some money and I thought maybe you could put it into my bank.”
Joyce understands banks and how they work. Me, I have forgotten even how to hold a pen, so how can I go to the bank myself? Grown-ups ask many questions there. You must remember when you were born and exactly how old you are. You must have an address and it must be one that doesn’t keep changing. Like you must stay in the same spot for say maybe five years and when you move you must tell the bank. They must know everything about your movements. Like how many homes you have and whom must they call when you want to do something with your money. If you ask me they are a bit like gangsters, they want to know everything so that you cannot run away from them. And you must have an ID and a job that pays you regularly. And every time you put in money they make money for you by lending out your money. They are very clever people who work at banks. That’s what Joyce says. She says she ordered a banking place for me at First National Bank and that all my money is going to be safe there. Every time I make money I give her some and she puts it away for me in the safe. It’s my plan to do something with it one day. I’m not sure what I can do with it or how much I have saved but I have a feeling that it will come in handy one day.
Today I give her twenty bucks and keep the rest. What I like about Joyce is that she never asks me how I make my money. In fact, unlike most grown-ups she doesn’t ask too many questions. She’s only too happy to be sitting at the window sewing or doing something with her hands. Sometimes I just sit there with her and we say nothing to each other for hours. It’s so peaceful.
Sometimes, when she’s not feeling like an auntie, she lets me smoke a cigarette with her but that doesn’t happen often. She never beats me but jeez she can get very angry with me, especially when my clothes are dirty. When I have enough money, because food always comes first, I buy soap and wash my clothes at a public toilet. I wash them one at a time. T-shirt first and when it has dried I wash my socks and when they’ve dried I wash my pants but I wear them wet till they dry in the sun from all the walking I do.
Joyce pours me a cup of tea. I sit on the floor beside her and we listen to her wireless. On the news Pagad is on the loose again. Another policeman was shot dead in his home.
“You know, Zu-zu, these Pagad mense they say they are God’s people but they preach the devil’s work.”
“Yes, Auntie.”
“You must stay away from them, you hear, Zu-zu.”
“Yes, Auntie.”
“And the gangsters. If I ever hear that you are a member of a gang you can forget about Auntie ever giving you food or banking your money. Do you hear me?”
“Me, Auntie, I’m not like them. I’m not a moegoe.”
“You must promise me this, Zu-zu. Say you’ll never be a member,” she says and looks at me with a schoolteacher’s serious eyes.
“I promise, Auntie.”
“No, you mustn’t promise. Say it. I want to hear you say it.”
“I promise not to be a member, Auntie.”
“That’s good, Zu-zu, that’s good.”
We sit in silence for a while and listen to the rest of the news. After a while I tell Auntie that I must be on my way.
I go to Green Point where Allen works as a pimp. I find him standing under a large blue-gum tree talking to one of his white girls. They are arguing about something. I stand back because I know Allen’s temper. He’s killed someone before and I saw the whole thing happen. Knowing him has actually helped me a lot on the streets. I can’t say that we are friends. But if I’m ever in trouble I just have to say that I know Allen and I’m usually left alone.
“Why must I fucking work today?” she yells at him, her pupils like saucers. Stupid woman, she’s high.
“Because I told you so, bitch. Who the fuck do you think you are? Don’t pull this shit on me just because you’ve just had your rock.”
“I don’t see why I have to work today. I haven’t had a day off in two weeks, Allen. What about my pussy?”
“Fuck you,” he punches her and she falls flat on her face in the street. A car drives near her and hoots at Allen. “You and your pussy, fuck you. You’re full of shit.” He goes on and grabs her by the hair.
That’s the problem with the white bitches. I find that they never know when to shut up and here the ouens don’t give them a chance. They are heavy-handed. They just whack. And if that doesn’t do it, they naai and then they fuck them up even more.
“You weren’t complaining yesterday when that client paid you a three hundred rand tip. Don’t think I don’t know about that, bitch. I know about it. You can’t hide anything from me, meisietjie. Daai glad hare, it does nothing for me. This isn’t Joburg,” he continues slapping her. “I’m going to moer you for your mouth, you must learn when to shut up.”
By this time she has a serious cut under her left eye and bruises all over her face. Her clothes are also torn. He grabs her by the scruff and bundles her to his flat which is on the same road. People walk by.
“What the fuck do you want?” he says as he walks past me.
I show him forty bucks. That’s the only thing Allen understands best – money. He doesn’t answer. He just calls me with his head. The white girl is bleeding but she doesn’t cry.
“I should naai you for all the shit you cause, you stupid bitch,” he says and throws her on the couch that looks flea-ridden. The cats scurry away. She doesn’t say anything.
“Go clean up before I fuck you up again,” he yells, the devil in his eyes. He kicks her hard in the ass as she gets up. She falls on her face and starts crying.
“Get up, you cunt! Poes! Fokken naai!”
She gets up slowly and goes to the bathroom.
“Now what the fuck do you want? And who said you could sit down? Fuck off your naai, get up,” he turns to me.
“Allen, I need shoes,” I say looking at his feet.
“Fuck off, why didn’t you come yesterday?”
I wait for him to slap me but he doesn’t.
“Hei, what’s your fucking problem? Look at me when I’m talking to you.” He straightens my head by the chin.
I look at him, hiding the terror in my eyes.
Unexpectedly, he smiles and shows off his mouth of mostly gold fillings.
“You’re my my laaitie, you know that? Where’s your money?”
I give him the moistened notes.
“Wait here,” he says. “Don’t sit. I’ll have a look in the bedroom.”
On the floor around me there are boxes of stolen items, things that Allen or whoever it was got from house breaking. A pair of Reebok tackies that look like my size stare at me from the corner. Allen returns with ten-rand flip-flops. He throws them at me and says I must return in three days’ time to get proper shoes. What he means is that I must return in three days’ time
