Absent. The English Teacher: The English Teacher

16. The Enormous Turnip

1 16 T TH HE E E EN NO OR RM MO OU US S T TU UR RN NI IP P On his way back from prison, near Bradfield shopping centre, George was reminded that elections were imminent when a youth wearing a ZANU PF T-shirt handed him a flyer urging him to vote for ‘Unity, Piss and Development’. He folded the newsprint and put it in one of his capacious khaki pockets. It would be useful for starting a fire. He was anxious about the child. Was she safe? Had she had enough to eat? It was a long walk from Fife Street back to Hillside suburbs but it gave him the time he needed to decide on what was left of his future. That book was the key. On its title page, inscribed in orange crayon, were a name and an address: the name, Polly Petal, followed by the address, Empandeni Mission. He did not want to call her Polly Petal in case it was the name of some white child who had been the original owner of the book: a Ladybird edition of The Enormous Turnip, adapted by Fran Hunia from the traditional tale, and wonderfully illustrated by John Dyke – but when he mentioned the Mission to her, her face lit up and she smiled, really smiled, for the first time. This convinced George that the child’s home was somewhere in Mpande Communal Land, and he was determined to return her to her people. He was going west, anyway, and this would give him a purpose. His reveries were disturbed by a sudden hooting and a voice shouting, “Howzitt Sir!” George was walking along the cycle track on the left side of the road going out of town, and it was some distance from the parallel main road, but by squinting his eyes he managed to recognise, at the wheel of a purple Datsun 1200, none other than his old pupil McKaufmann, he who had got George into trouble on two counts: the Ian Smith photograph , and the unfortunate affinity, aurally, of his name with a racist insult . The car did a dangerous u-turn and screeched to a halt opposite George. “Jump in, Sir!” shouted McKaufmann, “We going for ice-cream at Eskimo Hut. 102 “I…” “Ah come on, Sir, man; for old time’s sake!” “Well, all right; but I don’t have any money.” A back door opened and George squeezed in. McKaufmann was not alone. In the front passenger seat sat the androgynous City Lights, and in the back, sharing the cramped space with George, he didn’t recognise them at first, were the twins, Helter and Skelter. “Hullo, Sir,” said Skelter, “how was prison?” “Dreadful. But shouldn’t you be at school?” “Yes,butwedecidedtobunkoutforaice-cream.Mine’sachocfudgesundae.” “So’s mine.” “And mine.” “Mine too.” “What about you, Sir?” “I’m afraid I don’t have any money.” “That’s OK,” said Helter. “We’ll stand you,” said Skelter. “It’s very kind of you, boys. I’d like a lime-flavoured twirly cone.” George was thinking of pre-Independence days, the sixties and seventies, when he and his friends paid regular visits to Eskimo Hut. “I don’t think they’ve got that kind any more,” said City Lights. “Well then, I’ll have the same as you.” “Those are just about the most expensive.” “Oh,” replied George, embarrassed, “then I’ll have something cheaper.” “There’s nothing cheap.” “Oh, well…” Just before the turn-off to the Eskimo Hut there was a police road block. They were waved down by a woman wearing a yellow fluorescent jacket. McKaufmann gave the policewoman a friendly greeting. She walked round the car looking at whatever traffic police look at and stopped at the driver’s window. “Please show me your licence.” “Certainly officer,” said McKaufmann and, to George’s amazement, he pulled a R100 note out of his shirt pocket and pressed it into the policewoman’s hand. She closed her fist over it and said quietly: “You can go.” 103 “Thank you, officer,” smiled Ivan Mckaufmann, “have a good day.” Then he drove into the Eskimo Hut car park, and they all piled out. “You sure you won’t have something, Sir?” “Quite sure, thank you; I had a huge breakfast in prison.” “What did you have?” “Well, you can choose between continental and English. For continental they...