The black suited prosecutor walked from his table towards the dock left hand in his pocket. He was slim with long thinning blond hair and piercing blue eyes. He stared sternly at Enake the accused and said sharply, `Mr Enake, tell this court why you were in Mr Joseph Van Zyl’s bedroom.’
`Sir, because he invited me,’ replied Enake of the frightened eyes set in a gaunt face.
`What?’
`Yes, sir, he invited me to his house.’
`Mr, Enake, does it make sense? He invited you to his house but not only did you end up in his bedroom naked with his wife, he ended up pursuing you down the street half naked with a kitchen knife.
`Sir, I am not lying. I went there on his invitation, honest, I swear to God.’
`Mr Enake, leave God out of this!’ The prosecutor admonished. He stood arms akimbo and teetered on his heels regarding Enake. Then he said, `I am confused about this whole matter. I am sure that my lord the magistrate is also confused, and so are all the people in this distinguished court. So, why don’t you save everybody further embarrassment and waste of time by starting from the beginning and telling us your story, in your own words.’
`Yes,’ the lady magistrate concurred. `Mr Enake, take your time and enlighten us. I want to understand what this unusual case is all about.’ She was a large woman and her official gown made her look even larger, like a monster casting an ominous shadow over the whole proceedings.
`Yes, sir. I mean madam.’
`How did you get to know Joseph Van Zyl?’ The prosecutor asked.
`He’s my supervisor where we work.’
`Your supervisor, eh? What do you do? Where?’
`We both work for Gibson Motors. My job is to wash cars before they are put on display. Mr Van Zyl supervises the car washing section.’
`How long has he been your supervisor?’
`One month.’
`And how long have you worked for Gibson Motors?’
`One month.’
`And did you know Mr Van Zyl before then?’
`No sir.’
`So you have been working for him for one month and you end up in his bedroom. Are you friends?’
Enake hesitated.
`Answer my question.’
`Sort of.’
`What do you mean?’
`At first we did not get on. I did not like him.’
`Why?’
`Because he said things that made me believe he does not like black people.’
What things did he say?’
`At first he said I was a kaffir, black like his countrymen in South Africa and therefore had to be lazy like them. He told me he thought blacks were not the same level of human beings as the white people.’
`At first, eh? So what next?’
`After some time he said that he would no longer call me a lazy person. He said I surprised him with my hard work, that he liked me. It was then he changed to calling me a kwerekwere.’
`Kwerekwere? What is that?’
`He said that is what they call unwanted black foreigners in Johannesburg, foreigners like Nigerians, Zimbabweans and so on. He used to tell me stories about how they invaded Johannesburg and cornered the drugs, smuggling and other shady businesses.’
`That means he still thought you were a lower level of human being than himself. Yet he invited you to his house.’
`I was surprised. At first he did not talk to me much. But as time went on he began chatting more with me. He even once or twice bought me fish and chips during our lunch hour.’
`So you became friends.’
`Sort of.’
`All right, I want to know why he invited you to his house.’
`Sir, he told me he had a problem over which he needed help.’
`So he invited you to his house because he had a problem. Go on; tell the court about this problem he wanted you to help him solve.’
`He wanted me to do his wife.’
`What?
The magistrate interjected, `Do his wife? What? Explain.’
The prosecutor asked, `Do you mean he wanted you to kill his wife or what?’
`No! Not to kill his wife. He wanted me to have sex with her.’
`Shocking,’ the magistrate said.
`Yes, shocking,’ the prosecutor agreed. `Why did he want you to sleep with his wife?’
`Because he could not get it up.’
`Get what up?’ The magistrate cut in sharply.
`You mean he is impotent?’ The prosecutor asked.
`No. Not exactly.’
`Man, save our time. If he cannot get it up he is impotent.’
`He said if he watches me doing it his manhood will wake up.’
`Oh, I see. Why does he not just go and buy discs of blue movies or watch those crazy channels on television. Why would he invite a black man that he hates to have sex with his wife and then chases him down the street for doing just that?’
`Sir, you don’t understand.’
`What? Are you saying that I am stupid? I do not understand?’
`Sir, it is not like that. Television and blue movies will not do it for him. He has to see somebody doing it with his wife in his presence before he can be in the mood.’
`This is the most ridiculous story I have ever heard. He does not like black people yet he invites one to do his wife if I may use your words. Are there no white men who can do his wife? Is the wife black?’
`No sir, his wife is white. He said he wanted a strong black man because he had heard that black people are blessed in such matters.’
`This whole story sounds so odd. Are you sure that you did not sneak into his house to rape his wife and he caught you? On the other hand I am inclined to believe that he invited you to his house to do his wife simply to have a reason to kill you. After all you said he hates black people.’
`No, sir, he does not hate me.’
`What is special about you that he will hate other black people and like you to the extent of allowing you to have sex with his wife?’
`He wanted me to do him a favour, to get him in the mood to be able to have sex with his wife.’
`How can two of you have sex with his wife at the same time?’
`I was to get up when he was ready.’
`Good heavens. What do you mean when he was ready?’
`When he was excited enough to get it up.’
`And did he get excited enough?’
`Yes, sir.’
`And did you get up?’
`No, sir. I couldn’t.’
`Why?’
`His wife was holding tight to me. And it was too late.’
`You’re losing me. What do you mean it was too late?’
`Sir, I had reached the point of no return. He was hitting me on the back and shouting, “I’m ready. Get up. Get up, she is my wife.’’ The next thing I knew he had rushed into the kitchen. His wife was shouting, “Run. He has a knife. He will kill you.’’ So I grabbed my trousers and slipped them on as I ran for dear life.’
`Go on.’
`Sir, there is nothing more to say. He had a knife and was pursuing me down the street with only his trousers on. Then we were arrested by the police.’
`Yes, serves you right. You were scandalising the neighbourhood on a quiet Sunday afternoon, two grown up men, half naked, one white with a knife chasing the other one, a black man, down a quiet street in Battersea.’
Later, Mr Joseph Van Zyl, on his part, corroborated Enake’s story. His reason for chasing Enake down the street was that they had an arrangement which he did not honour. He was to help him to get in the mood to `do’ his wife but Mr Enake breached the arrangement.
The two men were bound over to be of good behaviour.
****Taken from my book Bitter Sweet. Download from Amazon**
Lma?. Good read!
Sorry for the late reply. Happy you enjoyed reading it.