the pistol, and then he allowed himself to relax, because now was not the moment to do anything.
?This is my house,? he said.
?I know.?
?What do you want??
?I want you to sit there and be quiet.? The white man motioned with the barrel of the Z88 towards the two- seater couch opposite him. There was something about his eyes and voice: intensity, a determination.
Thobela hesitated, shrugged and sat down. He looked at Griessel. Who was he? The bloodshot eyes, a hint of capillaries on the nose that betrayed excessive drinking. Hair long and untidy?either he was trying to keep the look of his youth in the seventies alive, or he didn?t care. The latter seemed more likely, since his clothes were rumpled, the comfortable brown shoes dull. He had the faint scent of law enforcement about him and the Z88 confirmed it, but policemen usually came in groups, at least in pairs. Police waited with handcuffs and commands, they didn?t ask you to sit down in your own house.
?I?m sitting,? he said, and placed the assegai on the floor beside the couch.
?Now you just have to be quiet.?
?Is that what we are going to do? Sit and stare at each other??
The white man did not answer.
?Will you shoot me if I talk??
No response.
?The pills were easy,? said Christine. She indicated the white medicinal container on the desk. ?And the dress. I don?t have it; it?s with the police. But the blood . . . I couldn?t do it at first. I didn?t know how to tell my child I had to push a needle into her arm and that it would hurt and the blood would run into the syringe and I had to spray it on the seat of a man?s car. That was the hardest thing. And I was worried. I didn?t know whether the blood would clot. I didn?t know if it would be enough. I didn?t know if the police would be able to tell it wasn?t fresh blood. I didn?t know how they did all those genetics. Would the computer be able to tell the blood had been in the fridge for a day??
She held the dog against her chest. She didn?t look at the minister. She looked at her fingers entangled in the toy?s ears.
?When Sonia was in the bath, I went in and I lied to her. I said we had to do it, because I had to take a little bit of her blood to the doctor. When she asked, ?Why?? I didn?t know what to say. I asked her if she remembered the vaccination she had at play school so she wouldn?t get those bad diseases. She said, ?Mamma, it was sore,? and I said, ?But the sore went away quickly?this sore will also go away quickly, it?s the same thing, so you can be well.? So she said, ?Okay, Mamma? and she squeezed her eyes shut and held out her arm. I have never drawn blood from someone before, but if you are a whore, you have your AIDS test every month, so I know what they do. But if your child says, ?Ow, Mamma, ow,? then you get the shakes and it?s hard and you get a fright if you can?t get the blood . . .?
?What are we waiting for? What do you want?? he asked. But the man just sat and looked at him, with his pistol hand resting on his lap, and said nothing. Just the eyes blinking now and again, or drifting off to the window.
He wondered whether the man was right in the head. Or on drugs, because of that terrible intensity, something eating him. The eyes were never completely still. Sometimes a knee would jerk as if it were a wound spring. The pistol had its own fine vibration, an almost unnoticeable movement.
Unstable. Therefore dangerous. Would he make it, if he could pull himself up by the armrest and launch himself over the little more than two meters between them? If he picked a moment when the eyes flicked to the window? If he could deflect the Z88?
He measured the distance. He looked into the brown eyes.
No.
But what were they sitting here and waiting for? In such tension?
He had partial answers later when the cell phone rang twice. Each time the white man started, a subtle tautening of the body. He lifted the phone from his lap and then just sat dead still, and let it ring. Until it stopped. Fifteen, twenty seconds later it beeped twice to show a message had been left. But Griessel did nothing about it. He didn?t listen to his messages.
They were waiting for instructions; that much Thobela gathered. Which would be delivered via the cell phone. The intensity was stress. Anxiety. But why? What did it have to do with him?
?Are you in trouble??
Griessel just stared at him.
?Can I help you in some way??
The man glanced at the window, and back again.
?Do you mind if I sleep a bit?? asked Thobela. Because that was all he could do. And he needed it.
No reaction.
He made himself comfortable, stretched his long legs out, rested his head on the cushion of the couch and closed his eyes.
But the cell phone rang again and this time the white man pressed the answer button and said: ?Griessel? and, ?Yes, I have him.? He listened. He said: ?Yes.?
And again: ?Yes.? Listened. ?And then??
Thobela could hear a man?s voice faintly over the phone, but couldn?t make out any words, just the grain of a voice.
Griessel took the cell phone away from his ear and stood, keeping a safe distance.
