Deadlands (8 page)

‘Ah, Cleo, sawubona,’ a deep voice boomed from behind us. ‘So nice that you and your family could come this evening.’

I craned my neck around to see who had spoken. It was Comrade Nkosi, the guy who’d come to school to break the news about the Lottery quota.

The Mantis got to her feet and smiled nervously. I’d never seen her so ill-at-ease, and I watched with interest.

‘Comrade Nkosi,’ the Mantis said. ‘How are you? You remember my husband?’

‘Ah, yes,’ the man said. ‘Of course.’ He reached down and he and Dad shook hands awkwardly.

‘Are you enjoying the movie?’ The Mantis asked him, but he ignored the question and instead stared down at me and Jobe, his eyes resting on Jobe’s face for several seconds, before scanning mine.

‘And this must be Leletia,’ he said. ‘You will know my son from school, of course.’

‘I do?’ I asked.

‘Now where is he? I’m sure he will want to say hello to a school friend.’ He scanned the crowd. ‘Zyed!’ he shouted, gesturing towards the end of the row in front of us.

My heart plummeted as Zyed stood up and sulkily pushed his way towards us. His jacket was adorned with more feathers than usual, and his hair had been scraped into a topknot.

‘Look what he does to his clothes,’ Comrade Nkosi said to the Mantis, a half-smile on his lips. But the smile didn’t reach his eyes. ‘Ah! Zyed,’ Comrade Nkosi said when his son finally joined us. ‘You know Leletia, of course.’

Zyed glared at me.

‘Zyed!’ Comrade Nkosi snapped, and I saw his hand twitch as if he was restraining himself from striking his son. ‘Where are your manners?’

Zyed muttered a sulky hello to me, the Mantis and Dad.

Comrade Nkosi fixed his eyes on me. ‘Leletia, you must be very excited about the Lottery Ball.’

I shrugged, and it was the Mantis’s turn to glare at me.

Comrade Nkosi suddenly clicked his fingers. ‘I have the most marvellous idea! Leletia, do you have an escort for the dance?’

I was caught off guard. ‘Um . . . no, I –’

‘Then you must go with Zyed!’

‘No!’ Zyed and I spoke simultaneously, and I’m sure his look of horror was mirrored on my face.

‘Zyed!’ Comrade Nkosi said. ‘I cannot believe that you would think of turning down such a beautiful girl!’

‘But I’ve already got a date!’ Zyed said.

‘It’s final, Zyed,’ his father said. ‘Leletia is new at Malema High, and she has no one else to go with. I’m sure your other date will understand.’

Zyed glared at me as if it was my fault that his father had come up with this horrible idea. ‘Yes, sir,’ he mumbled before slinking off.

‘Teenagers,’ Comrade Nkosi rolled his eyes. ‘I must apologise for my son’s bad manners.’

‘It’s no problem,’ the Mantis said with a tinkly laugh I’d never heard her use before.

Comrade Nkosi made as if to turn away, but then he clicked his fingers as something else occurred to him. ‘Cleo. About your other child,’ his eyes slipped to Jobe again, and his mouth twitched slightly in distaste. ‘I’m afraid there are no places available in the immediate vicinity for him, but there is somewhere else that might take him.’

I couldn’t believe what I was hearing. ‘What?’

The Mantis gripped my arm tightly. ‘We’ll talk when we get home,’ she hissed in my ear.

Comrade Nkosi appeared to be oblivious to the look of shock on my face. ‘Mandela House is not in the best area of town, but, as institutions go, I think you’ll find it adequate,’ he carried on. ‘As soon as the paperwork is finalised, I’ll let you know.’

‘Thank you, Comrade,’ the Mantis said, her fingernails now digging painfully into my skin to silence me.

‘Well?’ I said. ‘What the hell was he talking about?’

Dad and the Mantis had insisted that Jobe was put to bed before we discussed the meaning behind Comrade Nkosi’s words, and the wait had almost killed me. We sat around the kitchen table, Dad nursing a mug of tea; the Mantis sitting erect, hands folded in front of her. I don’t think I’ve ever hated someone as much as I hated her right then.

Dad cleared his throat. ‘Your mother and I feel –’

‘My mother’s dead.’

