The Enumerations Page 6

  Noah’s mother reaches for her husband’s hand and gives it a squeeze, but he doesn’t squeeze back.

  ‘We have a pretty full schedule here,’ Ms Turner says. ‘Noah’s going to be doing some hard work. Speaking of which …’ She reaches for a sheaf of papers on her desk and hands them to Noah. ‘I’d like you to fill in some of these, Noah.’

  ‘5 Things About Me’ is printed at the top of each sheet with the numbers 1 to 5 below.

  ‘These are very useful,’ Ms Turner tells him. ‘Especially when you’re in group. It gives you something to say, helps the others to get to know you better. If you bring them to our one-one-one sessions, they’ll give us some starting points.’

  Noah looks at her blankly, then reads the words again. ‘5 Things About Me’.

  At least it’s 5. It could be worse. It could have been 4, or 6.

  Left foot, right. Cheeks, lips.

  A soft knock at the door breaks the silence.

  ‘That’ll be Mr Bill,’ says Ms Turner. ‘See you soon, Noah.’ She touches him lightly on the shoulder then turns to shake his father’s hand, then Maddie’s and finally his mother’s. ‘It’ll be fine,’ she says to them. ‘You’ll see.’

  His mom doesn’t smile; she barely even nods.

  The door opens and in steps a tall, broad-shouldered man with close-cropped hair.

  ‘This is Mr Bulelane Mabatle, Noah,’ Ms Turner says.

  ‘Call me Mr Bill.’ The tall man shakes Noah’s hand.

  ‘Noah’s mother and father, Mr and Mrs Groome,’ says Ms Turner. ‘And Maddie, of course.’

  Once the introductions are done, Mr Bill ushers the Groomes out and leads them up another short flight of stairs. It opens onto a quiet corridor flanked by white doors on either side.

  ‘They’re all in group now.’ Mr Bill smiles broadly. ‘That’s why it’s so peaceful.’ He opens one of the doors. ‘This will be your room, Noah.’

  A skinny rectangle; wide enough for the single bed and bedside table, long enough for a desk with a swivel chair, a kettle on a narrow shelf with 2 sockets. Next to that, a small sink with a drainer. There’s a cupboard built into the wall, the doors open to show 4 empty shelves and 1 small hanging space. At the far end of the room, angled to look out over the lawn, is a deep-blue easy chair. Noah can bring a cushion for it from home if he wants to, says Mr Bill.

  ‘And here,’ Mr Bill steps out into the corridor and points to a door further down the corridor, ‘is the boys’ bathroom. And,’ he points at a payphone further down the passage, ‘the phone. No cell phones, laptops or cameras while you’re here, I’m afraid, but you can make and receive calls after you’ve been here two weeks. You’ll get a phone card then. But it’s a privilege, the same as watching TV or using allocated Internet time on the computers in the Rec Room. Break the rules in any way, and they can be revoked.’

  They follow him to the dining room, the Visitors’ Lounge and past a closed door where there’s a murmur of voices. ‘Group,’ says Mr Bill. ‘You’ll be joining in there soon, Noah.’

  Group. Where Noah will have to tell them 5 things about himself.

  21.

  15 February 2013 / 17:48

  ‘Noah?’

  Noah looks at his watch. He doesn’t have much time to spare, but then she says his name again. He turns in the doorway. His mother is at the window, her back to him.

  ‘Yes?’

  ‘I’m so sorry.’

  Looking at his watch is a reflex action and Noah can’t help doing it now, glad she can’t see him. He doesn’t want to be rude, doesn’t want his mom to think he can’t make time for her.

  You can’t. You’ve got plenty to get through before supper.

  ‘It’s my fault.’

  ‘No, Mom, really.’

  ‘It is. If only I’d listened to Maddie when she told me they were bullying you. Those boys. Kyle Blake.’

  ‘No, it wouldn’t have made any difference. Seriously.’

  ‘But, Noah, if I’d listened, we could have gone to Mr Reynolds, told him about Kyle. At least then we’d be on record.’

  ‘Mom …’ Noah pauses. He’s going to have to use words now, so many of them, but his mother still hasn’t turned around. ‘Mom. Don’t. Please. I didn’t want you to. I should have stood up to him earlier.’

  Stood up to him? How, exactly, when you can hardly make it through your bedroom door on a bad day?

