Chapter 1
-Short Story by Clayton Booysen
“Yes Christian,” Paul started carefully, inching closer along the bridge as not to startle him.
With Christian already clinging to the outside barrier, it wouldn’t take much for him to fall: sweaty hands, a slight gust of wind, the wrong word perhaps.
Paul quickly panned his head to scope the area around them. He had no idea what to expect.
The lights from his Toyota Hilux flickered a blue and red over the cold cement as he made his way closer. The surrounding darkness of night was penetrated by the brightness of hundreds of streetlights that ran down into the distance on either side, lighting the busy highway beneath them like an airstrip.
Paul’s own voice was snuffled out by the moaning of cars that sped past beneath them and the high rising winds that gently swayed him and Christian from side to side, his brown mane rustling before his eyes.
He whipped the hair from his sight and wished he had shaved the damned thing already. “Christian, can you hear me?!” He kept himself hopeful and figured that to be the best place to start. But he couldn’t shake his growing sense of urgency.
Paul had been on patrol in a different suburb when he was radioed. When dispatch gave him the name, he ditched his route and raced to the bridge. Paul was the first to meet Christian there.
He should have been there for Christian a long time ago, he realized. He shouldn’t have let life and trivial conflicts keep them apart.
Now it had come to this.
But this was not hopeless, he knew. There is a solution to every problem, no situation is beyond saving! He just needed to get Christian to see it.
When Paul got his attention, he gave a warm smile, wanting to show nothing but endearment. He gently stroked his moustache. “What happened, Chris?”
Christian scowled at him as he leaned back to balance himself on the ledge, his feet dangling off the side. “You know…”
Paul shuffled closer but every step scooted Christian further away, so he stopped. Best keep him still. He made his voice loud to compete with the winds and moaning of cars. The tension stiffened his throat, it ached as he tried his words. “Christian, just give me a chance and we can fix this.”
“I’m alone in this!” Christian snapped, tears trickling down his cheeks. “I tried my best but she couldn’t handle the uncertainty anymore. It’s final now. They left me…”
Only now did Paul become aware of the pungent scent of alcohol that stung through Chris’ steaming breath. He sighed with a tearful smile himself and moved closer again, the cars moaning far beneath them.
It wasn’t too late. This moment was not inevitable.
“Christian, I know.”
Paul thought for a moment and straightened up. “Come stay by us. Don’t even think about her now. Come stay by us until little Franco’s tenth birthday, he’d love to have his uncle over for a few weeks.”
Christian looked away, the wind rustling through his brown hair and muffling his voice. “I tried everything I could, Paul.”
What terrified Paul was that he knew his brother was right, and that if the situation had driven Chris to this point, it meant he truly had reached the end of his line and would be fixed on seeing this through.
The feeling of immense panic battered Paul like a baton blow to the gut, winding him that he struggled to breathe. But almost in an instant, he ignored the overwhelming sensations of dread and was able to keep himself focused on the task at hand, a cursed super-power it was, courtesy of years of police trauma.
Christian whimpered. “I really tried everything.”
Paul stepped closer. “And that is enough-”
“What kind of man am I if this could happen?!”
Paul tried to interject but before he could try another word, Christian shuffled again, his legs dangling lower, before that final moment. “I’m no man.”
“No!”
Paul felt his cheeks quiver as he stood frozen for but a moment. He felt like a child, desperate to cry. The urge to scream ached in his throat, throbbing sorely and begging him to grant it escape. He wanted nothing more than to fall to the ground and yell ‘till his airways burst.
But years of trauma taught him composure, so he ultimately denied himself any release. He reran their final conversation in his head over and over again. Each time the words lost more of their zing until only a numbness remained, a deadening of mind and spirit.
Paul slugged his way over to the edge and slowly rested his arms on the barrier, clenching his fist ‘till his hand cramped. He gently stroked his moustache to remind himself that he was indeed awake.
As the cold wind rustled through his hair, he felt his lips slowly wilt into its final deadpan, as unmoving as his brothers’ body several stories below.
***
23 years later…
As Franco drove back to Pretoria, it shocked him to realise that more than two decades have passed since his uncle had taken his own life. The greater shock was that this had been the first time in a decade he’d thought of it. How the years had passed him by while the burdens of adulthood slowly weaselled their way into life.
Truly saddening.
