The Monster's Daughter (48 page)

Kalo's body suddenly jerked with laughter. “For a brown man, you look very white,
bra
.” He patted Jakob on the back. “Relax, Jim. I joke.” He emptied the can on the ground. “We'll go into town. I know a nice place.”

Jakob nodded, forcing a laugh in step with Kalo's, the image of his mother flashing before him, her hand warm on his skin.

“Don't push us too far.” President P. W. Botha had said, addressing the National Party's Congress in Durban. “We have never given in to outside demands and we are not going to do so now.” After the coverage of the speech, the global condemnation, Thatcher was still on their side, but it looked like even Reagan would have to yield to an American anti-apartheid act. The rand plummeted, the stock exchange shut down for a week, and sanctions loomed. In the Cape, police had openly beaten black men and women with
sjamboks
as the people peacefully marched for Mandela's release.

Tessa sighed, her eyes skimming the article. The bus stopped to pick up passengers. Tessa briefly made eye contact as a woman sat down next to her. She tried to focus on the newspaper article, but her attention wandered to the translucent skin of the woman's hands, clutching the seat in front of her. Blue-green veins formed lumps amid dark liver spots, the yellow nails thick and uncared for, a slight tremor visible each time she let go of the seat to touch a tissue to her nose. Tessa forced herself to look up at the woman's face. Folds of paper-thin skin zigzagged over hollow cheekbones and sunken eyes.

A sense of dread suddenly took hold of Tessa. In a few months' time it would be her eighty-fifth birthday. It was happening to her too now, the thing that she had watched everyone else succumb to. The mirror held a strange fascination for her these days, the possibility of her mortality becoming a certainty. She counted fine lines, the rose-like
roundness of her face fading. It was harder to keep her figure slender. Her joints had a faint ache in the mornings when she got out of bed. Sometimes she even welcomed it, the promise that her life would eventually end.

The walls of the bus suddenly seemed to close in on Tessa, and she got off at the next stop. She walked the last two kilometers to Triomf, her heels chafing, the raw sting of a blister growing stronger with every step she took. The government housing took on a look of uniform neglect in the distance, rusted cars in the yard and kitsch adornments on the porches. A male voice barged from a house as she turned onto Toby Street, a woman's voice joining in a shrill retort. Triomf was where poor whites had settled into government housing, masters now where Sophiatown once stood. Tessa unlocked the front door of her house and slid inside, her breath coming easier once she'd bolted the lock and put the safety chain on. The house remained silent, Jeff still not home. He came home late more often now, smelling of booze, turning into a middle-aged man in front of her eyes. He had found work at some sort of export business, he said. Tessa asked about it in the beginning, but dropped the subject after too many vague answers and ill-conceived lies.

The day Tessa had heard of Flippie's death, she had left everything in Kimberley and moved back to Johannesburg. She was frantic to find Jacob. Jeff had followed her, like a lost dog. Tessa's obsession with Jacob wedged itself between them by degrees. She cared for nothing else. She had met some of Flippie's acquaintances at the funeral, asked around after Jacob as best she could, attending secret ANC meetings, pledging her support. But whites weren't trusted, no matter what the bylaws stated. A darkness began to seep into Tessa's soul as the months dragged on, devouring the hope she clung to by degrees as every lead turned into a dead end. Some mornings she couldn't see her way through the day, so she stayed in bed, staring at the stucco ceiling for hours. Those days were becoming more frequent. She could no longer keep the thought away that Jacob had also permanently disappeared, the last of her family gone.

The argument between the man and woman next door grew louder. A young child's cries joined in the cacophony. Tessa lay down on the bed and wrapped her pillow around her head. When she
opened her eyes, blue lights bounced off the walls. Tessa got up and slowly parted the curtains, careful not to be seen. There were two police cars parked in the street. A man with greasy blond hair and wearing a dirty T-shirt sat on the
stoep
. Two policemen pulled him to his feet. He rammed into one of them, sending him down the steps. The other one grabbed him and punched him in the face. The first policeman ran back up the steps, grabbed the man's head, and bashed it into the wall of the house until blood streamed out of his nose.

