Life Times Stories - By Nadine Gordimer Page 0,118

time at a bun with a glazing of jam. He had established himself as a customer. The woman who served chattered at him, smiled with her head on one side while she picked the money out of his palm; but he gave no sign of response.

There was another child who sometimes turned up with the usual group. He would hail them loudly, from across a street, in their own language, and stalk along with them for a bit, talking away, but he looked different. The boy thought it was just because this one was richer. Although he wore the usual canvas shoes and cotton shorts, he was hung about with all sorts of equipment – a camera and two other leather cases. He began to appear in the bakery each morning. He stood right near, as if the dumb person were also invisible, and peering up experiencedly under a thick, shiny fringe of brown hair, looked along the cakes on top of the counter while apparently discussing them in a joking, familiar way with the woman. He also appeared unexpectedly in other places, without the group. Once he was leaning against the damp archway to the tunnel that smelled like a school lavatory – it was the quick way from the upper level of streets to the lower. Another time he came out of the door of the streaky-pink-painted house with the Ali Baba pots, as if he must have been watching at the window. Then he was balancing along the top of the wall that overlooked the pitch where in the afternoons the baker and other men played a bowling game with a heavy ball. Suddenly, he was outside the gate of the villa that the family were living in; he squatted on the doorstep of the house opposite, doing something to the inside of his camera. He spoke: ‘You English?’

‘Yes – not really – no. I mean, I speak English, but I come from South Africa.’

‘Africa? You come from Africa? That’s a heck of a way!’

‘Fifteen hours or so. We came in a jet. We actually took a little longer because, you see, something went wrong with the one engine and we had to wait three hours in the middle of the night in Kano. Boy, was it hot, and there was a live camel wandering around.’ The anecdote cut itself off abruptly; the family often said long-winded stories were a bore.

‘I’ve had some pretty interesting experiences myself. My parents are travelling round the world and I’m going with them. Most of the time. I’ll go back home to school for a while in the Fall. Africa. Fantastic. We may get out there sometime. D’you know anything about these darned Polaroids? It’s stuck. I’ve got a couple of pictures of you I must show you. I take candid shots. All over the place. I’ve got another camera, a Minox, but I mostly use this one here because it develops the prints right in the box and you can give them to people right off. It’s good for a laugh. I’ve got some pretty interesting pictures, too.’

‘Where was I – in the street?’

‘Oh I’m taking shots all the time. All over the place.’

‘What’s the other case?’

‘Tape recorder. I’ll get you on tape, too. I tape people at Zizi’s Bar and in the Place, they don’t know I’m doing it, I’ve got this minute little mike, you see. It’s fantastic.’

‘And what’s in here?’

The aerial was pulled out like a silver wand. ‘My transistor, of course, my beloved transistor. D’you know what I just heard? – “Help!” Are the Beatles popular down in Africa?’

‘We saw them in London – live. My brother and sister and me. She bought the record of “Help!” but we haven’t got anything to play it on, here.’

‘Good God, some guys get all the breaks! You saw them. You notice how I’ve grown my hair? Say, look, I can bring down my portable player and your sister can hear her record.’

‘What time can you come?’

‘Any time you say. I’m easy. I’ve got to go for this darned French lesson now, and I have to be in at noon so that old Madame Blanche can give me my lunch before she quits, but I’ll be around indefinitely after that.’

‘Straight after lunch. About two. I’ll wait for you here. Could you bring the pictures, as well – of me?’

Clive came racing through the tiny courtyard and charged the flyscreen door, letting it bang behind him. ‘Hey! There’s a boy