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The Coffee-Cart Girl 2
His eyes traveled from her small tender fingers as she
washed a few things, to her man's jersey which was a faded
green and too big for her, her thin frock, and then to her
peach-coloured face, not well fed, but well framed and compelling under a soiled black beret. As he ate hungrily she shot a
side-glance at him occasionally. There was something sly in
those soft, moist, slit eyes, but the modest stoop at the shoulders gave him a benign appearance; otherwise he would have
looked twisted and rather fiendish. There was something she
felt in his presence: a repelling admiration. She felt he was the
kind of man who could be quite attractive so long as he
remained more than a touch away from the contemplator; just
like those wax figures she once saw in the chamber of horrors.
'Signed off at the Metropolitan?'
'Hm.' His head drooped and she could read dejection in the
oily top of his cap. 'Just from the insurance fund office.' She
pitied him inwardly; a sort of pity she had never before
experienced for a strange man.
'What to do now?'
'Like most of us,' looking up straight into her eyes, 'beat the
road early mornings just when the boss's breakfast is settling
nicely in the stomach. No work, no government papers, no
papers, no work, then out of town.'
'It's hard for everybody, I guess.'
'Ja.'
'I know. When you feel hungry and don't have money,
come past here and I'll give you coffee and pancake.'
'Thanks, er -- let me call you Pinkie, shall I?'
'Hm,' she nodded automatically.
He shook her hand. 'Grow as big as an elephant for your
goodness, as we say in our idiom.' He shuffled off. For a long
time, until he disappeared, she didn't take her eyes off the
stooping figure, which she felt might set any place on fire.
Strange man Pinkie thought idly as she washed up.
China often paused at Pinkie's coffee-cart. But he wouldn't let
her give him coffee and pancakes for nothing.
'I'm no poorer than you,' he said. 'When I'm really in the
drain pipes you may come to my help.'
As she got used to him and the idea of a tender playfellow who is capable of
scratching blood out of you, she felt heartily sorry for
him; and he detected it, and resented it and felt sorry for
her in turn.
'Right, Pinkie, I'll take it today.'
'You'll starve to death in this cruel city.'
'And then? Lots of them starve; think of this mighty city
Pinkie. What are we, you and me? If we starved and got sick
and died, who'd miss you and me?'
Days when China didn't come, she missed him. And then she
was afraid of something; something mysterious that crawls
into human relations, and before we know it it's there; and
because it is frightening it does not know how to announce
itself without causing panic and possibly breaking down
bonds of companionship. In his presence she tried to take
refuge in an artless sisterly pity for him. And although he
resented it, he carried on a dumb show. Within, heaven and
earth thundered and rocked, striving to meet; sunshine and
rain mingled; milk and gall pretended friendship; fire and
water went hand in hand; tears and laughter hugged each
other in a fit of hysterics; the screeching of the hang-bird
started off with the descant of a dove's cooing; devils
waved torches before a chorus of angels. Pinkie and China
panicked at the thought of a love affair and remained dumb.
'Pinkie, I've got a job at last!'
'I'm happy for you, China!'
'You'll get a present, first money I get. Ach, but I
shouldn't have told you. I wanted to surprise you.' He was
genuinely sorry.
'Don't worry, China, I'll just pretend I'm surprised
really, you'll see.' They laughed.
Friday came.
'Come, Pinkie, let's go.'
'Where to?'
'I'll show you.' He led her to the cheapjack down the
street.
'Mister, I want her to choose anything she wants.'
The cheapjack immediately sprang up and in voluble
cataracts began to sing praises upon his articles.
'All right, mister, let me choose.' Pinkie picked up one.
article after another, inspected it, and at last she
selected a beautiful long bodkin, a brooch, and a pair of
bangles. Naidoo,
To be
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