Not Good At All.

‘These days, business is a bit slow, neh,’ Zwakele aka “Two-fingers” thought to himself, as he counted the paper-money clutched in his calloused hands. He licked his thumb with his tongue protruding through his fat dark lips, to lessen the friction between the money. He continued counting.

Nobody knew how he came to be known as “Two-fingers” in the township. Nobody asked. There were quite a number of rumours that sought to explain the nickname. Amongst the bulk of them, one held most sway. This is the one that held that, he was so good at pick-pocketing in his early days, you would have sworn he put the world to a standstill to do it: one minute your wallet  and other possessions would be in your pocket, the next it would be gone! He was considered the best.

Now, at the age of twenty-seven he had ‘retired’ from active crime. He had two boys that worked for him. Their street names were Situation (real name Mzamo) and Bond (Marko). Well, the streets have to christen you with a name. It means you’ve earned it (for the wrong or right reasons). Now, these two aspiring tsotsis stood in-front of their boss—whom they admired greatly—as he took stock of the day.

‘Laaities,’ Two-fingers roared at the two young boys. They flinched. ‘This is shit! The whole day in town, at the busiest place, the bus rank, and all you bring back is this lousy two-clips and five-blues (E250)?’

‘Two-fingers,’ Situation blurted, his eyes darting from side to side, trying not to make direct contact with his boss, ‘believe us man, that’s all. You know we can never steal from you mfethu,’ he ended.

‘Ja, man, Situation is right. The people were wakker (alert) and the police were scattered all over, because of the festive season kaak, you know,’ Bond added. His voice was crackling with fear. He held his “Samson” hat in his hand. It was a sign of respect.

‘Voetsek boys!’ Two-fingers screamed, his face closer to the boys. Foam had accumulated in the corners of his mouth. His eyes were frighteningly bloodshot from excessive drinking and smoking. He moved back, reached deep into the breast pocket of his black dickies shirt—which he had on with matching trousers of the same brand—and took out a cigarette. He lit it up and he leaned on the makeshift shelter used by vegetable vendors during the day in the township. He went on to puff away. ‘Schools are closed and you’re supposed to be making me money and all you do is bring these peanuts! Voetsek! Just go home, because tomorrow I want more, or, there’ll be hell to pay.’

The two boys nodded desperately and scampered-off in the dark after the harsh scolding from their boss. It was about 1830hours, but it was already dark because it was winter. The July air blew unwelcomingly, and there were a few patches of clouds in the sky. The crescent moon began to tear up on one of the clouds and peeped through. It, too, seemed afraid of the biting cold.

Candlelight flickered in most of the stick-and-mud houses. Only in a few houses did the electric light bulbs shine bright in the chilly night. Situation and Bond were brothers. Bond was two years older than Situation. They were fifteen and thirteen years of age, respectively. They only had a mother, who had been bed-ridden two years. Although, their mother was bed-ridden by tuberculosis, word in the township was that she was HIV positive. Well, she did not look good at all. Everyday seemed to be a turn for the worst. Their father had taken to his heels with another woman as soon as the boys’ mother had fallen sick, and was never seen again. That was nine years ago. They never heard from him since.

Part of the reason these boys attended school was that the government had introduced the so-called free primary education policy, in all primary school grades. Perhaps the main reason for their going to school though—just as is the case with all other orphaned and vulnerable children (OVCs, as they were called)—was that there was food provided at school. Sometimes that was the only meal they had for the day. Or, when Two-fingers was in a good mood (which was very rare), he would give them some money, with which they’d get something to eat, and possibly keep some for their mother. Things were not good at all.

When they got home, they attended to their mother. She asked how they were, how school was, and life in general. These were just perfunctory questions. Was not a parent expected to show interest in the goings-on in her children’s life? Although the hardships had erased the child spirit in these young men, when they spoke to their mother, it was resuscitated. They, too, needed to be cared for. They needed that soft motherly love. Were they not children themselves? The sweet, soul-caressing voice of their mother was enough for them. It melted their hearts.

Their mother had last eaten in the morning when they left, supposedly to do some yard-cleaning work at someone else’s plot in the township. Their mother had heard that his boys were hanging out with the gangster Two-fingers, but she had neither the energy nor the courage to talk about it. The women and other neighbours would hint to her when they came to visit her.

‘Thank you my son,’ she murmured, as she drank the tea Mzamo (Situation) had made for her. She nibbled slowly on the bread that they’d also served.

‘Mama, you look much sicker today,’ Marko (Bond) noted. He wasn’t really expecting an answer to affirm that from her. She never said she was getting worse, but you could see that something was eating her up with every day that passed by. The children were noticing it too.

‘My boys don’t worry about me,’ she said, staring eerily into the cup she drank from, as if expecting all the answers to her woes to come jumping from there. ‘You boys go and rest. I am sure you had a hard day cleaning up Malisa’s yard,’ she ended, as she put the cup on the side board, where a tattered bible lay. She took it and, after a few hysterical coughs, begun to read.

