Bom Boy Read online

  Thursday 30th August 2012

  He could smell her, the scent an intense invasion of his body. Overpowered, he sat motionless, watching as she moved along the short mall from one shop window to another. He couldn't see her face. She was skinny from behind and her leather handbag hit against her thighs as she walked. She moved on to the next window and Leke rose and moved to the next bench along the mall, from here he watched her stare into three more stores and when she turned the corner and took the escalators towards the exit, he followed.

  Outside it was getting dark, she walked fast. Did she know he was behind her? He quickened his pace. Despite the fumes from buses and the smell of damp tar her scent still caressed the insides of his nostrils. It was almost edible. She turned down a road and he followed. What would he do when he caught up with her? He was still wondering when she surprised him by turning around.

  ‘What do you want?’

  Leke didn't wait to study her face but turned on his heels, he didn't stop running until he was behind the grey walls of his compound.

  The next day Leke left work early. Ignoring the taunts of his colleagues, he let his feet carry him along.

  Approaching the mall, he noticed that, across the road, another building had been completed seemingly overnight. A pile of rubble was being loaded into a large truck. Leke took in the new addition to the suite of buildings, it was a parking lot meant to service the mall and the nearby high-rise residential blocks.

  Plaza Mall had also opened its final wing “Diamond Walk” the sign boards had announced, silver sequins spelling out the name.

  The stores along Diamond Walk were rented to the most glamorous designers. Leke didn't recognize any of the names but, from the excitement on people's faces and the awe with which they moved from store to store, he gathered they were famous. A few of the stores were still vacant, their shop windows boarded up with posters, apologising for construction and promising luxury in return for patience.

  Bright clothing hung off the marble-like bodies of the mannequins in the shop-fronts. High above fitted glass panels let the moonlight in but it was no competition for the glare of Diamond Walk. All the surfaces reflected Leke back to himself, sometimes clearly sometimes distorted.

  As was usual for a Friday night, the mall was full of teenagers lurking in the passageways leading to the toilets or kissing on couches meant for customers. They hung outside the McDonalds outlet, occasionally joining the unending queue to buy a meal; they smoked cigarettes in the entrance-way, not always succeeding in looking as mature as they would like.

  Leke spotted a young girl walking alone, her face was streaked with mascara. She sat down on a bench and he was just about to join her when he felt someone grab his arm.

  ‘Hey you!’ it was a security guard.

  ‘Excuse me?’

  ‘No loitering in the mall.’

  ‘I don't understand.’

  The guard signalled to a camera hanging from the ceiling,

  ‘We've spotted you a couple of times and received complaints. Yesterday a woman reported you chased her.’

  The guard still held Leke's arm and was leading him towards the back exit.

  ‘You may not loiter in the mall, it's a disturbance to our customers.’

  Apart from the firmgrip there was nothing violent about the encounter, the guard, dressed in a black long-sleeve shirt with a name tag and black trousers, spoke in a low steady tone, diplomatic.

  At the exit he let go of Leke's arm and left him outside the glass door. Before turning he pointed to the cameras at the entrance, a silent gesture to say “we’re watching”. Leke started walking.

  He couldn't sleep, his head ached and he couldn't get the look of the security guard's face out of his mind. Was it a smirk?

  At 2am Leke left the studio, perhaps a walk would tire him out. He avoided the mall area although the crowds would have left by now. He walked around the new parking block, studying its entrances and noting the empty security check at the front and the unguarded vehicular access where the garbage skips were kept. There was still some rubble along the back and bundles of what looked like homeless people sleeping beneath blankets.

  Back home the studio looked empty, he'd never seen it like that before. At 4am he drifted into a shallow sleep, he dreamt that he found a little girl living in his roof, in between the rafters; she came down to visit, holding his cheeks in her hands and kissing his face. Her breath on the tip of his nose, he cried in his dream and when he woke up his face was wet. He looked for the girl, looked in his studio for traces of another living thing but there was none.

