Read Online Out of Bounds by Beverley Naidoo - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Beverley Naidoo
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When she began to think of Khulu, her mind blocked off. The police couldn’t harm her. No, no…
Nandi set off at first light, slipping out before her mother was up. She left a note: Gone to Khulu.
Nandi wasn’t sure what to tell Ma when she returned. It was too difficult to sort out at the moment. Later, after taking the message, she would think about it.
Gray mist hung over the streets and the early morning air was chilly. Nandi hugged her arms around her as she ran. Already a stream of people were walking steadily toward the station. In the half-light they seemed almost like ghosts, pulled by some invisible cord toward the city. Their grandmother usually set off for work early, so Nandi had to hurry. Perhaps Khulu had gone out looking for Esther. She must be so worried…and how would she be on hearing the message…angry, upset, frightened? Nandi refused to let herself imagine the police in the house itself.
Along the way Nandi could see the signs of people’s fury. The place where Ma came to pay the rent was a heap of smouldering rubble, smoke mingling with the mist. Further on, the roof of the high school was missing, the walls blackened and windows shattered. She ran on, pausing only atone point to press herself against a fence as a police patrol truck thundered past.
Near Khulu’s road, out of breath and panting, Nandi stopped to lean against a wall. If the police had set someone to watch the house, her arrival must seem absolutely normal. It was impossible to prevent her heart from throbbing, but once her breathing had slowed down a little, she walked on.
Turning the corner, she saw the strange car immediately. It was parked a little way up the road from the house, with its hood raised and two men bending over the engine. One was holding a flashlight. Perhaps they were genuine and had really broken down. But why so close to Khulu’s? How could you know if they were informers? She had heard Esther and her friends discussing walkie-talkies once. What if the flashlight was one?
Nandi had to walk right past, quite casually. Close to the car, she found herself humming the tune of one of the students’ songs very softly to herself. It seemed to give her courage. The man with the flashlight glanced directly up at her as she passed. Reaching Khulu’s front yard at last, she clicked the gate carefully behind her. With the feeling that eyes were following her, shemade her way around to the backdoor, out of sight.
From the moment she had come home the evening before, after her day in Johannesburg, Khulu had known something was wrong. News had begun spreading earlier in the day among the flat workers near where Khulu sold fruit. A mid-afternoon radio report had mentioned “trouble at a funeral.” Later, billboards for the evening newspaper had been headlined: “FUNERAL SHOOTING: THREE DEAD.”
By the time Sowetans were making their long journey home by train, some had read the first reports. Their comments had weaved rapidly through the tightly crowded carriages. Parents and grandparents had made silent prayers.
Outside the station Khulu had found heavily armed police ordering people to go straight home and stay inside. A great tank had come roaring down the road and up the hill. Smoke and flames had been rising from the direction of the Rent Offices. Balancing her half-filled box of fruit on her head, Khulu had forced her tired body onward. When finally she had found the houseempty—and no food prepared—anxiety already burning within her had leaped up like a flame. It was true that sometimes Esther came in late, but there would always be some supper waiting in the pot, prepared by Esther earlier on.
Khulu had wanted to go out looking for her grandchild straight away. Was she one of those shot? Had she been hurt or arrested? She would have to find one of Esther’s friends. Yet what if something had happened to them too? Maybe in the end she would have to ask at the police station.
She had just
Nandi set off at first light, slipping out before her mother was up. She left a note: Gone to Khulu.
Nandi wasn’t sure what to tell Ma when she returned. It was too difficult to sort out at the moment. Later, after taking the message, she would think about it.
Gray mist hung over the streets and the early morning air was chilly. Nandi hugged her arms around her as she ran. Already a stream of people were walking steadily toward the station. In the half-light they seemed almost like ghosts, pulled by some invisible cord toward the city. Their grandmother usually set off for work early, so Nandi had to hurry. Perhaps Khulu had gone out looking for Esther. She must be so worried…and how would she be on hearing the message…angry, upset, frightened? Nandi refused to let herself imagine the police in the house itself.
Along the way Nandi could see the signs of people’s fury. The place where Ma came to pay the rent was a heap of smouldering rubble, smoke mingling with the mist. Further on, the roof of the high school was missing, the walls blackened and windows shattered. She ran on, pausing only atone point to press herself against a fence as a police patrol truck thundered past.
Near Khulu’s road, out of breath and panting, Nandi stopped to lean against a wall. If the police had set someone to watch the house, her arrival must seem absolutely normal. It was impossible to prevent her heart from throbbing, but once her breathing had slowed down a little, she walked on.
Turning the corner, she saw the strange car immediately. It was parked a little way up the road from the house, with its hood raised and two men bending over the engine. One was holding a flashlight. Perhaps they were genuine and had really broken down. But why so close to Khulu’s? How could you know if they were informers? She had heard Esther and her friends discussing walkie-talkies once. What if the flashlight was one?
Nandi had to walk right past, quite casually. Close to the car, she found herself humming the tune of one of the students’ songs very softly to herself. It seemed to give her courage. The man with the flashlight glanced directly up at her as she passed. Reaching Khulu’s front yard at last, she clicked the gate carefully behind her. With the feeling that eyes were following her, shemade her way around to the backdoor, out of sight.
From the moment she had come home the evening before, after her day in Johannesburg, Khulu had known something was wrong. News had begun spreading earlier in the day among the flat workers near where Khulu sold fruit. A mid-afternoon radio report had mentioned “trouble at a funeral.” Later, billboards for the evening newspaper had been headlined: “FUNERAL SHOOTING: THREE DEAD.”
By the time Sowetans were making their long journey home by train, some had read the first reports. Their comments had weaved rapidly through the tightly crowded carriages. Parents and grandparents had made silent prayers.
Outside the station Khulu had found heavily armed police ordering people to go straight home and stay inside. A great tank had come roaring down the road and up the hill. Smoke and flames had been rising from the direction of the Rent Offices. Balancing her half-filled box of fruit on her head, Khulu had forced her tired body onward. When finally she had found the houseempty—and no food prepared—anxiety already burning within her had leaped up like a flame. It was true that sometimes Esther came in late, but there would always be some supper waiting in the pot, prepared by Esther earlier on.
Khulu had wanted to go out looking for her grandchild straight away. Was she one of those shot? Had she been hurt or arrested? She would have to find one of Esther’s friends. Yet what if something had happened to them too? Maybe in the end she would have to ask at the police station.
She had just
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