He draws his hands tight into his chest as he folds forwards and starts to contract in rage. At first his fingers curl and his knuckles whiten as the tension grows. The sinews on his arms become visible as the anger moves up and he breathes deep as he starts to spin towards me, his head lifting and his eyes becoming visible. Then we make eye contact, and it’s over. He collapses in giggles.
‘Nice try Lisa’ I smile. ‘My turn’, and I begin the ritual.
We’re stuck in the endless Kalk Bay stop / go, with a waiting time at the red light of fifteen minutes or so, and we’re killing time trying to act the most angry. Finally the light recedes and we push on, arriving in Masi a few minutes later.
I pull to a stop outside Lisa’s shack.
‘Tim, please, my money’.
‘Yoh, I nearly forgot’.
I fumble through the shrapnel for the 3 rand I’ve been guarding that Lisa will use to buy chips and a drink. It’s precious, and he eyes the two coins I hand over warily to ensure they add up to the necessary amount. Once happy, he steps down from the car, and makes for his house where I spot his mother.
Lisa’s surfing is getting good; he made the Cape Time’s this week following a good showing at a local development surf meeting, so I get out to pass on the good news. I make my way between two small shacks, along the mud pathway and stepping to avoid a large puddle of discarded washing soap. I watch as Lisa greets his mother and moves behind her, where she holds his head briefly before turning to greet me.
Her eyes are glazed and she moves slowly to meet my extended hand. It takes a moment but it’s soon apparent she is drunk, and the strong smell of vodka on her breath masks the mumbled greeting she extends to me. She begins to talk but the conversation moves in circles and she struggles to nail a point and eventually runs out of steam. We stand in awkward silence for a moment until she raises a hand in what seems to be apology, and looks sheepishly towards Lisa who is playing in the dirt with his two coins, seemingly unaware of her gaze. She offers me a hand, and I shake it and promise to be back.
Later that evening my phone vibrates with an SMS. It’s Lisa’s mother, asking me to call. I dial.
‘Tim’ comes the faint reply.
It’s Lisa, on his mother’s phone.
‘I am sorry for my mother, she was very drunk.’
‘It’s OK Lisa. How are you?’
‘I’m sorry,’ he continues. ‘I see you tomorrow yes?’ his voice seems worried.
‘Of course you will Lisa, we’ll go surfing again’.
‘OK Tim, see you tomorrow, good night’.
And with that, the phone goes quiet.
