The Lion Seeker (64 page)

When he was finished, they walked back to the cemetery building where the bodies were kept before burial.

Isaac was waiting for them there, pacing at the foot of the stairs. He was wearing a dark double-breasted suit, one hand in his trouser pocket under the jacket flap, the other ferrying a cigarette to and from his lips. His head was down as he paced and his hat brim hid his eyes, but Abel knew at once it was him by the quick jerky way of the walking, by the wild flash of orange hair against the tops of the wide ears and down the back of his neck. My son.

Rively's arm was touching his own and he felt it tense but inside he felt only a kind of relief, a letting go; his only thought was of how insane it would be to turn away from his own son, especially now. He went quickly to Isaac who heard him and spun—surprised at them coming from the other side, away from the cars—looking up now with his sharp quick eyes, his pale freckled face open and vulnerable, waiting. Without breaking his limping stride Abel clasped him close then kissed him on the lips and the cheek and squeezed him again. He felt Isaac begin to cry and it broke open something within his own chest and he too began to sob. They clung that way for a long while, until he felt Rively's soft hand on his back, heard her voice whispering, saying this was how it should be, yes, a family together. How Mame would have wanted it. Truly.

 

The funeral was not a large one, but there were more there than Abel had anticipated. Many old Dusaters. He was surprised to see how many of the old couchers had showed up, like Taysh and Shmulkin and Leitener, the same men whom she had once chased out into the street with an axe, bless her. Some of them were amongst the few who shed open tears. How strange the world is, you never know what people really are inside. The men took turns as pallbearers all the way to the grave. At the graveside, prayers were spoken. The coffin with Gitelle's corpse had been placed on straps held by the winch frame; after the prayers the winches were released and the coffin sank. Abel limped up and bent over the pit. From his pocket he took out the gold watch, let it dangle the length of its fine chain, and the light was bright and glinting on the golden links. Bending over his good leg, he lowered the watch towards the coffin. Isaac came forward quickly and held him so he wouldn't overbalance. He dropped the watch the last few feet and it fell on the coffin with a solid knock. Gold returning to the element from which it had been dug, just as all flesh had once risen from the selfsame clay. When Abel straightened up he said to the faces in Jewish, All her life, the wife of a watchmaker, she never had one herself. That was our Gitelle. Now I leave her with this one so when she rises again, she won't be late for Messiah in Jerusalem.

Then he grasped the long handle of a shovel, turned it over and threw a load of red soil onto the box; it made a rasping hollow sound, burying the bright watch and most of the chain. He dug into the soil and threw on another shovelful, then another. Isaac stepped in and took another shovel and they both went on for a time, digging and covering, then Hugo Bleznik, wheezing, took up the third shovel and added more dirt. After a time others lined up and they passed the shovels so that most of the men there had a chance to help with the burial, burying and burying until the job was done.

IT WAS DURING THE SEVEN DAYS
of sitting shiva at the house on Buxton Street, when they would hold prayers every evening and Rively would make sandwiches and tea for those who came to give their respects, that Isaac first began to talk to Abel about coming to live with him at the house he'd bought in Greenside.

He said he had almost sold the house after what had happened, but in the end had decided he was going to keep it. He had built on a private extra wing that would suit Abel perfectly. Abel said he couldn't see how he could leave his workshop. Isaac said he shouldn't, he should keep Buxton Street as a business address and Isaac would make sure he had a car and a driver to bring him to work and take him home every weekday.

Abel said he would miss the Lions Shul. Isaac said there was a new shul in Emmarentia that he could walk to on Shabbos. By the end of the shiva Rively had joined in on Isaac's side. Tutte, she said, what do you want to live here alone as a stone for? You two should stay together. You're the only two Helgers left.

Abel said he would think about it. Two months later, when Isaac came to see him at the workshop, he agreed to go, but only if Isaac would let him pay rent for his separate room. —I will keep it my independence, he said, showing off the English word.

—Ja, Daddy. Of course.

