The Cry of the Go-Away Bird Page 9

  Sean stood up with a crackle of undergrowth and a scatter of small stones. ‘I’m going to talk to them.’

  ‘Who?’

  ‘Whoever that is.’

  ‘You don’t know it’s a campfire.’

  ‘Yes I do.’ I knew he was looking down at me, because his voice was closer and clearer. ‘You don’t have to come. In fact, it’s better if you stay here.’

  ‘I’m not bluddy staying here.’

  I followed him, hoping like hell that we would find our way back to the bike again.

  ‘Must be workers having a braai,’ said Sean.

  ‘On the game farm?’

  ‘Ja, well, they’re not meant to come out here, but they probably do. I do.’

  The campfire dipped and swayed in my vision as I walked. It was all I could see – the rest was blackness. We crunched over leaves and twigs, walking in a cloud of curious mosquitoes who had gathered to see what we were doing.

  We came into the clearing. Three men were sitting around the fire, roasting meat on a stick. There was a crate of beer beside them.

  ‘Manheru,’ said Sean, and held his palms open and upwards in a supplicating gesture. The men stood up.

  People! I was so relieved to see another human being that I wanted to hug all three of them. Then I saw how they were standing, and I saw their smiles, and I was afraid. I noticed other things: a stack of rifles. An animal pelt, recently skinned. A net.

  Poachers.

  ‘I’m the Baas’s son,’ said Sean. I willed him to shut up.

  ‘The Baas?’ said one of the men. He had an unexpectedly high-pitched voice.

  ‘Ja, Baas Cooper. It’s his farm. Don’t you work here?’

  Hands on hips, legs apart. Confident. The men laughed. ‘No.’ One of them threw his empty skewer away into the bushes, and took a step towards us.

  ‘Then what are you doing here?’ said Sean. ‘This is private property.’

  I wondered if he was actually, properly insane, not just pigheaded. ‘That’s fine, we’ll go,’ I said. I tugged at Sean’s arm, bony and cold.

  ‘Wait a minute,’ said one of the men. I was not waiting. I ran, pulling Sean by the arm. He did not resist, and started running with me. He had finally realised that we could be in big trouble.

  I did not know whether the men were following us, but I imagined they were, and every snap of a twig made me think they were catching up. I ran through the darkness, in what I thought was the direction of the bike. All I could see were stars hopping and spinning above me, nothing else; thorns and low bushes snagged and snarled my feet.

  ‘Where’s the bluddy bike?’ I hissed at Sean, but before he could answer me I was knee-deep in water.

  ‘We’re here,’ he said. ‘It’s by the waterhole.’

  I hated to think what was swimming around my feet in the dank water, or what was watching us from the bushes, waiting to have a quiet drink in the darkness. I splashed my way out towards the dim shape of the bike, and collapsed beside it. I could hear Sean breathing nearby, and smell his sweat.

  ‘You stupid domkop!’ I would have yelled, but I was afraid the men would hear us, so I yelled a whisper as best I could. ‘You’ve lived on a farm your whole bluddy life, and you don’t think to take a can of petrol or a radio with you when you go out on the bike! What’s wrong with you?’

  I could feel Sean’s glare in the darkness. He stomped off, a few feet away from me, and sat down.

  We sat in silence for what felt like a long time. Both of us were Bush-savvy enough to know that it was safer to stay put than to try to walk anywhere, but I was starting to think about moving when I saw twin gleams in the darkness. I thought for a panicked second that it was a pair of animal eyes, but then saw the beams of the headlamps and heard an engine rattling over rough ground. The bakkie juddered over the gravel and sand and came to a halt next to us.

  Mr Cooper stepped down from the cabin.

  Sean jumped up. ‘Howzit, Dad.’

  Mr Cooper clapped Sean on the side of his head. Sean held his ear with one hand and looked dazed in the harsh headlights. It must have been ringing.

  ‘Don’t you bluddy howzit me. What are you bluddy playing at, hey?’ said Mr Cooper. ‘You don’t wander off without taking a radio. You know that. Wake up, domkop.’

  He turned his attention to me. ‘You all right?’

