The Sun Between Their Feet (37 page)

‘And what is the name of the street?'

And now nothing comes from Jabavu's tongue. The policeman is getting off his bicycle in order to look at Jabavu's papers, when suddenly there is a commotion in the street which Jabavu has come from. The theft has been discovered. There are voices scolding, high and shrill, it is the white mistress telling the nanny to fetch the missing clothes, the nanny is crying, and there is the word police repeated many times. The policeman hesitates, looks at Jabavu, looks back at the other street, and then Jabavu remembers the recruiter. He butts his head into the policeman's stomach, the bicycle falls over on top of him, and Jabavu leaps away and into a sanitary lane, vaults over a rubtish bin, then another, darts across the garden which is empty, then over another which is not, so that people start up and stare at him, then over into another sanitary lane and comes to rest between a rubbish bin and the wall of a lavatory. There he quickly pulls off his shorts, pulls on the trousers. They are long, grey, of fine stuff such as he has never seen. He pulls on the yellow shirt, but it is difficult, since he has never worn one, and it gets caught around the arms before he discovers the right hole in which to put his head. He stuffs the shirt, which is too small for him, inside the trousers, which are a little too long, thinking sadly of the hole in the
shirt, which is due entirely to his ignorance about those little wooden pegs. He quickly pushes the torn shorts under the lid of a rubbish bin and walks up the sanitary lane, careful not to run, although his feet are itching to run. He walks until that part of the city is well left behind, and then he thinks: Now I am safe, with so many people, no one will notice grey trousers and a yellow shirt. He remembers how the policeman looked at the bundle, and he puts the soap and comb into his pockets together with the papers, and stuffs the rag of the bundle under the low branches of a hedge. And now he is thinking: I came to this city only this morning and already I have grey trousers like a white man, and a yellow shirt, and I have eaten a bun. I have not spent the shilling my mother gave me. Truly it is possible to live well in the white man's town! And he lovingly handles the hard shape of the shilling. At this moment, for no reason that he understands, comes into his head a memory of the three he met last night, and suddenly Jabavu is muttering: Skellums! Bad people! Damn, hell, bloody. For these are words he knows of the white people's swearing, and he thinks them very wicked. He says them again and again, till he feels like a big man, and not like the little boy at whom his mother used to look, saying sorrowfully: ‘Ah, Jabavu, my Big Mouth, what white man's devil has got into you!'

Jabavu swaggers himself into such a condition of pride that when a policeman stops him and asks for his pass, Jabavu cannot at once stop swaggering, but says haughtily: ‘I am Jabavu.'

‘So you are Jabavu,' said the policeman, at once getting in front of him. ‘So, my fine, clever boy. And who is Jabavu and where is his pass?'

The madness of pride sinks in Jabavu, and he says humbly: ‘I have no pass yet. I have come to seek work.'

But the policeman looks more suspicious than ever. Jabavu wears very fine clothes, although there is one small rent in the shirt, and he speaks good English. How then can he have just arrived from the kraals? So he looks at Jabavu's situpa, which
is the paper that every African native must carry all the time, and he reads: Native Jabavu. District so and so. Kraal so and so. Registration Certificate No. XO8910312. He copies this down in a little book, and gives the situpa to Jabavu saying: ‘Now I shall tell you the way to the Pass Office, and if by this time tomorrow you have no pass to seek work, then there will be big trouble for you.' He goes away.

Jabavu follows the streets which have been shown to him, and soon he comes to a poor part of the town, full of houses like that of the Greek, and in them are people of half-colour, such as he has heard about but never seen, who are called in this country the Coloured People. And soon he comes to a big building, which is the Pass Office, with many black people waiting in long files that lead to windows and doors in the building. Jabavu joins one of these files, thinking that they are like cattle waiting to enter the dip, and then he waits. The file moves very slowly. The man in front of him and the woman behind him do not understand his questions, until he speaks in English, and then he finds he is in the wrong file and must go to another. And now he goes politely to a policeman who is standing by to see there is no trouble or fighting, and he asks for help and is put in the right queue. And now he waits again, and because he must stand, without moving, he has time to hear the voices of his hunger, and particularly the hunger of his stomach, and soon it seems as if darkness and bright light are moving like shifting water across his brain, and his stomach says again that since he left home, three days ago, he has eaten very little, and Jabavu tries to quieten the pain in his stomach by saying I shall eat soon, I shall eat soon, but the light swirls violently across his eyes, is swallowed by heavy, nauseating blackness, and then he finds he is lying on a cold, hard floor, and there are faces bending over him, some white, some dark.

