Bom Boy Page 7

  ‘No.’

  ‘Come on.’

  ‘I…’ Elaine looked around, the locker room had emptied, ‘I don't want to. Thanks.’

  He withdrew his hand and turned around.

  ‘You’re kind,’ Elaine said to his back.

  Oscar turned back towards her. He held his hands up in the air, puffing out his lips and feigned exasperation, although it was not all pretence.

  ‘I'm trying here,’ he said squeezing his face to signal frustration.

  ‘What is it you want?’

  ‘I want you to have this.’

  ‘Is that all?’

  ‘I don't know,’ he laughed. ‘Maybe friendship? Contrary to what you might think, I don't have many,’ he was facing her, smiling. ‘I could certainly do with some company,’ Oscar watched Elaine smile.

  The austerity of her face, her whole body, lifted. Her lips were full, a pale pink colour, and she had a chip in her front tooth.

  ‘I think you’re beautiful,’ Oscar said to Elaine, emboldened by the weeks that had passed and their growing contact.

  He leaned back on the giant steps of Rhodes Memorial, putting his arm around her shoulders. They'd taken the steep but short walk up from the university, taking advantage of the few hours before Elaine's evening shift began. They sat dwarfed by lions and a horse, myths and history hanging over their burgeoning attraction. The shadows of the monument diminishing as the sun disappeared.

  ‘Only half of me,’ Elaine replied.

  Sunday 13th September 1992

  For Leke:

  It was always at the farm. That was where we could speak without my mother's interruption. My dad would collect me from school on his okada and we would ride fast, cutlass and hoe sticking out of the makeshift basket. My mother seldom came with us. She complained the sun blistered her skin and anyway she preferred the coolness of the university library.

  But the first time we were all there together. Touch-me-nots made a low green brush over most of the ground and ran tracks through the soft soil. I frightened the weeds, each feathery leaf closing on the instant of my contact. While my parents walked around speaking of fertilizers and what they would put where, I waited for the folded leaves to open again. They didn't and I cried as if a best friend had said no to come out and play.

  Monday 21st September 1992

  ‘Lekeleke,’ Elaine whispered putting her lips against Leke's ear. In two months he'd grown so much, her arm ached if she held him for too long – his feet were long and bony, he would be tall. She settled back into the wooden park bench and arranged the baby in her lap so he suckled the way the nurse had shown her.

  She had phoned the Superette earlier.

  ‘Where are you?’ asked Ursula, ‘Haddad's asking.’

  ‘Leke has a fever this morning. I'm at the clinic, just waiting to see the day nurse.’

  ‘Listen, when you’re not here he hassles me about that.’

  ‘Tell him I'm coming.’

  ‘He said you should quit and not cause problems.’

  ‘Tell him I'm coming. I need the work. Okay?’

  Ursula hung up.

  A young boy dangled from the jungle gym with one hand.

  ‘Mommy look!’ he shouted before letting go and landing in a bout of laughter on the ground. The boy's mother stood a few metres away pushing a pink pram back and forth, she looked up at her son and smiled. Elaine looked away, then down at Leke. He finished sucking and she rearranged her clothing draping him over her shoulder and rubbing his back. His little head resting against her ear was burning with the fever.

  Across the wide road, in front of the park, was Chapel Street Clinic. Holding the baby to her chest, Elaine crossed the road and walked into the dark coolness of the baby clinic. As she entered a young girl was leaving with a child in a wheelchair. The girl was crying but the toddler's face was dry and still. The child's left eye had been gouged; it looked ahead, inflamed and unseeing Elaine hugged Leke tighter into her bosom.

  More women had arrived since Elaine had been inside an hour ago. She went up to the woman with the toddler strapped on her back and with a small smile regained her place in the queue. One of the nurses was walking through the queue collecting the road-to-health cards. She came back a few minutes later, a stack of files in the crook of her arm and a frown on her face. Another nurse appeared from a room to the side of the waiting hall, Elaine remembered her from her last immunisation visit – kind eyes with a funny habit of wiping her palms against the breast of her white shirt, as if she'd just washed them. She had a young face. She started calling out names, doing a triage, and mothers moved with their babies to the weighing room with the young nurse. The nurse collecting the cards got to Elaine.