  ‘Ja, I’m fine.’

  ‘We’d better get you back to your Mum, hey.’ His voice was gentle, but changed when he spoke to Sean. ‘Don’t you get too bluddy big for your britches, boy. You’re not as smart as you think you are, hey? You think being the farmer’s son is going to help you out here?’

  ‘No, man.’

  ‘What did you say?’

  ‘No, sir.’

  ‘Right. You could have got both of you killed, you know that?’

  Sean was silent.

  Mr Cooper blew out his lips in a loud sigh. ‘Right, hop in.’

  I sat in the passenger seat. Sean sat in the back, and did not say a word. When we got back to the offices, Mum was frantic with relief, and Sean sank further into the seat cushions.

  ‘Ja, sorry about that,’ said Mr Cooper to Mum. ‘I’ll make sure he never goes out without a radio again.’

  Mum told me there had been a farm-wide search for us, with all the workers on alert.

  Finally, Jonah mentioned that he had told Sean about the elephant.

  ‘Mr Cooper was bluddy furious,’ she said.

  ‘Poor Sean,’ I said.

  ‘Poor Sean my foot. Going into the Bush with no gun and no radio is just bluddy stupid. Thank Christ they found your hat on the road, or they may never have found you.’

  When we got home, Mum fussed over me, making me cups of tea and running me a bath.

  I thought about what Sean said. How I looked like a boy. When I had my bath, I stared down at myself. I was partly submerged, and the skin above the water was pasty, with a pink line where the hot water touched it. Underwater my skin was green, with blue veins writhing through it. Blobby. Pale.

  Mum banged on the door. ‘Are you still in there?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Don’t be too much longer. Steve and I still need to have one.’

  ‘I won’t.’

  ‘And leave the water in.’

  ‘I know, Mum.’

  I liked having first bath. If I had the last bath, I could not help thinking about all the things I was sitting in. Little bits of skin floating past like cornflakes. Hairs snaking along the water’s surface. I pulled out the plug and watched the water gurgle and sputter down the hole.

  Mum banged on the door again. ‘Are you letting the water out? Why are you letting the water out?’

  ‘Sorry.’ I stood on the mat and watched the water pool around my feet.

  ‘But I said . . .’ Mum’s voice moved away, until all I could hear was the faint sound of exasperation from the other side of the house.

  Chapter Ten

  I looked down at my breasts. They were just a slight bulge under my T-shirt, but Mum was making me wear a bra. She took me to Edgars department store especially to get measured and fitted; quite an occasion, as we hardly ever went into town.

  ‘They’re not big enough,’ I protested, but she just laughed and ruffled my hair, which made me furious.

  A fat black woman in the bra shop measured me with cold tape that tickled under my arms. She had terrible body odour and a sleeveless dress. I shifted position slightly.

  ‘Stay still,’ hissed Mum.

  ‘Stay still,’ hissed the woman and pulled the tape tighter, as punishment. I stood there, trying to hold my breath, the woman’s armpit only a few centimetres from my face.

  ‘You are A cup,’ the woman announced.

  ‘Is that the smallest?’ I asked.

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Told you, Mum.’

  The woman wagged a finger in my face. Even her finger was fat. Each joint was like a sausage on a string. ‘You still need proper
bra. Everyone need support.’

  I hugged my arms across my chest and left the rest to Mum and the saleswoman. They chose two white bras and one black one – flaps of plasticky fabric with mysterious hooks and straps.

  It felt strange having something between my skin and my T-shirt. I felt like everyone could tell I was wearing a bra, although Mum swore faithfully that the outline did not show. I remembered when Hennie and I used to run around the garden under the sprinklers in just our underwear, and when Mum told me I could no longer do that. I must have been about six years old.

  ‘Why not?’ I had asked.

  ‘It’s just not right for girls to do that.’

  ‘Why not?’

  ‘Just because. I’ll tell you when you’re older, hey?’

  ‘But boys do it.’

  ‘Boys are different.’

  ‘Why?’

  ‘They just are.’

