Anele says, “You have a lovely voice.”

I stare at her, perplexed. “I thought a counsellor is supposed to give advice?”

She shakes her head. Smiles for the first time. A healing sunlight shines from her, warms me.

I look around the tent. I want to ask, “So what are you doing here, then?”

But she says, “You have done a beautiful job. Aviwe, I admire you deeply.”

I wait. She can’t be serious. This is an advice tent.

“Your decision will come from that place that keeps trying and trying and trying.” She nods her head. “Your incredible strength.”

“I can’t try anymore.”

She leans forward, says softly, “Then that’s your decision.”

“But where can I…?” I pull my little sister onto my lap. “Where can Lindi and I live?”

“Let us think about it…”

The ‘us’. It makes me feel like I am on my mother’s lap.

She asks about my family. I tell her about my aunt in the Strand who has too many children. I tell her about my granny who is bedridden.

She says, “They can do with your help, Aviwe. Someone like you in their life.”

“Maybe. I have never thought about going to them.”

“Why?”

“They are my mother’s family. Everyone will go against my father.”

“Do you see how you are protecting his sickness?”

I nod slowly, my eyes wide open. But there is an even deeper truth, a last sharp stone trapped at the bottom of the tank. It comes tumbling out.

“I have never wanted to leave him.”

She asks, relentless: “What will happen if you do?”

“He will drink himself to death.”

“And if he does die?”

It’s like she’s trying to dig up dark sand from the bottom of the tank.

I whisper, “I think he will be happier.”

She nods. “Or, he might rise up. From rock bottom.”

I snort, cynical. “Never!”

She says, “Never say never, Aviwe.” She says my name like an endearment. Or is it just my seventeen-year-old imagination?

“I don’t want to give you hope, but you leaving him might give him that tiny chance.”

She reaches across the desk. Does she want to shake on it, make a deal with me? I put my hand in hers. She squeezes it, keeps it in hers.

The us. I feel it.

“We can apply to get the grant signed over to your auntie.”

I say fervently, “I can’t wait. I can’t take another day!”

She nods her head vigorously. “You need to get away.”

I stand up. Inside me, my bags are packed. For a moment my life is clean and folded and neat.

Anele says, “Wait, Aviwe. I’ll come and help you.”

“It’s not the kind of thing you want to see.”

“Hey Aviwe – my brother’s drugging was not beautiful to look at.”

I realise how much I need Anele with me. She disappears through a section of the tent. I hear her say to someone unseen, “I need to go somewhere, give someone a hand…”

We duck our heads, walk into the blinding sunlight. Each of us takes one of Lindi’s hands. She scurries between us, hurrying her little legs like she’s frightened of being left behind.

I talk compulsively, tell her how I was going to feed Lindi and let my father fall asleep. I was going to wash my school shirt, tidy up. That’s usually how I do it because if I wake him up, then the trouble starts.

Anele shakes her head, amazed. “Do you see how you have made all this normal? Absorbed the blows. Do you see how you keep everything working? You’re a hero, Aviwe.”

I glance at her. She is not joking. “It must be exhausting.”

I don’t want to tell her how very, very tired I was before I met her.

Lindi stops walking, sits on a brick.

Anele says, “Lindi too. She’s also exhausted.” We giggle. Anele says to Lindi, “Come on baby. Be brave like your brother.”

I don’t know how she does it, but this girl is building me up by the minute. I walk in a manly style, take long strides like a hero going to war. Anele swings Lindi onto her hip, hurries to keep up with me.

I want to ease our door open, spy inside. But I act tough today. I shove on the door, heedless of the consequences. My father is not passed out, as I have hoped all the way to the house. He is up, in the middle of the lounge, trying to light a dead entjie. He is swaying on his feet, fumbling with the matches, burning his fingertips.

“Eina!” He drops the lit match. It burns a hole in the carpet. The three of us stand in the entrance, watch the idiotic theatre. My father’s hair is wild and knotted. His unshaved face is clotted with untidy beard clumps. He tries hard to make out Anele, but she’s too luminous in the doorway. Lindi the innocent waits on Anele’s hip watching him, sensing that something is going to be different.

“Who is this?” my father spits and slurs. “This a girlfriend?”

It feels like there is a cigarette smouldering inside my ribs. I shake my head. “A counsellor, Dad.”

“Counsellor for what?”

“The drink.”

My father flings out his fists. “Nothing to talk about! Nothing!” He snarls at Anele, “Get out of my house!”

“I’ve come to help,” Anele says.

“Get out!” He reaches down, grabs his rum bottle by its glass neck. He grabs the chair to get his balance. Aims it at Anele’s head.

“Duck!” I shout. Anele dives behind the sofa, presses Lindi out of sight.

While the bottle is held in mid-air my father sees the last rum at the bottom. He tilts the bottle, squints at the swilling liquid. He puts the bottle to his lips and swallows it greedily. He stares drunkenly towards Anele behind the green couch. He glares at the space behind her head, shouts as if in the midst of a horrible argument. “I’m the man in this house!” He beats his chest. “Me!” He half falls into his chair. He mutters something violently. He lets his head loll back. My father passes out.

Anele sweeps forwards, ready to check his pockets, search for the missing money.

“Wait!” I say.

She stops, stares at me. “Have you changed your mind?”

My eyes feel huge. The warm air in the house seems to have dried them out.

***

Tell us what you think: Should Aviwe leave? What will happen if he doesn’t?