  ‘He's hot,’ Elaine said. ‘I need to see someone.’

  The nurse gave her a sharp look then moved on to the next mother.

  ‘I said he's–’

  ‘Wait, you!’ the nurse snapped.

  After she'd collected all the cards she came back to Elaine. ‘Has he been immunised? Hmmm?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘On time?’

  ‘Yes. Yes.’

  ‘Name?’

  ‘Leke,’ saying his name made her cry but she covered it up as best she could.

  The nurse rifled through the cards, spilling some onto the grey-tiled floor. A mother nearby picked them up and handed them to her. The nurse retrieved Leke's from the stack of cards and studied it.

  ‘Come with me,’ she said and Elaine followed her down a narrow corridor. They turned a corner and the passage widened.

  ‘Wait here,’ the nurse handed back Leke's card.

  Elaine joined the other waiting mothers, some of whom she recognised from the front room, sent through after being weighed. There were no seats left on the bench so she leaned against the cream-coloured wall.

  The line moved quickly, there were two nurses seeing to them, each with their own consulting room. Elaine heard her name called and entered the small room.

  ‘Please sit down,’ it sounded as if the nurse was talking with her hand covering her mouth.

  A side window let in a breeze and Elaine shivered. A bedspread with a thin blue coverlet was positioned against a wall, and a wooden cupboard sat next to the wall with the open window.

  ‘Morning, can I see the card please.’

  She always kept it safe in the house; maybe if she kept his road-to-health card safe that would make up for other things.

  ‘He's not gaining? What's wrong with baby, is he drinking? Is he still on the breast?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Is he vomiting? Diarrhoea?’

  Elaine shook her head.

  ‘Does he feed regularly?’

  ‘Not always. He's hot and he doesn't sleep at night. Sometimes he doesn't take the breast. When I check the blankets they’re wet with sweat.’

  ‘For how long has this been going on?’

  They sat, their chairs at an acute angle and Leke on Elaine's lap.

  ‘A few days?’

  ‘Why did you wait so long?’ the nurse asked then her face softened and she shifted her chair closer so she could examine Leke.

  ‘Where do you live, Elaine?’

  ‘Salt River.’

  ‘And work?’

  ‘Grocery shop. Cashier.’

  ‘Are you alone in the house? Baby's father?’

  Elaine shook her head but the nurse wasn't sure which question she was answering. The nurse was about to rephrase the question but stopped when she realised Elaine was crying.

  ‘And food,’ she pressed on, reaching a hand to Elaine's shoulder. ‘Are you eating properly?’

  Elaine looked down at the floor, she'd been sleeping less and less over the past few nights.

  ‘We can give baby formula to supplement,’ the nurse seemed relieved to be able to offer something. Always try and feed from the breast first though. But we'll give you formula as a last measure. Let me examine baby. Hold him. Like that.’

 
; She leaned forward, blowing onto her hands to warm them. Leke stayed still as she put the thermometer underneath his arm..After recording the mercury level, she checked his skin for dehydration. She pulled the stethoscope from around her neck and placed it to his chest. Leke let out a sharp continuous yelp – he didn't like the cold instrument against his skin. She used a flat stick to hold his tongue down, by now Elaine was wincing at the strident note of his cries – despite being sick he cried so seldom. She could never get used to it.

  The nurse checked his ears, nodding to herself. Warming her hands again she checked his body for any rashes and she felt his tummy.

  ‘Sh, Sh,’ Elaine calmed Leke. ‘Nearly done. Nearly. Nearly,’ she sang and he was momentarily distracted by the pitch of her voice.

  The nurse smiled, sitting back down to scribble on Leke's card.

  ‘He has a temperature. 39.7 degrees is very high. I'll mix some antibiotics for him,’ she indicated the trolley alongside her, filled with packets and tubes and medicines.

  Elaine regarded it with suspicion.

