Read This Thing Called the Future Online
Authors: J.L. Powers
This Thing Called the Future (13 page)
“Hey,” I shout, startled.
He grins, revealing the big rotten tooth in the center of his large, toothy mouth. “Your mama's not here now,” he says, “so we can have a good time.”
“I don't know how to dance,” I protest, slipping out of his arms and moving off to the side.
He catches my arm with his hand and swings me back towards him in a tight embrace. “It doesn't matter. You're so pretty.” He squeezes my waist. “I know you want to have a good time.”
“No, I really don't.” My protest feels feeble.
“If I was handsome, would you still say that?” he asks, blowing hot stinky breath towards me. He lowers his face close to mine and whispers, “I can be young and handsome in the dark.”
Somebody get me out of here.
“Let me go.” My voice is low but insistent.
His eyes are small and mean and hard and drunk as he grips me tighter, his groin digging and grinding into my hip. “Can I come visit you sometime?” He laughs. “Will
your mama
let me come inside?”
your mama
let me come inside?”
He doesn't even know my name and he's already making lewd comments. Am I that unimportant to him, just a warm body to squeeze? Just a bunch of meat that he wants to gobble up with his big crocodile teeth?
“Let me go,” I repeat, my voice louder as his hands grasp my hips, slipping low, then crawling back up again and clutching hard, his fingers tight like claws.
The men nearby laugh at the way I'm struggling against him, like this is all a game. What is
wrong
with them? Why don't they help me?
wrong
with them? Why don't they help me?
Echoes of Mama's voice sliver through my head.
Don't you ever let yourself be a victim, Khosi.
If nobody is going to help me, I realize, I have to help myself. “You're disgusting,” I shriek. “Leave me alone!”
Don't you ever let yourself be a victim, Khosi.
If nobody is going to help me, I realize, I have to help myself. “You're disgusting,” I shriek. “Leave me alone!”
He's so startled, he lets go. I stumble backwards, smacking right into Little Man. His arms close around me, awkward, light, his voice against my hair. “Are you okay?”
Pulling back just enough to see his face, I smile at him, lips trembling with my voice. “This man keeps bothering me.”
“Hey, she's with me,” the man protests. “We were dancing.”
“Go away, my friend,” Little Man says. “She doesn't want to dance with you.”
He shoves Little Man and grabs me. “I'm not through with you,
Ntombi
,” he growls.
Ntombi
,” he growls.
“But
she's
through with you,” Little Man says, elbowing his way between us.
she's
through with you,” Little Man says, elbowing his way between us.
Suddenly, my rescuers are everywhere, glaring at my attacker, surrounding us in a close circle. He releases me and staggers off.
“You need to be careful, Khosi,” Little Man scolds me, like a big brother. “Some of these men have been drinking
utshwala
and beer all afternoon. They're
drunk
.” He weaves around like a drunk man, lurching into the wall, then sliding to the ground. He reaches up his hand and pulls me down to sit beside him.
utshwala
and beer all afternoon. They're
drunk
.” He weaves around like a drunk man, lurching into the wall, then sliding to the ground. He reaches up his hand and pulls me down to sit beside him.
And there we are, sitting next to each other, our hands still touching lightly. I'm conscious of each finger stroking mine.
“What's your brother celebrating?” I ask, even though I already know.
“His new job, hey? He found one only six months after passing matric.”
“Congratulations. So you slaughtered a goat to thank the ancestors?”
“Yah,” Little Man says. “We already did the ceremony, going through the house, beating the drums. My mother spent the last week brewing
utshwala
. There is enough
utshwala
in the house for an entire
impi
to drink!”
utshwala
. There is enough
utshwala
in the house for an entire
impi
to drink!”
Utshwala
is more than just beer, it is ritual food. And when the men drink it at a party like this, they are drinking to thank the ancestors for something, in this case, the family's good luck that Little Man's brother found a job. But they also drink strong beer and that's what makes them so drunk.
is more than just beer, it is ritual food. And when the men drink it at a party like this, they are drinking to thank the ancestors for something, in this case, the family's good luck that Little Man's brother found a job. But they also drink strong beer and that's what makes them so drunk.
We're silent again, nothing to say. I laugh just to break the silence, and then I feel stupid, laughing for no reason like that.
“You want to dance?” Little Man asks.
“I think I've had enough dancing for tonight.”
“We can just sit here and talk then.”
Maybe I would've agreed to that, but when I look up to smile at him, my eyes are drawn to the corner of the yard, where my stalker is sitting, glowering at me.
“I should go home,” I say. “My family doesn't even know I'm here.”
“Oh, don't go yet,” he says.
