Bom Boy Page 9

  ‘You alright?’

  Leke's tongue had stuck to the bottom of his mouth.

  ‘What are you – mute? Or is it ‘cause your wing man isn't here?’ she stared, unforgiving for a few seconds and left.

  Shaken, Leke ate the biscuits on offer and wandered out of the make-shift blood clinic.

  He found Gene at his desk, almost blue in the face, his eyes wide, but within a few minutes his colour came back. Every few minutes he threw a comment at Leke over his shoulder.

  ‘That nurse hey? What do you say, freaking amateur. She couldn't find my vein – stuck holes in me like a bloody pin cushion. How was yours?’

  Leke didn't reply.

  After another few minutes, ‘Psst.’

  Leke turned around to look at Gene, indicating with a crooked finger for Leke to come closer. The woman working in the adjoining cubicle turned too. Leke got up. He'd been unable to do any work since returning from the clinic, distracted by the memory of Tsotso's face staring at him.

  Gene grabbed Leke's inner-arm where the gauze protected the puncture.

  ‘My girlfriend's at home today,’ Gene said, raising his eyebrows as though checking that Leke understood the unspoken significance of this. He winked then waited a few seconds before continuing.

  ‘Come here,’ he waved his hand, signalling for Leke to bend down so Gene could whisper. His breath was damp. It came out hot, but cooled quickly, leaving a chilling sensation along Leke's jaw line and the side of his neck.

  From the day Gene arrived Leke had been taken aback by his friendliness, overwhelmed at times. A part of him wanted Gene to leave him alone but another part, more unfamiliar, enjoyed the contact and the attention.

  Leke listened as Gene spoke. The idea was not without faults. It was the kind of plan that would work once, but never more than that.

  ‘What do you think?’ Gene asked, grinning into Leke's face.

  Leke thought for a few seconds then nodded, he'd spent several afternoons dreaming of ways to leave the office so that he could disappear into the hustle of the Plaza Mall. Over half way through the year and he'd already used up all his sick leave.

  ‘Is that a yes? You in? Okay, here goes.’

  Leke discovered that Gene, while not a great performer, had the gift of deception. Gene feigned collapse at the water dispenser. Later on he complained to Leke that he had banged his head for real and was going to sue the company for damages. In the moment, despite his apparent delicate state, Gene managed to explain to his colleagues how he shouldn't have given blood, and how he needed to leave work immediately and rest at home.

  ‘Leke can take me. I can't drive my car like this,’ Gene shouted out before anyone else could volunteer. Leke stepped forward from the crowd. His license had expired but he thought it best not to mention that. Gene maintained a veneer of hysteria but Leke doubted it was sufficient enough to stop people from wondering whether the thing was a hoax. Regardless, his act succeeded in fending off anyone from actually saying anything. Leke gathered their belongings and they were both out the door, under the suspicious glare of Lewis.

  We did it,’ Gene said as they neared his car. ‘Look, you can be on your way. I've got business to attend to.’

  Leke watched Gene's wiry frame settle in front of the steering wheel of his car and whiz away. The fumes from the old Ford made him cough. He started walking. His feet knew where to carry him, hungry for whatever the mall would offer.

  Within minutes of arriving he spotted, from the throng of old people and housewives, a short woman walking with a black sack slung round her shoulder. Her hair was a bush of grey locks. She was elderly but walked in firm confident strides. She barked requests at the shop attendants when she couldn't find what she wanted.

  Leke followed her into the chemist.

  Along the aisle she looked up to the high shelf then looked around. Seeing Leke she said, ‘Young man, you’re nice and tall. Could you help me get that blue bottle there? With the white cap.’

  Leke walked towards her unsure whether to smile or look serious. He reached it easily and handed her the bottle.

  ‘Thank you. These days I need to go shopping with my granddaughter. She's taller than me and the shelves are so high. Back when she was little, I was the one getting things off the top shelf,’ she giggled. ‘Times change on you.’

  Leke nodded as if he understood and moved away.

  ‘Thanks again,’ the woman called after him.