  I also had to start using deodorant. It came in a little bottle and smelled like talcum powder. I had to slide it around my armpits until they were covered in slimy white which dried to flaky white.

  I started getting spots on my face. This did not help matters at school, especially when one of the girls named a spot on my nose ‘Old Faithful’. It got to the stage where Saru tutted in concern and made me turn my head this way and that to see how it was progressing.

  ‘This one, it won’t go away, hey?’

  I pulled my head away. ‘It’s fine.’

  The girls at school knew all about bras and make-up. I studied them. Everything from their walk to the way they reached their hands up to adjust their hair was designed to make the boys look at them. Most of them wore perfume and mascara, and some of them wore lip gloss that smelled like strawberries or bubblegum. Dallas even got her mother to shorten the school uniform to show off her legs. Mum bought my uniform a size bigger, so that I could grow into it.

  The black girls were different again. They did not giggle and flick their hair like the white girls did, but they had an easy grace in their bodies. They looked like women already. They also had big boobs, some so big that the girls had to wear bras with wire and upholstery to keep everything pointing up and out. I saw them when they were in the changing rooms after swimming or sports.

  ‘What are you staring at?’ asked Yevedzo, one of the biggest girls. I realised I had been watching the mysterious bulge and jiggle of her breasts as she put her shirt on.

  ‘Nothing.’

  When my period started, I did not realise it at first. I noticed a brown stain in my underwear, but I threw away that pair and thought I had an upset stomach. When it carried on for another two days, I started to get worried. It had a rusty, dark smell.

  On the third day, I sat on the toilet, fully dressed, with the seat down, for almost an hour. I did not know what to do. Mum was not home yet. Finally, I asked Saru. I explained about the brown stuff and how I thought it might be a period.

  ‘Azwiite.’ It is forbidden.

  ‘Oh.’ I felt worse. ‘Sorry.’

  I wadded several folds of toilet paper into my underwear and waited for Mum to come home. I felt grubby, but I did not want to have a bath until this was sorted out.

  ‘Mum,’ I said when she got home. She was busy putting down her car keys, pouring a drink, taking off her sunglasses. I followed her around.

  ‘What?’ She did not snap, exactly, but she was preoccupied.

  ‘Mum?’

  ‘Ja, what is it?’

  ‘Shhh.’ I felt my abdomen contract. ‘Mum, I’ve got my period.’

  ‘You’ve got what? Stop mumbling.’

  ‘I’ve got my period.’

  Mum’s face went soft. She reached out to touch my shoulder, but I jerked it away. I did not want mother–daughter bonding over this – not yet.

  She seemed to understand, and became matter-of-fact. ‘Stay here.’

  She came back with boxes of pads, and told me what to do with them. The whole conversation was excruciating, especially when she offered to come into the toilet with me and help.

  ‘No!’

  ‘Okay.’ She raised both hands. ‘But give me a shout if you need help, hey?’

  ‘Don’t tell Steve,’ I begged. I could not bear the thought of anyone looking at me and knowing what was going on in my body.

  ‘Okay.’

  I knew she would, but I appreciated the lie.

  The next morning I prepared carefully for school. The pad felt strange and bulky inside my underwear, and I knew it was getting heavier with blood already, but I could not risk taking a spare one to school. Sometimes the boys took my bag and scattered my books on the grass. I could not risk something white and embarrassing coming out.

  The school play was coming up. I was up a ladder, painting trees on the backdrop, when I heard a voice from below.

  ‘What’s that?’

  I looked down from my perch on the ladder. Dallas was staring up my skirt at something.

  ‘What?’ I put my hands down to clutch my skirt.

  She collapsed in giggles. ‘Come and look.’

  The others crowded around at the bottom of the ladder. I turned around awkwardly and tried to sit on the top step.

  ‘What?’ I asked again.

  ‘Are you wearing a pad?’ Dallas asked, still giggling.

  I could feel my insides curling up small, like a chongololo when you poked it with a stick. ‘Why?’ I asked, and my voice came out too loud.

  ‘There’s blood all over your pants,’ she said.

  The laughter built like the sound of crickets, until the air was thrumming with it.

