Seas of South Africa (19 page)

Well, nothing broke, but two thirds of the way to Ladysmith, in the middle of nowhere, the engine sputtered a few times, coughed, and died. We rolled to a stop. “No!” I couldn't believe it. We had run out of gas. We filled the tank before we left Ladysmith, but I never thought to refill it before leaving Johannesburg. I was so used to running an engine with a tank that could cross an ocean. What now?

I looked behind us. We hadn't seen a town for a long time. Chances were we'd see one sooner the way we were going. There was nothing else to do but push the bike. And so I did. Thank heavens the road was flat. Within half a mile, I saw a light ahead. A mile beyond that, we came to a crossroads with an old garage and a few shacks. There was one light hanging from a pole. The garage was closed and no one was around. There was a gas pump, but it was locked. There was a truck in the yard that looked like it belonged to the government.

I went to all the shacks and banged on the doors. No one answered. I tried to pull the hose free from the pump, but the lock was three-quarter-inch steel. There was no way on earth I could break it. I had to get fuel. What could I do? What would Ziegfried do, I asked myself. Ziegfried would slow down and look at the problem logically, and solve it logically. Okay, I thought, I will do that. I stood and considered. There was gas in the pump and gas in the truck. I couldn't get into the pump. What about the truck?

I twisted off the fuel cap and took a sniff. Yes, there was definitely fuel in the truck. But I needed a hose. I ran around the yard looking, but couldn't find one. Then, I opened the hood of the truck. There were two long hoses that carried the wiper wash fluid from the tank to the window. I ripped them out, squeezed one end inside the other, and tied it tight with a wire I ripped free from the engine. Then, I sucked air through the hose to see if it would work. It did. So, I pulled the bike over to the truck, slipped one end of the hose into the fuel tank of the truck, put the other end into my mouth, and sucked as hard as I could.

It was really difficult, and the fumes made me sick. I had never siphoned gas before, only water. Each time that I had to stop, so that I wouldn't throw up, I pinched the hose, so that the fuel wouldn't fall back into the tank. Eventually, I sucked enough fuel into the hose that, when I turned it down into the tank of the bike, the gas flowed on its own current. It was only a trickle, but it didn't stop. And we had to make it only as far as Ladysmith.

As the fuel slowly ran into the motorbike's tank, I raised my head and looked around. This was theft. It would be terrible if I got caught. I had also sabotaged the truck. These were criminal acts. But what else could I do? I couldn't let Los lie around for twelve hours without medical attention, and I couldn't sit here and wait for the gas station to open. We were desperate. Desperation breeds violence, Los had said. Well, maybe sometimes it does and sometimes it doesn't. This wasn't violence. If anything, it was the opposite. Maybe sometimes you have to do something wrong to do something right. Los would have done the same thing for me. So would Ziegfried. So would my grandfather.

Just as the first shade of blue appeared in the sky, we reached the emergency wing of the hospital in Ladysmith. There was no one outside. There were no patients in the waiting room. There were no sirens or ambulances. It was quiet and still. The nurses on the night shift came outside with me, took one look at Los, and ran for a stretcher. After they took him away, they asked me to stay around and fill out papers. So I did. But as soon as I sat down and stared at the paper, I felt a terrible headache. I had just been through the most stressful day and night of my life. I was also dehydrated. My hand was so shaky I could barely hold the pen.

A few hours later, I rolled down the street where Katharina lived. She was standing on her porch when I pulled up in front of the house. She must have heard the bike coming. She
had one arm wrapped around her belly and one hand on her face. She saw the blood on my clothes when I stepped from the bike. I suddenly felt exhausted when I saw her. Until now, I hadn't noticed how tired I was. It seemed to hit me all at once. Katharina looked strong standing there, bracing herself for whatever I had to tell her. “Is he alive?” she asked.

“Yes.”

She came towards me and hugged me. I had to fight back my tears. Whenever would I learn not to cry, I wondered? Maybe never. Who cares?

“Will he be all right?” she asked hopefully.

“They don't know yet. He has a bad concussion. He has a lot of broken bones. It will take a long time to heal.”

“But he will heal.” She sounded determined.

I nodded. “Yes, he will heal.”

“Is he here? In Ladysmith?” She sounded surprised.

“I had to bring him to the hospital here. I had no choice. We would still be waiting if we had stayed in Soweto.”

Katharina shut her eyes. “You did right, Alfred. You did right. You must be tired now.”

“I am.”

“Come in. Get some sleep. I will go to the hospital. There is food in the kitchen. Please eat something.”

“Thank you. Katharina?”

“Yes?”

“Los didn't go for the tools. He went for his sister.”

“I know.”

“But he didn't find her.”

Katharina jumped into her car in her bare feet. “She was forbidden to see him.”

“Why?”

“To punish him.” She waved, and drove away. I went inside the house. There were cantaloupe, oranges, and strawberries on a plate. I picked up the plate and went into the backyard. Hollie, Seaweed, and Little Laura were there. I was so glad to see them. I sat down and shared the fruit with them. The older I got, and the more I learned about people, the more I realized that animals were better than people in many ways. I patted Hollie and looked into his sweet eyes. If every living creature had a heart like his, the world would be a happier place.

After half an hour, I put Hollie and Little Laura into the house, went into the barn, lay down on the sleeping bag, and fell asleep. I was dead to the world in seconds.

It was dark when I woke. Katharina was sitting in the kitchen with a cup of tea when I came inside the house. Hollie greeted me at the door. I was very surprised to see Little Laura sitting on Katharina's shoulder. She had never sat on my shoulder. She had never even come to my hand. I thought maybe she was afraid I might pull her under water again. I supposed she had good reason not to trust men. “She likes you.”

