Staffrider Vol.3 No.1 Feb 1980 - DISA

TWO-DIMENSIONALA story by Ahmed Essop, illustrated by Renee EngelbrechtAnil, a former pupil, came to live inmy street in Lenasia. I would see himsome mornings from my lounge window,going to the bus stop. He wasstill a good-looking youth, though hisface had lost its schoolboyish softness.His complexion was a burnt bronze; hishair carbon black. His lean body seemedto have remained a physical constant.At school, in Newtown, Anil had been aquiet and reserved boy, performing hisacademic work dutifully rather thanwith any relish. He sat at the back ofthe class-room, withdrawing himselfinto the limbo of virtual non-identity.As a consequence, he had never receivedthe attention that other pupils, morealert and extrovertly vocal, had received.Yet in the fluid glitter of hisdark eyes one saw a sensitive youth,an impression amplified when heresponded to oral questions by themellifluous cadence of his voice. Oncehe played a strange trick that earnedhim a brief period of notoriety. He lefta note on his desk which said that bythe time it was read he would be 'deadamong the reeds in the Zoo Lake'.Everyone searched frantically for himfor two days — his family distraughtwith anxiety and worry — but he wasnowhere to be found. He reappeared onthe third morning and refused to answerany questions. However, the relief feltat his reappearance quickly erased thememory of the incident. At the end ofthe year he matriculated with a secondclass pass and left school.One day I met Anil in the street. Iasked him what work he was doing. Hetold me that he was a clerk for a stockbrokerand that much of his time wasspent at the Johannesburg Stock Exchange.'The work must be interesting.''Like hell!' he snarled.'Why?''I feel I am a robot, a nobody.''Sure'You don't understand. I am just amachine doing all the dirty work for thewhite capitalists.'I was astonished, hardly prepared forthe sharp indictment from someonewho had been so reticent.'Well, I am sure you are learningsomething.''Learning? If you can call workingwith bandits learning.''I suppose you have a living to make.''You know, after I left school I wentto Wits University to do a B.A. I lefthalfway.''You left?''How I hated the place! You shouldsee those white liberal morons. They riga few protest placards and go on toparade like zombies. Afterwards theycrawl back into their pleasure domes.'Later, after we had parted, I thoughtabout what Anil had said. I felt unconvincedthat he had left the universityfor the reason he had given. Therewas restlessness within him, confusion,morbid hate for others as well as forhimself. I recalled the suicide incident atschool and realized that though at thattime it had been dismissed as some sortof schoolboy prank, it had been adesperate egotistical act to focus attentionon himself. But more seriously it40 STAFFRIDER, FEBRUARY 1980