In The Dog Box

The Rosettenville Kid meets his girl for the first time – but her father and his sjambok are close by

- Tom Serengeti

I WATCHED the old Toyota Cressida pull out of the yard and splutter up the road towards Main Street. The driver was too focused to glance sideways. He was alone in the car, and the door to the spaza shop was standing open. Here was my chance.

When the Toyota turned the corner I stepped out from my hiding place behind the tree and walked across the road to the open door. The girl was behind the counter.

She was distracted, placing milk and bread in a plastic bag for a woman who was painstakingly extracting coins from her purse. It was a laborious process, as the woman had a child wrapped in a blanket fastened on her back and a shy toddler clutching at her skirt.

I stood aside to let the burdened mother pass in the small shop. Only then did I look at the girl again.

“Hello,” I said with a tentative smile. “You might remember me from the other day?”

A small smile crossed her face. “Oh, I remember. There was a big storm and you ran off in a hurry into the rain.”

“I didn’t have much choice. Your father as good as chased me out of the shop with a sjambok.”

“He’s just gone out,” she said with a hint of apology in her voice.

“I know. I saw him go.”

“Every Thursday he goes to Centro to buy new stock.”

“That’s why I thought I’d come to the shop now,” I told her.

“You can come any time.”

“I’m not exactly eager to meet your father and his sjambok again.”

“Oh, don’t worry about that. Father shows it to everybody.”

“Everybody?” I questioned.

I was trying to act cool, but inside I felt the heat of jealousy as I imagined all the boyfriends attempting to climb through her window.

“Everybody,” she said firmly.