Steenkamp gave a little derisive laugh, her eyes blinking in disbelief. “No! Jeez! Good heavens!” she exclaimed. “I did not call him an ape.” She paused. “I was called by Rachel to come and talk to this guy who was forcing his way into the office instead of standing like the other students in the line and waiting for somebody to help him.” She paused with her finger still pointing at the queue. “So I said to him he should stop his apish behavior. My God! I can’t believe this!”
Ms Steenkamp tried hard to make herself look more innocent.
“You see! That’s what I don’t appreciate,” I said, feigning horror. Like lightning, I flicked my eyes from Ms Steenkamp to Dr Winterburn. “And she is repeating it right in front of you, saying that my behaviour is apish. That is like saying that I was socialised with apes and I should be living in the mountains or the zoo. Is that what you see when you look at a black person like me?”
“Bullshit! That is not true. I didn’t –” said Rachel.
“What did you say just now?” I snapped again.
Silence fell while Dr Winterburn considered our statements. The look on her face told me that she was siding with me.
“Rachel, what happened before you called Ms Steenkamp?” enquired Dr Winterburn.
“This gentleman came straight over to the counter and I had to tell him to go back to the end of the line. When he refused to do so I had to call Ms Steenkamp.”
Like a judge in a court of law, Dr Winterburn turned and faced me. “And why did you refuse to follow those procedural orders?”
“Dr Winterburn, I know all about the procedures here.” I paused. “For me to make an appointment to see you in this office all I need to do is sign a form which is inside those files.” I paused again and pointed at the files, which had been picked up off the floor by one of the security guards. “And not to stand in the queue with the other students.”
I paused and looked at Dr Winterburn. She was nodding in agreement.
“I was coming to do just that when these two ladies here tried to embarrass me in front of all these students. This one even took the piss out of me by asking me what I was doing at university if I could not read the signs.” I pointed at Rachel. “She said that without even greeting me properly, let alone asking me what I wanted like any civilised person would. That is not the way to treat people. They are here to help the students, not to insult us.”
“He’s lying. Ask the officers. He’s the one who swore in this office!” shouted Rachel.
None of the security officers came to her rescue. Maybe they were siding with their black brother.
Rachel was breathing hard and her eyes were beginning to mist over with tears. Dr Winterburn turned and faced the two officers who were leaning on the counter, listening to everything that was being said. “Gentlemen, I think I can handle this little misunderstanding on my own.”
As soon as the two officers had left, Dr Winterburn invited Ms Steenkamp, Rachel, and myself into her office. She ushered us into the chairs and the three of us sat nervously in anticipation of her verdict, while secretly observing each other.
“Sorry, I didn’t get your name,” Dr Winterburn said, trying to address me in a conciliatory tone.
“I’m Dingamanzi Makhedama Njomane,” I answered.
My two enemies remained anxious and silent.
“Mr Njomane, as you might have heard I am the one in charge here.” She paused. “It’s against the policy of this institution as a whole to insult people, or rather to make people feel insulted. I take this opportunity to apologise to you on behalf of this office, and I hope my staff will do the same.”
The breath whooshed out of me in disbelief. I did not expect the matter to be concluded with such simplicity. Both my enemies looked at Dr Winterburn in disbelief and tried to mask their disappointment by remaining silent. But with a look that no one was likely to disobey, Dr Winterburn turned to the two ladies to elicit their apologies.
“I’m sorry if you took my words to imply what you thought. It was not my intention to insult you,” said Ms Steenkamp reluctantly.
“I’m also sorry for the misunderstanding that happened between us. I hope you did not take it that bad. I did not mean what you imply,” muttered Rachel quickly.
“Okay. Thank you. You two can leave us now,” ordered Dr Winterburn.
I watched my enemies leave the office with glee. But I knew that a mammoth battle was still ahead of me.
Without a word Dr Winterburn opened the top drawer in her desk and took out a diary. She hunched forward and removed her glasses, pushed her long bushy red hair backwards with her right hand, and then began to page through the diary with her long fingers. Groping in the same drawer again, she took out a small brown bottle, from which she took two pills. She poured a glass of water from a carafe on the table, put the pills in her mouth and swallowed them with some water.
For about a minute Dr Winterburn scrawled something in her diary. I became mesmerised by the trick that age had played on her once fresh flesh. Although her body showed that she was still young, her face revealed wrinkles that were the result of the unstoppable wheel of time. I started to wonder if she still dated at her age. In my perverted thoughts I began asking myself if she enjoyed spreading her legs for ambitious gigolos to dance between. Looking at the thick make-up on her face, I concluded that she was that type who would share her nakedness with young white men, under the illusion that their pace between her thighs would keep her forever young.
I didn’t notice that Dr Winterburn had finished scrawling in her diary. I was stroking my chin in deep erotic thought when she closed it and spoke to me.
“Okay, Mr Njomane, what is it that you came to see me about?”
“About the status of my bursary application.”
“Do you have your student card with you?” she asked as she reset her PC.
I reached for my wallet in the back pocket of my jeans, took out the card and gave it to her. She typed something into her PC and drew back, waiting for the information to appear. By that time I had begun to sweat. Dr Winterburn leaned forward and folded her arms. She exhaled heavily and leaned backwards again.
“I thought that you already knew the outcome of your appeal, Mr Njomane. I wrote to you early last week. Haven’t you received my letter yet?”
“Yes, I received your letter, but the grounds on which I was refused the bursary are Greek to me. I came here to make an appointment to talk to you about it.”
“What do you mean?” she asked, her face flushing with astonishment. “Are you here to tell us what to do and what not to do?” She looked at me and hunched forward again as if she was talking to a deaf person. “Look here, Mr Njomane; in this office we have our own criteria for selecting students for bursaries. Remember we would love to sponsor everyone who asks for help, but we are circumscribed by the funds we have at our disposal. There are quite a number of students whose situation is really pathetic and we have decided that in your case at least it is not that bad.”
Dr Winterburn hunched forward again and looked at me. She balanced her elbows on the table. I did not say a word.
“What