  He stood outside the chemist some distance from the entrance and when she came out he followed her. When she exited through the back of the mall Leke kept up behind her all the way to the bus stop. She waited for a few minutes and then suddenly became frantic. She searched through her bag looking for something. She took the bag off her shoulder and placed it on the ground. She bent over and started swearing to herself. She'd lost something, something important. He watched as she searched her body. He knew what she was looking for. It was something small enough to fit between the pages of a book. Despite being frenzied, she managed to be delicate with the front and back of a deep blue leather-covered Gideon Bible. She held up the dainty covers and dangled the pages. Nothing. She took out the smallest purse Leke had ever seen. Nothing. She checked if it wasn't underneath her bra strap. And then she looked in all the places she'd already looked. Leke, following, watched as, hassled, she turned back to the mall and reported her loss to the security guard who nodded but couldn't help her. Back again at the bus-stop she started to cry; her face crumpled revealing years of wear.

  Leke thought he would tap her on her shoulder and say, ‘Ma'am, you seem to have dropped these. Here you go.’

  The Golden Arrow bus pulled off Main Road and the old woman got on, still crying. Leke watched the bus go.

  At home he put the earrings under his pillow. He'd seen her buy them after she'd been to the chemist and then watched them drop out her bag when she'd passed clothes over the counter at the dry cleaners. Sparkling diamante studs that twinkled in the weak winter sunlight. Maybe they were for her granddaughter. Imagining the earrings on Tsotso, he squeezed each piece of jewellery between his thumb and index finger; the gold stem left a small indentation.

  Some days after his first experience of giving blood, while on his way to work, Leke noticed posters in a shop window encouraging blood donors.

  ‘I'd like to donate,’ he said, walking in and addressing the man sitting at the desk.

  ‘Good day, sir. Have you given blood before?’

  ‘Uh, yes.’

  ‘When was the last time you gave blood sir?’

  ‘Three days ago.’

  ‘Oh, I'm sorry sir but you can only give blood every fifty-six days. Would you like to fill out this form, then when you come back we'll already have you on our records?’

  Crest-fallen, Leke sat down to fill in the form. At the top of the form was a list of tests that were available.

  ‘Can I have my blood pressure measured?’ Leke asked.

  The man looked up from his work.

  ‘Yes. The nurse comes in on Mondays and Wednesdays for all those tests. I'm just assisting with admin,’ he bobbed his head in apology.

  ‘And the annual check-up?’

  ‘Sir, you'd need to go to the City Hospital for that. Here's a card with the address.’

  The City Hospital sat, a massive obtrusion, amongst the intricate network of streets in the city centre – a knot in a delicate lace shawl, bright pink with over-sized mouldings, it was an ugly building. Leke walked past the boom and, following the gate attendant's directions, entered through a small door. He had walked out to lunch, hoping to be done fast enough to claim some minor excuse. He walked through the metal detector which protested with a strident ring. The guard checked Leke, patting him down along his arms his torso and in between his legs. A bulge of corns jingled in Leke's pocket. Satisfied, the guard let him through.

  Where's the reception please?’

  ‘Go left here and follow on till after the brown floor
. Then turn left again and go straight down. You'll see a sign saying “Trauma Unit”.’

  ‘Thanks.’

  Inside the hospital the passageways were miniature versions of the streets outside, a tapestry of corridors that led nowhere, padlocked rooms. Leke walked past elevators with heavy doors that vibrated when they opened and closed. The ground was wide grey vinyl flooring with flecks of white. Along one of the walls there were small square paintings of strange surreal landscapes and austere portraits with names that meant nothing to Leke etched in brass along the bottoms of the frames. A baby cried out somewhere. Leke got lost. He spent fifteen minutes wandering through the innards of the hospital. Peeling signs, faded a dull orange, appeared along the corridors, directing to offices and rooms that had died a decade ago.

  Leke eventually arrived at the reception, opposite the Trauma Unit, and walked to the main desk.

  ‘I need an appointment with the doctor please. I'm in a rush.’

  The receptionist didn't look up but pushed forward a clipboard.

  ‘Fill in,’ he said still not looking up.

