Harare North (19 page)

Where are you? Back later
; that's the note Dave leave on the door.
I open the door, step in, lock it and jam it again.

I walk into kitchen and Shingi's fat rat rumble across them
floorboards like big marble and disappear into some hole on the
floorboards. I ignore the rat, grab plastic cup from the sink and
wash it. The sink drain do one belch and bad stench shoot up
and hang in the air. In house across the road the curtain twitch,
but I don't care one bag of beans. In the next house members
of Romanian family is crowded at they windows again: mother,
two teenage sons, younger daughter and maybe the mother's
sister. The whole tribe. But today I stand my ground, whip them
with powerful look and they scatter away from the windows and
leave me to drink my water before I am tossing the cup into the
sink bowl and stepping off.

I sleep with the screwdriver under my pillow. I am alone now
since Jenny and Dave go. I sleep in my clothes and shoes because
I have make big vow never to allow any intruder to set they eyes
on me without my clothes on. If you is taken by surprise, once
your enemy see you in them shabby underpants, the humiliation
is big; you is two times set back and is fighting from position of
big disadvantage.

In the morning I am lying on my bed and I hear voice saying,
'. . . we could try the kitchen window.' I know straight away that
someone need to be deal with quick.

I grab the screwdriver, kick the blankets off me and step downstairs.
Holding the screwdriver tight, I fling the front door open.
There, looking wretched like Israelites that have walk all the way
from Egypt, is Dave and Jenny. I have been too optimistic to think
that they is not coming back again. The winds is now blowing in
different direction but they don't get it. Now they is pushing back
again.

Hanging around Dave's neck and almost toppling him to the
ground is the binoculars that he get from the Salvation Army shop
and now use for trying to check time off the Big Ben in Westminster
while sitting under the chestnut tree in Brixton.

They have just been to Marks & Spencer's bins again. There's
bag of tinned food and sandwiches hanging on Dave's
microscooter. From behind his gap tooth and disorderly beard,
Dave look at my hand with horror, but Jenny is not bothered.
She scruffy dog wag tail, while she mouse have nose peeping
out of she jacket's side pocket. Jenny have big stain on she jeans
that run down she right leg all the way into one of she paramilitary
boots.

I show them my teethies in good friendly way – 'You people
give me big fright, I was expect them burglars.'

Dave is silent; the wart on his nose throb and start to get fiery
red. I know he think that I'm spinning him the fat old jazz number.
His eyes shine and fill with vex. I don't know how to continue
from there; I shut door and go back inside house and sit on the
stair. As they walk away I hear the tinkle tinkle of them likkle bells
that Jenny always keep tied to she boots.

In the afternoon, I jump out of my bed, gather all of Dave and
Jenny's belongings – cigarette lighters, Rizlas, blankets and
syringes – and throw them out. I don't know what to do with
Shingi's belongings. He have few more things than Dave and
Jenny. It is not his things inside the house that is bother me,
but those that he have accumulate in the back garden, those that
he fish them out of skips. Computer monitors, surge protectors,
toasters, CDs and bathroom accessories, they is all piled up in
the garden. Three TV sets is stack on each each. The rest of
them items, Shingi arrange around the TV sets according to they
importance to him.

Days leap quick and die on the horizon. Every night I come
back from graft hunting and, for long time, gaze at Shingi's
things. I can't make decision and his things is making frightful
silence with each day that pass. I am also worryful about
mamhepo
.
I am worryful because Shingi's mother originally come from
Chipinge near Banda. But I observe moment of silence in the
garden and after that I busy myself carrying all of Shingi's things
to the pavement outside, where I stack them up for passers-by
to help themselves. The Romanian family have learn to do the
curtain-twitching thing, I can tell.

I have move all of Shingi's things. I go into the kitchen, cut
two thick slices of bread, butter them thickly, pour some Coke
and go upstairs to my room where I slide into them my blankets
and feast hard.

Then I get my cigarette out and set it on fire. It crackle and
glow in front of my face and make me feel like I am in Mother's
womb, safe and feeling good.

This Comrade Mhiripiri jazz number have so nearly push me
over the edge. No wonder why I sometimes find myself being
charmed and put under spell by my own
kaka
as it whirl about
in the WC before disappearing. That has never been me.

Me I puff and reason hard.

Jenny come to invite me to poetry evening that is to be held in
Clapham in memory of whale that have die after getting lost and
wandering up Thames River some few weeks ago.

'In memory of whale?'

She say there will be heap of nice people but me I keep quiet
because this is getting my head out of gear. She ask if I have
poems about fish.

'No. If anyone hear that I have go to evening in memory of
dead fish they will start to worry that something is going funny
inside my head.'

Now she start telling me that she have get good news; she
have decide to stop doing smack and have just have HIV test
because she have been sharing too many needles with them many
people. She have pass the test, she tell me.

'The results say I'm HIV-negative,' she shout with big crazy
smile on she face.

