store. Shops and concrete walls hang along the sides of the road. Claremont is its usual dry self, with Cavendish Square looming nearby. Chumani approaches me, carrying yellow plastic bags from Shoprite.
“It’s high time you prosper, gentleman,” I say, as his name translates to “prosperity”.
“Are you OK?” he asks.
“I’m fine, just in a hurry to get somewhere,” I say and leave him standing.
Elio and I meet at the Mowbray taxi rank, as we did yesterday. We stand in the narrow streets of Mowbray, the towering walls of Liesbeeck Gardens residence visible a little way down the road. Elio is wearing a black suit that has lost its colour. His head is small but somehow long. When I ask Elio the name of the church, he hesitates, then says it is Baptista. He says he is going to church now.
“To do what?” I ask.
“To take the pastor’s place,” Elio says.
This grieves me. I put out my right hand towards his chest: “In the name of Jesus,” I say, my breath escaping me, and walk away.
* * *
I have to take a taxi to town to get to Century City. Paul stays in Century City with his wife and daughter. As the taxi fills up, I fear I will suffocate. They are going to fill up the taxi with people till I can’t breathe. This is how I am going to die. I try opening a window. This might help, as I could jump out if need be. But I cannot move the window. I implore the driver to stop in Observatory. This is where I died, Observatory, a long time ago. My life is now being played back to me.
This is where I lost my virginity. She blew me a kiss that morning from a taxi, her caramel skin all wrinkly. I stood on the side of the road wearing my long, red Adidas T-shirt. She wore a black dress and fishnet stockings that night. We had gone to Cubaña in Newlands. I bought her drinks and watched her dance. She’d make her way towards me and grind against my loins with a naughty smile. She soon agreed to leave with me. I didn’t bother informing Nhlakanipho and Mpumelelo. When we slept together I became one with her and all the men she’d known.
We took a cab to my residence in Observatory. But she did not want to have sex. I had to coax her. When I did pound her, I realised afterwards that the condom had split. I had semen on my pubic hair. She screamed, “See what you have done!” and went to the bathroom. I heard the sound of water falling on the tiles as I lay in bed. In the morning we went to a doctor’s surgery in the backstreets of Mowbray. The doctor gave Sofia the morning-after pill and gave both of us prescriptions for anti-retroviral drugs. I stopped at Nhlakanipho’s place in Newlands and asked him to go with me to a pharmacy. I poured out all my pocket money on the ARVs. We visited Kwanele in Valkenberg the same day. God saves us so many times without us realising it. I’m sure there are people who had AIDS and whose blood he healed. Between the time of infection and getting tested a miracle could happen.
* * *
I wince when I pass streetlights with “Safe Abortion” posters on them. From Observatory I cross into Salt River. I am like the wind, blowing without ceasing. I blow past the dark-brown walls of Bush Radio, leave the Caltex garage behind me. Salt River has a blueness about it from all the dilapidated buildings. At the end of Woodstock, Main Road becomes dark as I reach town. I march to the taxi rank on the station deck. It’s about four and the place is teeming with people. There are boards above the bays indicating the destinations of the taxis. I can’t find one pointing to Century City. I ask around and they tell me to join the queue to Milnerton. The line is long. While standing, the name “Century” plays in my mind. It is a complete number. Am I looking for perfection? I look in my tattered black wallet. I have one hundred rand. There is symbolism in this. A fire burns in my mind as if I’m high on weed. I leave the line. I walk alone through the busy taxi rank. What if I cannot touch any of these people? I see a middle-aged woman with extensions in her hair. I offer her twenty rand. To be part of life I have to give to people.
“Why do you want to give it to me?” she asks.
“I just want to,” I reply.
She refuses. I leave her, feeling like a madman. I really want to go to the fellowship, so I call Paul.
“How do I get to your place using public transport?”
“I don’t know. Let me give the phone to my wife,” Paul says.
“Hey, Manga. Look, there’s a station that’s just been built at Century City. You can catch a train,” Paul’s wife says. I walk down to the station concourse and buy a first-class ticket to Century City. I flash my ticket to a lady guard at the barrier. She lifts the steel bar, allowing me to go through. It is like an auction inside the station as a million announcements rush to my ears. I exit the station.
* * *
Back at the taxi rank, I see a guy I used to work with. I introduce myself to him.
“I know you, mfethu,” he says.
“But you don’t know my name,” I reply. “What’s your name?”
“I’m Ntobeko,” he says. This is a message. His name translates to “humility”. The message is for me to be humble.
“Were you at work?” he asks.
“No, I resigned.”
“Why, what happened?”
“Some things happened . . . I fell ill.”
They are all going to talk about this at the office. I was seen crazy in town. I quit my job and lost my mind. I can end up like the vagabond sleeping on the stairs. My story of Cape Town: how the city beat me.
The wind pushes against my face. I amble along the blue-tar road. I call Paul again.
“I can’t get to Century City,” I say.
“Have you tried catching a train?” Paul asks.
“I can’t. I get lost.”
“I’m still busy now. Lemme pick you up later from your place,” he says.
“It’s fine, I believe in God,” I say and drop the call. I pray for calmness. I end by saying “amen”. This feels so empty, evoking the uselessness of a man’s life, how it ends and how life continues. I think of Che Guevara saying “You are only killing a man.” A man is something that is destined to die. The elements of life are the sun, earth, fire and water. Black people are like the sun, shining and beautiful. Somewhere we must have done wrong. We have been humbled to servants. We must take this with grace and not be bitter. Perhaps, seasons later, our beauty will return.
Paul calls back: “What’s going on with you? You just hung up. Have you taken drugs? I told you I’m going to pick you up and you say you believe in God.”
“No, I haven’t taken drugs.”
“Where are you right now?” Paul asks.
“I’m in Woodstock.”
“Just find any McDonald’s or KFC and wait for me there.”
I go into a Debonairs and sit down. A staff member stands in front of me, wearing a black shirt. I call Paul and tell him I am at Debonairs. “OK,