  Leke filled in the form at the desk. There were ten other people waiting. Leke noticed a father with a little girl asleep in his lap and an old man with a cane, coughing into the already cloistered air of the small room.

  ‘You need to join the queue,’ the receptionist said to Leke when he handed back the form. He was irritated but he found a chair to sit in. Hours passed before the receptionist addressed him.

  ‘Mr Denton? This way please.’

  Dr Tembu was small and dark with a greying moustache. He sat behind a desk in a wooden chair and removed his glasses to wipe his eyes as Leke entered. His hands were large, he beckoned for Leke to take a seat.

  ‘Afternoon. What can I do for you?’

  The walls of the room gave Leke a feeling of being closed in, as he spoke he kept looking around for a window, the air was stale and the walls were bare.

  Dr Tembu moved around the desk to begin a physical examination. His touch was startling.

  ‘Breathe in.’

  Leke inhaled.

  ‘And out. Again.’

  Leke inhaled.

  Again’

  Leke inhaled. Dr Tembu's forearm brushed over Leke's chest as he moved the stethoscope from point to point. Leke's skin tingled.

  ‘Again’

  Leke inhaled. His collar was unbuttoned.

  ‘Okay.’ The doctor hung the stethoscope back around his neck and pulled the thermometer from Leke's mouth.

  ‘Temperature's normal. Just want to check your ears.’

  Dr Tembu held Leke's face and he allowed his head to drop under the gentle pressure of the doctor's fingers. Using an instrument that looked like a metal hammer, the doctor studied first one ear and then the other.

  ‘What's that?’ Leke asked.

  ‘It's an otoscope. With the light and a low-power magnifying glass I can detect any irregularity,’ a raised eyebrow suggested amusement. ‘Have a look.’

  The instrument was heavier than Leke imagined, he looked it over and handed it back.

  ‘Everything's fine. Do you have a very stressful job?’ Dr Tembu asked as he walked back to his seat and Leke buttoned his shirt.

  ‘Not really.’

  ‘Well,’ the doctor smiled, kindly. ‘I suggest a basic multivitamin. Perhaps some rest. You’re a healthy man.’

  Leke cleared his throat. ‘Can I get a flu jab though?’

  Gene had mentioned this to him when he was plotting another scam to leave work early.

  ‘Oh?’

  ‘Yes. Just to be safe.’

  ‘Alright. Let's do that. Come with me.’

  Leke moved, stunned, through the streets. He'd thought he would be able to go back to work but it was already half past four. He walked towards home too dazed to register the old man pissing onto a wall, and a beggar with a baby on her back. About his absence, he tried to think of an excuse that would satisfy his manager but nothing came to mind. His footsteps were so leaden he appeared to be performing a march, solemn and deliberate. Clunk. Clunk. A boy, walking past with his mother, turned around to look. Clunk.

  Leke's head started spinning and he leaned against the wall of a nearby building.

  ‘You okay?’ someone asked but he waved him off.

  He let the building wall carry him as he tried to untangle his confusion, his experience of being in one of his childhood dreams, the intense euphoria, except this time he was awake. He put his hand to his throat but it was only in his imagination that there was an irritation.

  The swirling sensation reduced and Leke found he could stand proud of the wall without falling.

  He passed Elias's shop and stood for a while staring, out of sight, at him and his dog sitting outside on the grubby sidewalk. Whitie was on a chain, and subdued. She licked Elias's ear and he moaned in response.

  ‘Hey, Leke!’ Elias shouted from across the road. ‘What you buying today? More Four O'Clocks?’

  Leke shook his head and carried on walking. By the time he entered through his gate, the hex from his appointment had worn off. His hands shook as he made himself a cup of tea and for the first time Leke noticed loneliness, it swelled into the small space of the studio, a polite and silent guest.

  Darkness came, inside his studio Leke tried to sleep but could only manage short bouts. Dr Tembu and his sandpaper hands; Tsotso's eyes sizing him up; Whitie licking Elias's ear – all of this kept him awake.