  And at the same time she’s saying, ‘Oh, Noah. I’d never expect you to do that.’

  Great. Even Noah’s mother doesn’t think he has what it takes.

  22.

  The man’s skin is white as plaster of Paris, as white as a plaster cast, and he’s leaning on a walking stick. It’s a wooden walking stick with a cruel head, a dragon with long teeth and a pink tongue and red eyes and when he leaves it in the corner the dragon looks at Gabriel, ready to breathe fire. Ready to burn the flesh from his face and leave his bones exposed and gleaming and white.

  The dragonstick is pitiless. It catches him behind his legs if he isn’t moving fast enough, flicks up to nip at his cheek if he is insolent.

  Impertinent. The old man does not like impertinence. And when he’s in the mood for sport, the dragonstick sneaks out and tangles itself around Gabriel’s ankles and makes him fall to his knees, and grovel there while he tries to hold back his tears. The cruel stick supports a cruel man and Gabriel can’t understand how he came to be in their life, but there’s nothing they can do about it, Mum says.

  Gabriel wonders what happened to Dad, the laughing man who was here one day and gone the next. One time he asked Mum when the old man was in the room and she looked fearfully at Gabriel and told him to be quiet, there’s a good boy.

  He learns quickly to be quiet. He learns not to ask, never to want to know how or why when he sees the bruises on her cheeks or at the top of her arms, and once, when her skirt rides high on her thigh, like a dark purple band. It’s safer that way. For him, for Mum, and for Harry.

  He doesn’t like it here. It’s not his home. It’s the place they moved to when Dad left, and now they are here with the man who tells him to call him Grandfather. But Gabriel doesn’t want to. If he’s Gabriel’s grandfather, that makes him Dad’s father, and Gabriel doesn’t like him joined to Dad like that in his head. He’s old and white-haired and white-skinned and Gabriel doesn’t call him anything, which makes him mad, and when he’s mad with Gabriel he gets mad with Mum.

  Gabriel can’t understand how they came to be here. One day he’s at home with Dad and Mum. Mum’s crying and asking why and Dad’s saying, I’m sorry, Martha, so sorry. I didn’t mean, and Mum has her head in her hands and she’s saying, But that’s just it, Joe, you never mean, and you’re always saying sorry. What are we supposed to do now? Where are we supposed to go?

  Harriet is crying and crying and Dad says, Hadn’t you better feed her?

  Feed her? Mum says. With what, Joe? There’s no food in the house, no money.

  And then, Bam! Bam! Bam! at the door, and Dad’s looking over his shoulder, looking scared.

  Gabriel is scared too. Dad, his laughing, happy Dad, isn’t laughing any more. He’s looking at Mum and his eyes are wide and he’s plucking at the sleeve of his shirt, fingers busy and quick.

  Gabriel looks at Dad’s fingers and watches them moving up and down like he’s playing a guitar. It’s easier to look at Dad’s fingers because he doesn’t want to look at Dad’s face. He doesn’t want to see Dad’s scared, wide-eyed face staring at Mum like he’s asking for something.

  She’s staring back at him saying, Go. Just go. I’ll talk to them.

  Dad’s saying, I’m sorry Marty, as soon as I’m sorted I’ll—

  Mum’s not letting him talk, she’s just saying, Go, go.

  Then Dad bends down to Gabriel, down, down, down, until he’s kneeling on the floor. He holds Gabriel tight and says, Look after your Mum for me, Gabe. Look after Harry. Can you do that? Be a big boy and do that for me?

 
; Gabriel blinks and blinks and Dad says, Please son, don’t cry.

  Gabriel can’t talk. He nods and watches as Dad stands up and gives Mum a quick hug. Then the back door opens and closes quietly, so quietly Gabriel can only hear the softest click, and then there’s more knocking at the front door, loud bang-bang-banging and Mum’s saying, Coming, I’m coming.

  Harry’s crying. Mum scoops her up and goes slowly to the door. Gabriel follows. Mum opens the door and there are three men standing on the step. Three big men in dark suits, white shirts and black ties and shiny shoes. They’re pushing past Mum and saying, Where is he? Where is he, Martha?

  I don’t know, Mum’s saying. He didn’t come home. One of the men grabs her arm and shakes her and still Mum’s saying, Sorry, sorry, I don’t know where he is.

