Last Train to Retreat Read Online Free Page B
Author: Gustav Preller
night before, listening to make sure it was still breathing.
The girl’s presence was both disconcerting and comforting. Sarai had brought Cupido’s brutal world into Lena’s house, carrying it in her eyes, in her cheap clothes and perfume. At the same time she stirred in Lena the desire to care for her, a sensation new to Lena and heady in its intensity. Lena had never owned a cat or a dog. Her mother, Rowena, was allergic to cats, and her father, Elton, hated the dog turds in the gardens of his congregation when he was on house visits as
dominee
of the local church. Lena once brought home a rabbit given to her by a girl at school. All Fluffy did was sleep and eat and chew carpets and the telephone cord – until Elton, in a rage, passed the unrepentant rabbit and its cage onto someone else. To Lena the house had always felt empty – even before Fluffy disappeared, before Elton Valentine left when Lena was fifteen, and before Rowena died when Lena was twenty. Now, suddenly – exotic and vulnerable all at once – the Thai girl was there, making Lena fiercely protective as if she had found and brought home a beautiful, injured bird.
Lena looked at her bedside clock. It was nearly 8 am and she could hear no sounds in the house. She tiptoed into the spare bedroom, looked down at Sarai and stroked her hair and her face. A strange, new sensation spread from Lena’s fingertips to her whole being. She had never touched another human being like that. The girl murmured something – was it Thai?
Lena hurried from the room and got dressed. In the mirror her face looked flushed; for a short while the blood would fill in her tired lines. She walked to the general dealer three blocks away without taking in anything. A new emotion had been added to her feelings of guilt and anxiety: reluctance to hand Sarai over to Mavis and have the girl taken to a safe house supervised by strangers.
•
The newspaper carried no reports about Cupido so Lena didn’t buy it. She walked back with milk and fresh bread, and a toothbrush for Sarai, scrutinising faces and cars even though logic told her not to worry.
She noticed how dilapidated her house was looking – the gate now on a single hinge, maize-yellow walls flaking in patches, gutters twisted and broken, the green roof blotchy from sun, wind and rain, and weeds and grass sprouting like uncut, uncombed hair. But Lena had nowhere else to go and her meagre income was just enough to cover basics like rates, water, electricity, and food. The house was still in her father’s name and he wasn’t dead, at least she didn’t think so. Buying it for R5 000 in the 1990s, when the post-apartheid government offered homes on the Flats at below market value to encourage ownership was the only good thing her father had done. It was now probably worth R150 000 but legally she couldn’t sell it. Neither could she afford to leave. She often wondered what she would do if her father were to re-appear suddenly.
Sarai was waiting in the lounge with an uncertain smile. It struck Lena that she’d have no idea what to expect on her first day in a strange house with a strange woman.
‘How are you doing, Sarai?’
‘Okay … this your place? Is it just you and me here?’ Her eyes darted around, her smile gone.
‘Don’t worry, we’re alone, and yes, this is mine. And I don’t have to go to work today or tomorrow.’
‘Cupido, he won’t find us? Is he … ‘
‘You mean dead? I don’t know.’ Lena turned on the small TV. ‘You watch and listen and I’ll make us breakfast.’
In the kitchen Lena listened to her portable radio. At nine o’clock, with breakfast ready, she heard the news – a man had been knifed to death in High Level Road, a kilometre from the new stadium but not something South Africa needed on the first day of the World Cup, the newsreader said, not after the meticulous planning and the fantastic opening at Soccer City in Soweto. Police did not have an ID or a motive at
The girl’s presence was both disconcerting and comforting. Sarai had brought Cupido’s brutal world into Lena’s house, carrying it in her eyes, in her cheap clothes and perfume. At the same time she stirred in Lena the desire to care for her, a sensation new to Lena and heady in its intensity. Lena had never owned a cat or a dog. Her mother, Rowena, was allergic to cats, and her father, Elton, hated the dog turds in the gardens of his congregation when he was on house visits as
dominee
of the local church. Lena once brought home a rabbit given to her by a girl at school. All Fluffy did was sleep and eat and chew carpets and the telephone cord – until Elton, in a rage, passed the unrepentant rabbit and its cage onto someone else. To Lena the house had always felt empty – even before Fluffy disappeared, before Elton Valentine left when Lena was fifteen, and before Rowena died when Lena was twenty. Now, suddenly – exotic and vulnerable all at once – the Thai girl was there, making Lena fiercely protective as if she had found and brought home a beautiful, injured bird.
Lena looked at her bedside clock. It was nearly 8 am and she could hear no sounds in the house. She tiptoed into the spare bedroom, looked down at Sarai and stroked her hair and her face. A strange, new sensation spread from Lena’s fingertips to her whole being. She had never touched another human being like that. The girl murmured something – was it Thai?
Lena hurried from the room and got dressed. In the mirror her face looked flushed; for a short while the blood would fill in her tired lines. She walked to the general dealer three blocks away without taking in anything. A new emotion had been added to her feelings of guilt and anxiety: reluctance to hand Sarai over to Mavis and have the girl taken to a safe house supervised by strangers.
•
The newspaper carried no reports about Cupido so Lena didn’t buy it. She walked back with milk and fresh bread, and a toothbrush for Sarai, scrutinising faces and cars even though logic told her not to worry.
She noticed how dilapidated her house was looking – the gate now on a single hinge, maize-yellow walls flaking in patches, gutters twisted and broken, the green roof blotchy from sun, wind and rain, and weeds and grass sprouting like uncut, uncombed hair. But Lena had nowhere else to go and her meagre income was just enough to cover basics like rates, water, electricity, and food. The house was still in her father’s name and he wasn’t dead, at least she didn’t think so. Buying it for R5 000 in the 1990s, when the post-apartheid government offered homes on the Flats at below market value to encourage ownership was the only good thing her father had done. It was now probably worth R150 000 but legally she couldn’t sell it. Neither could she afford to leave. She often wondered what she would do if her father were to re-appear suddenly.
Sarai was waiting in the lounge with an uncertain smile. It struck Lena that she’d have no idea what to expect on her first day in a strange house with a strange woman.
‘How are you doing, Sarai?’
‘Okay … this your place? Is it just you and me here?’ Her eyes darted around, her smile gone.
‘Don’t worry, we’re alone, and yes, this is mine. And I don’t have to go to work today or tomorrow.’
‘Cupido, he won’t find us? Is he … ‘
‘You mean dead? I don’t know.’ Lena turned on the small TV. ‘You watch and listen and I’ll make us breakfast.’
In the kitchen Lena listened to her portable radio. At nine o’clock, with breakfast ready, she heard the news – a man had been knifed to death in High Level Road, a kilometre from the new stadium but not something South Africa needed on the first day of the World Cup, the newsreader said, not after the meticulous planning and the fantastic opening at Soccer City in Soweto. Police did not have an ID or a motive at
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