  I came down the ladder as quickly as I could, banging my shin on one of the steps.

  ‘What’s going on here?’

  One of the teachers walked over.

  ‘She started her period,’ said Dallas, pointing at me.

  ‘Oh.’ The teacher put on an understanding face. ‘Come on, dear.’

  She took me to the nurse’s office, and gave me a pair of spare underpants they kept in the cupboard for occasions like this: once white, now grey.

  Kurai sat with me in the girls’ toilets while I cried. She picked at old nail polish on her fingers. ‘I don’t see why you get so upset about it,’ she said. ‘You know it’s stupid.’

  Easy for her to say. She was tall and magnificent.

  ‘I can’t go back to class,’ I said.

  ‘Ja.’ She thought about it. ‘Go sit behind the classrooms. I’ll meet you after school.’

  She came to meet me in our secret place. She sat with me in silence while I sniffled.

  ‘It’s not such a big deal,’ she said.

  ‘I can’t go back to class again.’

  ‘Yes you can.’

  The borrowed underpants were too big, and bunched up under my skirt. ‘I’m going to go home.’

  ‘Call your Mum?’

  ‘No, sneak out.’

  ‘You’ll never get past the guards.’

  School security had tightened. There had always been a guard at the gates, but now there were two. New rules stopped us from venturing outside the gates during the day.

  ‘Don’t be stupid. They will have forgotten about it tomorrow. Besides, people like you more now.’

  I shook my head.

  ‘It’s true. I’ve raised your street cred.’

  I poked my tongue out at her.

  ‘You’re my entourage,’ she said. ‘Under my protection.’

  I felt better.

  There were food riots in town. People could no longer afford things like bread and milk, and they were protesting. We started having Riot Drills at school. When the alarm sounded, we had to put our hands over our heads and crouch down beneath our desks.

  ‘How is this supposed to help?’ whispered Kurai. She had braids put in the day before, and so was not quite resting her hands on her head. They hovered a millimetre or two above.

  ‘I’m not sure.’ I saw old chewing gum under my desk. ‘This is disgusting.’

/>   ‘Well, if rioters run through here, do they really expect us to sit under our desks and stay still?’ Kurai was indignant. She was halfway through painting one of her nails with Tippex when the alarm bell rang, and it had dried into a strange shape.

  ‘Why would they run through here anyway?’

  ‘Get away from the police.’

  I knew that the riots were about food prices. Bread, sugar and Coke were really expensive now. I had also heard that taxes were going up, which did not make much difference to me but made Steve stomp around the house glaring at things. Apparently the taxes were going to pay pensions to the War Vets.

  ‘War Vets!’ Steve snorted whenever he heard the term. ‘Half of them weren’t even alive during the bluddy war. Amazing how many war heroes pop out of the woodwork when it’s all over.’

  ‘Are you a War Vet?’ I asked Steve. He laughed and laughed until I thought he was going to wet himself.

  ‘You have to be black to be a War Vet. Or a War Hero,’ he said.

  I used not to pay much attention to the news. Mum and Steve had always complained about Mugabe, but I had almost felt affectionate towards him. He was like a hated headmaster, overbearing and incompetent, towards whom you felt a kind of loyalty. And we were always fine, no matter what happened. Sure, someone might get burgled, we might struggle through a drought or have to pay more for petrol, but our lives were essentially unchanged. Saru was still humming as she folded the clothes. The grass was still green; there was still tea in the silver teapot every day.

  Now, however, when I saw a protester on television holding up a sign saying ‘19 years of corruption is enough!’ I started to realise that this was not normal. This was not funny. Mugabe was not a comedy villain, and the people that were getting hurt were real people.

  There were pictures on the news of police using horse whips and sjamboks to subdue the crowd. I saw a shower of black come out of one man’s head, as if it had shattered like a glass bottle into shards of skin. Then I saw the dark specks were blood.

  It was hard to believe this was happening in our city. Archie purred in a dark, happy heap on my lap. I could hear the grandfather clock ticking, and I could smell the dinner that Saru was making for us. I wondered what she thought about all of this, but I knew I would never ask her.