My heart speeds up at the tone in his voice, the pleading look he offers. “Okay, I'll stay a little longer.”
“You'll feel more comfortable if you have a drink.” He stands, reaching a hand out to help me up. He puts his hand on my waist and steers me through the door.
I like the way his hand fits right there, lightly touching the extra flesh on my waist. But what would Gogo do if she saw it? And what will Little Man's mother say if she sees it? Surely she's around somewhere. This thought makes me step away from him as we walk through the house, a sudden chill on my skin where his hand rested.
He stops before a large tin pot. “Would you like some
utshwala
?” he jokes.
utshwala
?” he jokes.
I laugh with him. Young women don't drink
utshwala
. It is for men and
gogos
only.
utshwala
. It is for men and
gogos
only.
He opens the refrigerator. “Lemonade or cold drink?”
“Lemonade.”
I watch as he pours for me. No man has ever poured me a drink before. It's always me, serving Baba or my uncles and cousins. I like this feeling of being waited on, cared for.
It is amazing how much you can tell about a person by one simple act.
Little Man is different
, I realize, watching him, noticing how comfortable he is in the kitchen, where most boys would seem helpless.
He is not like other Zulu boys.
Someday, when he is married, he will help his wife in the kitchen. He will not always want to be waited on, just because he is a man.
Little Man is different
, I realize, watching him, noticing how comfortable he is in the kitchen, where most boys would seem helpless.
He is not like other Zulu boys.
Someday, when he is married, he will help his wife in the kitchen. He will not always want to be waited on, just because he is a man.
The thought makes my cheeks warm, because of course, I am picturing him in
my
kitchenânothing fancy, just a matchbox in Imbali, like we both live in nowâbut still, we are together.
my
kitchenânothing fancy, just a matchbox in Imbali, like we both live in nowâbut still, we are together.
“What are you thinking, Khosi?” he asks, handing me the drink and realizing that I've been watching him.
“Does your family throw a lot of parties?” I sip my drink, looking over the rim at him.
“No. But I
love
parties!” His eyes shine as he grins at me, my stomach fluttering the way it does before an exam.
love
parties!” His eyes shine as he grins at me, my stomach fluttering the way it does before an exam.
“I'm not sure I like them,” I say, thinking of the drunk man outside.
“You just haven't experienced the right kind of party,” he says.
“What's there to experience?” I ask.
“A good time!”
It's true, everybody's having a good time. Except for me. Maybe Thandi's right. Maybe I need to relax.
Men's voices, shouting and excited, filter into the kitchen where we're standing. Little Man jumps up. “It sounds like a fight,” he says.
Two drunk men are talking loudly in the middle of the yard, waving their arms at each other, one of them brandishing a stick. A girl my age is standing next to them, pleading as tears roll down her cheeks. It makes me feel sick inside to see her trying to soothe them.
Little Man's brother bursts into the middle of the fight and shouts, “Calm down, my man. You, sit down.” He pushes one of the men to a chair. He pushes the other towards the gate. “You, go home.” As the departing man exits through the gate, Little Man's brother turns around and looks at the crowd, rolling his eyes heavenward. “Ji-sus!” he shouts.
We watch the men as they disperse, one of them leading the crying girl towards a seat.
I glance at the corner where my stalker was sitting some few minutes ago. He's gone. My eyes dart here and there, searching every corner of the yard.
I'd feel more comfortable if I knew exactly where he was.
Suddenly, I realize I'm not safe here, not with all these drunk men wandering around and fighting. Even if Little Man is with me, he can't protect me from everybody.
“I should go home,” I say. “Let's find Thandi.”
We walk around the house until we see her, safely cuddled in Honest's embrace. I motion to her,
Let's go
, but she shakes her head.
Let's go
, but she shakes her head.
“I'll walk you,” Little Man says, quickly. “You shouldn't go home alone.”
So we slip out the gate together.
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
THIS WORLD AND THAT ONE
“Even though you didn't stay long, thank you for coming,” Little Man says as we hurry along the darkened street.
“I wouldn't have missed it,” I answer.
We are only just around the bend in the street when we hear Little Man's mother calling him. “Little Man! Little Man!”
“Wait here, Khosi,” Little Man says. “I'll be back.”
The street is empty except for a few men smoking in the doorway of a
shabeen
somebody started in their dining room. One of them calls out, “Are you looking for a good time, little girl?”
shabeen
somebody started in their dining room. One of them calls out, “Are you looking for a good time, little girl?”
Hurry up, Little Man,
I think, hugging myself and rubbing my arms, as if it's really cold outside.
I think, hugging myself and rubbing my arms, as if it's really cold outside.
A cat darts across the road.
