‘“Go home, Demetru.”
‘He left, relieved.
‘The biggest one heard my accent. “Hey, Dutchman, are you going to show us some moves?”
‘I walked away. He followed me. “I’m talking to you, Dutchman.” The others shouted, “Chickening out? We won’t hurt you, Chop Suey.”
‘I heard the big one’s footsteps behind me. I knew if he touched me there would be trouble. He followed me right into the car park. I felt his hand on my shoulder and I turned and there he was up close, taller and bigger, and I was ready, really ready.
‘I said to him, “I will kill you,” and I knew and he knew it was the truth.
‘Something shifted in his eyes, I saw the flicker of fear. That’s what stopped me at that moment. I hadn’t expected that. But I suppose it was also what made him drive after me, that moment when he lost face.
‘So I turned away, got into my car and drove off. Never even looked back.
‘I wanted to go through the Waterfront to save time. There was traffic at the circle near the BMW Pavilion, a long queue. I felt another car bump me from behind. Not hard. A nudge. Then I saw them in the mirror, in a Volkswagen Golf GTi. They shouted and gestured. So I got out.
‘I should never have got out, Emma. I should have kept on driving.
‘They got out too.
‘“We’re talking to you, arsehole.”
‘“Who the fuck do you think you are?”
‘“Fucking hairy back cunt.”
‘The big guy was the driver of the Golf. Vincent Michael Kelly. Vince. Twenty-four years old, an articled clerk at KPMG. One point nine metres tall, ninety-five kilograms. I would learn all that in court.
‘I inspected the rear end of my car. There was no damage.
‘“Hey, he’s talking to you.”
‘All four approached. Vince came up to me. “Got a hearing problem, rock spider?” He shoved me in the chest. There was only bravado showing in his eyes now.
‘Steroids were mentioned during the court case, but we couldn’t prove anything. I think they did it because there were four of them, because they were young and strong. I was shorter and smaller than them. It creates a visual illusion. But I think it was because at the gym Vince was momentarily not the man he thought he was. He had come so that he wouldn’t have to live with that moment.
‘He pushed me and I hit him. Not hard. Just enough to bring him to his senses. But it didn’t. Then the others pitched in. I tried, Emma. Part of me knew what would happen if I let go. I tried. But we are what we are. That’s what I learnt, that night. It doesn’t matter what they say, it doesn’t matter how hard the prison psychologists try, we are what we are.
‘That’s why I moved to Loxton, Emma. That’s why I went looking for a tribe of my own. I had to avoid these situations. Try and avoid the possibility of trouble. If I had to stand in that street at the circle, if they came at me again, I would do exactly the same, go to that place, that other world.
‘If it had been just one guy, I wouldn’t have lost myself. Not even then. But there’s something about two or three or four that gives you new rights, at least in your own mind. Switches off the warning lights. And there was this frustration too, about who I am and where I came from and thirteen years of repression.
‘I let it all loose.
‘The big one, Vincent, he …’
Even though she could not hear, would not remember, I chose my words carefully. ‘He died,’ I said. ‘They charged me with manslaughter. With extenuating circumstances. A six-year sentence. I did four.’
For a long time I sat beside the bed without speaking. Ten, maybe twenty minutes.
Aware of what went unsaid.
Vince falling and hitting his head against the Golf. I had hit him, in rage and hate, with everything I had. Three, four, five times. He whiplashed backwards and the back of his head had connected with the right front corner of the car. I can still hear the sound, that hollow, hard, clear sound.
He was in a coma for four days. Brain damage. Kemp used words like parietal and epidural haematoma with great disapproval. And then Vince died.
And the other thing. The thing I had not told Kemp, the lawyer, or the judge, not anyone.
How sweet it was.
Those moments, those minutes when I released myself, when I could kick and hit, could inflict hurt, could break and
And so terribly sweet.
26
Dr Eleanor Taljaard came and chased me out just after twelve. She looked rested and professional. ‘I have work to do here and it’s lunchtime. Koos is waiting for you in the restaurant. Maggie left a message. It’s in your room. You can come back at two.’
‘OK, Eleanor.’
‘You did well.’
Had I?
The restaurant was full. ‘Sunday,’ said Dr Koos Taljaard. ‘Conscience day. They visit the sick.’
Over a meal of tasteless chicken schnitzel with cheese sauce he told me they had been in Nelspruit for sixteen years – at the Provincial Hospital first, then the SouthMed Clinic.
‘In all those years we never had a patient falling off a train because of a bullet wound.’
I just looked at him and carried on chewing.
‘What happened?’ he asked.
‘Someone was angry with us.’
‘But why? What could make someone so angry?’
‘I don’t know.’
He looked at me in disbelief. ‘It’s true,’ I said.
‘People don’t usually react like that,’ he said.
‘I know.’ The question was: who did? And why?
In my room there was another typed letter from Maggie T. Padayachee. And a car key.
Dear Mr Lemmer
Budget Car Rental has delivered a silver Audi A4 for you. It is parked near the gate.
Also, a Ms Jeanette Louw called and requested that you kindly return her call at your convenience – on her cellular phone.
Very best wishes
Maggie T. Padayachee
Client Services Manager
I phoned Jeanette. ‘Thanks for the car.’
‘A pleasure. They tell me her condition has improved.’
‘That’s what they say.’
‘And you? How do you feel today?’
‘There’s nothing wrong with me.’
‘The flights are full, Lemmer. The entire country is flying off somewhere for New Year. We can only come tomorrow.’
‘We?’
‘I’m bringing Fikter and Minnaar.’
‘Oh.’ Not usual for her to come. She heard my surprise.