  Saturday 19th September 1992

  Dear Oscar

  I'm sorry, I know it's been over a month since I wrote to you.

  I…

  Elaine let the pen fall, her entire body ached and her eyelids stung. She hadn't slept all night. She'd call Ursula and told her she was ill and not coming in, Bashir would have to cope. She picked up the pen again, she'd started the letter several times but had not been able to complete it. What could she tell him? She was tired. She was sad. Some mornings she didn't recognise herself in the mirror.

  I'm fine. Leke is growing fast and I whisper your name in his ear every night so he'll know who you are when he meets you. I don't have any photographs of you or I would put them up above his crib.

  The baby made a noise and she left the desk to check on him. She lifted him from the crib and held him to her cheek. She stuped his face. When he was fist born, each time she looked at him she saw her face and Oscar's eyes. Now, almost two months on he'd grown into himself, into his own eyes, and his own expression. She cradled him in her arms, his complexion reminded her of wet beach sand, or clay. A tuft of dark brown curls sprouted at the top of his head while the rest of his head remained bald. After the first one and half months of doing poorly his cheeks had filled out. Elaine kissed him and put him back in the crib.

  A week ago some of the ladies from the Superette had come by.

  ‘He's a looker, Elaine. He'll break hearts this one.’

  All the gossip forgotten, they had clucked over him. Elaine was used to not fussing over him, she felt bad but often left him in his crib for long periods. He was so easy to leave alone. He slept, he was content.

  ‘You up all night with this guy? You certainly look it,’ Ursula had said sounding concerned, which had surprised Elaine.

  ‘Actually he sleeps. But you know, even when he's awake he waits. If he's hungry he calls to me.’

  ‘Calls to you? What are you talking about?’

  ‘It's not crying. He kind of moans.’

  They'd stayed long and Elaine had felt uncomfortable not offering them anything other than black tea. When they'd finally left she'd been relieved to be alone again, but had felt bad for Leke.

  You like company, hey?’ Elaine said looking down at Leke, tickling his tummy. He looked up, his body squirming.

  Back at the desk Elaine stared at the unfinished letter. After half an hour she could hear the soft snores of Leke, she picked up the pen.

  We miss you, Oscar.

  Love Elaine

  Oscar finished reading the letter then put it away, tucking it into the pillow stuffing. He'd unplucked the seams at the corner and kept all things precious in this hiding place. He pulled out a stash of A4 paper, some pages crumpled and curling. Over the past few days a sense of foreboding had crept along his skin. It seemed like a familiar feeling – was it the curse making its presence known? Or just prison-life? Oscar sighed.

  Dear Elaine

  I miss you too and I can't help but notice that your letters have gotten shorter. Are you okay? You would tell me if there was something wrong wouldn't you?

  Something has happened to me. It is a strange thing – I don't know if I can explain it to you. I don't want to frighten you. It's only that… I feel different. And then each time I receive a shorter and shorter letter from you, I think to myself, you are disappearing from my life.

  Sorry my l
ove, that is a heavy thing to say. It's just that maybe my father was right – there is no cheating a babalawo. I will not, after all, have sustained love in my life – nothing good will come of me.

  The letters to Leke suddenly seemed urgent, as if their continued existence was threatened. He had to write them, and guard them.

  For Leke:

  By the time my grandmother gave birth to her fourth son, her hair, turned a dull grey, was the texture of straw and it was falling out. Her skin was caked with a strange rash that disappeared and returned intermittently, chasing itself over different parts of her body. If it left her forehead it appeared on her breasts and chest. When it left there it came to the palms of her hands and soles of her feet. She wept as she held Uncle Tuesday in her arms, and begged my grandfather to go with her to the babalawo.

  ‘Was that the beginning of the curse?’ I asked my father.

  ‘No,’ he said, ‘they had been to the babalawo before.’ It was a normal everyday act, like soliciting the services of a health practitioner.

