Halleys comet, p.15
Halley's Comet, page 15
Pete watched closely the Sarel Cilliers player running with the ball. He could see he was waiting for the perfect moment to pass. Pete sensed an opportunity and moved slightly to his left, pushing his opponent further away from his teammates. The ball carrier’s eyes widened. Then, realising he had probably left it too late, let go a looping floated pass. It was high and heavy, and exactly what Pete had been waiting for. He stepped hard off his left foot and sprinted, never taking his eyes off the ball, jumped high, slapped the ball out of its trajectory, recovered, and plucked it centimetres from the ground. Defenders came at him from all directions, but his eyes were fixed on the corner flag. He ran with everything he had, forgetting all the sprinting lessons from their athletics coach; this was just raw, pure running. The chalk waved him in. Five metres out, someone crashed into his side, but he somehow kept going. Three metres out, someone dived into his legs, he tripped and bounced hard on the bristly grass while another defender flew right over him. The line was right there, he reached for it, another hand appeared to his left, he reached and reached ...
Rikus de Lange was a tall man, but right then, sitting behind the wheel of their VW Passat, he seemed eight feet tall. His chest was puffed out and his smile so wide it looked painted on. Pete sat next to him and let every drop of Coke roll over his tongue to allow the taste to linger. He was picking little bits of dirt out of the grazes on his legs. His dad didn’t say much after the game, but he didn’t need to – pride was like a dense fog around him. Pete replayed that moment over and over in his mind. The hand stretching to stop him, then the puff of chalk, the whistle – try time!
Every time he replayed that try in his head, his mind jumped forwards to a few minutes later: the final whistle went, relieved and delirious supporters stormed the field, a barrage of taps on the back, and then the earth stopped turning, the sky burst into the illuminating glory of a thousand suns, and everyone disappeared, except for ... Renate. Her smile walked closer, radiating the sweet nectar of honey, her long ponytail caressed her shoulder and she looked at him as if he was precious, worthy. Without warning or hesitation, her arms shot around his waist and her head rested on his shoulder. She squeezed and lingered until his uncertain hands folded over her delicate back. It was a perfect moment, her breath warm against him, her whole body so close that he thought they were somehow now merged into one.
Dannhauser appeared on the horizon. The endless kaleidoscope of yellows and browns stretched out in all directions, melting into the sky’s bright blue in a dusty haze. He had wanted to hold on to the moment for longer, to bask in the glory, not to be on his way to Newcastle for month-end shopping, his moment disappearing down the road at a hundred kilometres an hour. But perhaps it was better this way, to leave before reality could clip your wings and everything was still perfect. Then those who remained would only remember that perfection.
They made a quick stop in Dannhauser to pick up his mom. She was dressed in a floral dress and a white cardigan and smelled like lavender. Dressed in her best for the big town. Pete barely had time to change out of his rugby clothes before his mom bundled him back into the car, eager to get to Newcastle before all the shops were empty. On the backseat, with his muscles cooling down and an aching stiffness creeping into his body, his mind could not escape, nor did it want to, that long, unending embrace. And that with the girl who had occupied his dreams and fantasies since the moment he saw her standing in the January sun waiting for the bus, just over two years ago. Her hair had been neatly cut in a perfect short bob, her eyes like beacons for those searching for safe harbour. He had known then – particularly the lower half of his body – that she was the one. Two years was a long time to wait, watching as others with better credentials walked by her side; it was a long time to watch from the shadows and to yearn.
The road beyond Dannhauser was littered with hundreds of ant-hills. In the distance, the sun bounced off the mirror-like surface of Chelmsford Dam, much smaller than usual as the rain had only teased this year. It lay at the foot of the Drakensberg, which looked tired of wrapping its arms around their small province.
