The Lion Seeker (53 page)

—Hugo, stop. I'm ganna tell it to you plain, ukay. I want to buy you out.

Hugo looks at him in an investigative way.

—You want what now?

—The shares what you got for Lion Motors, I want em.

Hugo's head slants one way, then the other. Like Isaac's speaking Swahili. —You don't look like you tryna be funny.

—I'm not.

—Man, what the hell is that thing on your head anyway, like a yarmy or what?

—Not a yarmy. You hear what I said?

—What's wrong with your hair there? Plus you got like a mad look in your eyeballs, I am telling you. What
is
that thing, you come outta hospital or what?

—No.

—The female again, same one or someone new.

—No. I made a decision.

—Hey?

—Hugo. I want you to sign me over the shares.

—Sign you over. Before, you said buy out.

—Buy out, sign over. Whichever. Oright? Please.

—World a difference, boyki. Why, what's happened? You come into some dosh? Some rich uncle I never heard of?

That makes Isaac look down, makes weakness flood through his body. He leans his shoulder to the wall beside the window. He looks out and down, sees the new day gracing old wrecks down there in the pocked mud. Smashed machines. Rust. Batteries leaching acid. Life is bladey hard. Know that? Mame always told me that but I don't think I listened hard enough.

—Look, he says. I maybe got a few quid together . . . 

—How much?

— . . . Not much.

—How much is it?

—It's not that. It's more like this investor, ukay.

—Investor.

—But he wants me to have the company, like. He doesn't want to back a partnership. Just me.

Hugo walks off a bit then comes back with a finger that wags.

—Sounds very effing fishy to me.

—Don't look at me. Those are his terms.

—Who is this?

Isaac shakes his head.

Hugo wrinkles his nose. —I'm smelling horse manure, boychik. Do I look like I fell off the turnip truck yesterday?

—What difference does it make, Hugo? We dead anyway.

—What
we
? You telling me to eff off man, out of my own firm! That I started from nothing!

—Hey hey. Just turn it down oright, I got a helluva head.

—Ja, with that churu cap on or whatever I am not surprised. What the hell's happened a you? Are you seriously feeling well? Are you sure this rich uncle a yours isn't all in your brain?

—It's genuine, Hugo.

—And so now you wanna push me out. Me, who started the whole thing. Me. Who did you a kindness letting you in part-time or'd you forget so convenient?

—I bought my way in, Hugo. A hundred pounds cash. Or did
you
forget?

—Ja, that mystery cash. Is this from the same place?

—Hugo. What difference does it make?

—Huge! Huge!

—Just hang on. Ukay. It's not me, ukay. Me, I can appreciate you might be cheesed. But let's just say this investor, he's heard about you and your ponies, and that he doesn't trust no more that you won't run round and do the same thing again. It's not in my hands.

—Well who the bladey hell would tell him all about that?

Isaac doesn't speak.

Hugo paces. —But how much are we talking here? You keep avoiding.

—Hugo, it doesn't matter how much.

—When someone says that, it's
all
that matters. I know what I'm talking boyki. You tryna blow sand in my eyes. Summin reeks fishy as anchovette paste.

Isaac rubs his aching neck. —Hey Hugo. What are you even hukking me about here? You are a man sitting in his gutkes with birds crapping on his head. You frying your breakfast in a hubcap. Next couple weeks, bailiff is coming.

Hugo looks at him and his blue eyes are moist, the big head trembles. —I can't believe you'd want to ditch me. After all what I done for you. You know how hard I've tried for you. Remember when I rang and rang? You worked in a bladey shoe shop. And then even I came to your house to convince.
I
had to convince to do
you
the favour. Remember? And now you wanna take the favour that you wouldn't have if it wasn't for me and steal it from me like some bladey gunif.

Isaac sighs. Finds a seat on the window ledge, puts his hand on his knees and bends forward.

—Just be honest with me, says Hugo. That's all I want. I deserve that.

—What? says Isaac to the floor.

—Who is it?

Isaac shakes his head.

—Is it real?

—It's real.

—How much is it? I mean is it enough? Need a lot more than a few hundred.

