Leke retrieved the broom from beside the fridge and started sweeping, the dust puffed up angrily at the disturbance. After cleaning the floor he used an old rag to wipe the windows, but the water he'd dipped it in was insufficient, he merely succeeded in spreading the greasy dirt along the pane. He needed to go shopping.
Leke found himself at the end of the aisle with his basket still empty. He'd already visited the Woolworths store and doubled his wardrobe by buying four items of clothing. He'd enjoyed squeezing into the small change rooms and studying himself, twitching at the unfamiliar feel of the fabrics on his body. He even bought a belt drawing the line at the pink-speckled tie the salesman dangled in front of him. Now at the supermarket, there seemed an endless series of options for cleaning dirt. He needed something heavy duty, he thought, leaning in to study the fine writing on the multi-coloured labels. His phone buzzed in his pocket.
‘Hello?’
‘Is this Mr. Peachey?’
‘Pardon?’
I'm calling from Dr. Kleinsmith's rooms, the hellerworker, are you on your way, sir? We were expecting you fifteen minutes ago.’
He'd forgotten.
‘Hello?’
‘Yes. Yes. I'm sorry. I have to cancel, something's come up.’
‘We will need to invoice you, Mr. Peachey,’ her voice tightened.
‘Yes. Okay. I apologise.’
‘Do you want to re-schedule now?’
‘No. I'll call again. Thanks.’
He picked a pink tub with capital red letters along its side – CHEMCLEAN – and two scrubbing brushes with steel bristles. Ammonia. On the way towards the check-out he wandered through the toiletries aisle, picked up a lace bag of potpourri, lavender and sage.
Although night approached, a warm breeze accompanied Leke on his walk home. He enjoyed the rare, pleasant weather, spring had been slow in baring herself. Most of the days came chilled, a sluggard sun making grey mornings and faded out colours on petal flowers. It was an unusual feeling but he longed for the warmth of summer.
When Leke rented the studio the Rhododendron had explained that she'd covered the garage asphalt in a fashionable screed. Over time this had cracked in places leaving lines scarring the surface, some wispy spider webs, others wide enough to lose a twenty cent coin in.
Wondering how to fix the cracks, Leke went onto his knees and started scrubbing the floor. A dank smell filled the room, rotting flesh – something had died. He prepared himself to come upon it in his cleaning.
Every few minutes he went to stand by the back door which he'd left open for fresh air.
Should have bought yellow gloves, he cursed, studying the wet dirt that had gathered under his nails.
He scrubbed the window pane noticing, with a sense of accomplishment, that the clean glass sparkled from the shine of the street lights outside.
He used a stick to beat the mattress and began coughing as the dust rose off the worn fabric. He turned the mattress on its side and dragged it to the garden, continually hitting it until less and less dust came off.
The underside of the mattress had been chewed away by moths and he made a mental note to save money for a new bed.
At 1am Leke dropped onto the mattress, he fell into a dream where it was very quiet and everything was misty – he couldn't see his hands in front of him, and walked in a stilted march. Amidst the quiet his footsteps sounded out like thunder, heavy and so booming it frightened him.