  He'd never liked animals. Two years after Jane died, when Leke was twelve, Marcus had bought him a rabbit but he wouldn't touch it, the soft hair, the feel of the muscles moving underneath the thick white fur. After several attempts to place the bunny in Leke's arms and Leke refusing, Marcus gave up. Leke never forgot the squirm of the rabbit's paws in his groin as Marcus had laid the creature in his lap.

  Just before he knew he would need to bathe and dress for work Leke got out of bed and lay in the back seat of his car. It was cold but he didn't bring his blanket. In the dim light from the street lamp, he watched the goose-pimples appear along his arm and blew, checking to see if his breath could warm his skin enough so that the bumps disappeared – an old game from childhood.

  Thursday 17th September 1992

  For Leke:

  I have to start with my grandmother, Mama Wole. Your great grandmother. I could go further back but if I'm telling you about the curse I must at least start with her.

  After a year of marriage to my grandfather – they called him Oga – her stomach expanded and her dark brown skin gleamed as if she'd rubbed cocoa butter on it.

  That was their first son. Wole. He was cause for joy of course, what did they know about the things that lay ahead? They celebrated. Palm-wine. Fish head pepper soup. Iyan.

  Nothing scares me, Leke.

  It must be true – the darkness – because nothing scares me. My father was the same. When you get born into a family curse nothing is frightening. I suppose it's like being the child of an undertaker – dead bodies are commonplace.

  I never met Uncle Wole or any of my father's brothers. There were six of them, my father being the seventh child.

  And then there was an eighth, a girl. That was the beginning of the darkness.

  I liked to sit on my haunches and inspect the ground for earthworms. I would split the worms in two with my hoe. I thought because they still wriggled after I split them that it wasn't a bad thing.

  ‘Kai!’ my father would shout. ‘You’re killing my farm. Kuro n be. Move, jo! Haba!’

  Despite my mother's warnings my father would tell me things.

  ‘Have I told you yet,’ he'd begin, ‘that nothing good will come of us?’

  We would settle down, me with an agbalumo fruit or a packet of Orkin biscuits if I was lucky. It would be late afternoon and if I pricked my ears I could hear cars driving past from town towards the campus we lived on.

  I would sit beside him on the ground, caught in the crook of his arm, my back pressed
against his chest. The same arm held a beer bottle. I reasoned that its content was the cause of our swerved and jerky journey back home, on his motorbike.

  Wednesday 29th August 2012

  For Tsotso, Western Medical Fund was a stop-gap. Something she could do before opening her workshop and really taking off. She'd taught herself to make violins, with the help of a book she'd downloaded off the internet and a Chinaman she'd met in a chat room. The notes from the string instrument-making course she'd taken last year helped too.

  On the way to work every morning she stopped in front of Frankie's and stared at the upright piano – a simple “Squire” make, cherry-wood body. She'd priced it a few months back and had been salivating ever since.

  Watching the piano, especially the stool placed in front of it, reminded Tsotso of her piano lessons in primary school, Madame Desmarais sitting next to her, straight-backed, tapping a ruler on her lap and counting to keep the 3:6 time.

  Madame Desmarais had always counted out loud, Tsotso had counted in her mind, also imagining that the piano counted with them.

  As far as Tsotso was concerned musical instruments had always breathed and lived and spoken; she liked to think she had a special love affair with them, ever since she was five and her uncle had handed her a rusty mbira. She'd held the rough wooden body of the Zimbabwean musical instrument in her small hands and plucked at the row of long slender metal teeth. That was the beginning of the love affair.

  An affair that had crescendoed, years later, in a boarding school scandal – Tsotso was found lying naked, in the Cecil Skotnes assembly hall, atop the baby grand.

  Her academic scholarship at the prestigious school hung in the balance for a few days. Finally, convinced it was part of a Grade 11 prank, the disciplinary committee had suspended her for a week and requested, on her return, she make an apology to Mrs. Vuyisiwe, the principal.

  Tsotso had borne her punishment, accustomed, by then, to being misunderstood. She hadn't been trying to defile school property, as the teachers had insisted. Instead it was an innocent experiment – she'd wanted to know what it would feel like to have her naked skin pressed up against the skin of the piano. Glorious.