I Have Life Read online

  I wanted to speak out, but decided against it. There was no point in trying to reason with him. Strangely, the familiarity of the other streets brought with it a false sense of safety. At least I recognised my surroundings, even though I had no reference point for the situation in which I now found myself.

  It felt like hours but it must have taken only a few moments. Soon things began to look familiar again. We were heading towards Main Street, a part of town I knew but seldom visited.

  Grey, cold slabs of concrete from the massive highway flyovers cast long shadows across the broad artery with its middle island. The place was humming with people.

  They were everywhere. These were the creatures of the night. This was where it all happened while the rest of Port Elizabeth lay asleep. There was a popular club in the area called ‘Club Tonite’ and it seemed as if the party had spilled out of the venue and on to the street.

  Taxis were perched on pavements and double parked in the road. Some had their doors open and music belted out from inside merging with the clatter and noise of the traffic, the hooters, the blur of faces, the colour and neon lights. To me, it was a frightening cacophony.

  I stared at it all, feeling quite nauseous. This was not my world and I did not know these people. They scared me. For some reason I felt they were a part of him, this was his turf. I’d be a fool to try anything here. If I jumped out now they would all get me. Besides, I still did not want to let him see that I had begun to panic.

  Clinton hunched over the steering wheel and squinted as he scanned the crowd in the street. There were hordes of people loitering everywhere. They were seated on a small wall on one side of the road and just hanging about on the other. He was clearly looking for the man he said had stolen his TV.

  ‘Where the fuck is he?’ he muttered under his breath.

  I could see he was growing agitated and that was the last thing I wanted. He would, I thought, definitely take it out on me. If I sat quietly enough maybe he would think I had disappeared; maybe, my besieged mind persuaded me, I would actually disappear.

  Further up Main Street the crowds began to thin out. Just then he turned up a side-street that took us to the darkened lanes of North End. It was a bleak place. There were few street lamps and stray cats scampered through the litter out of the headlights. Rickety fences bordered low crumbling houses in which the occupants lay safely slumbering.

  Clinton was growing annoyed. He seemed frustrated and jerked the car up the steep, narrow roads, turning into dark alleyways and small dog-legs behind the closely packed houses.

  Next thing I knew we were back on Main Street, except this time we were on the opposite side, heading towards the new post office. The toing and froing was becoming increasing intolerable. I had to fight the compulsive urge to try and put a stop to it all. I had always been in control of my life, or at least had tried to take responsibility for things that affected me. I was totally powerless in this instance. There was really nothing I could do. The best strategy, I decided, was to take each new scenario as it came.

  Once again Clinton scanned the crowd, cursing under his breath.

  We reached the end of Main Street again and now he was clearly angry. He suddenly slammed his foot down on the accelerator and we sped around a sharp corner, tyres screeching.

  ‘Careful,’ I said almost instinctively. ‘It’s an old car and you’ll roll it.’

  I was surprised at how calm, how normal, I sounded. He heard me and I was amazed that he even bothered to listen. He slowed down, a response that I found quite comforting in a perverse way. I realised it was the first time I had addressed him before he addressed me.

  We were back in Main Street and crawled along it once again. Then suddenly Clinton stopped.

  ‘Ah,’ he said. ‘There he is.’

  A short, sturdy young man, dressed entirely in black, stepped away from a crowd of people who were crouching and sitting on a low wall and strode towards the car.

  This must be the friend, I thought, as he approached Clinton at the driver’s side. He gave me a cursory glance before Clinton heaved up the driver’s seat and our new passenger slid in behind him.

  ‘Have you got any smokes?’ was the first thing Clinton said to the man.

  I was also dying for a cigarette and when he leaned across offering the driver one I asked if I could have one too.

  I puffed nervously on the cigarette as we now headed out of the city towards Beach Road, one of the main arteries near the beachfront.

  ‘Meet my friend Susan,’ Clinton said to the other man and then, turning to me, ‘this is Theuns.’