'You can't tell me about HIV, I know, me I've been there in
prison. I know all about it because me I have had bicycle spoke
being hold close to my heart by some thug that give me no choice.
And they do the HIV test on everyone before they leave prison.
And my result, it come out bad, me I know.' I shut the door on
she face. She's lunatic, Jenny. HIV-negative; how can negative be
good news?

You see it in the faces of the health people that hand the paper
to you when you leave prison. They don't say no word. One of
them maybe stand leaning against desk with one hand on hip
looking at you like you is already dead thing. That's because they
know that everyone in prison have HIV. They eyes is talking, you
can tell and you even hear them whisper as you leave they room
because they know you have it. When you open your envelope,
the result is on the paper. HIV-negative, that's what it say. Who
has ever hear of good news that is negative?

Negative result. But you don't throw it away. It's proof that life
is not fair. You keep it inside the pocket. You keep it inside the
suitcase where no one can see it. Right there. Life is not fair, you
even tell that traitor in Goromonzi when you give him your touch
because you was knowing that tomorrow you is going to be dead.
And it's all because life is never fair, you tell him, but he don't
understand you is also dying and it's not your fault. By the end
he can only tell you apart from everyone because of your touch;
the skill and the laughter. Jenny cannot be right, otherwise everything
has been one big waste. Life is not fair, me I know.

I follow Jenny out to chestnut tree. She get my head all out
of gear.

Under the tree is Dave. He start shouting: yeee you thief my
ideas; you have to give back my notebook that I leave in your
house.

He shout and stagger all over. Me I sit down, cough, move
the phlegm out of my lungs and spit on the ground.

'Thief; fuckin' thief, give me my notebook,' Dave keep bawling.

I clear my throat. I spit on the ground. Close to his boot.

Now he start silly style: yeee do you want to fight me, do you
want to fight me? You call all your boys and I call mine then we
will see; my boys going to kill ya two-faced Donald Duck yari yari
yari!

'No fighting here,' someone say but Dave don't stop. He is
throwing them arms in the air in that kind of style.

The tall man with them soldier's eyes that I once see at Elser
Cafe now come and try to pull Dave away but Dave have make
up his mind that he don't like my guts and won't move. I step
back to our house.

I get home and I find there is another letter from Shingi's uncle,
Sinyoro the old nincompoop. He is worried that Shingi have lose
his head or something. He make big threat of coming to London.
I bin the letter.

The kitchen-sink bowl is nearly overflow with things floating
on water. There is no movement down the sink drain, and stench
is starting to become hard to live with. The cupboard door below
the sink have long fall off hinges, and after being toss about, soak
with spilt water, and trampled on, it have lost its colour and have
expand, warp and crack. It lean against the cupboard frame.

I lift the door and place it flat on the floor.

From the rubber P-trap, which have swell and is covered by fungus,
water drip down onto the floor of the cupboard, which have also
start to rot; there's heaps of bread that Shingi have been putting
there to feed the rat. Now mushrooms is growing everywhere.

I go down on my knees for closer look. Scatterings of
kaka
by
Shingi's rat is fertilising mushrooms on the floor of cupboard. Rat
is dangerous thing inside house. He can eat anything – plastic,
wire, bread or wood. This is danger to my suitcase; people going
to laugh if they hear that my suitcase and money for my plane
ticket get eat by some rat.

I take plastic bag, pick the rotting bread and put it inside bin.
Then I pick the cupboard door and put it back where it have been.

Everything falling apart. I don't know how to fix this. I have
to stop the rat. He is hitting my food.

I go to my room and write inside my head that, from now on,
I keep sharp lookout for the rat who is doing all the
kaka
.

I want to eat. I'm hungry. I go to kitchen to find bread and
I find that Shingi's rat have nibble it. I go to my room and put
my suitcase on windowsill; you never know what else this rat is
going to eat. Then I write to them Ancient & Honourable Society
of Rat Catchers. Me I give detail of everything that is about to
start in the house because some of my plane ticket money is in
danger of being eat now. Now I feel cold like I start to catch
fever, so I wear my twelve-pocket coat and sit on floor by the
window to finish writing letter.

Now I start big wait for rat in the kitchen.

It's late into night but I have no sleep. I have already miss rat once
now with claw hammer that Shingi pick from skip. Even if I feel
like I have fever inside my head I sit on the stair on the ground
floor waiting patient holding my screwdriver and claw hammer.

The rat don't come out all night.

I come from graft hunting and there is rat
kaka
on the kitchen
floor, so I don't go to graft hunting the following day.

I go to buy bread – only enough for me since I am now the
only one left inside our house. I come back, there is rat's
kaka
by the stairs. I stop going out of house altogether.

I have not hear from them, the Ancient & Honourable Society
of Rat Catchers. So I write another letter to them reminding them
that even if I am original native, me I still know misbehaviour by
professional organisation; if they cannot help at least they tell me
straight and square. I don't manage to send the letter because I
don't want to go out of the house and come back to find rat has
do
kaka
on the floor again.

* * *

Inside our house. Shadows shiver, become long, become short
and disappear; days scatter away like birds flying off the wire. I
stop sleeping.

