'They're all busy,' she said.
'I was wondering,' Vusi said, feeling his heart thump in his chest. 'If you would like ...'
The silence on the line was deafening.
'If you would like to go and have something to eat. Or drink ...'
'Now?'
'No, I mean, any time, maybe another day ...'
'No,' she said and Vusi's heart plummeted. 'No, now,' she said. 'Please. A beer. A Windhoek Light and a plate of
He drove down the Nl, thinking ahead. He would draw money at the ABSA autobank at the bottom of Long Street near the offices of the Receiver. He had given the last of his cash to Mat Joubert for the Steers burgers he had brought. Then to the bottle store up in Buitengracht, it was open till eight. He would buy a bottle of Jack and a two-litre Coke and then he was going to drink himself into a coma.
He had asked 'Who?'
And she said: 'It doesn't matter. Benny, I'm so sorry, it just happened.'
Fuck that. Things don't just happen. You look for them. She demands that he give up the booze for six months, and then off she goes looking for a man. He would blow the fucker
He had stood up. 'I'm so sorry, Benny, it just happened.' He sat down again and just stared at her, waiting for her to say she wasn't serious. He refused to accept the full impact. They were here so she could say that, because he had quit drinking, he could come home. But she just sat there with tears in her fucking eyes, so terribly sorry for herself. There were a thousand things in his head. He'd nearly died today. He'd fought the craving to drink for one hundred and fifty-six days, he'd paid maintenance, he'd looked after them; he'd done everything right. She couldn't do this, she didn't have the right, Jesus, but her teary eyes had looked back at him with bewildering finality, until the full weight of all the implications crashed down on him like a badly built house. He got up and left.
'Benny!' she called after him.
Benny was going to get drunk, that was what he should have told her, but he just kept walking, out of the fucking restaurant, to his car, with his torn shirt and unkempt hair, he saw nothing, heard nothing, just felt this, thing, this anger, it was all for nothing, all for fucking nothing.
He drew R500 and saw how much he had left for the rest of the month. He thought about Duncan Blake sitting there in the interview room and saying: 'How much for all of this to go away?'
'I'm not for sale.'
'This is Africa. Everybody is for sale.'
'Not me.'
'Five million.'
'How about ten?'
'Ten can be done.'
And he had laughed. He should have taken the fucking money. Ten million would buy a lot of booze; ten million and he could have bought a fucking BMW and smart suits too, and a R150 haircut and whatever it was Anna saw in the little shit.
He would buy some booze.
His cell phone rang as he walked back to his car. He didn't look at the screen, just answered.
'Griessel.' Sullen. Brusque.
'Captain, this is Bill Anderson ... Is this a convenient time?'
His first thought was that someone had taken Rachel again and he said: 'Yes.'
'Captain, I don't know how to do this. I don't know how you thank a man for saving your child's life. I don't know how to thank a man who was willing to put his life on the line, who was willing to be shot at to save the daughter of someone he's never met. It's not something I have any training for. But my wife and I want to say thank you. We owe you a debt we can never repay. We're on our way to South Africa - our plane is leaving in two hours' time. When we get there, we would like to have the honour of taking you to dinner. As a gesture, of course, as a small token of our immense gratitude and appreciation. But right now, I just want to say thank you.'
'I... uh ... I was just doing my job.' He couldn't think what else to say. The call had come too suddenly, there was too much going on in his head.
'No, sir, what
He sat in his car in front of the autobank. He thought about Bill Anderson's words.
Just the dream of getting drunk.
He started the car.
He thought about Fritz's words, his son's dream.
And Carla, who had gone to work in London, because she wanted to come back and buy a car and go to university, and both of them dreamed of a sober father.
He turned the car off.
He thought about Bella, and Bella's dream of owning her own business. Alexa Barnard who said she had dreamed so long of becoming a singer. Duncan Blake:
He opened the cubby hole, took out the cigarettes and lit one. He thought. Of many things. Lize Beekman's lyrics ran through his head.
He sat like that for a long time while the world raced past down Long Street. Then he turned around.
Benny Griessel blew the R500 on flowers. He delivered the first bunch to Mbali Kaleni's ward. They wouldn't allow him in. He wrote her a message on a card.
Then he went to Rachel Anderson and put a bunch of flowers down on the bed beside her.
'They're beautiful,' she said.
'And so are you.'
'And those?' she asked about the other bunch of flowers in his arms.
'These are a bribe,' he said.
'Oh?'
'Yes. You see, I have a dream. I'm going to start a band. And we are going to need a singer. And I happen to know a great singer who's right here in this hospital,' he said.
'Cool,' she said, and he wondered whether he could introduce her to Fritz.
Chapter 51
From: Benny Griessel [mailto: bennygriessel2@mweb.co.za]
Sent: 16 January 2009 22:01
To: carla805@hotmail.com
Subject: Today.