  Out of politeness and habit I said, ‘Hello.’

  The two of them started talking. I couldn’t quite follow the thread, but it was some story about the television and somebody called Natalie who lived in the suburb of Overbaakens. My mother, Claire, lives near Overbaakens and when they mentioned they were heading out there I realised that this was not yet over.

  Somehow I did not want them to be lying. I wanted to believe that was where we were heading and that once we had got there and they had finished their ‘business’ they would just dump me somewhere next to the road. I began plotting how I’d walk to my mother’s house or a nearby telephone and call someone to fetch me.

  There were a number of cars along Beach Road. We stopped at traffic lights and I looked at the stationary vehicles in front of and next to us. I desperately wanted to make contact with someone, anyone, ‘out there’ and somehow alert them to my predicament.

  But each car and its occupants seemed a thousand miles away, in some other universe where everything was safe and normal. They didn’t even take in what was going on outside the safe, sealed interiors of their mobile worlds. And what would they have seen had they looked at us anyway? Just two men and a woman heading off somewhere.

  How could they possibly know I was being held hostage by these two people, total strangers I had never met before. And besides, even if I did make a face or try to hoot or flick the lights, there wouldn’t be enough time for anyone to realise what was going on and to react quickly enough.

  When Clinton missed the turn-off to Overbaakens and kept heading along Beach Road towards Summerstrand, a well-known and popular stretch of beaches, I didn’t know what to think. In fact, I did not allow myself to think at all. I couldn’t afford to.

  I wondered about these two men who had dropped into my life from nowhere.

  2

  ALISON

  A waking nightmare

  I KEPT MY eyes on the black tar ahead of us. No one spoke. The only sound was the high-pitched whirr of Reginald’s engine. Theuns puffed away at a cigarette while Clinton stared at the road which was now leading us in the direction of Schoenmakerskop.

  For some reason I believed they were taking the long way round to Overbaakens. The route was a popular Sunday afternoon drive. There are many coves and picnic spots dotted along that stretch of the coast. If they carried on driving we could theoretically end up back in town, having gone full circle. I convinced myself that that was what they were planning.

  Up ahead I saw the lights of the Holiday Inn. It was the last of the buildings that perched on the city’s perimeter. After that the rows of street lights came to an abrupt end. The road was plunged into darkness. We were swallowed by the night. Thick fynbos, willow and Port Jackson flanked either side. There was not a car in sight. I began to feel utterly alone.

  Clinton was driving slowly. He kept to the 80 kilometres per hour speed limit and the headlights beamed into the night. The fear inside me was growing. Until then I had somehow managed to keep it at bay, to put my mind in neutral.

  But now it welled up from my belly and spread like slow burning lava to my chest. Such a physical sensation. I had never experienced anything like it before. Once again, my mind wrestled for control.

  ‘Theuns doesn’t speak good English,’ Clinton suddenly announced.

  I didn’t know why he was telling me this, but at least it was som
ething. Someone was talking and it was an interruption that quietened, if only for a second, my own panicked thoughts.

  We were now heading towards the Pine Lodge Holiday resort. There’s a caravan park there, a few chalets and a pub. I hoped that this was where we were going. There would be other people there, maybe even a security guard. I would definitely stand a better chance of escaping if that were the case. But we glided past Pine Lodge and I watched the twinkling lights through the thick foliage.

  To our right was the University of Port Elizabeth and the Technikon, both of which are situated in a nature reserve. On the opposite side of the road we passed several sandy lanes that trickled their way into clearings. I had never felt safe on this road. This time of night the only people who would dare to come out here were those who wanted to engage in illicit sex.

  As we passed the rifle range, the journey began to feel interminable.

  What now? I asked myself.

  I almost wanted them to complete the story for me. I wanted these men to tell me, ‘This is what we are going to do.’ At least then I could make a plan, prepare myself. The suspense was unbearable.