The following week Silas Mabuza came with a Chev truck plus three workers and loaded up Abel's few possessions. A separate car took Abel north and west. First along Seimert Road where the Lions Shul still held his heart, then across the city on Smit Street and Empire Road and then to Barry Hertzog Avenue. That took them up in a great sweep to the suburb of jacaranda trees and art deco houses with high walls.

The new house was on the corner of Shaka and Clovelly, it had brick walls and a black gate of wrought iron, the house was hidden behind its garden and its carport. The room that Isaac had built and prepared for him had blue carpets in the latest style and a bay window looking out onto the garden. They set his bed in the corner opposite the mirrored closet and the bathroom door; the walls had been hung with numerous clocks, making Abel smile to regard.

From the door of his room he looked out across the dining room with its large teak table to a sideboard with a framed mirror above. Everything was clean and new and spacious: the most immaculate and serene dwelling of his life.

By late afternoon the unpacking was finished and Abel went to the kitchen to make himself a cup of tea. The maid was there, peeling potatoes and tenderizing kosher lamb chops for supper that night. He said hello and asked her name; she answered Gloria, had a shy and nurturing smile. She wanted to make the tea for him but he shook his head. He made his tea Russian-style in a glass with a blob of jam. Sadly, he couldn't find real tea with a strainer, had to use a few of the modern tea bags instead; three of them still left him with a weak brew. He noticed Gloria watching with her smile and interested eyes. —This tea, he said. No good! Not like Russian!

She made a pantomime of burning her hand and offered him a mug with a handle. Abel shook his head, picked up the steaming glass by the rim and took it into the garden.

Across the broad lawn were two trees in front of the garden wall with dark trunks and dark maroon leaves. A brick patio lay before them with garden furniture made of rigid wire painted white, with green cushions tied on by ribbons. He sat and murmured the blessing then sipped his tea. Though the air was cool, blobs of sunlight through the trees kept his body warm and he dozed a little and had a gentle dreamlet in which Gitelle was calling him. When he woke he meditated on the fact that she could have spent her last weeks here instead of in Doornfontein; if it had not been for the cutting off of Isaac, this would have been home, she would have lived the dream she had for so long held. But the dream had included her sisters, their families, and without them, what was it, really? Without love and people what are mere things? But he was to blame as much as her or Isaac. Ashamed now of how he had lost his temper with Isaac. Of how he had not tried to talk her into changing her mind, though that would have been like trying to bend stone. He smiled to himself, remembering that, the force of that vital will of hers.

 

It was growing darker and in the streets outside a woman's voice started singing for people to come out and buy her green mielies, green
miel-ies
. Abel was still sitting under the trees when Isaac came home from work, crossing the lawn in his work shirt, denims and steel-toed boots. —You settled in nice, Da?

—Vunderful, Abel said.

—We having lamb for supper. I told the girl you like lamb hey.

—Ich veys, he said. I know. I spoke with her already, Gloria. She seems a nice woman.

Isaac nodded, looked around. —Nice out here hey.

—Very nice, said Abel. I hed a shnooze. But the Jewish phrase was more musical, so he said it too: —Chupped a dremel.

I snatched a little dream.

They went in, Abel feeling as they crossed the lawn how Isaac was walking slowly so as not to outpace his walking-stick limp, which irritated him mildly. Inside Abel sat in the lounge beside the new eight-valve radio, tall as a man's waist, while Isaac went to wash and change. When he came back, fresh and wet-haired, he called Gloria. —Bring us two whisky sodas please won't you.

—No, no, Abel said.

—Ja Da, you'll have one. Must. A l'chaim to your first day here.

—Oykay. Yes.

When the drinks came, Isaac looked at Gloria and said,—Did the police come again?

She shook her head.

He said,—Don't worry. I'm ganna talk to you about it.

She nodded, her round dark face under her doek giving that motherly smile again, then went back to the kitchen.

Abel said,—Voz iz mit der police?

Isaac told him how Gloria's husband had been staying over a few nights every week but a neighbour had reported them and the police had raided the backyard while Isaac was out. He'd avoided arrest only by jumping over the wall in his underpants. They'd sent Alsatian dogs after him.

