacant lot before you turned into our street. We were long past the café and we’d almost passed the OK Bazaars.

“Know what, Timus?”

“What?”

“I think I know the real reason why Pappie wanted to give you a hiding: it’s because of the trees. Now that you’ve broken your arm, you can’t help him with the trees.”

I hadn’t thought of that.

On Saturdays Pa chopped down trees. Trees that were messy or made people’s houses too dark, or had roots that caused walls to crack. Or that people feared might fall on their cars and stuff. That was why we’d be going to Kenneth’s house one of these days. Even though he was English, Kenneth Shaw was in my class at school. His mom wanted him to be bilingual. Their house sat right at the top of the hill on the other side of Bluff Road. Rich people, with two sheets on each bed. I couldn’t understand why, though. Their blankets were so soft, there was no chance they’d be scratchy. Kenneth’s mom was pretty. She didn’t look like the other moms. Her hair was always neatly done and she wore red lipstick. When I went there after school and I stood on their front stoep, I sometimes saw Pa’s bulldozer far below us where they were reclaiming the vleiland next to the harbour.

“Pa isn’t fair, Mara.”

“That’s no lie,” she replied.

I was beginning to despair of the ice cream.

“If he was fair, he would’ve allowed you to dance at your twenty-first.”

“You can say that again too.” Mara stopped in her tracks. “I’ll tell you what . . .”

“What?”

“Why don’t you bring a partner to my party?”

As if that would make up for all those hours in the bathroom.

“I don’t have a girlfriend.”

“What about Elsie?”

Elsie was in my class too. She was pretty. Prettier than any other girl I knew. Except for Helen. Helen was Zane’s girlfriend. If you saw Helen at the pool or at Anstey’s, or Brighton Beach in her shiny bikini and she stopped to say hello, you just knew all the girls were jealous of her. And all the boys of Zane. When Helen talked to you and looked into your eyes, you couldn’t look away. And if you stood close to her while she was talking to someone else, you could see the fine, downy hairs on her legs and the faint shadow that led downward from her navel. Braam said he could understand why Zane said he’d kill if anyone messed with her. Or if she ever cheated on him. The only other guys she was allowed to talk to were us, because we were too young for her, and Joon. Joon could visit her at home, even when Zane wasn’t there. I always thought it was because of Joon’s squint, but Ouma Makkie said no, Zane was afraid of Joon – in a way that he couldn’t fix with his fists.

I’d never seen Elsie in a bikini, but that was all right. I’d been carrying her bag to school and back ever since the first Republic Day. That day everyone, from Pa right down to the teachers and Dominee Van den Berg, was bursting with pride because we were no longer a Union. All but the English people. They’d wanted us to remain a Union, under the queen’s flag. We had a big celebration at school and every child received a small flag. Dominee opened the proceedings with a prayer and our principal, Meneer Gertenbach, introduced a stranger in a dark suit and hat who delivered a speech. I wasn’t really listening to him – Elsie was next to me. I didn’t care whether we stood under the queen’s flag or the flag of the Republic. One of the other boys grabbed Elsie’s flag, so I gave her mine. We’d almost reached home before I managed to ask whether I could carry her schoolbag. When she handed it to me our fingers touched. After that our fingers touched every time I reached for her bag, and when I gave it back to her as well.

But last year, in standard five, I suddenly became nervous. About something Martina said out of the blue one day: “I see Elsie’s growing up. She’s really pretty, hips and titties and all. You’ll have to watch out when you go to high school, Timus, she’s going to be a hit.”

I was annoyed. But scared too.

“I’m the one who carries her schoolbag, man.”

Martina nodded as if she knew something I didn’t. I hated it when my sisters did that.

“OK, so you carry her schoolbag, but do you hold her hand?”

I was going to tell her about the fingers, but she went on.

“And have you kissed her, Timus?”

Martina had been right. This year, in high school, Voete Labuschagne was soon talking to Elsie during break. The minute I saw them together I knew. Voete’s voice had broken and he shaved and he’d been playing in the first rugby team since standard seven. Voete had failed standard ten. Some people said he’d done it on purpose so that he’d have another year of playing rugby for the school.

Anyway, Elsie became Voete’s girlfriend. And there was nothing I could do about it. If I was Zane, I could have, but I’m not – I’m me.