  Gabriel pulls on the man’s arm, pulls and pulls and tries to make him let Mum go because he promised Dad.

  He’d promised he’d look after Mum and Harry but he isn’t doing a good job of it, not at all. Because now the other man’s come into the room, and he’s saying, Nothing. He’s gone. Now both of them are grabbing Mum and pushing her between them and Mum’s trying to hold on to Harry, hold her close. I don’t know. I don’t know where he is, she’s shouting.

  Harry’s screaming and the other man, the third one, grabs Harry and says, Martha. Martha-Martha-Martha. Tell us what we want to know. He’s looking at Harry, and at Mum, and suddenly his hand shoots out. He’s got Gabriel by the neck and his fingers are like claws, and he’s talking to Mum, very softly. Just tell us where he is, Martha. That is all we need to know. And then we’ll all be happy.

  Mum’s eyes are shaking and spit’s coming out of her mouth and she’s speaking very fast, saying, Please, please. They’re just kids, it’s not their fault.

  Gabriel remembers what Dad said, just before he left. Look after your mum, Gabe. Look after your little sister. Can you do that? He can, yes he can, because now he feels himself unfreezing and he knows what Dad meant.

  Gabriel starts yelling. He isn’t here, my dad isn’t here. Leave my mum alone. Leave my sister alone.

  The big man bends down, down, just like Dad did earlier. He’s still holding Harry and Harry isn’t crying any more. The room is quiet and the big man is saying, What’s your name, kid?

  Gabriel tells him, and then he says, Leave my mum alone. My dad’s gone. He’s gone. He went through the back door, and Mum says, Gabriel, and her voice is a sad whisper.

  But Gabriel can hardly hear her because the big man’s saying, Through the back door, hey? When was that, Gabriel?

  When he saw your car. My dad left when he saw your car. He went through the back door.

  Gabriel knows he’s done the right thing, because the big man lets go of his neck and puts Harry down, gently, very softly, on the couch and says, He won’t have got far. Get out there.

  The two other men run out of the room. Their hands are at their belts and Gabriel sees their guns, big and black. Mum’s looking at him. Her eyes are wide and her mouth’s tight shut and her whole body is shaking from top to toe. Slowly, slowly, her eyes move to the window and slowly, slowly they shift back and she looks at the ground.

  You do know we’ll get him, Martha, the big man says. He can’t get away from us.

  Mum’s sobbing and Harry starts crying again. The man walks out of the room and Mum looks at Gabriel and she’s saying, Oh, Gabe, what have you done?

  Gabriel knows what he’s done. He’s looked after Mum and Harry, just like Dad told him to.

  23.

  26 July 2011 / 19:26

  All 3 of them, dressed in black, hands in black gloves, no skin showing, only their eyes. Dark pools in the slit of one balaclava, a glint of silver in another.

  If Noah rushed the 3 of them, his mother could run, shout for help and hope a neighbour hears. Maybe Mrs Parfitt would say to her husband, ‘David, did you hear that, David?’ But even if she did, Noah couldn’t see David stepping out into possible danger. Maybe they’d phone the police, though, report noise on the street.

  Neighbourhood watch! They patrol every evening. If they shouted, yelled loud enough—

  Thoughts clicking in and out of place so fast. First thing – run at them. Maybe even take both of them out. They weren’t armed, not as far as Noah could see. He was bigger than any of them. Taller. Probably fitter too. If he could just—

  No time to think, take them off guard, wait for 1 of them to turn—

  And now!

  And now—

  A gun in a hand, the butt of it swinging up and crunching against his cheek, the shock of pain and his mother screaming, ‘Noah, Noah!’ The gun pointing at her now, 1 of them talking in a low voice.

  ‘Shut up.’

  The gun moved from his mother and levelled at Noah.

  ‘Not a word …’ a low, calm voice said. The gun swung back to Noah’s mother. ‘… not a sound. Don’t move unless we tell you to.’

  His mother nodded and nodded, and didn’t say a word.

  The men were behind them now, prodding them up the driveway, in front of the car.

  ‘Sit.’

  His mother sank to the ground.

  ‘You too. Back to back.’

  Noah hesitated and his mother whispered, ‘Please, Noah. Please.’

  ‘Yes, pleath, Noah.’

  A giggle as 1 of them lisped and the sound was somehow worse than anything so far. He fastened cable ties around their wrists and ankles, silenced their mouths with foul-tasting gags, used a length of nylon rope to tie them together.