Every few seconds his mind would conjure up a different memory of that embrace. The feel of her delicate back under his hands, her soft bosom squeezed into his chest, the glow of her blonde hair as she tucked her face into the hollow of his shoulder, her smile that melted his heart, those perfect dimples that— “Wait a second!” he nearly said aloud. What were Sarita’s dimples doing in his daydream? What was Sarita doing in his fantasies, period? She had no right to be there.
Did she?
Pete had to get away from his muddled thoughts as quickly as possible. He started asking his mom about the list of things she wanted to buy. He had no interest in it whatsoever, but his mind had turned on him, changing his sweet memories and fantasies into a battlefield.
To his relief, they reached the long swooping hill just outside Newcastle, the town stretching out before them. It was their nearest large town with almost all the shops you would find in the city, everything from Pick ’n Pay to OK Bazaars, Clicks and even a Mike’s Kitchen. Today, though, was a special day. After months of suggesting and asking, almost to the point of begging, Pete’s dad finally agreed, or caved in, that the family could buy their very first microwave oven. More and more people now owned one, and it was fast becoming the must-have kitchen appliance for modern families. With its increased popularity, the price had also started coming down and, along with it, Rikus’s resistance. And when Game in Newcastle advertised a one-week-only promotion on the Defy Deanne had her eye on, the writing was on the wall. So today wasn’t just about grocery shopping at Pick ’n Pay; it was also about Game and getting that microwave, and an opportunity for Rikus to score some indelible points.
The shopping complex around Game was heaving. It was the anchor store in a complex that contained a Clicks, CNA, pet shop, hairdresser and the ever-alluring Milky Lane. Pete had a routine each time they went there. First, he would check Milky Lane for specials, then he would stroll around the pet shop to see what strange creatures they had. Once, they’d had a small snake the size of a pen, the same bright blue as a bubblegum milkshake, which made him think of Milky Lane again. The rest of his time was spent in Game’s sports section, testing rackets, spinning soccer balls on his finger and trying out golf clubs until his mom had done all her shopping.
Today was different though. The sheer gravitas of buying such an expensive item was enough to lure Pete away from his routine. Just before they reached Game’s wide, inviting entrance, he peeked over his shoulder at the daily specials sign at Milky Lane. It read: Milkshakes less 50% for under-18s.
His mom saw it too, placed her hand gently on his back and whispered in his ear, “Let’s get the microwave and then you can have a bubblegum milkshake, double thick.” She smiled with an infectiousness that made it difficult not to smile back, her excitement palpable.
* * *
The day before Deanne walked into Game to finally become a microwave owner, Venny sat alone in his shop. It was half an hour before opening time, and all was quiet. Under the counter on the bottom shelf, the package was staring at him. It was neatly wrapped in plain brown paper with nothing written on it. It was the size of a shoebox, maybe slightly bigger. It required supernatural restraint not to carefully peel the adhesive tape back and sneak a peek at what was inside. It called out to him, but he covered his ears. The package had been delivered the day before by a short, fat black guy called Solomon, who was blind in his left eye. Since then, Venny had moved the package several times, and every time it became harder not to open it. Some of the ends of the adhesive tape had started curling up teasingly. He knew that if he tore away all the packaging, he could just wrap it again without anyone being able to tell the difference – he had an abundance of brown paper in his shop. But he didn’t and he wouldn’t. He played by the rules. This was his first true test, his first true taste of the real thing, and nothing, not even the voice inside his head trying to convince him that no one would ever know, would stand in his way.
He wondered what time he should go. All Protea Seven had said was Friday morning, and Solomon wasn’t a talker. He decided he would open the shop, tell his wife he had to pop out for some supplies, and then race his Datsun Laurel to Newcastle and back in as close to an hour as he could. His wife would complain anyway, regardless of whether he was gone one minute or one day, so he wasn’t too worried about her. The only thing he worried about were those damned traffic cops who loved to stop cars near the Chelmsford Dam junction, especially Indians. They loved nothing more than to stop a hardworking Indian businessman and throw allegations around that everything from his car to the clothes on his back was stolen. “Because all Indians are sly scheming bastards,” Venny thought aloud. It was the motivation he needed. The picture was clear in his mind: he would take the package, place it in the trunk of his car and cover it with vegetables. If those pricks stopped him, he would use all his charm and humbly tell them that he merely had surplus stock and was taking it to a shop in Newcastle to be sold. He would show those opinionated, racist arseholes a thing or two. It wouldn’t even be hard: those imbeciles had fewer brain cells than a wet rock.