The Mantis didn’t change her expression, but Dad flinched slightly. ‘Must you always be so difficult, Lele?’ he sighed.

The Mantis spoke up. ‘We’ve decided that it would be best if Jobe went to a . . . place where children like him can get proper care.’

‘You can’t do that!’

Dad held up his hand. ‘Just listen, Lele –’

‘But why?’

‘He’ll be with others of his kind.’

‘He’s not a
kind
. He’s my brother!’

‘Yes, but let’s face it. He is . . . different.’

‘That’s not his fault!’

‘I know that, Lele,’ Dad said.

‘I’ll look after him. I promise I will!’

‘You don’t have the time. You have to go to school.’

‘No, I don’t. I’ll become a worker, a rickshaw driver, a builder – I don’t care!’

Dad sighed again. ‘Lele, your moth . . . Cleo and I are working very hard to try to improve the conditions in the city,’ he said. ‘You know this. It won’t be long before everyone will have access to electricity and –’

‘What’s that got to do with Jobe?’

‘I’m not going to be around all the time,’ Dad said. ‘We can’t leave him on his own.’

‘Well, hire someone to look after him then!’ The tears were pouring down my face, but I let them fall.

‘We can’t afford that sort of expense.’

‘But you can afford to send him to . . . Mandela House, or whatever that place is called!’

‘Look, it’s not going to happen straight away. But we need you to come to terms with the idea.’

‘Yeah, right. That’s total kak! If Comrade Nkosi hadn’t said anything you wouldn’t even have told me!’

Now even the Mantis began to look uncomfortable. I pushed my chair back so violently that it crashed to the floor. ‘I hate you!’ I said, staring straight at the Mantis. ‘This is all down to you!’

‘Lele!’ Dad said. ‘That’s enough!’

‘You didn’t want us here!’ I carried on. ‘You want Dad all to yourself! You’re nothing but a cruel, evil
bitch
!’

Dad got to his feet. ‘Leletia! That’s enough! How
dare
you talk to your mother that way!’

‘She’s not my bloody mother! And I wish you weren’t my father!’

Dad flinched again at that, but neither he nor the Mantis replied. The long silence was only broken by the sound of the kitchen door creaking open.

‘Gogo?’ Jobe said, peering in at us from behind the door, the expression in his eyes making him look about a hundred years old.

‘You can’t take him!’ I said, scooping up Chinwag who had made her way under the table, and moving to grab Jobe’s hand. ‘I won’t let you!’

Right then I knew I had to come up with a plan. And I had to do it fast.

I practically ran to school that morning. I needed to talk to someone, and who else was there but Thabo? As soon as I slipped through the gate I caught sight of him lounging against the sun sculpture, chatting to a plump girl with light brown, frizzy hair. For once I didn’t hang back. ‘Thabo,’ I said, striding straight up to him. ‘I really need to talk to you.’

The girl looked at me curiously, but not unkindly, and with a small wave and a ‘catch you later’ to Thabo she wandered towards the classroom. He watched her go, and I couldn’t help but feel a small twinge of jealousy as he did so. Finally he gave me his full attention. ‘Let’s get out of here,’ he said. ‘I’ve also got some news.’

We headed to the dumpster alley, neither of us speaking, although it was clear from the speed Thabo was walking and the way he kept clenching and unclenching his fists that he was also bursting with news.

‘You first,’ I said as soon as we were hunkered down behind the dumpster, although I was dying to let all my anguish out.

‘I went to a meeting last night, Lele.’

‘What meeting?’

‘An ANZ gathering. At New Arrivals. It was amazing. You should have heard them speak. There was this one guy – Michael. What he said made so much sense. If we don’t make a stand now the Resurrectionists will end up ruling the enclave with an iron fist. They –’

‘But they do rule the enclave.’

‘Exactly! But it’s only going to get worse. Last year three teenagers were given to the Guardians; this year it’s five. What’s next? All of us? And why don’t we know what happens to them? It has to be stopped!’

Thabo was right, but I couldn’t think about it then. All I could think about was getting Jobe out of the city, away from Mandela House, but I let him speak; he was so fired up by what he’d heard that the excitement was practically crackling out of him.

‘Sorry,’ he said, finally. ‘I’ve been talking for ages. Your turn.’

