a colander of dried-out rice and three solitary eggs. He closed the fridge and pressed his forehead to the cold door. Gritting his teeth and squeezing his eyes, Captain fought his anger. I fucking gave her R1 000 last week to buy food, and this is what there is?
Dressed in his school uniform, Captain struggled to contain his desire to scream out loud in frustration. He could guess where his grocery money had gone. It had gone to fund the drinks and cigarettes of his mother’s friends. Most meals, Captain ate at Nazneen’s house or he bought take-aways. A roti from Johnnies, a platter of chips from Wrap-it-Up or a bunny chow from Aunty Betty. But he always made sure his mother had enough money to buy food for the house. Always.
Rubbing his forehead, he removed a clean coffee mug from a curtained shelf above the sink and carried it to the boiling kettle. He added coffee, sugar and powdered milk, then filled the mug with hot water.
He took the coffee over to his mother’s room. The odour of stale cigarette smoke was strong in the small space. His mother lay beneath the duvet, a large photograph of a painting of Jesus above the headboard. Captain placed the mug on a side table, next to a packet of cigarettes.
“Why aren’t you in school?” his mother asked, opening her eyes, her voice heavy and deep with sleep.
“I’m leaving now.”
“Are you late?”
“A little, but it’s fine.”
She sat up in bed and took a sip of the coffee he’d brought her.
“Ma,” he started. “Why is there no food in the fridge?”
“What do you mean?”
Captain gritted his teeth. “I mean, there’s no food in the fridge. I gave you money to buy food, but there’s no food in the fridge.”
“Oh, Aunty Edna borrowed some money so she can get her lights switched back on.”
Captain almost lost it. “Edna? Who was sitting outside and drinking with you last night? Who’s got money for alcohol, but doesn’t have money to put her own lights on? That Edna?”
“She’ll pay it back.”
“When?”
“When she pays it back. I didn’t raise you to be selfish.”
Captain took a deep breath. “I’m not being selfish. That woman is going to take that money and buy drink with it. And her lights will stay off, Ma. She already owes you money. She’s going to drink your money away, and now we’re left with no food in the house.”
“She’ll pay it back, Anthony.”
Captain realised it was pointless to continue arguing. He sighed. “Okay, Ma.”
His mother took another sip of coffee while he dug into his wallet and withdrew a R20 note. He laid it on the table.
“For bread and milk,” he said.
His mother nodded. “Are you being careful?”
Captain forced a smile. “I always am.”
She gave him a look of concern. Captain and his mother had an unwritten agreement between themselves. She would pretend that she did not know where the money was coming from, and he would pretend that she did not know what he did to make the money. The arrangement worked pretty well for both parties.
“Bye, Ma.”
He got to his feet and walked out of the house. Under the metal awning and down the cement path that led to the front gate. His car was parked on the side of the road, but he walked past it. He needed to calm himself down. To get the tension from his shoulders and from his jaw, because he desperately wanted to walk in the opposite direction. Away from school and to Edna’s house. To get that money back. He did not doubt for a second that the money he’d given his mother had been spent on beer.
He wouldn’t have this much of a problem if the money had been lent to a person who would use it for what they said they were using it for. If it went to feed a family, he was fine with that. To switch on the electricity for someone who was going through hard times – he was okay with that as well. But to give money to fucking Edna? Edna, who was too lazy to go out and find work? Who would take that money and find herself in a nightclub on the weekend? He could resist it no longer. At the top of his voice he screamed out, “FUCK!”
His breathing was rapid and his heartbeat raised, but he felt a little less tense. Nostrils flaring, he continued his trek to school. The only reason he didn’t go to Edna’s place was because he knew that his mother would be upset. He didn’t want to upset his mother, so he would not go looking for Edna. But God help her if he saw her in a club or shebeen any time soon.
6
The sun was furious and it poured its anger out upon the earth. The air was thick with heat and humidity. This sticky soup was filled with the clamour of loud voices from the pupils of Bechet Secondary School, enjoying their fifteen-minute break between classes. The school itself was made up of a single brick building and a number of cardboard prefabs that were like ovens in summer and refrigerators in winter. These classrooms were occupied by the lower grades: the reward for getting to Grade 10 was to move into the brick-built main building. Captain joked that the history books at the school were so old that they read, “Ten years ago, when Jan van Riebeeck landed at the Cape …”
Captain liked making jokes about his school, but deep down he loved this old place. And he respected the teachers here greatly. It couldn’t be an easy job, teaching this rowdy bunch, many of them involved in gangs or drugs. Many of them not believing they were good for anything except becoming a taxi driver, boilermaker, welder or some other artisan, if they were lucky. So if they were not going to be more than call-centre agents, why should they bother with studying trigonometry, or biology, or literature? And yet these teachers were still trying to mould these young minds that were already flaking and hardening in the heat of this community. A tough job. A thankless job, most of the time, but a job they did with passion.
The corridor was quiet. Captain raised his knuckles to the door and knocked twice.
“Enter, if your nose is clean.”
Captain smiled as he pushed the door open.
“Anthony,” Mr Williams said, hunched over his work table. “What did you do wrong this time?” The woodwork teacher was a slight man with dark skin and thinning hair.
Captain smiled. “Me, sir? We both know I’m an angel.”
“An angel of disaster,” Mr Williams said, wiping wood dust from his hands and onto his green plastic apron. “What can I do for you?”
“Sir, it’s almost time for the final matric exams and the desks are –”
Mr Williams did not let Captain finish. “Tell me something I don’t know. I know most of the desks are broken and there isn’t enough for all of you. That’s why I’m staying behind after school to make our own desks. We can’t wait for the Department of Education to pull their finger out and come to the party.”
“That’s why I’m here, sir. I’d like to donate some money for the materials you need.”
“Really?” Mr Williams raised a questioning eyebrow.
“Yes, sir. How much money do you need?”
Mr Williams looked through the mist of wood particles that always hung in the air in the woodwork room. At the tools that were neatly hanging on the walls. At the model boats, spice racks and bird houses that students, past and present, had built within these walls.
“Thank you, Anthony,” he said. “But I’m sorry, I can’t accept your money.”
Captain was dumbfounded. “Why not?”
“Because we both know where it comes from.”
“Does it matter?” Captain asked. “I mean, who cares