“Pig! You leave him alone.” It was the woman, her long permed hair teased into a bushy mess, her bra visible under the falling straps of her tank top. The policeman shielded his face to ward off the blows as she attacked him. Two more men struggled to get handcuffs on her as she screamed and cursed. The pair was escorted to the police van. The woman tried to bite one of her captors, who slapped her in the face.

The van took off, followed by the patrol cars, and the residents of Triomf closed their curtains again. Tessa became aware of a whimpering noise near her window. She tried to block it out, but it persisted. She tried to convince herself that it was only her imagination, but as she unlocked the door and took a tentative step outside, the whimpers intensified.

“Hallo?” Tessa scanned the dark yard at the spot where there was a break in the fence between the two houses. Tessa advanced toward the fence. The noise seemed to come from a clump of bushes just on the other side. “Who's there?” Getting onto her knees, she parted the foliage to find a toddler, a girl, judging by the dirty dress she was wearing. The child's hair was jaggedly cut, close to her head, crusted with food. Tessa reached out. The child tried to get away but stumbled, unsteady on her legs.

“It's okay.”

The child made another attempt at standing up. Tessa reached out again and grabbed her before she could fall again. The girl reeked of urine and feces. Tessa turned her head away as she carried the toddler to her house. She put the girl down on the kitchen table. The child let out a wail as Tessa switched the light on.

“I'm not going to hurt you, okay?” Tessa carefully unhooked the diaper pins and peeled the rough fabric off, trying not to retch. A
nasty rash and half-moon-shaped bruises lined the tender skin of the toddler's back. Something ripped inside Tessa. She grabbed a pair of scissors and cut the dress off the girl, too disgusted to try to undo the buttons. The toddler screamed hysterically as Tessa lowered her into the bathtub, her cheeks glowing red under a layer of filth, her eyes and nostrils caked with gunk.

“It's all right now, little one.” Tessa spoke soothingly, gently lapping lukewarm water over her body, revealing large hazel eyes and curly chestnut hair by degrees. Brown water seeped down the drain. She stood there until the tub had completely drained, dirt forming lines on the white porcelain. The girl had calmed down, her body limp in the towel as Tessa held her. Suddenly, she glimpsed her salvation.

“Whose child is that?” Jeff stood in the doorway, a soft slur tainting his words.

“I'm taking her, Jeff.” Tessa's words were without apology. “Her parents are gone.”

“What?” Jeff stared at the girl.

“Next door. They were arrested.”

He sighed, seemingly relieved. “We can call someone to take her.”

“They didn't even tell anyone there was a child.” Tessa broke into tears, her body shaking as she clung to the toddler. “She's just a baby.”

Jeff stepped closer to her, reaching uncomfortably, the girl between them. “The police will sort this, luv.”

“No.” Tessa broke free from his grip, keeping her hand protectively on the child's head.

“Be reasonable.”

“She's not going back.” Tessa's pale eyes challenged.

Jeff tugged at his tie as if it was choking him. “She's someone's child, Tessa.”

“Look at her, Jeff.” Tessa tore the towel away.

Jeff's face mirrored her initial horror, his brow contracting. “Maybe Child Services—”

“I'm taking her away.” Tessa picked the girl up. “Tonight. She'll be safe. Nobody will find us.”

“Does this plan include me?”

Tessa hesitated for a moment before answering. “Nothing's changed.”

“No. Apparently it hasn't.” Jeff sat down on the edge of the bathtub, wiping his eyes with his palms. “I don't think I can do this, Tess.”

Tessa felt a willfulness spring up. “Then I'll manage without you.”

Jeff looked as if she had slapped him. “So that's it?”

“I need to get her away from here before those people sober up and remember they have a child. That is all that matters now, keeping her safe. We can talk about the rest later if you want.”

“I don't know that there's anything more to talk about.” Jeff's body deflated. “I'm going back to London. Maybe for good.” He held his breath, watching her for a reaction.

Tessa could only muster a curt nod. The life in her arms was the only important thing now. She could do it, save this one person. Together, they would start over. One more time.