They can do that? Just come in?

Isaac shrugged. —Look who's in charge now.

Abel knew he meant the new government. The elections at the end of May had brought the Nationalist Afrikaners control of the country; lots of these men were former Greyshirts. Men who'd prayed for Hitler's victory, open Nazis. Lots had sat in jail during the war for treason, put there by Smuts who was now out of power.

Abel said, You think it will be bad for us?

—Naw, I reckon not. Reckon they need every White vote they can get. They don't have to inspect our pricks to see if we been clipped or not.

Abel wagged his finger at his son, laughing but shaking his head.

—Ahh what the hell, said Isaac. Enough worry. Here's mazel tov to you hey Da. Your new place.

They clinked glasses. —Oon mazel tov af dier mein zoon.

And good wishes on you too my son.

They drank and listened to the news, then Isaac turned it off.

He said, Tutte, there's something I never told you. I went to see Avrom Suttner. Not so long ago.

Abel said, Did you?

He told me a lot of things.

Abel nodded.

Isaac said, Do you know–

I know, I know, Abel said quickly.

About everything?

Of course.

Isaac scratched his nose. He told me . . . he's my brother.

Then looked up, almost guiltily; but Abel only nodded. Yes.

I tried to get him to visit Mame. But.

I know.

You know that I tried?

I know that he wouldn't have come.

Isaac sipped his drink and shook his head again. —Aw it's some life hey Da, isn't it?

Abel smiled at him. Worrying is not for the young.

Isaac smiled back. —I'm going out after supper. A date like.

—Vos iz?

—A date. It's taking out a girl. To bioscope. A nice one I met at a dance last week.

Good, good, Abel told him. Maybe it's a wife you have found.

Isaac laughed. —Ja, sure.

You never know.

Tutte, I'm in no rush.

Why not? Have some children for this big house.

—One day, ja, for sure. One day.

Abel raised his glass and drank the last of the whisky. The taste was sweet and smoky and the liquor warmed his belly.

Isaac said,—Another sundowner, Da?

—Ah vos?

—What they call these.

The drink?

—Ja, if you having one at the end of the day.

—How do you say?

—Sundowner.

—Zundoonyer?

—Ja. Cos you have it like when the sun goes down hey. Ven der zoon gayn arunter.

—Uh huh. Abel turned to look through the lace, the windows facing the garden. The light was changing out there, turning redyellow and bright orange, like a spillage of molten gold. —Yes, I see.

Isaac called Gloria but she didn't come. He got up and went into the kitchen. After a moment Abel got up and followed after, wanting to tell him to make it a weak whisky, that first one was already touching his head. The kitchen was empty and he heard voices outside. He went to the window and looked out, saw his son talking with Gloria in the backyard, nodding as she spoke. Then Abel heard him say,—Next time if the police come you put him inside the house.

Gloria shook her head. —No, no, he can't.

—You put him inside, tell him go into the spare room. Don't tell anyone and no one will be able to touch him, they can't come into my house, I won't let them, you understand me?

—You can get for troubles, seh, said Gloria.

—Lemme worry about that, ukay. And I told you a hundred times, I'm not sir, I'm Isaac. So if they come again you have a key now, you have my permission you hide him in that damn spare room till they go. Oright?

Gloria covered her mouth and nose with her hands.

—It's ukay, he said. He patted her shoulder. It's ukay. Here. This for you and your husband. Isaac dipped into his pocket and brought out his wallet. Abel watched him count out notes. Again Gloria shook her head.

—Take it, it's ukay. Take.

She looked at the money and then she took it and held it against her and her lips bent inward over her teeth. She looked away and started to cry. Isaac touched her shoulder again. —Hey please now, it's not a big deal hey. It's not a big deal.

Abel went back into the lounge and stood by the window. He heard Isaac making drinks in the kitchen and turned when he emerged, a glass in each hand. —Ready?

Abel nodded, accepted his drink, faced back to the setting sun.

Isaac said,—Should we do it proper hey Da? Go outside and have a look?