33

THE BIG GUNS

INVESTIGATORS OF CHURCH MATTERS SHOULD LOOK THE PART, Sid Barker believed. At the hotel he washed, shaved his five o’clock shadow, patted his cheeks with Eau Sauvage and grabbed his sunnies before heading out to the car. The glare was playing hell with his eyes. He’d start interrogating the cookie who claimed she’d seen the Madonna, and the old nun would follow after her bath.

His first impression of the Little Sisters’ former garage was not favourable. As the wheels of the Lancia drummed to a stop on the fractured concrete of what had once been a forecourt with petrol pumps, he commented, ‘Can’t the Church do better than this?’

‘There wasn’t much choice, I’m told.’ Father Alboreto switched off the engine and applied the hand brake. ‘When the sisters decided to come here, the village was already run down and the informal settlement was out of hand. It’s been classified as a black spot.’

‘I thought that term belonged to the old regime?’

‘Even earlier, actually: the Land Act of 1936. Now the official phrase is “apartheid slum” but everyone still talks of black spots.’ Father Alboreto spoke as he activated the retro-fitted gearlock. ‘The Ministry of Redevelopment seems to have overlooked Crocodile Flats in their first post-1994 survey of areas to be upgraded. It didn’t appear on the maps for some reason.’

‘There’s always a bloody reason.’ Sid understood bureaucracy.

Father Alboreto turned to face him. ‘A few months ago they picked it up and condemned the settlement, so the shack dwellers will be relocated closer to town. The amaPula are resisting the move because they legally own the land and collect rental income. I’m not sure what’s to happen to the village. A lot of elderly whites moved here because they couldn’t afford to buy in town, but they don’t qualify for sub-economic housing.’

‘Can of worms, then?’

‘Correct. And there’s more trouble brewing. Some of the Afrikaans farmers have declared a republic and fenced themselves off, kicking out all their labourers.’

‘How do you know all this?’

‘I read a lot.’ Father Alboreto had learnt discretion in the Vatican when it came to sources.

‘Don’t bugger me about, mate. This is Church business. I want chapter and verse, right?’

‘To be precise, there was an article about the economics of slum clearance in Business Day last week.’

A smart-arse. Why had he left the splendours of Rome? Sid would give his back molars to be a fly on the wall in the papal secretariat where this South African son of an Italian ex-prisoner of war had served, all brown eyes under the black felt hat with its broad upturned brim. He had a careful elegance achieved by pointy Italian shoes and a slim-cut cassock with a row of faceted jet buttons down the front. What was the betting that the ambitious show pony was gunning for Monsignor? He’d have come back to his home country because he could stand out as Mr Know-It-All.

‘So what’s the buzz about these Little Sisters?’ Sid demanded.

‘They’re dedicated to working among the very poor, specialising in health and education. They’ll pack up and move to another needy area when the settlement is cleared.’

‘I know all that. I meant, how do they operate? Do they run the Sunday school and catechism classes, or does Father Liam call the shots? Would they put ideas into a fruit loop girl’s head, for example?’

‘Such as what she might see in a vision? I don’t know.’

Muttering ‘Dingaling!’ Sid flung open his door and marched into the former workshop, snatching off his sunnies to assess the shonky altar swathed in silver lamé and the Madonna standing on the old workbench. Then he headed for the sound of agitated voices in the passage beyond.

Father Liam stood in one of the doorways with his arm round someone. As Sid got closer, he saw that it was a black schoolgirl with a howling postbox mouth. In the room behind were three agitated nuns and a furious young woman with what looked like snakes instead of hair. All were trying to make themselves heard at once.

‘Jesus bloody Christ!’ he shouted. ‘What’s going on here?’

Behind him Father Alboreto said, ‘Truth or consequences?’

‘Shoo, Father. I want answers from these bawling females. What the hell’s going on?’

Father Liam sat the girl down in the nearest chair and turned to face him. ‘Little misunderstandin’. Please overlook it.’

Sid snarled, ‘Too right. I’m here on official Church business, I’ve come a long way and I’m not in the mood to be dicked around. Is this the kid?’