When Mara and I reached home, she took out her purse and gave me ten cents. “Go buy yourself an ice cream,” she said.

I took the money, but I didn’t want ice cream any more.

“Timus, my boy,” Ouma Makkie said, “if Zane is as strong as you say, why can’t he keep Joon away from Helen?”

“And Oom Rocco away from his mom,” Martina added.

Ma flicked her on the bum with a wet dishcloth.

“Eina!”

“Keep your nose out of grown-ups’ business, especially if it’s monkey business, and especially where Timus is present.”

If I hadn’t had my ears wide open, I probably wouldn’t have known about Zane’s mom and Oom Rocco in the first place. And how wary people were of Joon. When he was around, they left their scheming for later. Once, when Zane’s mom and Oom Rocco had been on their way somewhere, Joon suddenly appeared, barring their way. Oom Rocco was rich. He drove a convertible. He called on Zane’s mom when his dad was working day shift. Sometimes they went for a drive and then Zane’s mom wore her prettiest headscarf so that the wind wouldn’t mess up her hair.

But that day, with Joon suddenly standing in front of them, she hung her head and went back into the house and Oom Rocco was so angry that his tyres squealed as he pulled away.

When Ma heard the story, she said she wished Joon could be everywhere. Then perhaps there’d be less monkey business in this place where she was trying to give her children a decent upbringing.

“If Zane really wanted to,” I said, “he could knock out both Joon and Oom Rocco.”

Ouma Makkie put a pinch of snuff into her nose. “Then why does he take out his frustration on those poor, innocent bats?”

“Hmph! There’s nothing innocent about a bat,” Ma said.

It was the fruit bats that Ma couldn’t stand, not the ordinary ones. When the fruit on our wild fig tree was ripe, you could see them hanging among the leaves during the day, larger and uglier than ordinary bats. At night they ate the figs and as they flew past they splattered our walls with their shit. In the morning Gladys had to hose down the walls and then she always said: “Zane is killing the wrong bats.”

It was impossible to predict when it would happen, but one day at dusk someone would hear the whistling of the cable, and before long the entire railway camp knew: tonight Zane would be hunting bats.

Usually you came home from school and Ma was doing the normal things around the house. You could hear dogs barking, and Riempies was curled up on Pa’s chair. You heard the noise of the shunting yard and the loco. You had your coffee and sandwiches, changed out of your school uniform and went outside to play.

It would be an ordinary day until the cable began to swing. By the time there were three dead bats on the ground, Zane had a string of children trailing behind him.

He would walk on top of the wall that kept the steep grounds of the houses on the hillside from washing away when it rained.

Zane spoke to no one, but every time the cable connected with a bat, he’d mutter: “Bastard.”

We helped him collect the dead bats and put them in a box. Every single one had to be picked up.

Joon hated it when Zane swung the cable. He said bats did no harm. But Zane listened to no one. Not even to Joon Stargazer.

The darker it got, the more difficult it became to retrieve all Zane’s bats. Some fell into shrubs, and we’d only find them the next day, on our way to school. Some were still alive, crawling around with broken wings, baring their teeth and squeaking when you reached for them. Once I was bitten and thought I might get rabies. I was lucky that I didn’t.

We never knew when Zane would stop. It always happened suddenly. He’d lower his arm and the cable would fall to the ground. Then he’d go to the lamppost where King Crescent rounded the bend at the Gouwses’ house, near our own place, and he’d wait there for the box with the bats. The street lights were smashed regularly by boys with catapults. Then the Corporation had to come and fix them. But the one in front of the Gouwses’ house was never broken. I think the boys were afraid to break that one, because it was Zane’s bat light. When the box arrived, he’d empty it in the street and the bats would fall out – flop, flop, flop. Twenty, thirty of them. He’d step on those that were still alive. “Bastard, bastard, bastard!” Then he’d turn and walk away.

Sometimes Joepie would pick up a dead bat and chase the girls down the street. He’d hold it so that the wings were spread out like Dominee Van den Berg’s robe when he held up his arms to bless the congregation.

The next day not a single bat would be left; only a small pile of white bones. At first we thought it was the work of cats, but we knew a cat didn’t pick a bone clean, like ants do, and not even a whole colony of ants could have done that overnight.

“Something happens to them during the night,” Joepie said. “A miracle or something.”

He belonged to the Apostolic church. Ma said they were greater believers in miracles than we were.