  ‘His ear is red. Middle-ear infection. Otitis media,’ she wrote as she talked, looking up with soft eyes every now and then. ‘And I'm concerned about his weight too, he's failing to thrive. But let's start giving the milk supplement and review within a week. Also some Panado and vitamin syrup,’ she returned the pen to the pocket in her navy-blue jacket and handed Elaine the road-to-health card. She prepared the antibiotics, taking the pen out again to write the instructions on the plastic packet.

  ‘See you in a week,’ she rose and Elaine stood too.

  ‘Is he okay, nurse?’

  ‘He'll be fine. Make sure he feeds.’

  Elaine nodded.

  Elaine felt a cool wetness on her stomach and looked down. Milk had soaked through her uniform. Panicked, she looked up but the customer was not paying attention. She finished ringing up the items, put the money in the till and completed the transaction.

  ‘Ursula, I need to take a break.’

  Ursula pulled a face but moved to Elaine's place behind the counter.

  Elaine looked at her watch. She'd left Leke with her neighbour but the woman had to leave for work at 7pm. Elaine's shift only ended at 9pm.

  She put on a sweater in the locker room and knocked on the manager's door.

  ‘Yes?’

  Elaine walked in, shutting the door behind her.

  ‘Mr. Haddad.’

  ‘Marriot?’ he looked up from a stack of papers on his desk.

  She'd worked there for almost eight months – ever since she'd been dismissed from the cleaning agency – but regardless of how long they'd worked for him, Haddad called his employees by their surnames and insisted they do the same with him.

  ‘My baby isn't well.’

  He stared at her, waiting for her to speak further, his face remained unmoved.

  ‘I'm requesting time off. Please.’

  He shook his head.

  Elaine had overheard the gossip circulating amongst the staff about her.

  ‘He's a black. He's from Rwanda or somewhere.’

  ‘Rwanda? Where's that?’

  ‘Were they married?’

  Elaine had held her breath, Ursula and the girls hadn't realised she was in the toilet. It seemed too late to clear her throat, she'd decided to just sit it out.

  ‘No. No marriage.’

  ‘I heard he was a client of hers.’

  ‘A client? You mean…?’

  A snort.

  ‘Marriot?’

  Elaine realised the manager had asked a question but she hadn't been listening.

  ‘Pardon?’

  ‘Is that all? Was there anything else?’

  ‘I need the time off to take care of my baby.’

  He attempted to remain calm and hiss the words through his teeth. ‘Marriot, this isn't Red Cross. If you need help go to some other place,’ flecks of spit dropped on the papers he'd been working on. ‘Anything else?’

  ‘I…I need to leave early today. My baby is ill.’

  He nodded.

  ‘We'll dock time off from your week's wages.’

  As Elaine left his office he said, ‘There are many people who want to work Marriot, even if you do not.’

  Sunday 26th August 2012

  In the grove a squirrel scuttled from one chestnut tree to another and a bird perched on the top of a gravestone. The Rebecca Cemetery was a secluded graveyard nestled beneath the leafy trees of Kempton – a quiet Cape Town southern suburb. Majestic chestnut trees grew along either side of the lane and gravestones sprouted out amongst the roots.

  Marcus brushed aside the dried leaves that had settled on Jane's stone. He crouched down and started arranging the flower pots he'd carried from the car. Leke had insisted they plant Four O'Clocks although Marcus had never heard her speak of them. He vaguely remembered her derisive comments about perennial flowers. As Marcus arranged the flowers he made uneven whistling sounds and didn't hear Leke coming from behind him.

  Leke cleared his throat. Marcus looked over his shoulder. He hadn't seen Leke since the stunted birthday dinner.

  ‘You’re here,’ Marcus said.

  Leke nodded in response but the old man didn't see.

  Since Leke had moved out six months before, they'd arranged to see each other every Sunday. Leke didn't always make it to the cemetery and, after his visit, Marcus would eat lunch alone. The times when Leke did arrive Marcus was never sure how he really felt about it – a combination of irritated surprise and disappointment.