He eyed the gangrenous gymslip and frayed blouse blotched with sweat and tears. Her socks had concertinaed at the heels into dusty shoes. A flock of incongruous metal-winged butterflies perched on her hair, their rainbow bodies winking with glitter.

Watching her cringe under the scornful inspection, Father Liam said in a louder voice than he had intended, ‘Yes, this is Sweetness Moloi. And these are Sister Immaculata, our senior nun, Sister Hilary, who teaches English and art, and Sister Nokwe, who takes care of the vegetable gardens.’ He turned to the girl. ‘Sweetness, this is Mr Barker and father Alboreto. They’ve come to hear your story.’

‘It’s not a story, it’s true, Father. I saw Her. It’s true-ue-ue.’ She bent over and began weeping into her hands.

The electric thrill of conviction in her voice made the nuns and Father Alboreto cross themselves as Father Liam soothed her. ‘I didn’t mean story as in fibbin’, Sweetness. I meant your account of what happened. I believe you. That’s why Mr Barker has come.’

‘Nyaniso, it’s true, it’s true,’ the girl sobbed.

From the window where she stood with folded arms and her back to the drawn curtains, Raylene challenged, ‘What about me? I’m part of the show.’

‘Not this one.’ Father Liam added in a more conciliatory voice, ‘The Church requires this interview to be recorded in a closed session.’

‘Inquisition, you mean.’

With a bravura toss of plaits, the beads clicking like castanets, Raylene clomped out of the room on the fashionable platform sandals she had bought in case there was an opportunity to dress up in her temporary posting. As if.

‘Bella Medusa,’ Father Alboreto murmured, lowering his heavy bag of equipment.

‘Get on with it, Father,’ Sid ordered. ‘We’ll do the interview in this room. I don’t want the girl sneaking looks at the Madonna back there. And someone bring me a glass of cold water. It’s flamin’ hot and I’m thirsty.’

Sister Hilary and Sister Nokwe scurried off, one coming back with a glass clinking with ice and the other pushing in a revolving office chair with armrests. Sid flicked at its shabby seat with a handkerchief before sitting down, then took a cautious sip of the brown-tinged water in his glass. There had to be bacteria lurking in there: gyppo guts at the very least. What the hell was he doing here?

Father Alboreto said, ‘Where do you want the camera?’

‘Close up and full face. I need to pick up her eye movements.’

When the tripod was in place and the camera fixed and ready, he gestured at the sniffling schoolgirl to come and sit on the stool the nuns had placed in front of him. ‘Okay, girlie. So tell me what you saw.’

She hunched her shoulders and would not look at him.

‘Sit over here,’ he commanded.

She rubbed the toe of her shoe on the floor and shook her head in stolid refusal, which set off the butterflies in a bizarre trembling dance.

He roared, ‘This is crap! Order her to talk to me.’

He was starting to feel crook. The room wasn’t air-conditioned like the car, and the white Lacoste he’d put on to intimidate the kid had got tighter. Shit, there’d be yellow stains under the arms if he didn’t get this business over soon.

Watching his jowls lapping over the polo neck like warm dough that had risen too fast, Father Liam thought, Why did the diocese send someone with a genius for insulting people? And then, Ours not to reason why. I must try and get her to open up for him as she did to me. Our Lady depends on it. And because he was deeply devoted, he gentled the girl towards the stool, saying, ‘Just be talkin’ to Mr Barker, Sweetness. It’s very important. We think you might have seen the first-ever apparition in South Africa.’

‘Not might, it’s true. I saw! Nobody believes me-e-e!’ She began howling again into her hands.

Sid wondered if he was seeing things. For a dizzy moment the girl’s crumpled face reminded him of the dampers his old ma used to make when he was a kid. Quelling the delicious memory, he demanded, ‘What did you see, grizzle-guts? I’ve come all the way from Joburg for this. Out with it!’

After Mother Esmé had been installed in his suite where she was taking a bath, Benjamin moved his things into one of the upstairs bedrooms and hurried down to the kitchen to plan what to give his guests for dinner. He’d have to phone the café and the butchery for more supplies before they closed, then despatch Obadiah to fetch them. Philomena was coming later to do the cooking, and he and Obadiah would serve.

It felt great to be busy again.