He has fainted and has been carried inside the Pass Office. The faces are kind, but Jabavu is terrified and scrambles to his feet. Arms support him, and he is helped into an inner room, which is where he must wait to be examined by a doctor before
he may receive a pass to seek work. There are many other Africans there, and they have no clothes on at all. He is told to take off his clothes and everyone turns to look at him, amazed, because he clutches his arms across his chest, protecting the clothes, imagining they will be taken from him. His eyes roll in despair, and it is some time before he understands and takes them off and waits, naked, in a line with the others. He is cold because of his hunger, although outside the sun is at its hottest. One after another the Africans go up to be examined and the doctor puts a long, black thing to their chests and handles their bodies. Jabavu's whole being is crying out in protest, and there are many voices. One says: Am I an ox to be handled as that white doctor handles us? Another says, anxiously: If I had not been told that the white men have many strange and wonderful things in their medicine I would think that black thing he listens through is witchcraft. And the voice of his stomach says again and again, not at all discouraged, that he is hungry and will faint again soon if food does not come.

At last Jabavu reaches the doctor, who listens to his chest, taps him, looks in his throat and eyes and armpits and groin, and peers at the secret parts of Jabavu's body in a way that makes anger mutter in him like thunder. He wishes to kill the white doctor for touching him and looking at him so. But there is also a growing patience in him, which is the first gift of the white man's city to the black man. It is patience against anger. And when the doctor has said that Jabavu is strong as an ox and fit for work, he may go. The doctor has said, too, that Jabavu has an enlarged spleen, which means he has had malaria and will have it again, that he probably has bilharzia, and there is a suspicion of hookworm. But these are too common for comment, and what the doctor is looking for are diseases which may infect the white people if he works in their houses.

Then the doctor, as Jabavu is turning away, asks him why the blackness came into him so that he fell down, and Jabavu says simply that he is hungry. At this a policeman comes
forward and asks why he is hungry. jabavu says because he has had nothing to eat. At this the policeman says impatiently: ‘Yes, yes, but have you no money?' – for if not, Jabavu will be sent to a camp where he will get a meal and shelter for that night. But Jabavu says Yes, he has a shilling. ‘Then why do you not buy food?' ‘Because I must keep the shilling to buy what I need.' ‘And do you not need food?'

People are laughing because a man who has a shilling in his pocket allows himself to fall down to the ground with hunger, but Jabavu remains silent.

‘And now you must leave here and buy youself some food and eat it. Have you a place to sleep tonight?'

‘Yes,' says Jabavu, who is afraid of this question.

The policeman then gives Jabavu a pass that allows him to seek work for a fortnight. Jabavu has put back his clothes, and now he takes from the pocket the roll of papers that includes his situpa, in order to put the new pass with them. And as he fumbles with them a piece of paper flutters to the floor. The policeman quickly bends down, picks it up and looks at it. On it is written: Mr Mizi, No.33 Tree Road, Native Township. The policeman looks with suspicion at Jabavu. ‘So Mr Mizi is a friend of yours?'

‘No,' says Jabavu.

‘Then why do you have a piece of paper with his name on it?'

Jabavu's tongue is locked. After another question he mutters: ‘I do not know.'

‘So you do not know why you have that piece of paper? You know nothing of Mr Mizi?' The policeman continues to make such sarcastic questions, and Jabavu lowers his eyes and waits patiently for him to stop. The policeman takes out a little book, makes a long note about Jabavu, tells him that it would be wise for him to go to the camp for people newly come to town. Jabavu again refuses, repeating that he has friends with whom to sleep. The policeman says Yes, he can see what his friends are – a remark which Jabavu does not understand – and so at last he is free to leave.