I started at the beginning. I told him how Jobe had changed after the Guardians had brought him back with the rest of the children they’d taken, about how awful it was to see him stay the same size, the same age, while I grew up. My brother’s growth stunted; his thoughts trapped inside his head. I finished with the Mantis and Dad’s plans to dump him in Mandela House.

‘I’ve always been there for him, Thabo. I can’t let them take him away from me now.’

‘But how can you stop them?’

‘I need to find a way to get back to the Agriculturals. It’s different there, freer. I’ve got friends there. I can make a life for us.’

‘What as? A farmer? A field worker?’

I bristled. ‘There’s more to life there than just farming, Thabo.’

‘But to hire someone to take you through the Deadlands, Lele – that’s impossible. And even if you did find someone willing to risk it, it would probably cost a fortune.’

‘What about the Mall Rats?’

‘What about them?’

‘You said they go outside the enclave.’

His eyes slid to the left. ‘Forget the Mall Rats, Lele,’ he said.

‘What? Why are you saying that now?’

‘I’ve got an idea,’ he said, brushing my questions away.

He dug in his backpack and pulled out a piece of paper. There was a poorly executed pen-and-ink drawing of a Rotter’s head with a cross scored through it, and the words
Make a stand, save our future, ANZ
.

‘What’s this?’

‘We need to increase our membership . . .’ (Thabo’s use of the word ‘we’ didn’t escape me.) ‘We’re distributing pamphlets, spreading the word. You think you could do better than this?’

It wouldn’t be difficult. The sketch was on a par with the large-headed kid and sun emblem the Resurrectionists used.

I shrugged. ‘I guess.’

‘If you help the ANZ, maybe they’ll help you,’ he said.

‘Really? You think they would?’

‘Why not? It’s worth a shot, isn’t it?’ He nudged me. ‘And, oh yeah,’ he said, with his lopsided grin. ‘What’s this I hear about you and Zyed going to the dance?’

I mumbled something, but I couldn’t think straight. My mind was racing. All I could think was that this could be my way out of the city.

Thabo picked up on my distractedness. ‘Look, don’t worry,’ he said. ‘I’m sure your brother will be fine whatever happens. You’ll deal with it; you’re strong.’

I looked up at him. ‘You don’t get it, Thabo. He’s not just my brother. He’s my twin.’

I spent the whole weekend working on the ANZ pamphlet design, barely leaving my room. Late on Sunday evening there was a knock at the door. I shoved the sketchbook under my pillow as Dad and the Mantis poked their heads into my room.

‘We’ve got a surprise for you, Lele,’ Dad said.

‘Oh yeah? What? You going to send me off to a special home as well?’

The Mantis ignored this, and stepped forward. ‘Ta-da!’ she said, pulling something out from behind her back.

It was hideous. Truly hideous. I don’t want you to think that I was ungrateful, but just . . .
wow
! The dress the Mantis was holding was so pink it hurt my eyes, and it was covered in ruffles and ribbons and shiny flecks of lace.

‘What the hell is that?’

‘Your dress. For the dance,’ the Mantis said, her smile slipping a little.

‘You have got to be joking.’

‘Of course we’re not joking!’

I opened my mouth to speak again, but Dad held up his hand. ‘Come on, Lele. You’ve been holed up in here for far too long. Let’s get some fresh air.’

‘But –’

‘No arguments.’

We walked through the streets in silence at first, Dad seemingly picking our direction at random.

‘You shouldn’t give her such a hard time, Lele.’

‘She hates me!’

‘No, she doesn’t.’

‘Dad, seriously, how can you say otherwise?’

We headed towards the embassy road. Two robed Resurrectionists were scrubbing at the front gate, but I could still see the outline of yet more ANZ graffiti. I hid the smile behind my hand. Thabo – or another member – was getting bolder.

‘She’s doing her best, Lele,’ Dad said. ‘You have to give her a chance.’

‘Whatever,’ I mumbled under my breath. ‘Maybe I’d give her more of a chance if she wasn’t so keen on getting shot of my brother.’

‘We’ve discussed this, Lele. The subject is closed.’

Another group of robed Resurrectionists passed by, making no move to step out of our way. One of them nodded approvingly at the amulet that hung over Dad’s jacket.