Ten Days. Gillian Slovo
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their small committee, who must have arrived with him, ‘asks these concerned members of our community to back away. Meanwhile, Cathy here,’ he inclined his head in her direction, ‘will help Ruben.’
What the crowd would not do for the rookie they did for Marcus, stepping back when he asked them to. Not far, though. They kept pressure on the policeman, who called out, ‘Sarge.’
The sergeant looked towards his young constable. He frowned and seemed about to turn away when the young policeman said softly, ‘There’s a lot of them.’
In that moment, before the sergeant could do anything worse, Cathy said to Ruben, ‘You know me, Ruben, don’t you?’
Ruben had lowered his head and was looking at his shoes. He did not look up.
‘And you know I’d never do anything to hurt you?’
At least this time he nodded.
‘What they need you to do is pull back your hood. Only for a moment. They want to see your face. Do you understand?’
Another, reluctant, nod.
‘OK, then. I’m going to help you.’ She moved just one step closer. ‘The first thing I’m going to do is to put my hand on your arm.’ She reached out her arm: ‘Here goes.’
He jerked away, his head shaking wildly while his arms, which he’d crossed and folded around himself so that each hand was holding on to the opposite forearm, were likewise shaking. She knew that he was holding on to himself, not so much as protection from her but to stop himself from hurting her. Seeing the effort this was costing him, she took a step back. As she did, she saw, out of the corner of her eye, how the sergeant mirrored her movement by coming closer. If she didn’t manage to get Ruben’s cooperation, and soon, the sergeant would take over, with unpredictable consequences.
She said, ‘Ruben.’ Commanding him but without raising her voice.
He lifted his head.
‘I know you don’t want to hurt me,’ she said. ‘And,’ hoping it was true, ‘I know you won’t. I’m going to try again.’
She reached out, and to her relief this time he let her rest it on his velveteen sleeve. His arm was shaking, and his eyes had filled with tears. He was clearly struggling with himself, but he did, at least, let her hand be.
‘I’m going to leave my hand there and come closer.’ She moved in on him, keeping her voice low, making sure to clearly enunciate her intentions. ‘And now, what I’m going to do, is stand in front of you, and reach up, and move your hood back. Because I’m standing here, only me and the policeman will be able to see your face. Will you let me do that?’
He looked at her. Blankly.
‘Will you?’
His shook himself, as if coming back to himself. And nodded. Almost imperceptibly, but it was consent.
‘Okay, then.’ Without taking her eyes off him, Cathy called, ‘Officer, please join us.’
She had been so concentrated on making the small space they occupied safe for Ruben that all thoughts and all sounds had faded. Now she felt rather than heard the sergeant closing in.
‘I’m going to take down his hood,’ she said. ‘Please don’t touch him.’
She took the policeman’s silence as consent. She stretched up her arm, ‘No one but us can see,’ and nudged the hood off Ruben’s bald head.
He let out a strangled cry, and both his hands shot up to cover his face.
‘I’m sorry, ma’am, I have to have a proper look.’
She almost had to stand on tiptoes to take hold of Ruben’s hands and pry them away.
‘Reaction,’ Ruben whispered. He was still trembling.
‘Satisfied?’ Cathy didn’t wait for the policeman’s reply. ‘You did great,’ she said, letting go of Ruben’s hands. ‘You can put back your hood.’
He pulled his hood over his head so roughly that it covered his eyes. ‘Action,’ he said. His voice was louder now than it had been before. ‘Traction.’ And his arms wilder.
‘It’s okay.’ Out of the corner of her eye she saw the sergeant’s confirming nod. ‘You can go.’
Ruben took a step forward and seemed to stumble. It happened sometimes – his legs just gave out on him.
She resisted the impulse to help. She got out of his way so he could stretch both arms out as if the air would support them. Then at last, with his head hung low, he shambled away, a wounded bear in search of his cave. ‘Option,’ he muttered. ‘Action.’ His face was crumpled in distress. ‘Traction. Mischief.’
‘Show’s over.’ The younger policeman now tried to exert an authority that had so far eluded him.
The onlookers did not move on. They looked at him and his colleague. And did not speak.
‘Move along.’ His quivering Adam’s apple indicated that he had a lot to learn before he could exert authority over such a disaffected bunch. Which was probably fortunate, Cathy thought: a more experienced officer might have gone in harder, with unpredictable consequences.
‘If there’s trouble,’ Marcus told the crowd, ‘it’ll be us that suffers for it. Ruben is safe. Let’s go back to our lives.’ At which the crowd did begin to disperse.
‘Well then,’ this from the young policeman.
‘Break it up,’ the sergeant told the air.
As Pius began to tell the sergeant what he should have done, their voices faded from Cathy’s consciousness. Her first sensation had been relief that Ruben was safe. But now something else was bothering her. Something out of kilter. Something missing.
Someone.
Banji.
Where had he got to? Out of the corner of her eye she saw the sergeant stalk off. ‘Have you seen Banji?’
‘He’s over there.’ Marcus pointed to the far end of the market where Banji was still standing.
He didn’t notice her looking. He was too busy watching Ruben.
‘How come he didn’t help?’
She must have spoken the thought aloud, because Marcus came back with, ‘That coconut. He thinks only of his own skin.’
Knowing that there was little love lost between the two men, she didn’t reply. Besides, she couldn’t help thinking that Marcus was right: Banji had been the first to spot trouble looming, and yet when she had gone to help, he had abandoned her.
Again.
As he had done early this morning.
And fifteen years ago.
She sighed.
‘Something troubling you?’ This from Pius.
‘Nothing I can’t handle,’ she said, hoping it was the truth.
8.30 p.m.
Mr Hashi had asked Jayden to come early, which meant he’d had to skip school, and then Mr Hashi had also asked him to stay on late. Okay by Jayden. He needed to earn enough to see them through until his mother’s next disability payment.
He carried the last of the plastic bins inside, stacking them below the left side shelf as Mr Hashi had taught him to do. He stretched up on tiptoes, removing the long hook from where it hung and, taking it outside, used it to pull the shutter down. He left just enough space for him to duck under and then, once inside, closed the gap and bolted the shutter. He put the hook back, pulled up the counter, walked through, slammed the till drawer as he passed and opened the door behind the counter to call, ‘Mr Hashi.’
No answer. He