  Clinton seemed to be looking for something now. He slowed down as we neared a clearing in the bush, peered in, but then carried on. We passed another larger gap in the foliage and a little way on Clinton pulled the car up on to the shoulder of the road, did a U-turn and crawled back towards it.

  A canopy of trees hung over the entrance and the car bounced as we hit the white-grey sand. We were heading for some sort of alcove.

  Clinton took the left fork that led off to the beach. The car sank into the soft sand and the wheels began to spin as he revved the engine. I could feel the tension in the car.

  ‘Dis fokken stupid,’* Theuns growled from the back.

  Oh my God, don’t make him angry, don’t make him angry, I began silently to chant.

  Up until that moment I had not feared for my life, but while the wheels spun and the engine whined in protest as Clinton tried to reverse, I thought the moment had come.

  An irrational fear overcame me.

  They’re going to use my body. They are going to put my body under the wheels to get out, I thought in terror.

  Just then the tyres found their grip and the car jerked backwards. I was overcome with relief, but managed to reveal nothing. Clinton was reversing like a madman. Turning the wheel this way and that. I could hear him crashing into the foliage. Branches snapped and scraped against the body of the car. Glass and twigs cracked under the wheels.

  Eventually he manoeuvred Reginald into a clearing. The ground around us was black with soot. Litter lay strewn everywhere. There were shards of glass from broken bottles, rusted beer cans, empty wine cartons, bits of paper and even a smashed windscreen. The car now faced the road which was some 90 metres away. We were well hidden from any passing vehicles. There was no chance of anyone stumbling across us now.

  ‘How do you turn off the lights?’ asked Clinton.

  I leaned over and twisted the knob.

  Theuns indicated he wanted to get out of the car and Clinton leaned forward to let him out.

  Then there was silence. Crushing silence. And darkness.

  The two of us sat in the car.

  It was time to speak.

  ‘Now what?’ I asked, making sure it sounded matter of fact.

  I had spent this entire journey wrestling with my thoughts. Now I wanted the truth.

  Clinton turned and looked at me. He seemed genuinely surprised.

  ‘But I thought you would have realised we want sex,’ he answered, almost indignantly.

  ‘No,’ I replied, disliking the fact that he thought I could have been so stupid. I had actually prevented myself from thinking anything at all.

  So this was it, I thought, bracing myself for what was to come.

  I looked away at Theuns who was crunching around outside. He strolled over to a clearing at a crossroad about ten metres away. I watched him in the moonlight. I could see him quite clearly. His face was an impassive mask. He seemed bored.

  I also realised there was no way he was going to stop Clinton. Theuns lit a cigarette while he surveyed the territory, looking off in the direction of the road and then back at Clinton and me inside the car. Then he crouched down on his haunches and stared at the small glowing coal between his fingers. I latched on to the image as though it was a scene frozen in a film.

  ‘Are you going to fight?’ Clinton’s voice brought me back.

  I kept quiet for what seemed like an eternity. I was calculating the odds and he knew it. I looked at Clinton’s hands as they rested on the steering wheel. I had always loved men’s hands, but his were hideous. They were small and white. His long, thin fingers tapered off into short, dirty nails. They were weak hands, or so I thought.

  What if I did fight? Was I going to be able to grab the knife from across his lap, kill him and lock the door before Theuns descended on the car? Could I make a dash into the bush?

  I looked out into the pitch black that surrounded us, afraid of what I might find there should I decide to flee. In the end I realised it was pointless putting up a struggle. I truly believed that they would not hurt me if I did what they asked.

  ‘No,’ I replied.

  At that stage neither Clinton nor Theuns had said anything that might have led me to suspect that they would physically harm me.

  If they wanted to rape me, I thought, then let them do it, I can handle it.

  Stay calm, stay calm, that voice in my head kept telling me.

  ‘Take off your clothes,’ Clinton ordered.

  I was still dressed in my shorts. Underneath I was wearing a full bathing costume over my bikini. I hadn’t even thought about changing after the afternoon at the beach. I was also wearing a white vest, a denim shirt and a pair of brown leather sandals.