“I dreamt about her.”

“Really?”

“Yes. There was a woman on a boat, and she was calling out to me. Was there a woman in Little Laura's life?”

“Yes, I think so. I think her name was Maggie.”

“Yes. That sounds right. Do you know what happened to her?”

“I'm not sure, but she might have been killed by a pirate. I'm pretty sure he stole her boat anyway. Did you really dream about her? That's pretty weird.”

“It isn't weird at all. I do it all the time. I dreamt about you before I met you. Maggie is very worried about Little Laura.”

“Oh. Is there any way to let her know that she is okay?”

“Maybe. If I dream of her again.”

“Did you see Los?”

“Yes.”

“How is he?”

“He has a bad concussion, as you said. He has swelling in his head, from bleeding. They will watch it closely. They might have to operate. They don't know yet. He has so many broken bones and bruised muscles.”

“Is his spine okay?”

“It appears to be. If he comes through this . . .” She paused. “When he comes through this, he won't be crippled. But there is still a little concern for brain damage.” She paused again. “Would you like some tea?”

“Yes, please.”

Katharina made me a cup of mint tea and an avocado sandwich. I had eaten only a little fruit in two days. While I
ate, she stared at her hands, and fiddled with her car keys. I could tell she was thinking about something she wasn't saying.

“Can you explain something to me?” I asked.

“I can try.”

“Soweto was created to keep the black people who worked in the gold mines separate from white society, right?”

“Yes.”

“And during Apartheid, the government used police to keep order there, right?”

“Order? I don't think you could call it order. It was a form of oppression.”

“That's what I meant. But then, Nelson Mandela, and others, fought for freedom, and to end Apartheid. And they won. Right?”

“More or less.”

“But the nurses at the hospital told me that there is more violence in South Africa today than ever before. And I saw it for myself. Why is that? Why, if the people have more freedom and opportunity, and less oppression, would they be more violent? Why didn't things get better?”

Katharina put her keys down and laid her hands flat on the table. “That's a good question. You're right. South Africa is more dangerous today than it ever was. Especially Johannesburg. And even more especially Soweto. I know that part of the reason is because there are more drugs around today. Drugs are a huge problem. People become violent, people who might never have been violent before. Drugs change
their behaviour. It makes them very desperate.”

“Doesn't poverty, too?”

“Yes, poverty does, too. But I think maybe drugs are even worse. It's a terrible combination anyway, drugs and poverty. But there
is
more freedom and there
is
more opportunity. And you see it. You see people getting ahead. But it's slow for most. Too slow. I think maybe real improvements in society take a long time. They don't happen overnight. And then, I also think that violence has been around for so long that it has become part of our culture. South Africa has the highest violent crime rate in the world. We have the highest rate of rape. We have the highest rate of
AIDS
. Did you know that a girl born in South Africa has a higher chance of being raped than learning to read?”

“Can that be true?”

“It is.”

“I can't believe it.”

“You must believe it, because it is true. Violence will be part of our culture until we have suffered long enough to do something about it. There are people trying very hard to change it, but there is a long way to go.”

I watched Little Laura on Katharina's shoulder. She had been preening herself. Now, her head was tucked in against her feathers and she was falling asleep.

“She looks as if she is used to living with a woman.”

Katharina turned her head and kissed the little bird. “She's a precious soul. I believe that Maggie spoke to me in my
dream, Alfred. She is hoping I will look after her. Will you let her stay?”

I looked down at Hollie. He was curled up, asleep on the floor. It seemed a shame to separate the two of them; they had become good friends. Then I remembered Little Laura getting banged around inside the tool bag in the sidecar. Maybe she was too small and delicate for our travels. Maybe this was where she was meant to be. I looked at her again, nestled close to the dark braids and dangling beads of Katharina's hair. And I nodded.

“Thank you. I promise I will look after her very well.”

“I know that you will.”

Chapter Twenty-four

THE LIST OF LOS
' injuries was long. He had broken ribs, broken bones in his hands and feet, broken teeth, and a broken nose. There was a fracture in his neck, but the doctor said it was not a bad one, and would heal. He had blood in one lung, and his organs were bruised. His muscles had been pulverized. This was how you beat someone severely without killing him, said the doctor. The people who did it had experience, and knew what they were doing. This was mob justice.

It wasn't hard to understand
why
there was mob justice. If you had millions of people living in a small area, and no effective
police force, you had to have some way to keep order. If you knew you would suffer punishment at the hands of your neighbours, then you might think twice before committing a crime against them. In some ways, it made sense that a whole community would choose the punishment together. Then everyone was taking responsibility for justice. It sort of sounded fair. I wondered what my grandfather would say about that.

What I didn't understand, was why anyone would beat someone almost to death for stealing a car battery. Wasn't the punishment way more than the crime deserved? If they had beaten Los any more, they would have killed him. That wasn't justice; that was just an excuse for violence. Maybe the people were taking out their anger and frustration by beating someone whenever they knew they could get away with it. Or, maybe it was even worse than that. Maybe they enjoyed it.

But that wasn't justice. And I didn't think that Nelson Mandela went to prison so that people could do that.

The swelling in Los' face was coming down with medication, and he was conscious now and could see. But he was doped up with painkillers and was very groggy. He couldn't speak. The swelling in his head had come down, too. That was the most important thing. They would watch him closely, but probably they wouldn't have to operate.