Staffrider Vol.3 No.1 Feb 1980 - DISA

ing him from doing anything dangerousor foolish. She, in turn, was rewardedby his patient attention while shereminisced about the old days, and thehappy times of her youth. Sometimesthough, the adult in her irked him, for itreminded him too acutely that he wasstill a child. Like when she gushedpatronisingly, 'You are such a goodboy!'There was the time when hehappened to mention that Pam waslooking for a place of her own. Sheconsidered him thoughtfully for amoment and then said, 'How manyrooms does she need? I could let herhave two.'And that was how Pam and herhusband came to live with the oldwoman, much against his mother'swishes.So the next few years rolled on. Heno longer did any errands for Miss Andersonas Pam took over. The womangrew frailer and less mobile. Her body,stiffened by arthritis, made it difficultfor her to move, even onto the stoep.The dog too grew old and enfeebled. Hewould lie on the floor near the oldwoman's bed where she could reach outand touch him. Often Terry wouldwatch her as she painfully penned herletters to her sister.Pam did a lot to help the old woman.She cooked her meals and tended to herwhen she was ill. Soon the old womangrew too ill to leave her bed. Terryknew it would not be long, and takingPam's advice, he stayed away.When at last it was all over, Paminformed the old woman's lawyer, asshe had been instructed to do. A telegramwas sent to the sister in Canada.At the funeral only the lawyer, Terryand his family were present. His motherjustified her presence by saying that noperson should be buried unmourned andno funeral should go unwitnessed.A few days later, the sister arrived.She was healthy and energetic and gotdown to the business of sorting thingsout. She was calm and displayed nogrief.'I must thank you and your brotherfor being good to her,' she said to Pam.'She used to write to me about howgood your brother was to her.'She stayed for two weeks, duringwhich time she packed everything andput the house up for sale. The lawyerwas to handle the sale. She allowed Pamto stay on till she found a place.And then on her last day, she said toTerry, 'I would like you to have thedog. Every boy loves a dog. I'm sureyou'll take good care of him.'Terry stared at her, speechless. Everyboy loves a dog. But an old dog whowas too tired to even wag his tail andwho moved so stiffly?That night everyone sat around thekitchen table, strangely silent. Hismother was doing the ironing and Pamwas washing up. Terry was doing hishomework with the dog lying mutely athis feet. Pam turned from the sink.'To think she did not even leave us apot plant!' she observed indignantly.She resumed her washing up withrenewed vigour, unable to conceal herdisgust.'I told you, didn't I? Never trust awhite. They worry about their ownskins, not the next man. Let this be alesson to you,' she warned.'But Ma', Pam began.'Weren't expecting anything, wereyou?' her mother demanded sharply.Pam didn't answer. She was tooangry, too disillusioned to answer.Besides, she didn't think she couldanswer that question honestly.Terry reached under the table andpatted the dog. He moved his tail limplyand raised his head to lick his hand.Somehow, he found it oddly comforting.Terry wished they wouldn't talkabout it. It was his first experience ofpain. He got up and left the kitchen.The dog followed. Already he was ashadow, inevitably tagging behind him.Outside, the night was quiet andcool. In his heart, he knew they werewrong. He could have told them that,had he been articulate enough. Miss Andersonhad given him something,something more precious than anythingmaterial. Years later, he was to recogniseit for what it really was. Butstanding there, in the cool night air,with a lift of the heart, he remembereda gentle old woman on a sun-warmedstoep. She had given him time andfriendship, and something else which hisfourteen-year-old mind was too youngto analyse. It was an awakening, anawakening of the slumbering spirit tomutual sharing and communication andsympathetic understanding. And thatwas something he would carry with himfor a lifetime.Yes, he would take good care of thedog. A dog knew about trust and friendship.Even if he was just an ordinary andnondescript mongrel.Poetry/Cape TownA SONG OF AFRICANIZATIONI'd like to trace my progress from mybackground: liberal, classic;I used to read Houghton, now I readLegassick.My journey from the truths weVe learntby rote;I used to be a Prog, now I don't vote.I've broadened my concerns beyond theshrinking rand;I used to dig the Stones, now I'm into Brand.I've adopted a new theory, a new set of beliefs:I used to root for Chelsea, now I back the Chiefs.I'm now of this continent, a native, an insider;I used to write for Contrast, now its forStaffrider.My theories have brought understanding ofour paralysis;I used to look at race, now I'm sold on classanalysis.But all I've learnt is that I really cannot fit;I used to think I'd stay, now I'm about to split.Paul Benjamin/Cape Town1976I cannot say I marched that dayWhen lives were lost to win a prideThey never stole from me.I have not mourned the fallen closeBut counted in the quiet of twilight suburbs.Paul Benjamin/Cape Town22 STAFFRIDER, FEBRUARY 1980