‘Goodnight mama,’ Mzamo and Marko said. Their mother smiled and nodded lazily.

They moved to the other room of the two-roomed flat, where they both slept on a worn-out double bed, and closed the door behind them. They were both distressed. It was written on their faces. After they had stripped their clothes off, they lay on their bed, quietly. They looked at the rusting corrugated iron and oiled rafters that roofed their house. At least they had shelter. Some folks hadn’t. Rain started falling softly on the roof, creating a soothing sound; the lullaby sung by mother-nature herself. Then suddenly Bond said something:

‘Situation,’ he whispered to his brother, nudging him right on the ribs, ‘we’ll have to steal, or should I say, keep some of the money we make from the score in town, man.’ He waited for his brother to answer.

‘What?’ Situation exclaimed. ‘Two-fingers smokes dope, and strangely you get high, nhe? He would rip out our bowels and eat us alive if he’d find out—.’

‘Well, how the heck would he find out?’ Bond interjected. ‘It’s just you and me, man. And mind you, o’lady (mother) has nothing to eat and it doesn’t do her any good. Whatever we score, we’ll just keep a little for ourselves, mf’ethu.’

There was silence. Situation really didn’t like the idea of stealing from their fierce boss. Not at all. Bond didn’t like it too. It was not stealing anyway, if you gave it a closer look. They stole from the people they pick-pocketed and snatched handbags from in town. Taking a minimum sum from the illicit proceeds and giving the lion’s share to Two-fingers was fair. Very fair.

‘Man’ Situation said. He breathed a heavy sigh. ‘It’s not a good idea, I’m telling you, but if it’s for o’lady, I guess I’m game. We’ll do it.’

‘Good, man,’ Bond answered. ‘Besides man, Two-fingers always gives us shit regardless of the score we bring to him. It may be a thousand bucks or a bloody million; He’d still talk kaak anyway. He’d tell us it’ not good enough.’

‘Ok , I think I can get the point,’ Situation said. He proceeded to rub his eyes. He was sleepy. ‘We’ll do it man. Can I sleep now?’ he ended.

‘Yeah man, whatever,’ answered Bond as he pulled his blanket over his head. They fell into a deep sleep, which they had so much yearned for.

They woke up early. At 0600hours the boys were already moving out of the house. They made their mother tea, filled it in an old thermo flask and placed it, a cup and a sugar pot on the side-board that stood next to the bed and, went off. Their mama was still asleep. They didn’t want to disturb her.

The day began slow, but picked up as the hustles and bustles of the city ensued, in the usual way. The two young boys did what they always did, perhaps with much more effort. Who knows? There was a motivation this time around. As the sun turned red, and crept slowly behind the mountains west of the city, taking its time, it was time to go back home and report to their baas.

As they approached their usual meeting place with Two-fingers at the township, the two boys were nervous. Nonetheless they tried to act cool; they put up stern faces, the ones that wouldn’t give them away as soon as Two-fingers blazing red eyes took a hard glance on them. They really didn’t need that.

‘Two, man,’ the boys greeted their master.

‘Things were a bit better today man, definitely better than yesterday,’ Bond said.

‘Laaities,’ Two- finger said, rather nonchalantly. ‘Let’s see what you’ve got me today, and you Bond, don’t come here and tell me what’s better and what’s not boy, verstaan (understand)?’ His tone raised a pitch.

‘We were just saying—,’ they both mumbled.

‘Then say no more, bring my score.’

‘Ok,’ Situation replied. He reached into the back pocket of his denim jeans and took out E450 and a cellphone and handed these things two Two-fingers.

‘Ja,’ grinned Two-fingers. He counted the money and then began to admire the cellphone. ‘You boys have worked hard today. I’m quite impressed,’ he ended.

‘Thanks bra Two,’ the boys said. They breathed a tiny sigh of relief.

‘It’s better than the kaak you brought in yesterday.’ He handed them a 20 emalangeni note. ‘Now get going laaities, tomorrow is another day. I want something this impressive again.’

Just as they turned around to leave, Two-fingers called them again.

‘Bond ntwana (boy), where did you get that dorie (hat)?’ Bring it here boy, I want to see it. It’s definitely my type, the boss-man type,’ said Two-fingers.

‘What? No man we must get going now,’ answered Bond as he shuffled his feet. ‘Maybe tomorrow’ he muttered.

‘Yeah,’ affirmed Situation.

‘Voetsek boy! Hand me that dorie,’ exclaimed Two-fingers. He marched towards Bond and violently snatched it from his head, after a tussle with the young man. There, two 100 rands notes fell off Bond’s head; they floated lazily in the winter air until they lay on the ground.

Bond and Situation were dumbstruck. They looked at each other and then contemplated the beast before them. Two-fingers’ eyes were bright red. He brandished his Rambo knife and it shone in the dark. Hell was about to break loose.