As predicted, his wife moaned. “Now you tell me,” her head shaking vehemently. “Right at the last minute. And where are you going that’s so special that it cannot wait?” Her index finger shot up in the air, pointing right in Venny’s face. “You can write it on that fat tummy of yours if you think I’m going to look after your shop. What about the loss of business? You pretend to be so clever, so let’s hear it?” This carried on for a good few minutes while he just stood and stared at her. Then he simply walked out of her shop without uttering another word, picked up the package and hid it under the vegetables in his trunk.
He loved his Datsun Laurel. He had bought it four years ago, second hand, from a cousin in Cato Manor. It had air-conditioning and a tape player, not that he ever used either, because, as everyone knew, those things ate petrol. The car was gold and had soft fabric seats. It wasn’t fast, but the ride was smooth and the automatic gearbox made any journey a joy. Achala hated it from the first moment, obviously, and Sarita always complained that it wobbled, which made her carsick. But to him, it was just perfect. He lit his Gunston and turned out of Dannhauser, driving faster than usual, but not too fast to attract attention.
The whole journey, lasting almost thirty minutes, was spent searching every hill, every shady tree, waiting for the moment when those damned traffic cops would leap out of the shadows and pull him over. It never happened, but by the time he turned left towards the entrance of Stone Mill Bakery, he was drenched in sweat.
He pulled up in the empty visitors’ parking area, wiped his face with his handkerchief and slowly stepped out of his car. It was a cool, breezy morning, and the bite in the air felt icy against his sweaty skin. From the boot, he lifted the cabbage and cauliflower and took out the package, holding it as if it were a loved one and this their final farewell. One last gust of curiosity blew through him; he swallowed and took a deep breath, placed the package in a plastic bag and covered it with cabbage.
“I’m here to see Gys, please?” he said to the morbidly obese man with white hair and a light-blue golf shirt at reception. The man didn’t respond. He slurped his Coke, made a noise that sounded like a bulldog when it got excited, and lifted the receiver as if it took enormous effort.
“Gys, there’s some coolie here to see you,” the man said. He slurped his Coke again and stretched awkwardly forward to rummage through his drawers. He emerged with a large bag of NikNaks and started eating, open-mouthed, leaning back in his chair.
Venny watched the man devour the NikNaks with repugnance until another man appeared in the doorway. He was in his mid-forties, with an early-onset beer belly and a severely receded hairline greying at the sides. But the thing that really chafed Venny deep inside was that the bloody guy was white. A whitey!
“I’m Gys,” he said. Venny couldn’t believe his eyes. A white guy who looked like a recruitment officer for the National Party was part of the Struggle, his Struggle. He didn’t like it. He couldn’t even begin to explain how much he didn’t like it. It wasn’t fair: whites had everything their deceitful hearts desired and now they wanted to rip the one thing they didn’t have away from the oppressed, the Struggle – their fight for freedom and justice. It wasn’t right.
“Hey, Hughie, someone opened a bag of cookies in the canteen, if you’re interested,” Gys said to the large man at reception. With surprising speed, Hughie got up and waddled out of the room.
“Where is it?” Gys asked as soon as Hughie disappeared behind the double swing doors. Venny’s blood was boiling. He couldn’t even look at Gys, this intruder polluting the sanctuary of his cause. He could spit fire.
“Listen, get over it,” Gys said.
“Get over what?” Venny snapped.
“I’m white, deal with it. Where’s the package?” Gys asked again. Venny thought he was a master at hiding his emotions but imagined that this man – this white man – fighting in a struggle alongside people of colour, must have had his fair share of hateful stares.