Is that a footstep echoing in the street behind me? I glance over my shoulder. The eerie silence fills me with a sudden sense of dread.
“Little Man? Is that you?” I call.
No answer.
There it is again. Another footstep. Every time I breathe in, I hear itâthe sound of somebody shuffling behind me, a low and easy gait, somebody who has all the time in the world. A cigarette bobs in the air, glowing in the dark, a fiery spark of life.
“Who is it?” My voice is a thin wire in the dark night.
A low chuckle ricochets off the houses around me.
Sharp pang cramps sweat.
“What do you want?” My voice collapses on the final word, within the ache of that word “want.” What is it that
I
want? To be left alone by all these men with their terrible desires!
I
want? To be left alone by all these men with their terrible desires!
Another laugh, orange sparks flying up into the black night as he takes another drag on his cigarette.
Shivering and sweating. Hot and cold all at once.
“Leave me alone,” I shout. I had promised I would assert myself the next time a man tried to attack me. I had
promised
. Promised I would never feel so weak and helpless again. But now these words seem like a terribly thin defense against a man's strength, slim shreds of cloth easily ripped by nimble fingers.
promised
. Promised I would never feel so weak and helpless again. But now these words seem like a terribly thin defense against a man's strength, slim shreds of cloth easily ripped by nimble fingers.
All I have are my legs and this hope that I can outrun him.
So I hit the dirt, praying as I run.
Oh God, I promise I'll never go to another party if I make it home.
Oh God, I promise I'll never go to another party if I make it home.
My feet slip on the gravel and I fall down, breaking the fall with my hands and scrambling back up with something that feels like desperate strength.
God, please help me. I promise I'll never lie to Mama again!
And now I see him behind me, the crocodile grin, one rotten tooth in the center of his mouth.
And now I smell him, the stale stench of a man who has been drinking
utshwala
and beer since this afternoon.
utshwala
and beer since this afternoon.
And now I remember the promise he made. I'm not done with you yet,
Ntombi
. And the thing he said to me last week: I will come for you just now,
Ntombi
.
Ntombi
. And the thing he said to me last week: I will come for you just now,
Ntombi
.
God please please please don't let him rape me.
Flashes of Little Man's image in my head. His easy grin. His dark laughing eyes. What would he
think
if I got raped? Even if he likes me now, surely he wouldn't like me then.
think
if I got raped? Even if he likes me now, surely he wouldn't like me then.
“I just didn't want to dance,” I call back at this man who accosted me at the tuck shop, who wanted to come to my house, who wanted to
come inside
. I'm sobbing, sudden and fierce. “Please, I'm just a young girl. Don't do this.”
come inside
. I'm sobbing, sudden and fierce. “Please, I'm just a young girl. Don't do this.”
Silence from the drunk man stalking me. But he keeps his pace up, near enough to grab me. Each time I look over my shoulder, he grins at me, like he'd reach out and grab me if he really wanted to. Or like he's waiting to do it.
In my dream where this man was chasing me through the empty streets of Imbali, it was Babamkhulu who helped me.
So I call on him now.
Babamkhulu, I know you're here. You helped me in my dream. Now I need you in real life.
The man reaches out and grabs my arm, his fingers slipping and sliding down and settling on my wrist. Fear crawls over my feet and up my legs, a snake in the darkness, slithering down my esophagus, coiling its body around the lining of the stomach.
I yank my wrist back, screaming, “Leave me alone!” My throat aching from all the tears I'm holding back. His hand, stronger than mine, as he keeps me close. “Babamkhulu! Help me!”
“I know what you want,” he says, his voice low and even. “I know what you want, and I'm going to give it to you.”
Hot and wet, tears spurting up, out, down my cheek. “I want you to leave me alone.” My voice begging.
We're close to Thandi's house. I can see the edges of the gate, just around the corner.
Please, Babamkhulu, if I can just make it there
â
Please, Babamkhulu, if I can just make it there
â
The man tugs at my wrist, winding me in towards him, crushing me up against his body, his arm wrapping around and squeezing my waist so hard it hurts. Like a crocodile, using its thick tail to press me down.
If he rapes me, God, please don't let him have HIV! I don't want to die!
Dim whispers from a voice inside my head. Or is it outside? Am I the only one who can hear it shouting? A male voice. The voice of an elderly man.
Knee him in the groin. Now.
Knee him in the groin. Now.
I jam my knee where I know it'll hurt and whirl away as he groans. Swinging Thandi's gate open, cutting the palm of my hand on the ragged edge of the gate, this other voice urging me on.
Slam it.
Run. Around the corner, behind the house. Pant breath tears.
Slam it.
Run. Around the corner, behind the house. Pant breath tears.
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