The Wall

42

“Should we?” Nozipho asked.

She tugged the dress straight and pivoted in front of Thembinkosi. Purse on her shoulder. She took a sniff under her arm. Wrinkled her nose.

“Yes… although… wait…”

“What is it?

“Just wait,” he said again. And then: “Come on!”

“What?”

“Just come!”

Nozipho walked over to the window. A third car was now sitting outside, covered by a section of the wall along the street. An old station wagon. A door opened, and a man stepped out. “Shit!” she said. “What should we do now?”

“Is that them? Have they come back?”

“How should I know?

“You’re the one who saw them,” Thembinkosi said.

“No, I didn’t.”

Two men in casual clothes were standing beside the white man. The one had curly hair, the other was bald. Both in jeans. The officer was telling them something, gesturing. The men nodded. One of them pointed at the house in which they were hiding. We can go in there, right?

The bald guy looked at his companion and pointed at the garage.

Thembinkosi grabbed Nozipho’s hand and picked up the briefcase. He pulled her into the smaller of the two bedrooms. Opened one of the doors to the wardrobe he’d looked in so long ago. Pushed her inside, closing the door behind her. Then vanished behind the adjacent door.

Both of them heard the squeaking of an unoiled garage door. Up. Engine noise. Then down.