  24.

  On Sunday afternoon, Kate’s son moves in to Greenhills. They’ve all come, all helped to carry his bags, his rug, the box filled with his blue mugs. (Kate buys him mugs whenever she sees the right ones, plain, regular, always a similar shape, and always a shade of blue: baby blue, periwinkle, royal blue, teal, navy blue. Noah arranges them on a spectrum from light to dark. Kate has learnt to be prepared. She has a small stock of them and if one breaks she replaces it with another of a similar colour.) Two packets of biscuits are tucked in next to the mugs, his wall charts are stowed safely in their cardboard cylinder. Everything he’ll need for his stay in Greenhills. And now they’re standing in his narrow room, not sure what to say or do next.

  Noah’s eyes are darting from wall to wall, to his desk, to his cupboard. Maddie offered to help him put up his Family Tree, but his reply was straightforward: ‘No, thanks, Mads. It’s fine.’ Everything’s fine, everything’s okay. He doesn’t want them to stay, they don’t know how to leave. What words do you use when you’re saying goodbye to your son, leaving him somewhere like Greenhills?

  Dominic is the first to move. He doesn’t look at Noah, just makes an inane comment about how they’d better go soon if they don’t want to get caught up in traffic. Kate wants to brain him.

  Maddie asks Noah where he’ll put his mugs, is there enough space in the cupboard for his clothes, whether he likes his desk. She’s dawdling, spinning out the last few minutes with her brother. Kate would do the same, ignore Dominic’s mumbles, if it weren’t for the fact that she knows Noah needs them to leave. His hands are restless; Kate knows what’s going to happen next. She watches as he lifts them to his lips and starts tapping five after frantic five.

  Still, Kate can’t find the words to say goodbye. She doesn’t have to though, because Mr Bill appears.

  ‘All good, Noah?’ he says. ‘Ready to start unpacking?’ Noah nods, and nods again, and Mr Bill pushes the door open a little wider, a gentle invitation for them to go.

  ‘Bye, Noah.’ Maddie loops her arms around him. ‘We’ll see you soon, it’s not too long.’ And she’s off, speeding away from his room.

  Kate touches his arm. ‘Bye, darling.’ That’s all she can manage. She steps past Mr Bill, says a hurried thank you, and squeezes past Dominic. She hears him say goodbye and then their son closes the door.

  25.

  17 February 2013 / 18:02

  Noah’s room is hot. The t
emperature’s been rising ever since morning, the beginning of another Cape Town heatwave. He opens the window, but it’s even warmer outside. He won’t be needing his duvet. He walks back to the bed, rolls it up neatly and tries to put it on the top shelf of his cupboard, but it doesn’t fit properly.

  He’s still alone in his room. The bell will ring for supper at 6 p.m. That’s what Mr Bill told him and that’s what Noah is waiting for now.

  Noah’s room is clean and tidy. The charts on his wall look strange. There are odd gaps. These he will fill, once he learns all the new routines here. But for now he’s done all he can. There’s nothing left but to wait for the suppertime bell. Then he will make his way to the dining room. But Noah doesn’t remember where the dining room is. Follow the crowd, Mr Bill said. They’ll all be going that way.

  Noah doesn’t like the sound of that. He likes to walk by himself. How else can he time his journey to the dining room? That in itself looks like a problem he is not going to solve easily. And when he gets there—

  A shrill noise interrupts this last thought. Noah glances at his clock, which is accurate to the last second. 18:03:42. The supper bell is late. Noah sighs. Is this how it’s going to be here? His schedule thrown out by minutes and seconds that will need to be—

  And then he hears it. The rumble of feet outside his door, a swell of voices. He has to open his door now, step out into the corridor and follow the herd to the dining room.

  Noah wishes he were at home. No surprises there, no confusion outside his bedroom door. No one telling him to make his way to the dining room and find a seat.

  Where is he supposed to sit when he gets there? Will there be separate chairs? Will he have to squash himself between people he doesn’t know? Noah thinks hard. The dining room. Yes, definitely benches, not chairs. And now, when he gets there, he’ll be one of the last to arrive.

  He steps out into the corridor. There’s only one person there now, a girl with a bright yellow flag of hair. She turns to look at him.

  ‘Hey, Noah?’