“Here,” Venny said, handing over the plastic bag. Those pale hands taking the bag from him burned his eyes. It just wasn’t right.
Gys lifted the cabbage and inspected the package wrapped in brown paper. “Cabbage?” he asked, not expecting an answer.
“And this too,” Venny slapped a fifty-rand note in Gys’s hand and peered over his shoulder.
Gys took the money and the package and disappeared through a side door off reception. After a few seconds, he returned with two large bags filled with loaves of bread and numerous bread rolls. He nodded to Venny as if to say it was time to go. Rage and questions seethed in Venny’s mind. He wanted to know about the plan, the contents of the package, everything. But this was his first big break and he would play his part. Without question.
Before Gys turned to go, he simply said, “Good work,” without looking at Venny.
Venny trudged back to his Datsun, put the bread on the seat next to him and closed his eyes, trying to calm down. Then he started the car and drove back as quickly as he could, only one thing playing on his mind: a bloody white guy?
* * *
Game was buzzing. It was packed with stressed-out moms, dads with distant and vacant stares, and kids, mostly wearing dirty rugby, hockey or netball uniforms, pestering their parents for sweet treats. Deanne was like a woman possessed. She marched in, grabbed a trolley, and walked so quickly that Rikus and Pete had trouble keeping up. The appliance section was in the back, left-hand corner of the shop. When they arrived, there was already a queue of women who all looked a little like Deanne. It was like some gathering of panicked, feigned smiles. Deanne tilted her head at Rikus with an undisguised accusatory glare and whispered in his ear that they might be too late already, but he just placed his hand on the small of her back and smiled reassuringly.
The shop assistant was a young man with thick glasses. He appeared to be in a constant state of fluster, and Pete wondered whether he looked like that away from work too. The queue took forever, and Pete’s initial curiosity started to wane. There were still two ladies in front of his mom, and at the speed old Nervous Wreck was helping them, Pete reckoned he had more than enough time to go to the pet shop and back.
“Just make it quick, I’m almost at the front,” his mom said, now highly agitated and staring at her husband with a growing look of “I told you so”.
Pete started walking towards the entrance. Outside, children were chasing one another in the paved courtyard onto which all the shops fronted. He saw a few boys in Newcastle High first-team rugby jerseys and reminded himself that he was now one of them, the elite group of high-school boys who played first-team rugby. The Newcastle guys were chatting to a few pretty girls in hockey skirts and his thoughts instantly raced to Renate and her hockey skirt, so teasingly short, and her perfectly sculpted legs ...
Without warning, a bright silver light flared at the bottom of the courtyard, like a bolt of lightning. A loud thud followed, the earth shook under Pete’s feet, and he heard what sounded like a million little boxes tumbling from the sky and smashing into the ground like hailstones.
Silence.
A woman screamed. Then another. And another. People scattered in all directions like headless chickens. Parents caught their children in mid-stride and disappeared into shops. Within seconds the courtyard was empty. All that remained were a few cans of soft drink dropped in the chaos, now leaking their contents over the paving.
Smoke slowly covered the gap where Pete had seen the bright light moments before. Through the haze, someone pulled him off his feet. It was his dad, Rikus. He somehow threw his six-foot-tall son over his shoulder and ran.
Deanne was standing, trolley- and microwave-less, with both hands over her mouth, near the shop’s music section. As soon as Rikus put Pete down, she pulled her son close. Her whole body was trembling.
“What was that?” Pete asked, struggling to come to terms with his befuddled senses.
“A bomb, they say it’s a bomb,” his dad answered, slightly absently, his eyes trying to take in everything around them.
“Ladies and gentlemen, please form an orderly queue and evacuate the shop through our emergency exit to the left, next to the sports section. Please, no running, and keep your children with you at all times. We thank you for shopping with us today and apologise for any inconvenience caused,” a female voice said over the store’s public- address system.