  ‘Help me with this,’ Marcus said.

  The two worked on the well-tended grave site, replacing the wilting flowers with the new ones. A heavy silence stayed between them.

  ‘Work?’ Marcus asked to ease his discomfort.

  ‘Fine.’

  Marcus wanted to bring up the letters again but didn't know how.

  Leke finished patting the soil down around the cutting he'd just planted. He sat down on the ground next to Jane's tombstone, and looked at the familiar engraved letters:

  Jane Denton 1953 - 2002. Beloved wife and mother.

  ‘How's your place? I should come by,’ Marcus said, rising from his crouch to look at Leke now studying the ground in front of him.

  They stretched the conversation out as long as it would go, then went to a nearby bistro for Sunday lunch.

  Leke gave Marcus his order and got up to use the bathroom. Marcus waved his hand in the air, trying to get the waiter's attention.

  ‘How's it going Professor Denton?’ the waiter said, surprised to find himself serving his university lecturer.

  ‘Ah. Justin. Good to see you. Getting a bite to eat with my son. You know?’

  The waiter nodded his head and Marcus smiled.

  His face was sunken and he looked ten years older than his sixty-seven. Finding his hands unsteady and shaking, he'd recently stopped shaving and a rough beard was claiming his face. Behind his glasses his aging eyes watered regularly.

  He and Jane used to frequent this place. The name and owners had changed over the years. After they adopted Leke, but before Jane fell ill, they would come here together, as a family.

  ‘What can I get for you?’ the waiter asked.

  Marcus remembered how Jane would peer at the menu, turning her wedding band the way she did whenever she was nervous, and no matter how long she stared at the menu, Jane always ordered the roast duck with orange sauce and a glass of sweet white.

  ‘Come on Jane, try something different,’ he'd say, teasing.

  She'd brush him aside and, with an earnest look, turn the pages and ask the waiter what specials they had. Finally she would say, ‘Maybe I should just have the duck.’

  Marcus would roll his eyes and Leke would giggle.

  Marcus placed the orders. Two steaks. His well done, and Leke liked his bloody. The waiter left to get the drinks, a water and a coke.

  Why did they keep coming back here?

  Across the room, behind a g
lass partition, you could see the chef busy chopping vegetables in the kitchen. A fire crackled in the corner; a large table near the fire warmed with heavy voices and laughter. The roof was low, with elaborate white stucco patterns against the golden glow of the ceiling. Along the floor the stretch of terracotta tiles was broken up in places with colourful rugs. Was it some act of devotion to her? Her memory. Was it a pretence? Did he think one day when they walked in there she'd be waiting for them, already having ordered her duck, her glass of wine in her hand raised? With her sickness, all joy was rinsed from life. And left to raise Leke after her death, it seemed to Marcus an uneven exchange.

  Leke, sitting on the toilet, leaned back and let his head hit against the wall. He heard someone wash their hands outside the closed door of his cubicle, the clank of the towel machine and then the door click behind them. He took off his right shoe, fishing from out of the boot a small folded cellophane bag. Inside was the photograph of the small woman in a blue coat. It had seemed like a good hiding place when he'd retrieved the photograph from the bottom of his suitcase in the morning. He'd suddenly wanted it close again.

  He never did get to ask Jane who the woman in the picture was. It had felt as though the question had stuck in his mouth, lodged there and sometimes threatened to choke him. Leke studied the picture. She was looking right at him with piercing large grey eyes. Her pale cheeks were freckled and her short hair cut around her ears. At the back of the photograph was the still indecipherable name.

  Leke rubbed the face with his index finger. If he accepted the envelope he'd finally know for sure who his real parents were.

  The first time he'd realised who he was looking at he was ten years old. That night he dreamt he was flying over a strange mass he could not recognise from above. It looked like some kind of tangle of dark wires, he imagined it was what his afro looked like if someone looked down on his head. Coaxed by the wind, encouraging him to go everywhere, explore everything and leave nothing undiscovered, he dove down towards the strange thing. He just kept diving and diving and diving and diving.