of the next blank page. Ridges teased his
fingertips. He lightly feathered the tip of the attached pencil across the
blank page. An image of a bare-breasted mermaid with a fishtail curled beneath
her appeared. One eye was closed, the other wide open. A winking mermaid. The
image was innocent yet somehow salacious.
'This
taken?' a white girl, about fifteen, in a pink dress asked. She had a pretty
Dutch boy in tow.
'Not
if you qualify,' Emmanuel said.
The
girl frowned, uncertain.
Emmanuel
pointed to the sign on the bench. The girl laughed, a pretty sound in keeping
with everything else about her. She sat down, pulled the boy close and rested
her head on his shoulder. 'Isn't it perfect?' she sighed.
'The
best,' the boy agreed and traced circles on the girl's bare shoulder with
gentle fingertips.
Light
shimmered on the water. The black ice-cream vendor struggled up the stairs from
the beach with his wooden box. His polished shoes were covered with fine grains
of sand.
'Here.'
The girl waved her arm in the air. 'Here, boy.'
The
vendor approached, a half smile on his mouth, his gaze a fraction to the left
of the couple, mindful always to not make eye contact with the little baas and the little madam.
'What
is it?' The girl pointed to the lone tub in the box.
'Vanilla,
missus. One bob. Very good.'
The
boy dug into the pockets of his shorts and handed over some coins. The vendor
handed back the ice-cream and the change.
'Check
it,' the girl demanded. 'Pa says the ones who live in the city cheat you
blind.'
The
boy counted the coins while the vendor concentrated on the row of brightly
painted buildings in the background.
'It's
all here.'
'Go.'
The girl waved the ice-cream vendor away with a flick of her hand. Her fingernails
were painted a frosted pink, the colour of the sky in fairytale books. She
placed her head back on the boy's shoulder. He pulled open the top of the tub
then began to spoon tiny paddles of vanilla into her mouth.
An
ocean breeze ruffled Jolly's notebook and wrapped the pages around Emmanuel's
fingers. He scribbled the pencil along the bottom edge of the page and two
words emerged from the grey: 'Please help'.
Emmanuel
felt a chill come over him in the sunshine.
CHAPTER FIVE
The
sun was down but a trace of heat lingered. A breeze tousled the trees, lifted
hems and stirred up the exhaust fumes from cars cruising the slow lane of West
Street. Lines of smartly dressed couples snaked down the pavement and waited
for the Empire Cinema's late Friday night movie session to open. Suits, ties,
ironed dresses and gloves, the occasional corsage pinned to a tulle ruffle. The
nine o'clock double feature was 'dress formal': Where the North Begins followed by Tarzan's Desert
Mystery.
In
the afternoon, Emmanuel had had a haircut and shave followed by a shoeshine at
the corner stand. He'd bought coffee, milk and bread for the week. None of
these routine domestic tasks had taken his mind off Jolly Marks's notebook.
He
drove past the Central Post Office. The trunk of a Natal mahogany, known as
'dead man's tree', was plastered with white funeral notices edged in black.
Jolly Marks would have an announcement posted there soon.
At
the Point, he parked the Buick a block down from the bus stop. The place he was
looking for didn't advertise.
The
lights from a moored passenger liner, Pacific Pearl, twinkled like a miniature city at
the harbour mouth.
He
came to within sight of the crime scene. Scraps of orange and white paper
streamers lifted into the air and curled against lamp poles. Jolly had probably
worked a ten- to-fifteen-minute radius from the freight line. Emmanuel would do
the same, and look out for takeaway cafes with pies and boerewors rolls on the
menu. Jolly's notebook was in his pocket.
A
police car crawled from the harbour terminal and stopped so the officer could
shine a flashlight between two storage sheds. The plan, to walk the Point
openly, wasn't so much a plan as an invitation to trouble. If
fingertips. He lightly feathered the tip of the attached pencil across the
blank page. An image of a bare-breasted mermaid with a fishtail curled beneath
her appeared. One eye was closed, the other wide open. A winking mermaid. The
image was innocent yet somehow salacious.
'This
taken?' a white girl, about fifteen, in a pink dress asked. She had a pretty
Dutch boy in tow.
'Not
if you qualify,' Emmanuel said.
The
girl frowned, uncertain.
Emmanuel
pointed to the sign on the bench. The girl laughed, a pretty sound in keeping
with everything else about her. She sat down, pulled the boy close and rested
her head on his shoulder. 'Isn't it perfect?' she sighed.
'The
best,' the boy agreed and traced circles on the girl's bare shoulder with
gentle fingertips.
Light
shimmered on the water. The black ice-cream vendor struggled up the stairs from
the beach with his wooden box. His polished shoes were covered with fine grains
of sand.
'Here.'
The girl waved her arm in the air. 'Here, boy.'
The
vendor approached, a half smile on his mouth, his gaze a fraction to the left
of the couple, mindful always to not make eye contact with the little baas and the little madam.
'What
is it?' The girl pointed to the lone tub in the box.
'Vanilla,
missus. One bob. Very good.'
The
boy dug into the pockets of his shorts and handed over some coins. The vendor
handed back the ice-cream and the change.
'Check
it,' the girl demanded. 'Pa says the ones who live in the city cheat you
blind.'
The
boy counted the coins while the vendor concentrated on the row of brightly
painted buildings in the background.
'It's
all here.'
'Go.'
The girl waved the ice-cream vendor away with a flick of her hand. Her fingernails
were painted a frosted pink, the colour of the sky in fairytale books. She
placed her head back on the boy's shoulder. He pulled open the top of the tub
then began to spoon tiny paddles of vanilla into her mouth.
An
ocean breeze ruffled Jolly's notebook and wrapped the pages around Emmanuel's
fingers. He scribbled the pencil along the bottom edge of the page and two
words emerged from the grey: 'Please help'.
Emmanuel
felt a chill come over him in the sunshine.
CHAPTER FIVE
The
sun was down but a trace of heat lingered. A breeze tousled the trees, lifted
hems and stirred up the exhaust fumes from cars cruising the slow lane of West
Street. Lines of smartly dressed couples snaked down the pavement and waited
for the Empire Cinema's late Friday night movie session to open. Suits, ties,
ironed dresses and gloves, the occasional corsage pinned to a tulle ruffle. The
nine o'clock double feature was 'dress formal': Where the North Begins followed by Tarzan's Desert
Mystery.
In
the afternoon, Emmanuel had had a haircut and shave followed by a shoeshine at
the corner stand. He'd bought coffee, milk and bread for the week. None of
these routine domestic tasks had taken his mind off Jolly Marks's notebook.
He
drove past the Central Post Office. The trunk of a Natal mahogany, known as
'dead man's tree', was plastered with white funeral notices edged in black.
Jolly Marks would have an announcement posted there soon.
At
the Point, he parked the Buick a block down from the bus stop. The place he was
looking for didn't advertise.
The
lights from a moored passenger liner, Pacific Pearl, twinkled like a miniature city at
the harbour mouth.
He
came to within sight of the crime scene. Scraps of orange and white paper
streamers lifted into the air and curled against lamp poles. Jolly had probably
worked a ten- to-fifteen-minute radius from the freight line. Emmanuel would do
the same, and look out for takeaway cafes with pies and boerewors rolls on the
menu. Jolly's notebook was in his pocket.
A
police car crawled from the harbour terminal and stopped so the officer could
shine a flashlight between two storage sheds. The plan, to walk the Point
openly, wasn't so much a plan as an invitation to trouble. If
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