He never found out why Uncle Christian had done it, not like he ever had the freedom to ask his dad either. He couldn’t help but wonder what life had looked like before that one, distant moment, especially for his father. He realised now it was only in ancient photos that he’d ever seen Paul smile.
Franco quickly put off the thoughts as he walked to greet the family in the yard. His present endeavours were taxing enough, no time for past grievances. Besides, he was excited about the news he wanted to share with the family. He prayed for their support, Paul was all opposition he could handle right now.
The tension burnt like a ball in his stomach as he tried to casually scope the lawn.
“Sorry I’m late,” he greeted the family when he peered through the threshold of the patio, lugging crates of clanging whisky bottles to the pantry.
The family jumped up to greet him.
To his surprise, he couldn’t find his father and soon heard Paul went out for a call. For a moment, he felt he could breathe again.
Even through all this, Franco still loved his father and knew he could change his mind eventually. He sighed with a smile, soaking up the happy and temporarily peaceful atmosphere.
The sun baked with a bright warmth over the lawn. It was almost as if the sharp brightness triggered the grass to radiate a fresh greenness, releasing the summer scent of sharp, fresh afternoon air.
The garden grumbled of happy conversation and later also smelt of sizzling meat. The family sat camped around the grill in the coolness of nearby trees that towered over them to shield from the sun
“Please tell me you didn’t wait for me!” Franco said when he finally joined them.
“Of course not,” he heard Uncle Adrian’s voice from aside.
He turned to the pool and found his beloved uncle slouched on a pineapple floatie, legs spread wide with a brandy and cola resting on his belly, like a lazy bullfrog stewing in his pond. “We love you, Franco…but not that much.”
Franco snorted. Of everyone, he missed Uncle Adrian the most. He hurried to greet all the people lined up to greet him.
“My goodness, Franco!” he heard his uncle rasp behind him.
Then he remembered.
The last time they’d seen him he was young and clean-shaven before leaving for construction in Cape Town. Now, three years later, he had announced to the family that he was returning, with a big change. Franco grinned, stroking his fingers through the grizzly black bush of a beard, waiting for the quips.
He heard his uncle bark at him. “What’s that ugly thing under your nose?”
Franco laughed and made his voice loud. “It’s called a beard! You’d know it if you were capable of growing one.”
His uncle snorted. “You look like Moses…what the hell did you feed that thing to make it grow so long? Oils? Conditioner? Radioactive waste?”
Franco grinned and pointed to him. “The tears of my enemies…”
Uncle Adrian chuckled. “Looks like a sickly rabbit died on your face.”
Franco nodded back at him. “Looks like you ate a sickly rabbit.”
“Oh!” yelled his uncle as he clasped his heart, nearly toppling himself over in the water. “That one really hurt!”
And so, the back-and-forth continued. After the banter died down and the laughter quieted, Adrian raised a lazy finger to the pantry. “Is any of those booze for us?”
Franco gasped in disbelief and took a step back. “Uncle, with the abuse you’ve put your liver through, you’re probably one whiskey shot away from exploding.”
“I have no regrets.” Adrian yawned and sank back into his floatie as he waved Franco away.
As Franco eased into his own seat, he felt lazy…lazy and content being around his people.
“I’ve got another one…” he heard his uncle yell from the water.
“The joke’s over, Uncle.”
But Adrian ignored him. “What’s the difference between Franco and a scraggly baboon?”
Franco sighed and shook his head. “I don’t know.”
“Exactly…”
Uncle Adrian roared with laughter, kicking himself ‘round the pool with stubby legs while tapping fat fingers on his belly. “Besides, my scruffy little nephew…a baboon at least has the decency to hide himself when people are around.”
Even Franco stood dazed at that one, with no immediate retort. He could only snicker. Alright Uncle, he thought as a grin slowly grew over his face, you’ll love this one…
He stood up and yanked off his shirt before jumping into the pool, slowly wading his way over. “I’ve also got one,” Franco started. “What’s the difference between Uncle Adrian and an overgrown toad?”
A look of terror grew over Adrian’s face. “No Franco…you know I can’t swim.”
“Exactly…”
Franco grabbed onto the floatie as his uncle tried to wriggle his bloated body loose.
Uncle Adrian tried to paddle himself to freedom, but his fat feet merely dabbled in the water. “Be gone, you fiend! If you so much as splash me with a drop of this water, I will reign hell-fire down on you!”
Franco snorted. “What are you going to do?”
