terrible thing that happened,” said Ben awkwardly.
“Well, we knew it was going to happen, didn’t we?”
Ben was shocked by Stanley’s nonchalance. “How can you say that? I was hoping all the time—”
“You’re white.” As if that summarised everything. “Hope comes easy to you. You’re used to it.”
“Surely that’s got nothing to do with black or white!”
“Don’t be so sure.” For a moment his violent laugh filled the small room.
“When will he be buried?” asked Ben, deliberately changing the subject.
“Not before Sunday. We’re still waiting for the body. They said tomorrow or the day after.”
“Is there anything I can do? I’d like to help with the funeral arrangements. Anything.”
“It’s all done.”
“What about the cost? Funerals are expensive these days.”
“He had an insurance book. And he’s got many brothers.”
“I didn’t know he had any.”
“I’m his brother, man. We all are.” Once again, unexpected and uninvited, his great booming voice exploded with laughter which caused the walls to tremble.
“When did they break the news to Emily?” he asked in a bid to stop the bellowing.
“They never came.” Stanley turned to spit through the open door.
“What do you mean? Didn’t they send a message?”
“She heard it on the wireless like the rest of us.”
“What!”
“The lawyer phoned the next day to find out. The cops said they were sorry, they didn’t know where to contact her.”
In the heavy silence, suddenly realising that they were still standing, he made a half-hearted gesture towards one of the two easy chairs he’d taken over when Susan had bought a new suite for the lounge. “Do sit down.”
Stanley promptly lowered his heavy body into one of the floral chairs.
For a time they were silent. Then Ben got up again to fetchhis pipe from the desk. “I’m sorry I don’t have any cigarettes,” he apologised.
“That’s all right. I got some.”
After a while Ben asked: “Why did Emily send you? Is there something she’d like me to do?”
“Nothing much.” Stanley crossed his massive legs. One trouser leg was pulled up, revealing a red sock above the white shoe. “I had to come this way for a fare, so she asked me to drop in. Just to tell you not to worry.”
“My God, why should she be thinking about me?”
“Search me.” He grinned and blew out a series of smoke circles.
“Stanley, how did you meet Gordon and his family? For how long have you been friends? How come you’re always there when they need help?”
A laugh. “I got a car, man. Don’t you know?”
“What difference does a car make?”
“All the diff in the world, lanie.” That name again, like a small fierce ball of clay from a clay-stick hitting one right between the eyes. Stanley changed into a more comfortable position. “If you got a taxi like me, you’re right there, man. All the time. I mean, here you get a bloke pasa’ d by the tsotsis, so you pick him up and take him home, or you take him to Baragwanath Hospital. There you get one passed out from atshitshi: same thing. Or a chap who drank too much divorce in a beer-hall. Others looking for phata-phata” – illustrated by pushing his thumb through two fingers in the immemorial sign – “so you find them a skarapafet. A whore. See what I mean? You’re on the spot, man. You pick them up, you listen to their sob stories, you’re their bank when they need some magageba”- rubbing his fingers together-“all the time, I tell you. You got a taxi, you’re the first to know when the gattes are coming on a raid, so you can warn your pals. You know every blackjack, you know his price. You know where to find a place to sleep or a place to hide. You know the shebeens. Man needs a stinka, he comes straight to you.”
“A stinka?”
Gleeful, perhaps not without disdain, Stanley stared at him, then laughed again. “A reference book, man. A domboek. A pass.”
“And you met Gordon long ago?”
“Too much. When Jonathan was
“Well, we knew it was going to happen, didn’t we?”
Ben was shocked by Stanley’s nonchalance. “How can you say that? I was hoping all the time—”
“You’re white.” As if that summarised everything. “Hope comes easy to you. You’re used to it.”
“Surely that’s got nothing to do with black or white!”
“Don’t be so sure.” For a moment his violent laugh filled the small room.
“When will he be buried?” asked Ben, deliberately changing the subject.
“Not before Sunday. We’re still waiting for the body. They said tomorrow or the day after.”
“Is there anything I can do? I’d like to help with the funeral arrangements. Anything.”
“It’s all done.”
“What about the cost? Funerals are expensive these days.”
“He had an insurance book. And he’s got many brothers.”
“I didn’t know he had any.”
“I’m his brother, man. We all are.” Once again, unexpected and uninvited, his great booming voice exploded with laughter which caused the walls to tremble.
“When did they break the news to Emily?” he asked in a bid to stop the bellowing.
“They never came.” Stanley turned to spit through the open door.
“What do you mean? Didn’t they send a message?”
“She heard it on the wireless like the rest of us.”
“What!”
“The lawyer phoned the next day to find out. The cops said they were sorry, they didn’t know where to contact her.”
In the heavy silence, suddenly realising that they were still standing, he made a half-hearted gesture towards one of the two easy chairs he’d taken over when Susan had bought a new suite for the lounge. “Do sit down.”
Stanley promptly lowered his heavy body into one of the floral chairs.
For a time they were silent. Then Ben got up again to fetchhis pipe from the desk. “I’m sorry I don’t have any cigarettes,” he apologised.
“That’s all right. I got some.”
After a while Ben asked: “Why did Emily send you? Is there something she’d like me to do?”
“Nothing much.” Stanley crossed his massive legs. One trouser leg was pulled up, revealing a red sock above the white shoe. “I had to come this way for a fare, so she asked me to drop in. Just to tell you not to worry.”
“My God, why should she be thinking about me?”
“Search me.” He grinned and blew out a series of smoke circles.
“Stanley, how did you meet Gordon and his family? For how long have you been friends? How come you’re always there when they need help?”
A laugh. “I got a car, man. Don’t you know?”
“What difference does a car make?”
“All the diff in the world, lanie.” That name again, like a small fierce ball of clay from a clay-stick hitting one right between the eyes. Stanley changed into a more comfortable position. “If you got a taxi like me, you’re right there, man. All the time. I mean, here you get a bloke pasa’ d by the tsotsis, so you pick him up and take him home, or you take him to Baragwanath Hospital. There you get one passed out from atshitshi: same thing. Or a chap who drank too much divorce in a beer-hall. Others looking for phata-phata” – illustrated by pushing his thumb through two fingers in the immemorial sign – “so you find them a skarapafet. A whore. See what I mean? You’re on the spot, man. You pick them up, you listen to their sob stories, you’re their bank when they need some magageba”- rubbing his fingers together-“all the time, I tell you. You got a taxi, you’re the first to know when the gattes are coming on a raid, so you can warn your pals. You know every blackjack, you know his price. You know where to find a place to sleep or a place to hide. You know the shebeens. Man needs a stinka, he comes straight to you.”
“A stinka?”
Gleeful, perhaps not without disdain, Stanley stared at him, then laughed again. “A reference book, man. A domboek. A pass.”
“And you met Gordon long ago?”
“Too much. When Jonathan was
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