"Let me tell you something, Pete, you can count your lucky stars that we live in a small town like Dannhauser,” Rikus de Lange said. He shook his head and took another sip of his ice-cold Lion Lager.
Pete looked at his dad – a dark cloud of worry enveloped him. Pete wondered how his father managed to give the same cautionary speech every night when they watched the news: “We’re so lucky we don’t live near a city – here we’re safe – the kaff ... black people in the rural areas are still good old salt-of-the-earth people, not like that bunch of terrorists who burn and bomb everything in sight. The closest we ever get to that is a strike at the mine, which is bad enough but hardly ever escalates to much more than shouting and a few scuffles. And the reality is, even that is orchestrated by those Commies in the city. I can see it in the eyes of the miners when they strike here: it’s not out of free will, it’s intimidation, violence. All part of some plot concocted by a few bloodthirsty Bolsheviks somewhere in a Johannesburg basement. You’re young, so you might not see it right now, but one day you will shake my hand and say, ‘Thank you, Dad.’”
Pete braced himself for tonight’s speech, but the advertisements were over, and his dad’s attention had returned to the news.
“Astronomers have confirmed that Halley’s Comet will be visible in the South African sky between April and June this year. The best time to see the comet in all its glory will be when it passes closest to the earth, around the end of May. This heavenly spectacle has created great excitement and anticipation among stargazers across the globe.”
Pete watched as the news anchor’s lips continued to move, but all he could think of was his grandad’s recollection of the 1910 Halley’s Comet: “The sky was ablaze as if the heavens were torn apart and the most amazing silver light was trying to break through.” He had been waiting for 1986 ever since that moment when his grandad’s eyes had lit up and his face seemed young again, two days before he died, lying in hospital with a million tubes stuck in his body.
“Pete, show me your homework, please.” Deanne stood at the door of the TV room. She had on her red-and-white apron and was busy removing her bright-yellow dishwashing gloves.
“It’s all done. Don’t worry, Ma,” Pete said without taking his eyes off the television.
“Well, if it’s all done then you shouldn’t have any problems showing it to me.”
“I said it’s done, Ma. Don’t you trust me?” Pete turned to his mom.
“Trust? You’re going to talk to me about trust?” Pete realised a moment too late that he should have just shown his mom his homework. He moved to speak, but it was too late. Her gloves were off.
“Let’s consider the facts. To start, I asked nicely all summer holiday long for you to sort out the storeroom, and until this day, the only change is that you have piled more of your old rubbish in there. Six long weeks and you couldn’t even do that one small thing for me.” Pete thought he spotted a gap and tried to say something, but his mom stopped him summarily, finger in the air.
“To crown it all, I expressly told you to be back from your run before dark. Now, I don’t have proof, but I will bet this house that you disobeyed me and went running all over Uncle Gerrit’s farm. Not only disobeying me but nonchalantly risking your own life in the process. But—” His mom wiped the corner of her mouth with her little finger.
“I can’t prove it. What I do know, however, is that when you snuck back here it was pitch dark and pouring with rain. We were worried sick; we were just about to start calling around and Pa even considered calling Uncle Gerrit. Can you imagine how embarrassing that would have been? And your clothes reeked; heaven knows where that stench came from. I want to laugh when I think about the pathetic excuses you came up with, or perhaps I should cry. You must think your old mom is over the hill, deaf, blind, and can’t smell a rotten egg when it’s shoved in her face.”
“Ma, I—” Pete started.
“Have I finished?” Deanne threw her hands in the air. Rikus got up to turn down the volume on the television.
“And what in the name of all that’s good do you call your antics yesterday? Teenage hormones? Since when do we beat people up? Are we any better than the riffraff we see on television?” Deanne stepped into the room. Pete felt his ears glow and there was an urgent itchiness in his right eye.
“So, when I ask you to show me your homework, I mean immediately! I don’t want stories or to hear a word about doing it later.” Her voice broke.
Rikus positioned his six-foot-one frame between Pete and the television. “Listen to your mom, Pete. No more television tonight, no sports news, nothing. And this weekend you will sort out the storeroom exactly like your mother told you. Or else!”
“Pete, Pete, Petie; you naughty-naughty boy.” Devon sat on Pete’s chest. His swollen lip had turned black and covered half his face. Pete struggled for air. He wanted to move but couldn’t. Devon smiled. His fat black lip arched wide across his face.
“Who do we have here?” Rudie appeared behind Devon. Pete couldn’t see his face; it was above him somewhere, but the light was too bright to see properly.
“My little faggot buddy.” Rudie’s laughter dropped from the sky like hail.
“I got you an early birthday present.” Rudie forced Pete’s face to the left. On the ground, the black guy lay motionless in a pool of deep-red blood. Behind him, the Indian girl and Renate were tied to a telephone pole. Renate’s face was detached and cold, her eyes dim. The Indian girl cried tears of mud that dripped in dark stains on her white shirt.
Rudie walked up to the Indian girl and started undoing his belt. Pete wanted to scream, but nothing came out. He looked up and saw that the headmaster was sitting on his chest now. He turned his head back to Rudie, but he was gone, and so was the girl. The headmaster whispered in his ear, “You did this, it’s all your fault.”
“No, no!” Pete pinched his eyes shut. He felt something strange and opened his eyes. Now it was Renate who was sitting on his chest. She was crying: “You will pay, Petrus, you will pay.”
Darkness.
Pete raised his head off the pillow. He took small quick breaths through his nose and could feel his heart pounding against his chest. He slowly moved his right hand to his thigh and pinched his skin until it hurt. It was a dream, but it didn’t feel like one.
He sat up, dropped his head into his hands and rubbed the back of his neck. His left hand searched in the dark and finally, with a loud click, his bedside lamp’s soft glow illuminated the room. His eyes scanned the room, searching for any sign of movement. The closet door was slightly ajar. The darkness inside it infinite.
He blinked again.
Nothing.
He grabbed one of his pillows, pulled it in close, and curled into the corner with his back to the room. The light cast his soft grey shadow against the wall. He stared at the outline of what had become of him: he was so small, so faint.