?Do you want to see the children??
?Yes, I would very??
?You can collect them on Sunday. For the day.?
?Okay, thank you. What about you? Can I also??
?Let?s just keep to the children, for now. Ten o?clock? Ten to six??
?That?s fine.?
?Goodbye, Benny.?
?Anna!?
She did not speak, but did not cut him off.
?Where were you this evening??
?Where were you, Benny??
?I was working. I caught a serial murderer. Cliffy Mketsu was shot in the lung. That?s where I was.? He had the moral high ground, a little heap, a molehill, but better than nothing. ?Where were you??
?Out.?
?Out??
?Benny, I sat at home for five years while you were drunk or out and about. Either drunk or not at home. Don?t you think I deserve a Friday night out? Don?t you think I deserve to watch a movie, for the first time in five years??
?Yes,? he said, ?you deserve that.?
?Goodbye, Benny.?
Did you watch the movie alone? That?s what he wanted to ask, but the moral contours had shifted too quickly and he heard the connection go dead in his ear. He threw the towel to the floor and took a black pair of trousers from the cupboard to put on. He fetched pen and paper from his briefcase and sat down on the bed. He stared at the towel on the floor. Tomorrow morning it would still be lying there and it would be damp and smelly. He got up and hung the towel over the rail in the bathroom, went back to the bed and arranged the pillow so he could lean against it. He began his list.
There was a laundromat at the Gardens Center. First thing tomorrow.
Could he manage without a fridge? What would he keep in it? Not milk?he drank his coffee black. On Sunday the children would be here and Carla loved her coffee; always had a mug in her hand when she did her homework. Would she be content with powdered milk? The fridge might be necessary, he would see.
For the sitting room.
For the breakfast nook.
How the hell was he going to support two households on a police salary? Had Anna thought of that? But he could already hear her answer: ?You could support a drinking habit on a police salary, Benny. There was always money for drink.?
He would have to buy another coffee mug for the children?s visit. More plates and knives, forks and spoons. Cleaning stuff for dishes, dusty surfaces, the bathroom and the toilet.
He made fresh columns on the page, noted all the items, but he could not keep the other things in his head at bay.
Today he had made a discovery. He would have to tell Barkhuizen. This thing about being scared of death was not entirely true. Today, when he charged at Reyneke on the top level of Woolworths with the pistol pointed at him and the shot going off, the bullet that had hit Cliffy Mketsu because Reyneke could not shoot for toffee . . .
That is when he had discovered he was not afraid of dying. That is when he knew he wanted to die.
He woke early, just before five. His thoughts went to Anna. Did she go to the movies alone? But he didn?t want to play with those thoughts. Not this early, not today. He got up and dressed in trousers, shirt and trainers only, and went out without washing.
He chose a direction; three hundred meters up the street he saw the morning, felt the languor of the early summer, heard the birds and the unbelievable silence over the city. Colors and textures and light of crystal.
Table Mountain leaned towards him, the crest something between orange and gold, fissures and clefts were pitch-black shadows against the angle of the rising sun.
