Liedjie did not know where to look. Every time she lifted her eyes from the keyboard, he was watching her. The service at Bless Me Jesus had just started but with all this looking, and looking away, she couldn’t breathe.
He was tall and thin, with good skin and straight teeth. He dressed well, with style. Everyone sat down, whispering to each other to move up and make space in the tiny room. Most people sat on the floor but, because he was new, the pastor fetched him a kitchen chair so he didn’t have to lean against the wall with the other outjies.
“Julle, let me introduce you to Robert,” the pastor said. “He is from Cape Town and, for you lot who want to know everything, he is fixing the municipality’s computers.”
They laughed and Liedjie peeped at him. Now his eyes were moving over the group, studying the faces. He smiled at a girl Liedjie knew from the old area. Too smooth, she thought. Sharp dressed man.
When the pastor, finished everybody clapped, and said, “Welcome, Robert.” Liedjie’s ears burned. They were so common compared to Cape Town. Why did he come to Bless Me Jesus? The Methodists with their church steeple and bell were more his style. And the kerksusters at the Independent would have loved to have him. Yes, they would have been much better for a city man than the Bless Me Jesus sitting room full of youth, unemployed, with nothing on their hands but time.
The girls were embarrassing. They laughed and chatted with him and Liedjie knew they were happily forgetting their boyfriends and babies. Even the outjies were starstruck, checking out his Levi’s and All Stars and asking him where his car was parked. Of course he would have a car; just looking at him a person could see he was used to beep-beeping for people to move out of the way. When he caught her eye again, she nodded and looked down, focusing on the keyboard.
More than anything, Robert wanted out of this tiny room. He was sitting on a straight-backed chair with men standing on either side of him and a girl sitting at his feet. She kept looking around and giving him a gap-toothed grin.
“Skies, Meneer,” she said.
That people put themselves through this out of choice was unreal. And they were enjoying it. “Thank you, God, for my life,” he said, under his breath. When this lot prayed they held their hands above their heads and went on and on. He was bored out of his mind, but it was an opportunity to watch the girl on the keyboard.
Yesterday his father pointed out the pastor’s house with its hand-painted blue-and-black Bless Me Jesus sign attached to the fence with wire. It was in the good area, two blocks from where he lived, and there was time to stroll past and make a mental note of the service times.
“I have seen her going in there,” his father said. “The people called her Liedjie. She isn’t the best looking girl, but she keeps her hair out of her face with a band and, as far as I can remember, her teeth are good.”
His father had been wrong about this sort of thing before. Show him a good set of tits and he forgot what the face looked like. Robert called the kitchen girl to make sure. “What are the names of those occupiers? The ones who took the first house?”
The girl, a skinny little slut who Robert was sure was sharing his father’s bed, sucked on a finger while she thought.
Her old eyes and stink of hopelessness were depressing. She was the sort of girl his father liked. So useless that she was easy to dominate.
“Come on,” he said.
“Dis Esther-hulle, Meneer.”
“Ja, everyone knows who she is, but who is the daughter?”
“Dis Liedjie, Meneer.”
She scuttled out of the room when his father waved her away but stood just outside listening until Robert stood up and closed the door. Cheeky slut.
That Sunday at Bless Me Jesus, when the pastor said, “Liedjie, number 62,” he knew she was the one on the keyboard. Her voice was strong and clear and she played well.
“O Liewe Jesus, please can you bring jobs to our people.”
“Bless my mother, Jesus, let her find a job.”
“Help me find a piecework, my Lovely Jesus, for one day.”
Robert stifled a yawn. His iPhone was vibrating in his breast pocket and his stomach was rumbling. He was also wishing he hadn’t drunk two cups of coffee. This had been going on for two bloody hours. Another song, another prayer. When the pastor said, “Amen,” and the girl at his feet stood up and picked up her bag, he said out loud, “Thank you, Jesus.” Those close to him echoed “Amen” and for a second he was nonplussed.
Afterwards he made small talk and answered questions. Did he study? Could he teach them computers? Was there work in Cape Town?
For God’s sake. He had to get out of there.
Liedjie packed away the keyboard, thanked the pastor and headed up the road. Robert said goodbye and ran after her.
“Hey, wait!”
She turned and looked at him.
“You play well,” he said, out of breath.
“Dankie.”
“Can we get a cooldrink?”
“Now?”
“Ja,” he smiled. “Please?”
She hesitated.
Again. “Please.”
“Okay, there’s a tuck shop in the next road.”
They walked together and Robert asked her where she had learned to play.
“I taught myself.”
“Without lessons?”
“There is no money for that here.” Liedjie raised an eyebrow. “People don’t have jobs. In computers.”
He laughed. “Sorry. Do you have a job?”
“No.”
They walked on and she said no more. A hard nut, he thought, but he had seen her watching him. A hard nut that would be lovely to crack.
“I am in town for a while. Could you give me lessons on the keyboard? I’ll pay.”
“Ja, if you want.” Liedjie swallowed and her neck felt hot.
The tuck shop only sold Iron Brew. He bought two cans and they carried on walking towards the new area. When the drinks were finished he took her can and let his fingers brush hers.
“So when can I have my first lesson?”
For the first time she smiled.
“Give me a missed call,” she said and he tapped her cell number into his phone.
“It’s crazy at the municipality but if I can slip away I will get in touch.”
“Okay,” she said. When they came to a crossroads she thanked him for the Iron Brew and walked on without him. He watched her, waiting, but she never looked back.
Liedjie knew he was watching her. O Jirre, she thought. He was keen on her but it wasn’t the right time for an outjie. If she was ever going to get a job she had to go to school. The supermarket took girls for the tills if they had Matric. And there was this thing with the house. “Municipality” was a bad word in their house with the way Mammie and Antie Katjie had been treated. But this Robert wasn’t one of those people in housing. Mammie would like him.
But Deddie … Thinking about him talking to a smart outjie like this by the fire, smoking, made her wince. Outjies like this would meet her father and do a Usain Bolt back to Cape Town. He was that type. For sure.
As she came up the track, she heard the shouting and her daydream was forgotten. When Neville saw her coming, his voice went louder: “This is my house, not a woman’s house, not a fokken meidhuis. My house!”
“What’s going on?” she asked her mother.
“There were people here,” Esther said. “They want us out but we chased them away.”
“Was it municipality people?” Liedjie caught her breath.
“No, no, no, these looked like decent church people … but they were skelm. Can you believe it? They are trying to get us out so they can claim this house and put tenants in.”
“Yoh!”
“The other occupiers stood behind us,” Esther said. “Even Katjie came with a stick.”
“And Deddie?”
Neville had stopped shouting to listen and Esther caught his eye.
“Your deddie screamed and shouted until those people knew exactly whose house was whose.”
“Yoh, and I am now finished,” Neville said, dumping the piece of firewood he had been using to make his point on the table.
“Yoh!” Liedjie said again, shaking her head. “This house thing is really a big story, nè, Ma?”
She threw herself on to the bottom bunk and Titty, who was still there, shifted up to make space. Liedjie saw then there was a missed call on her phone and, for the second time that day, she smiled.