I walk around the house with screwdriver and claw hammer,
my boots make clattering sound on them floorboards. It is the
beginning of week and right under my nose the rat have do more
kaka
. But I have been keeping my eyes wide open.

I have one rat to kill or else I die in this foreign place. I have
to get to source of the problem before I get overwhelmed. I sense
it coming. The rat want to keep me in London now.

Tuesday night. I am almost nodding off when the rat appear at
kitchen doorway. I throw spanner and catch him on his bum. He
fly into the air, come down on the floorboards, try to scurry away
but his behind legs look like they is broken so that he remain on
the same spot like the squirrel that I kill in the park. I think I have
maybe break his spine or something. When I get up to finish him
off, he recover and slip into some hole that I can't fit into. But I
know that I have deal fatal blow and expect the smell of rotting
body in them coming days. No one is going to eat my money.

On morning Wednesday, I am in good mood. I go out to buy
food. I come back to the squat and there is no rat
kaka
nowhere.

In the evening I go to the chestnut tree. No Dave, no Jenny
is there. No one that I know. When I come back at night there
is no rat nowhere.

Thursday morning. I wake up and there is not one rat
kaka
anywhere. I am over the moon.

Friday morning. I wake up. I expect the smell of the rotting
rat, but there is no smell in the air. But I know that the body
need to be in real decay before smell can start to come out of
them floorboards so I relax.

Saturday morning. Still no rat droppings nowhere. Also no
smell.

Sunday morning. I am scared stiff. I drink one litre of Coca-Cola
and try to relax for the rest of the morning. Then the diarrhoea start
and I know for sure Jenny was wrong because how can you have
diarrhoea if you don't have no Aids? And the rat, maybe he have
not die. He is recovering somewhere under them floorboards of
my squat.

Sunday evening. I reason up some way of finding out what
happen to the rat.

I can take them kitchen cupboards apart; maybe rat is at the
bottom? Or I can rip open them floorboards in the kitchen.

Midnight. I throw myself into this graft. I start to rip them
kitchen-floor skirting out with claw hammer. Then the floorboards;
they pile up in the hallway. One floorboard out; I see them dusty
and PVC pipes. Another floorboard, another pile of rat
kaka
, but
no rat. Another litre of Coca-Cola I drink in thirty seconds.

I start to apply myself flat out on my graft. Then the diarrhoea,
it come again. Even my hair now feel like cat's hair but me I know
life is not fair; I don't worry; I am hard.

I don't know what time it is, but it is way after midnight when
the prepay electricity meter run out of credit and suddenly there
is darkness inside Shingi's head.

I can't call the whole thing off. Not now. I grope around in
the darkness and them splinters of timber lodge into my fingers.
I trip, fall, but get up again. My eyes now get used to the darkness.
I am breathing hard; hot air is coming out of my mouth
and nose. I breathe black bitter wind into our house.

I don't know for how long I work, removing all them floorboards,
but soon time stop; the sun come up, come down and
come up again I don't know how many times. I don't go out
until this graft is done. I smoke cigarettes and fire myself up with
bread. I sleep and wake up sweating because I have been having
nightmare about rat eating up all my money.

I go check the money and find it is still there. But the smell
of Mother have already come out of the suitcase. Now it fill the
whole house.

I spend the night slamming them doors everywhere trying to
frighten the rat to come out from under remaining floorboards.
But I have to stop this because the crusty neighbour that shout
at Jenny over dog
kaka
come to complain that I am disturbing
his sleep. It is wasted night because I don't get much done.

The following evening, I have work with no disturbance. Now
I go out for walk around the block. I want fresh air.

I come back to house and suddenly Shingi's mobile phone start
causing one big racket on them floorboards. It's them London
relatives. But this time I have no fear on my tail so I answer it.

'Shingi?'

'It's not Shingi.'

On the other end is cousin of Shingi. But that is not the scandal.
The scandal is that he hand the phone to someone, and it's the
old nincompoop Sinyoro. He have land in London to claim Shingi
now.

Before I have even have chance to think straight, the nincompoop
jump into one of those long-winded traditional greetings
that go on and on and make it impossible for you to talk honestly
to each each. My whole body start to ache with effort of my
patience while he talk. Suddenly I decide I have to end this and
I straight away ask him what he want.

'Time is everything in Harare North, you don't just call someone
like you is back home and just talk talk talk without purpose. Get
to the point,' I tell him. That shake him out of his style. That's
when he start this big talk asking me where is my manners and
why I talk like some child that was born when them village elders
have gone away for beer orgy. I hang up and switch phone off.

At night I work hard. I remove them floorboards and only stop
when I notice that the waters have start to lap at my ankles; I
must have damage one of them pipes while removing the floorboards.
Me I sit on big pile of floorboards and take rest.

Some big bell gong inside my head and suddenly I realise that
maybe Shingi's relatives know our address. You don't want to hear
door knock and open door only to find the nincompoop, Shingi's
mother, and all them other crusty members of clan. I jump up
and make my way through them piles of floorboards and go upstairs
into my room where I pack my suitcase full, lift it onto my head,
walk out of our house and slam the door.