“The sun beats down on my head and stings my scalp. I turn in at the Shell for a cool-drink from the icebox. Jim jumps up from the Carling Black Label beer crate. – I see you, young baas. – I see you. – What is your name, young baas? – Douglas. – Douglas. A strong name. He makes me smile, but senses my sadness. – Kunjani? How are you, young baas? – Ndilungile, I say. Alright. I am not floating (I cry for Marsden and my father and my Muizenberg teacher-mother) and I am not sinking (for I long to ...see the sun filter through Marika’s skirt again). I am just barely lungile. – Oh. You speak Xhosa? – A few words. Ndifuna Coca-Cola, Mister Jim. – A good day for Coca-Cola. But, my name, young baas Douglas, is Moses, not Mister Jim. – Then why is Jim sewn on your back? – I will tell you my story, young baas Douglas, but first the Coca-Cola. He bends his head into the icebox for a Coca-Cola and I see his lagoon of bald skin. He digs a can out and taps it three times with his finger before handing it to me.MoreLessRead More Read Less
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