Staffrider Vol.6 No.2 1985 - DISA

I shrugged an embarrassed smile butanswered his silent bidding.I walked a little shakily to the wrongdock, that of the accused. Themagistrate mumbled something and thecourt clerk directed me to the witnessstand. He coughed. On cue, the blackgowned gentlemen floated across.'Is your name . . .? 'I replied in my deep booming voice.'And you live at ... 'I corrected him there which was dulyrecorded.'Do you swear to tell the truth, thewhole truth, and nothing but the truth,so help you God?''I do.'The accused were solemnly led, allseven of them into their stand.The prosecutor came up to me. Ilooked down at his tightly curled greasedhair. After a moment he turned to meand whispered:'If they did have your permission tostay in the garage, they'll only becharged with staying illegally in a whitearea but you'll be charged with illegallyharbouring them, minimum fivehundred rand. If however they did nothave your permission, it'll be a fine andjail for trespassing . . . 'Did it matter either way? It is truethat they were staying there, that it wasmy property. How would I then look tothe court?'Did the accused have permission tostay on your property?''No sir.'He wrote down my reply as theaccused were allowed to cross questionme since they had no defence attorney.The black policeman explained theprocedure to each one in turn. Each onemerely shook his head and lowered it.So it was with the first five. The ritualof justice in defence carried on slowlyand methodically until the sixth. Heblasted his rage against me.'You lie, I came to you that day, I'dbeen in hospital and needed a room torest in and you said yes!'He lifted his shirt showing a heavybandage strapping his waist. I wasstunned, shocked, silent. Me lie? I hadnot seen him before. The magistratestared at me, willing an answer which Icould not give. Unsure of himself now,he dismissed that evidence. And now itwas Johnny's turn. What would he saynow remembering back on the occasionsthat I had begged him to leave?Johnny stood up straight, proudly, 'Iam a coloured your Lord.''Where are your papers?'I lost them when I was drunk, myLord.''But you are coloured.''Yeh, definitely sure, I have nocrimes, I was never six months.''You are very dark for a coloured.'He was too, I had never thought ofhim as that. Coloured, he was alrightthen, he could stay where he liked, butnot in my garage.'Why did you not re-apply for newpapers?''Where do I find bus fare and photographs?'he replied.'But they know me in Pretoria,Johnny Johnson, yeh definitely surethey know me, they know it.'The magistrate, frustrated by thisupsetting 'technicality', dismissed meabruptly along with the case againstJohnny. The other six I never saw again.I smiled broadly at the Sergeant as I leftwith a slight shrug, leaving that vilesmell of fear absorbed in the wood, andthe even viler defilement of my conscience.What I did, what I said, I did formyself — perhaps then the Sergeant wasright, I couldn't afford humanity at fivehundred rand a night.It was months later before I sawJohnny again, it was a replay of the firsttime I had seen him. He still had theannoying habit of 'sitting' on the doorbellas he swayed, bleary eyed beforethe front door. I can't say that I wasparticularly pleased to see him again. Iknew that I would employ him again forno other purpose but to salve my guilt.Certainly what pathetic effort heexpended on my garden would nevershow.Beyond my wooden fence whichdivides my house from the vacant lotbehind lies a rotting car, and uncaredfor wild vegetation that reasserted itselfmany years ago after the house therehad been condemned as a slum. Verylittle remains apart from a tiled footpathbetween two palm trees. Therest is disgusting as many people havedumped refuse there, ridding themselvesof their problems but creating others forthose who live close by. In amongstall this rubbish, Johnny establishedhimself. He proudly presented Hettie,his wife, a quiet weathered womanwhom he claimed he had met 'manyyears ago'. I was thus presented withmore of a problem. Not only would hestagger ponderously around my garden,but so did Hettie. I now had to feedboth of them although he never askedfor an additional 'fee' for their work. Itappeared that 'Lucky Star' pilchards intomato sauce was one of their favouritesbut the price was so high. I wished Icould feel that the money I did give himwas spent on food but I knew that hewould disappear for days after beingpaid and spend it all at the bottle store.There was little I could do about that.He needed drink, he claimed, he wantedto forget his past.'I'm bad in memories, in memories Iam very bad.'I had stopped checking the washingline to see if anything was missing.'You are my lord . . . good bloke.'I cannot say that I revelled in hisopinion but at least we had made arelationship, a truce. He came to mewhen he needed money and I startedto pay him even if he didn't work forme that day. It was only when he wasvery drunk that he had a conscience,demanding that he work for the money,perhaps he still had some vestige ofpride within him.Late one afternoon, I saw a policevan draw up alongside the vacant plot inthe next road. Someone wanted thishuman refuse dump elsewhere. Johnnyhad had some friends staying with himand the thriving community now had anextra seven people. Within seconds, twoblack policemen overseen by a whiteconstable waded into the waist highgrass with truncheons. Johnny beat atthe wooden gate and I realised hispredicament. It took some time for meto find the right key and by the time Ihad opened it, Johnny's cries andbanging had ceased. I walked across towhere the unfortunates were beingstuffed into the van — Johnny andHettie were holding back, clinging ontothe steel mesh door with all the failingstrength that they could muster, despitethe forceful attention of the blackpolicemen. I politely inter-• even offered himwine from a glass whichhe swallowed in onelarge gulp.rupted and explained to the constablethat Johnny was infact coloured, HettieI was not too sure of, but I claimed thatshe was aho coloured. The constableclaimed that they lied. I lied that I hadproof and started to get angry. Theconstable obviously couldn't understandwhy I was defending them. Was I? Buthe let them go, with a paternal warning'not to make trouble.' I left it at thatnot expecting nor receiving thanks.Perhaps to them, a jail at least had aroof and food at no cost. I was smartingthat I could not retort to the constable'ssuggestion that they should; 'Fuck offback to Kaapstad.'Johnny came to see me later, moreinebriated than usual. He requested thatI give him the red, hard hat that I hadlying around the back. He laughed andput it on. With his blue overalls helooked very smart, very employed as aconstruction worker.'To tell you the honest fact,' hestated and lost his train of thought, 'so20 STAFFRIDER, VOL. 6 NO. 2, 1985