—It's enough.

—How much?

—I got the money.

A long silence. Hugo staring. —What you mean you got it? You said someone interested. Have you got it or is it just talk? Cos if you don't have it, it won't do you nothing to have my shares of bankrupt. You should do the opposite. Get your name off the firm so you not the bankrupt, have that on your neck for the rest a your life. You—

—Hugo.

—I mean, cos when you say you have when you don't have it, when you—

—Hugo!

Isaac has the satchel open. He upends it and the fat envelope with its rubber band drops out.

Hugo goes pale.

—Tell me and take your pay and let's be on our way. I'm sick and I'm tired. I had enough, Hugo.

Hugo's eyes don't leave the envelope; he laces his pudgy arms across his chest. —Na, you charfing me. You tryna run a game on old Blezzy. What's in there?

Isaac shakes his head; it feels like something's grating in the bones of his neck. —No games. This is the dosh. Cold cash latkes. What do you want?

—How much is there?

—A lot. More than a grand. Well more.

—I don't believe it.

—I don't care what you believe.

Hugo rocks on his heels, watching the package as if it's a coiled mamba. —And if I leave, then what? What you ganna do?

—That's my problem.

Hugo starts to nod, chewing his bottom lip. —Oright, he says. Oright, Mr. Thousands. Oright. You gimme five thousand pounds. I want five thousand cash right now.

—I'm being fucken serious here Hugo.

—So'm I.

—Don't be stupid.

—That's my price. The cost of stabbing your only true mate right in his back. Only oke who ever tried his best to do right by you.

Isaac puts his hands on the edge of the desk and walks his feet backwards, letting his head droop.

—And if I go, says Hugo, what you reckon's ganna happen? This isn't some part-time game you can do on the side. You an apprentice panel beater! Can you handle the contracts? Be honest. The accounts, the creditors. Do you even know what you'll need to do to get out from under this mess, the people you have to see? You don't have the first clue. Listen a me, boychik. We partners for a reason. You got the hands and you run the shop and I do the rest. And you only have to show up here part-time and you still keep another job on the side. I mean come off it! Who else would make a deal like that? I been good to you. You know it. I know it. What are you standing here talking buy me out? If it's not an investor, I mean if you got the gelt right
there
.

Isaac jerks up straight, bangs the desk hard with the flats of his hands. —Cos everyone always fucks me around!

His voice echoes, a hoarse and breaking sound. Like a kid crying. Nothing ever goes the way it should. He trembles.

Hugo looks at him, then speaks more softly. —Isaac, I know I ballsed up. I know I stuffed a good thing out of sight. I know all of it. Believe me, what you reckon I do all day out here sitting and brooding? You think I haven't almost jumped off that roof? You have no idea what hell this is for Blezzy. Look at me, man. Look at me, Ize. I am finished with ponies. I'm finished
finished
with all that.

Isaac rubs his jaw on his shoulder. Feels hot and sick.

Hugo's voice is turning funny now, straining and high like it was the last time when he was up there whacking bottles. —I swear to God, Isaac. I swear on the souls of my late parents, uvuh sholem. On the both a them, Isaac. Isaac, if you serious and you have the money to save this place then, God's sake man, let's use it together and save this place and get moving forward together like we was. We had a twist oright, we ran into a twist. But gimme the chance here, man. I'm on the bones of my arse. Isaac look at me. Gimme the chance and let's do this together. Let me beat the twist. I want to beat the twist just once. I do. Isaac . . . Hey, you not looking at me.
Isaac
.

 

When they call Silas to them it's not to receive his cold breakfast only but also to sign on the changes they've written up to the two copies of the agreement. Isaac watches him marking his name carefully as their sole witness. Silas Mabuza.

—Good job you can write your name hey, says Hugo. And you know what you just signed there? A miracle, mate. Mazel tov. How'd you say mazel tov in Zulu?

Silas stands there looking at him from those hollowed sunken eyes: if ever a corpse had walked such a look would be its lawful own. Isaac studies the amended agreements one more time. Switched now so that two-thirds of Lion Motors is his, one-third Hugo's. He puts the papers on the desk and puts the pen on the line for his name.

