Sabelo says, “Sjoe. That was close.”
I shake my head in amazement. “It’s the first time I have ever heard my mother lie,” I say.
Sabelo grins. “Did you see the look on my father’s face when he went with your mother to pray?”
“It was like she was taking him to prison,” I say, smiling back at him.
Sabelo bursts into laughter. I catch it from him. Eventually the two of us are hanging on to each other, laughing so hard we can hardly breathe. Franco chuckles and weaves slowly away from us, lighting the joint he was not allowed to smoke before. The skinny man tips down the hill and disappears the other way. Maybe he has decided to rather spend the evening with his wife.
Much later, Sabelo and I dry our eyes and sit side by side, quietly.
I say, “If Cheeky arranged this, she is a very funny pig.”
Sabelo and I start to laugh again. We collapse against the wall of the church, helpless with mirth.
When he is able to speak again, Sabelo says, “Do you remember how we built mud castles right here?”
“Yes, we used stones for gold pieces,” I remind him.
He laughs. “Ja. And do you remember that one time we put socks on your dog?”
I nod, laughing. “Yes, and I remember I was always better than you with a catty.”
Sabelo is suddenly serious. “I have always refused to touch a gun. I only did it for you.”
I circle my fingers around his wrist, make a single handcuff.
The door opens and Bra Radebe shuffles out, looking exhausted. Sabelo stands up and puts an arm around him.
“How was that?”
Bra Radebe shakes his head. “Not what I’m used to on a Friday night.”
Sabelo and I giggle.
Sabelo squeezes my hand. “See you, Nolu.” He reaches up and touches the tip of my nose.
Some memory of childhood rises to the surface. Did we used to rub noses when we were toddlers in the mud? Yes, I think we did.
As I watch Sabelo and his father heading up the hill, I murmur softly to the sparkling stars, “Please let Bra Radebe breed rabbits and shut his shebeen.” I giggle at myself. It’s a pretty strange prayer, but I mean it.
My mother and I go to sleep feeling happy. And rich.
My father wakes me up just after midnight and kisses me on the cheek. He whispers, “Mom said you did it?”
“Sabelo shot Cheeky,” I say sleepily.
“Sabelo from the shebeen?”
“Yebo.”
“Mmm,” says my father, stroking my head like I used to stroke Cheeky. “I always thought that boy had nice eyes.”
He sits with me and watches me fall asleep.
***
Tell us: Why do you think Sabelo has always refused to touch a gun?