  Saturday 22nd September 2012

  At 5pm Leke stood in his garden. Since he'd been evicted from the mall he'd felt flat and listless. He shifted his gaze from the multi-coloured flowers to his watch and then back to the soil, the Four O'Clocks remained closed. He leaned over them, attempting to nudge them awake.

  Straining his neck, he looked up at the sky, blaming the grey clouds for the blossoms remaining closed. He went back into his studio and lay on his bed, maybe the mall would have thinned out, he felt the familiar pull to be in the space. That feeling had been with him over the last few weeks. A tightness. For relief he'd gone to see one doctor and then another and before he'd realised it he was spending most of his lunches sitting across from one practitioner or another.

  ‘Where does it hurt?’

  He was a tall man. Capable looking with long fingers and dusty-coloured hair, he was used to people doing as he asked; Leke got the feeling no one ever said no to this man. When Leke had made the appointment he hadn't known what to expect, he'd never been to a physiotherapist. Now, in answer to the physio's question Leke pointed to just below his hairline at the back of his head, and napped his hands to indicate “everywhere”.

  The physio worked on his neck and back. At one point he held Leke's head, his fingers along Leke's cheeks and his thumbs just beneath his jaw, turning it left and then right. Leke looked straight ahead, only once darting his eyes sideways to catch a glimpse of a beard revealing shoots of brown hair. The physiotherapist pressed down at the base of his neck,

  ‘Pain?’

  ‘It's okay.’

  They sat almost folded into one another, the imposing build of the therapist covering most of his patient's body as he worked the knots out of Leke's neck and shoulders.

  When the physiotherapist patted him on the shoulder and said ‘All done’, it seemed to Leke that no time had passed at all.

  The physio stood up and started scratching in his cupboard, looking for an ointment and talking to Leke over his shoulder, ‘Don't use it right away. Give it some time first. See how you feel’

  He emerged from the cupboard with a little box in his hand.

  ‘What side do you sleep on?’

  ‘I… I…’

  Was that really half an hour?

  ‘I'd suggest switching for a while. Even to your back. After a couple of days use the pillow like I said, under your side, okay?’

  Leke stayed sitting and nodded.

  In the awkward silence the physiotherapist shuffled his large feet and cleared his throat.

  Leke stood up and picked up his backpack.

  ‘I… I have a sore tooth.’

  The man frowned.

  Leke continued, ‘I wonder if you know a good dentist,’ he smiled and looked to the ground, bashful, as if he'd just asked him out to dinner.

  The man frowned.

  ‘Okay Sure. Let me… let's see here.’

  He walked round his desk and handed Leke a blue card from the drawer.

  ‘Yes,’ Leke said, answering a question that hadn't been asked.

  He took the card with an eagerness that made their fingers crash into one another. Amidst his own chorus of apologies, Leke left the room.

  ‘Mister O… Og…’ the dentist stared at the folder in his hand as if it was its fault that he could not pronounce the name.

  ‘Jack is fine,’ Leke said and the dentist sighed.

  ‘Hi, Jack. Thank you, I hope you don't take offence, I'm not very good with the African names,’ his smile seemed fake but his eyes sparkled with warmth.

  Leke shrugged.

  ‘Take the backpack off and sit please. I'll adjust the chair a little.’

  Leke sat in the dental chair and leaned back.

  ‘Backpack off please. Unless you’re the one who won the lotto last night eh? In which case you can hand it to me,’ he was chatty, a high-pitched squeak of a voice and a distinct Afrikaans drawl to his words.

  Leke removed his backpack. The dentist tied on his face mask and pulled on a pair of latex gloves.

  ‘Okay, Meneer Jack,’ he said leaning over Leke. What's the problem?’

  ‘Somewhere in the back.’

  ‘Okay Say ahhh!’

  ‘Ah’

  Wider please. Is that eina?’

  Leke shook his head.

  ‘Wider. Where do you work?’