—Go ahead boyki, says Hugo. Go ahead and finish it.

But Isaac doesn't move.

—Boyki.

He looks up. —I'm ganna depend on you, Hugo.

—You can, Tiger. You can.

Isaac looks down again. —I'm a Stupid, Hugo.

—Hey?

—Am I a Stupid?

—Boyki, you the last thing in the world from stupid. We about to become very rich men.

—I hope so, says Isaac. And he signs.

 

By noon, Silas Mabuza has washed and dressed in clean street clothes. Hugo too is spruced with a clean suit and even a felt carnation in his hatband. There's a dented '34 Dodge sedan with the spare wheel missing from the side that still has half a tank, and they stand beside it talking in soft serious voices.

Isaac counts the cash notes, enough money for all the staff's back pay, plus bonuses, plus their first three weeks' future pay. He hands all this money over to Silas who accepts it with a grave face and solemnly buttons it under his jacket before climbing into the Dodge.

—Oright boyki, says Hugo. We got to get going now.

He knows that Hugo has to see the landlord and the truck dealers, the rail freight company; most of all he has to do the rounds of his more mysterious creditors. Altogether, the sum of fifteen hundred pounds should more than cover it, with any balance to be banked as working capital, perhaps some used to purchase a crane or a compactor. Hugo's keen to head out there as soon as possible to start signing more new contracts while they still can.

—We talked and talked on this already, says Hugo. It goes straight into account. There's a branch I know will be open. I'll set up a meeting with manager and I'll ring you with the time. Then I'll see the lawyer to put this agreement all typed proper and that. Then I'll go and sort the urgent. I'll use cheques when I can, then you can see everything yourself, and Monday morning you go in there and you sit down with manager and get all the signing powers that you want. It's your baby now, you king of Lion. That paper's official. Oright? And absolutely no ponies, no nothing, for Blezzy. Swear on my life. You ganna see every contract I collect if you want. Oright?

Isaac nods.

—Oright?

Isaac nods again. One thing, Hugo has asked no questions about Isaac's secret source. Maybe he doesn't want to know, maybe he knows Isaac won't say.

—I'll organize today in Brakpan for some watchmen to come out here and keep an eye till when Silas and them get back. As soon as Silas is on his way back he's ganna let me know and I'll bell you, you might have to come here to supervise when they arrive.

—I'll be here.

—I mean you might have to organize to miss work.

Isaac shakes his head. —There's no more work.

—What you mean?

—I left panel beating, Hugo. Lion Motors is all I got now.

Hugo puts his soft hand on Isaac's shoulder. —Boyki, boyki, whyn't you say something before? Man, I'm not ganna let you down. You can depend on old Blezzy. You believe me hey? You can.

—Ja, says Isaac. I do believe you.

He presses the envelope full of cash to Hugo's chest but Hugo doesn't move, just stands nodding slightly, his warm hand pulsing on Isaac's shoulder, his blue eyes close. —I dun know how you did it, but you saved our arses, Tiger. Saved our dead arses. I'll never forget this long as I live.

He takes the envelope and gets in the Dodge. Isaac watches the floating red dust the car leaves behind till all of it has settled and the Reformatory feels gutted with silence. He scratches the woollen balaclava that Hugo dug up for him to replace the Indian skullcap, checks he has the keys to lock up, then he climbs onto the scooter and starts the long ride home.

IN THE HOUSE ON BUXTON STREET
the wireless for a change is not muttering, and the workshop is empty with his father gone to shul. He stops next to the workbench, lets his hand drift over his father's tools, the tiny screwdrivers, the rags tinged with mineral oil, the lathe attached to the electric motor. The monocle of his father's loupe is right in front of the seat, as if he's just set it down for the moment. Low voices make him look up. The kitchen. He goes softly and slowly, half expecting guests there. But when he stands in the doorway, he sees the table has a plate of quartered oranges and a pot of tea. Mame is seated with her back to him and Rively and Yankel Bernstein are on the opposite side and they stare at him without speaking.

—Whyn't you go to shul? he says to Rively.