The Wall

115

Meli was standing on the terrace behind Mrs. Viljoen’s house. She had set a glass of juice on the plastic table and disappeared again.

“Stay here until it’s over,” she’d said. “Our lives aren’t worth anything these days.”

He could see her through the window on the phone and put his sunglasses back on. She didn’t need to see him watching her. Otherwise he’d get another sermon. She hung up and came back out.

“You may leave now, even though it’s only three o’clock. But you have to go straight to the exit. No detours. Understand? Those are the orders from the police.”

“All right.”

She handed him the hundred-rand bill he’d earned today and turned away. Before she closed the terrace door, she looked back one more time: “We live in terrible times. Next week, you’ll have to make it work for real.”

Meli had learned not to let the woman get to him. She was his oldest client. It had been almost five years since he’d started here. Once a week. She paid less than minimum wage, but she paid. At Christmas, there was a present for the children, usually something sweet, although she never asked about them. He didn’t think she even knew he had three at home. Or how old they were.

He walked past the house, back to the street, and then turned left. Somewhere over there, the thing that had happened had happened. Of course, he’d go straight to the exit. Where else would he go? But he was curious. At the first intersection he reached, he had the option to turn left toward the exit. He decided differently. He wanted to know what had happened. People were coming out of their houses. An older woman in a bright apron and head cloth waved at him briefly.

Another intersection. The uniformed police officer standing there motioned him toward the exit. Meli stopped. A few meters on, another street branched off in the other direction. Yellow police tape. A privacy shield was being set up. Despite that, Meli could see the bodies. And the blood.

They all had to die eventually, he thought. What had happened to the boy with the afro? Meli wondered what had made him think of him. People were coming from all directions. The officer waved more energetically.

He’d seen enough. The others stopped, as he walked on.

The hundred rand would be enough for two days, then he had his job at the Aldersons. A half day. They’d insisted on that. A giant yard, but only a half day of work. Better a half day than no day, he’d told himself. He did as much work in those four hours as he did in a typical full day. And they had three cars.

He would stay home tomorrow. Liziwe would drive into the city. To the… he couldn’t pronounce the name. And didn’t know where they came from. But they weren’t from here. He had to take care of the children tomorrow.

Two police cars were parked in front of a house. Two hearses, as well. Uniformed officers and some out of uniform. But you could still tell they were cops.

“Keep going. Keep going,” one of the officers said.

Meli stopped.

“Keep going.” The officer waved his arms.

The house looked like it had been in a war zone. Shot-out windows. Bullet holes everywhere.

“Keep going!” Louder now.

Two men walked out of the house carrying a stretcher. A white cloth over it, red spots on the white. Meli resumed his course. Everyone was fair game. Even the rich.

More police were coming from the other way. He counted them. Eight cars. If you needed help and called them from Duncan Village, they didn’t send even one. He turned the hundred-rand bill over in his hand. Food and essentials, and if a little was left, a beer for him. Normally, there wasn’t anything left.

Liziwe always looked at him so strangely whenever she caught a whiff of beer on him. They’d even argued about it once. Really argued. That hadn’t been all that long ago.

“We don’t even have enough money for the children, and you’re always off drinking,” she’d said.

Always, she’d said. She’d known that wasn’t true. By the next day, she was very nice to him.

Another convoy. Ambulances this time. Meli walked over to the side and leaned against a wall to wait. They sped off in the direction he’d just come from. The last one came to a stop in the middle of the intersection, though. For a second, it looked as if the driver wanted to ask him something. But then she turned.

A few steps further, and Meli could see the exit. And the cars that wanted to get out. A garbage truck blocked his view of part of the gate. He saw the guards and lots of police.

Lots of police was okay. Things only got dangerous when they were on their own or in pairs. One time, an officer had taken his day’s earnings, simply because he could. Stopped him, searched him, money, money gone. Just like that. Meli hadn’t even filed a complaint. What good would that have done?

Nobody here would steal his money. Too many eyes. Too much surveillance.

He could already smell the garbage truck. They make more money than I do, he thought. But he was very happy with his yards. Better to take care of the white people’s yards than to haul off their trash. What a horrible smell. However, he also had a sensitive nose. And allergies for the past few years. You can’t do anything about it, the doctor had said.

There was movement up on the garbage truck’s flap. Meli rubbed his eyes. The truck rolled forward a little right then. That’s ridiculous, he thought. Trash is trash, but he looked more closely at it. He almost didn’t see the briefcase.

Brown leather, artificial leather actually. A little shimmer of gold at the handle. And big. Much larger than a typical briefcase.

Meli picked it up. It was heavy. Shook it.

Who’d leave a briefcase out here? Between a wall and a fynbos bush. He looked around. Nobody was watching him. Shook it one more time. There was something metallic inside. Clattered. But also something soft that absorbed the hard edges. Had to be worthless, the contents, he thought. Otherwise, no one would have left it out here. Meli walked on.

By this point, the old ambulance had lined up behind the garbage truck. Would anyone want to look inside the briefcase?

A police officer was inspecting the trunk of a Hyundai. She closed it again, giving the driver a thumb’s up. The gate opened. The Hyundai left The Pines. The gate was wide open. Two officers looked at him. Meli greeted them. They returned his greeting. He looked at the two security guards standing next to the cops and nodded politely. They nodded back in unison. He was out.

A short walk to the road to Abbotsford. A taxi was just speeding by. Every seat taken. He didn’t want to pin his hopes on a taxi. Just figure you have to walk to Abbotsford. That would save him one rand in taxi fare. And he had no hope that someone would give him a lift to Abbotsford. The briefcase had to be worth a couple hundred rand. Maybe a thousand. He just needed to find someone who could pay that much. And first he needed to open it. He didn’t want to break the lock. He’d figure it out.

The garbage truck passed him, stopping at the corner. Meli stared at the open cargo area again. There really was movement up there. He hadn’t just dreamed it. Two people were climbing out of the garbage and scooting to the edge. At the very moment the truck accelerated, they jumped off. After tumbling to the ground, they quickly got to their feet and ran to the street. The woman in white tugged her dress over her thighs. The man in gray brushed off his suit. Where had he seen those two before? The woman stopped the man from dashing across the street. Autos sped by, and then they ran into the neighborhood across the way. He was sure he’d seen the two of them before.

The old ambulance pulled up and stopped next to him at the corner. The young woman at the wheel didn’t look like someone who typically drove an ambulance. Shaved head. Tight t-shirt. Earring. He couldn’t explain it, but for some reason, the woman didn’t belong in there.

The ambulance turned toward Abbotsford. Maybe he should’ve tried to get a ride from her. He still had two kilometers to walk. Meli shook the briefcase again. He was quite curious to see what was inside.

A fire truck with flashing lights raced toward him. Meli watched after it and noticed that somewhere in the gated community, a fire was burning.

He walked on. What a strange day.