not trial and error with Vusi. He knew the correct spanner sizes for the engine parts. When he reached for his tools, his hand returned with the exact-sized spanner. His shoulders locked, muscles strained, bolts and nuts popped and his tiny hands swivelled them out. Vusi took the engine apart methodically. He was mechanical in the task, clear about what came out first, like he had done it a thousand times before. Neat too, with all the nuts in one pile. Consumed by the task at hand, he did not say a word as he worked. I concentrated on my part of the job inside the cabin and mimicked Vusi’s mechanical ways.
In thirty minutes the inside of the cabin was finished, and just the pedals and wires remained. I joined Vusi on the outside. Ten minutes for the front and back lights, as well as the grille. We took a five-minute smoke break and cooled our faces with tap water.
“Will you smoke if I roll a blunt?”
Vusi was busy crushing weed.
“Sure. I want to smoke it sober today. Yesterday your weed killed my night with the darkest blackout I ever had.”
“After you finished spinning, nothing happened anyway. Those cowboy country nuts – the Cold Hearts – started fights and shot guns in the air. All the girls were scared. You can spin a car, Sipho. All the crooks were asking about you.”
“I was raised around cars. My father is a mechanic, and you know how some people leave their scraps and never return for them. I helped my father fix the scraps, and in return he let me drive around in them. When he was away, I practised spins in them. But the 325is, Vusi, that machine was made for spinning.”
We revved the blunt. I downed it with water. Vusi guzzled beer. I looked at the Nissan Sentra – the victim of our destruction. It smiled a toothless grin.
The midday sun chased away the morning breeze, so we worked faster.
“Better we sweat once and finish. It will be hotter soon. We are almost done anyway. It is just the shell we have to cut in half, and the engine block, but the block I am not selling. I’ll take it to the recycling people at Isipingo. There they pay by weight. I must get a quotation from your father, Sipho. There is a chisel-shaped RSI he needs to look at for me,” Vusi shouted through the sound and sparks of the angle grinder.
“What is wrong with it?” I shouted back.
“It mixed water and oil, so the engine has no power. It has been parked for two months now. How much do you think he will charge me?”
“He’ll take the cylinder head to the engineers to skim or do whatever is needed. Then put it back again. The engineers’ fee will determine the price.”
“And like that we are finished. You can wash your face and hands in the bathroom inside the house. Do it quietly because my uncle is asleep.”
I heard the horn of the 325is through the bathroom window over the beeps and rumble of a reversing truck. A violent cough from a room opposite the bathroom echoed through the house. Two men were loading the broken Sentra, like pieces of a jigsaw puzzle, onto the back of the truck.
“Here is your money, Sipho. Thank you, my brother. You really helped me out. Musa is waiting for you outside.”
“I am the one who should be thanking you, Vusi,” I said.
“We will organise about the RSI.”
“No problem. Come see me when you are ready, Musa knows the way to my house.”
I left Vusi arguing with the driver of the truck about the engine block.
“How much did he give you?” Musa said.
“I did not count it.”
“Count it before we leave.”
“It is R3 000 exactly. Here is your share.”
I placed fifteen R100 notes in Musa’s palm. He returned five of them.
“Thank you for this, Musa,” I said.
“No need, Sipho, you worked for it.”
“Can we go to the city? My girlfriend is at the movies with her friends at Musgrave Centre. I must also buy a SIM card for my phone.”
“Is she pretty? I made a resolution this year: only pretty girls ride in my car.”
“You’ll see,” I said.
3. The Plan
3
The Plan
We arrived at Musgrave Centre to the end-of-the-day buzz of shopping malls. Elongated afternoon shadows rushed to the bus stop, some to taxis, a few to their cars, while others stuck together in the various steady walks of love. I parked the 325is behind the metered taxis opposite the bus stop. Musa turned his head faster than a meerkat as girls passed by. He was like a glutton at a buffet, uncertain about which pavement to choose – our side of the road, where girls in two-piece suits headed for the parking lot to their cars, or the bus stop, where mostly students waited for public transport. His gaze fastened on the bus-stop side.
“Check out the dark-skinned one holding oranges in that clique of fair skins,” he said.
“I told you you’ll see. That’s her. That is Nana, my girlfriend.”
“That is a girlfriend and a half, Sipho!”
I knew Musa did not believe me, but Nana acted it out for him. Her clique became instantly irrelevant as soon as she saw my waving hand. I loved the way she walked, as if stepping on sand. I did not understand yet somehow grasped that she loved me, even though she lived in a mansion at leafy High Ridge in N Section, which was practically a suburb within the township. My father’s house looked like the servants’ quarters at her house. Her father was a lawyer. Her dark complexion, dimples and large whiter-than-snow-on-TV eyes came from her housewife mother.
“Hi baby, did you enjoy the rest of your day yesterday? I waited for your call until I fell asleep. How are you?”
Her hug was warm, the peck she allowed me polite, for she was not a fan of public kissing.
“I am alright. Ma hid the telephone key again so I could not call. What’s with the oranges, baby?”
“Ma said I must give them to your mother.”
She waved to her friends, who were all giggles. Musa slid into the back seat.
“This is my friend, Musa, by the way.”
“Hi, Musa, nice to meet you.”
“Hi, Nana. Thank you for helping my friend; I am happy he has someone. Sipho, can we pop into Westville for a few minutes? I have an appointment at four.”
I have this stupid notion of rating people by how good they look in cars. Nana got a perfect score for the 325is. She made it look whiter. Her dimples were at their best in a half smile – like right there and then.
“Baby, you know I have to be at home by six o’clock,” Nana said.
“We