  ‘Ah Oi shee’

  ‘Pardon? Wider.’

  ‘Ahh!’

  ‘Perfect. Hold that.’

  The powdery smell of latex filled Leke's nose. He linked it with the smooth bitter taste of the fingers in his mouth.

  ‘I don't see anything.’

  Leke wondered about the gloves. Why did they need gloves? How could they feel anything with the gloves on?

  ‘Does that hurt?’

  He shook his head again. A line of spit seeped out the side of his mouth. The dentist removed his hands and asked Leke to rinse.

  He spat.

  ‘What are those for?’

  ‘The gloves? Ag just to protect us.’

  ‘From what?’

  ‘Each other I guess,’ he laughed. ‘Open wide, please.’

  He used a spiked implement and scraped along the sides of Leke's teeth. Occasionally he used the suction to remove the excess saliva.

  ‘What do you do?’ the dentist asked.

  ‘Un-ge-a.’

  ‘Pardon?’ the dentist said, resting his hands on his knees.

  Leke spat.

  ‘I'm an engineer. I work for an oil shipping company.’

  ‘Ahh! Interesting, eh? Fun job?’

  ‘Aww’

  The dentist put his hands down. Leke spat.

  ‘No.’

  ‘Ag shame man! Ah well – it buys the milk, nê?’

  Leke nodded.

  ‘Open wide again for me please. Ja, I don't see anything here. Some plaque but that shouldn't cause any pain. You know, sometimes if we miss a floss then bits of food gather and can cause a slight infection. I'll do a basic clean now, okay? And then put the fluoride on.’

  The dentist first scraped then polished. It felt strange to have someone touch his teeth this way, part his lips and suck his spit through a pipe. Leke realised he was bleeding when the dentist asked him to rinse and he spat into the white sink.

  ‘Perfectly normal,’ the dentist said as he completed flossing in between Leke's teeth and applied the fluoride paste. ‘Don't eat for at least half an hour. And I suggest you also make an appointment with our hygienist for about six months’ time.’

  Outside Leke didn't make a booking with the receptionist.

  ‘Thank you,’ he said as he left the front room.

  The receptionist looked up, pressed the buzzer that opened the security door and went back to sorting papers on his desk.

  Instead of easing away his tension each appointment had produced a temporary calm followed by a louder headache.

  Leke rose off the mattress and walked back
out to the garden to check on the flowers. Still nothing.

  Waiting for them to unravel reminded him of the time Jane had explained that these flowers only came out at four in the afternoon; he'd thought she was lying.

  He fell asleep and dreamt of Tsotso staring at him from across a room full of people. When he woke up it was dark, the flowers had already opened and closed again.

  The series of appointments took its toll on Leke's work. Colleagues began making snide remarks when they saw him in the corridors, asking him what company he worked for. Whenever he was leaving the office, no matter what day of the week it was, they would wave goodbye and wish him a great long weekend. Lewis, the security guard, took another complaint to HR and Leke was called into a meeting with the HR assistant and his manager. After the meeting he held off on any more appointments. His head ached all the time. He struggled to concentrate.

  ‘What are you doing?’

  ‘Nothing,’ Leke said clicking and changing the window on his computer screen.

  He hadn't heard Gene walking towards their cubicle. Leke's routine was to get to work early and make whatever adjustments to conceal his appointments. It was not really stealing.

  ‘Did you hear?’ Gene asked as he placed his briefcase against the leg of his desk. ‘They might be changing the interface.’

  It was the third time Gene was late for work that week. No one ever called him into a meeting about his lateness.

  ‘No, I hadn't heard about that.’

  There were always rumours of the management changing the operating systems. It was both a security measure and an attempt to keep the company at the cutting edge of the industry. If it were true it would pose a challenge for Leke's plans.

  ‘Well they are. I'm so pissed off. I just got here, you know? I just learnt this freaking system, now I need to learn something else brand new.’