Adriaan hid behind the low fence of a house on Toby Street. Triomf spread all around, an eyesore of welfare and depravity, where the embarrassing dregs of white culture sank to the bottom. “You're sure it's the right man?” he asked the constable next to him.

“He matched the description, sir. I was staking the place out. The occupants are wanted for questioning about that missing child, see? Then your man rocked up. Went in almost an hour ago.”

Adriaan looked at the neighborhood around him, old cars and junk on the neglected lawns. Could this be where De Beer had been all along? Hiding in plain sight? His dramatics at the zoo had only convinced Adriaan that he was on the right track, too close for the monster's comfort. If anything, De Beer's threats to his family served to intensify Adriaan's investigation. He kept the media in the dark, even gave them a few misdirections, but he had made sure that every milk-beard on the force memorized De Beer's description. Contacts were roused from their hiding places, bribes distributed, threats made. Then, today, it had all paid off.

The front door of the house across the street opened. Adriaan signaled the unit to stand by as he recognized the tall frame of the man
who walked out wearing a motorcycle helmet. De Beer went through the front gate, headed toward a dirt bike parked up the block.

“Police! Stay where you are.” The constable next to Adriaan jumped up without waiting for the signal, his gun trained on De Beer. “I said, don't move!” He stormed at De Beer, grabbing him by the scruff of his jacket. De Beer slipped out of the jacket in one graceful move and punched the constable, then grabbed his gun from him.

Adriaan fell back when he heard the pop, pulling his own weapon as the constable's body thumped to the ground. There was another barrage of pops as the other policemen opened fire. Adriaan carefully looked over the fence, meeting De Beer's eyes, the gun pointed directly at Adriaan. Adriaan hugged the ground as a bullet grazed the fence. “We have a man down,” he yelled into the radio. “Suspect on the move, riding a Honda dirt bike.” He touched the fallen constable's neck. There was almost no pulse.

Two squad cars approached, sirens blaring. Adriaan raced down the street, watching the motorcycle disappear down the block. It was too far away, but he fired a shot anyway. Chaos descended. Sirens could be heard kilometers away as the squad cars gave chase. Adriaan sat down on the curb where the constable had fallen, his head between his hands, frustration gnawing at him. De Beer had to be stopped. This was the closest Adriaan had ever gotten, and the man had still managed to slip away.

“Hey, you.” A teenage girl, around sixteen, slouched onto the
stoep
of the house where he had hidden moments before, a cigarette hanging from her lips. “What you people doing?”

Adriaan waved her away. “Go back inside.”

“You find the people who took that baby?” She crossed her arms when Adriaan didn't reply. “I told my
pa
the moment they moved in. I said they'll be trouble. She acting all high and mighty as if her
kak
wasn't brown, not talking to anybody. Now look. And what are you people doing?”

“We're working on it, miss. Now go back—”

“Time you people stop arresting people for nothing and start doing your job, Mister Police.” She flicked her cigarette onto the grass.

Adriaan turned away from her. De Beer's jacket lay where it had fallen in the street, stained with the constable's blood. He crouched
down, picked it up, and went through its pockets. Nothing. His fingers brushed a piece of paper in an inside pocket and he pulled it out, hoping for a note or a receipt, anything that might give a clue as to De Beer's whereabouts. It was a small photograph with yellow scalloped edges, its subjects, a boy and girl, faded in sepia tones. The boy was young, maybe eleven or twelve, but there was no doubt in Adriaan's mind who it was. The girl in the photograph bore a resemblance to De Beer—eyes the same shape, fair hair, pale skin—but there was something different about her, a kindness in her expression that De Beer's empty stare lacked.

Adriaan crossed back to the teenager. “Can you look at this?”

She eyed him warily, not moving from her spot in the doorway.

“Please? You want to find the little girl, don't you?” Adriaan walked up to her, pushing back his revulsion at her cheap perfume. He noticed that she wasn't wearing shoes, her toenails painted a bright red. He held the photograph out to her.

She looked at it for a moment, then nodded. “I guess it could be her.”

“Who?”