Adrian pushed out his chest and made himself large, like an obese frog ready to pounce at its prey.
Ultimately, all he could do was to kick another stubby leg through the water and splash at Franco…because that was sure to keep him away!
“Screw me…”
Franco bounced the floatie up and down as his uncle helplessly bobbled atop the water, squawking like a helpless hadida.
Adrian yanked his head from side to side, his voice teary. “Listen, listen…you can’t do this…”
Franco beamed with amusement. “And why not?”
A look of pure dread grew over his uncle’s face. “The water…it’s too cold…”
“You’ll survive.”
Uncle Adrian looked over to the people at the barbeque for help…or sympathy, as if he was about to become the victim of some great tragedy. He then glanced back at Franco. “I loved you like a son…,” he panted, “if you do this…I don’t know how I could ever forgive you.”
“Stop being so dramatic!”
Uncle Adrian splashed another stubby leg at him, his final act of defiance. “So, this is how you’d end things between us, hey? Drowning your beloved uncle in icy water? What a way to go…”
Franco stopped for a moment. Maybe he should go easy on the lazy bugger. After all, Adrian had a rough day, he’d heard. He made his decision and stopped shaking the floatie. Looking up to his uncle, he nodded graciously.
His uncle sighed with relief and stretched out a loving hand.
Franco slapped the hand away. “No.”
Adrian froze with a look of terror and disbelief.
Franco then dipped underneath the floatie and sprang up with all his might.
“Traaaiiitooor!” Adrian roared as he splashed into the water.
Franco burst with laughter when he resurfaced, watching his uncle blow air like an asthmatic hippo. “Are you alright, Uncle?”
“Screw you!”
Adrian slowly lugged himself to the shallow end, cursing and spitting water. “And to think I called you family once. It’s the blade of a friend that cuts the deepest!”
Franco snorted and wrang the water from his beard, he knew Adrian would cool down soon enough. Besides, it’s about time he got a good swim.
It felt good being around his people. Isn’t that the whole point behind what he wants to do? Aren’t people the centre point of this whole ridiculous idea? He relaxed as he floated on the water, knowing this is what he ought to do.
Then he felt a hard hand clasp his shoulder from outside the pool.
“There you are.”
Feeling the fiery angst rekindle in his stomach, Franco tensed his body as he reluctantly pushed himself out of the pool, like a toddler put on time-out. By the time he had registered the voice, he already knew the heavy, hardened hand that had caught him, the most affection his dad could show anyone.
After drying himself, he reluctantly returned to Paul for a hug, though he’d dare never call it that. With Paul, an embrace felt more like an alien ritualistic tradition than a show of endearment. It was like being hugged by a scarecrow and lasted only a total length of three pats on the back.
Franco quickly studied him, waiting for the inevitable questioning that would soon follow.
If nothing else, Paul’s appearance merely testified of cold practicality.
His brown steel-tipped boots always pounded the earth with heavy steps so that wherever he stood, he looked anchored as a statue. His denim jacket squared his shoulders and built up his frame, looking a menace to anyone who dared stare his way. His bald scalp was as wrinkled and leathery as the belt that was strapped around his waist and his moustache was grey and puffy, as if a tired worm had clung to the top of his lip.
Standing beside the weber, his dad accepted a brandy and cola from Uncle Adrian, stroking his greyed facial fair with a look of irritation. “John, the last of our colleagues has retired but we can’t seem to get in touch with him.”
The bright sunlight blinded everyone, except Paul of course. It was only the browned spots on his scalp that testified to the wear of decades of police service.
Franco felt the heat glaze so hot on his neck, it felt like now the even the son wanted to interrogate him.
Smoke rose from the grill and smelt of charred meat and musky wood. Now that everyone had gathered around the grill, Franco could make his big announcement.
He gauged the wrinkles on his father’s frown and started carefully, ignoring the air his lungs pleaded for. “Thank you, everyone, for having me,” he started, “like you know I’ve decided to move back to Pretoria. I decided to try a career change-”
His father’s grumble brought a hefty silence to the group. “You know I don’t support this, Son.”
Franco bit his lip and looked to the rest, no time for doubt. “I recently visited my alma mater and reconnected with one of my old teachers, Mr. Harvey. After a long conversation, he inspired me to strive for more in my life, even if just for a short while. He bet me I could make a better life with his advice.”
He straightened himself and took a deep breath. “So, I’m opening my own barbershop.”
To Be Continued…