  I felt as if I was undressing someone else’s body. As I peeled off each item of clothing I became further and further removed from myself. I sat there naked with this familiar body which now did not belong to me.

  Clinton pulled down his tracksuit pants and pushed my head towards his crotch.

  ‘Suck my cock,’ he ordered.

  My mind went blank. I couldn’t think. The only thing I knew was that I should try not to vomit. It was difficult, he was ramming my head down on to his penis. I started to gag.

  ‘If you bite me, I’ll kill you,’ he threatened.

  He held the knife in his hand. It was right next to my head. It was the only thing I could see at that moment.

  I don’t know how long the whole thing lasted. I found it degrading, but I didn’t want to show any emotion. I would give them no satisfaction. I would be as limp as a rag doll. I would not reveal anything about myself. Clinton suddenly yanked my head up by my hair and pushed me back on to the seat. Next thing I knew his face was between my legs. I don’t know how he got there. I couldn’t believe this was possible inside such a small car.

  ‘Does your boyfriend do this to you? Do you like it?’

  I said no, stupidly hoping that that would stop him.

  When he finished he slithered up towards my breast and then he latched on to it like a leech. I stared down at him. It was an oddly disconnected moment. Here was this strange man at my breast. It was such a violation of my body, my personal space. I could see him doing it and it revolted me.

  He looked up, smiling at the purple ‘love-bite’ he had left behind.

  Then he moved up and kissed me. There was an overwhelming stench of nicotine. His breath was sour and he probed my mouth with his tongue.

  ‘You have the nicest tasting fanny,’ he whispered.

  I was disgusted by the intimacy of his remark.

  Then he raped me. As it happened I realised that I was moist and I was horrified. I felt that my body had betrayed me completely. I recoiled, pushing my arms up against the roof of the car. I did not want to touch him. He was scrawny like a snake. His skin was white and waxy, like some worm that lived unde
r a dark rock and had never seen the sun.

  I felt nothing. I stared over his heaving shoulder at Theuns outside who was bathed in silver light. He just stood there, looking at what was going on in the car.

  Ali, he’s doing this to your body but not to you, he can’t touch you, I chanted silently over and over again.

  Clinton groaned as he ejaculated and then he rolled over back on to the driver’s seat. I just sat there, dazed.

  A moment passed. Clinton must have pulled up his trousers because suddenly he was fully dressed again. He called over to Theuns.

  His head lolled to the side as he addressed him through the open window.

  ‘Do you also want to have sex with this lovely lady?’ he asked.

  ‘Nee, ek wil die fokken bitch fok,’* Theuns replied with a sneer.

  ‘Don’t speak to her like that, she’s a lady,’ said Clinton in a childish singsong.

  My God, I thought. How can you say that, you bastard? You’ve just raped me. You know nothing about me.

  But it’s bizarre how we look for a lifeline in the most hopeless of situations. I thought that if Clinton thought I was such a lady then maybe he would be able to stop Theuns if he lost it and became violent. He certainly looked capable of it.

  Stupidly, I thought he might be the more reasonable of the two. I thought he might be able to influence Theuns and I felt safer because of it.

  Theuns walked over to the passenger side of the car. He rummaged through his pockets, emptying the contents on to the roof. I heard a clunking noise and imagined it was his cigarettes and his lighter.

  ‘Are you just going to sit there and watch?’ I snapped at Clinton.

  ‘Ja, I want to see,’ he replied laconically.

  Theuns got into the car and kneeled between my legs.

  ‘Ag nee man, my kom is nog daar,’* Clinton barked at Theuns.

  He kissed me instead. He wasn’t really hard enough to penetrate me but he heaved himself on top of me and raped me anyway. I just stared out of the windscreen.

  ‘No,’ he said abruptly. ‘I can’t do this.’

  He pulled up his pants, got out of the car and slammed the door.