Jabavu walks away from the Pass Office, very happy
because of this new pass which allows him to stay in the city. He does not suspect that the first policeman who took his name will hand it in to the office whose business it is, saying that Jabavu is probably a thief, and that the policeman in the Pass Office will give his name and number as a man who is a friend of the dangerous agitator Mr Mizi. Yes, Jabavu is already well-known in this city after half a day, and yet as he walks out into the street he feels as lost and lonely as an ox that has strayed from the herd. He stands at a corner watching the crowds of Africans streaming along the roads to the Native Township, on foot and on bicycle, talking, laughing, singing. Jabavu thinks he will go and find Mr Mizi. And so he joins the crowds, walking very slowly because of the many new things there are to see. He stares at everything, particularly at the girls, who seem to him unbelievably beautiful in their smart dresses, and after a time he feels as if one of them is looking at him. But there are so many of them that he cannot keep any particular one in his mind. And in fact many are gazing at him, because he is very handsome in his fine yellow shirt and new trousers. Some even call out to him, but he cannot believe it is meant for him, and looks away.

After some time, he becomes certain that there is one girl who has walked past him, then come back, and is now walking past him again. He is certain because of her dress. It is bright yellow with big red flowers on it. He stares around him and can see no other dress like it, so it must be the same girl. For the third time she saunters by, close on the pavement, and he sees she has smart green shoes on her feet and wears a crocheted cap of pink wool, and she carries a handbag like a white woman. He is shy, looking at this smart girl, yet she is giving him glances he cannot mistake. He asks himself, distrustfully: Should I talk to her? Yet everyone says how immodest are these women of the towns, I should wait until I understand how to behave with her. Shall I smile, so that she will come to me? But the smile will not come to his face. Does she like me? The hunger rises in Jabavu and his eyes go dark. But she will want money and I have only one shilling.

The girl is now walking beside him at the distance of a stretched arm. She asks softly: ‘Do you like me, handsome, yes?' It is in English, and he replies: ‘Yes, very much I like.'

‘Then why do you frown and look so cross?'

‘I do not,' says Jabavu.

‘Where do you live?' – and now she is so close he can feel her dress touching him.

‘I do not know,' he says, abashed.

At this she laughs and laughs, rolling her eyes about: ‘You are a funny, clever man, yes that's true!' And she laughs some more, in a loud, hard way that surprises him, for it does not sound like laughter.

‘Where can I find a place to sleep, for I do not wish to go to the camp run by the Native Commissioner,' he asks politely, breaking into the laughter, and she stops and looks at him in real surprise.

‘You are from the country?' she asks, after a long time, looking at his clothes.

‘I came today from my village, I have got a pass for looking for work, I am very hungry and I know nothing,' he says, his voice falling into a humble tone, which annoys him, for he wishes to act the big man with this girl, and now he is speaking like a child. Anger at himself makes a small, feeble movement and then lies quiet: he is too hungry and lost. As for her, she has moved away to the edge of the pavement, and there walks in silence, frowning. Then she says: ‘Did you learn to speak English at a mission?'

‘No,' says Jabavu, ‘in my kraal.'

Again she is silent. She does not believe him. ‘And where did you get that fine smart shirt and the white-man trousers just like new?'

Jabavu hesitates, then with a swagger says: ‘I took them this morning from a garden as I went past.'

And now again the girl laughs, rolls her eyes, and says: ‘Heh, heh, what a clever boy, he comes straight from the kraal and steals so clever!' At once she stops laughing, for she has said this to gain time; she has not believed him. She walks on,
thinking. She is a member of a gang who look out for such raw country boys, steal from them, make use of them as is necessary for their work. But she spoke to him because she liked him – it was a holiday from her work. But now what should she do? For it seems that Jabavu is a member of another gang, or perhaps works by himself, and if so, her own gang should know about it.

Another glance at him shows her that he walks along with a serious face, apparently indifferent to her – she goes up to him swiftly, eyes flashing, teeth showing: ‘You lie! You tell me big lie, that's the truth!'