Warren was dynamite on the pool table by January. The rest of us could hold our own.
The bar sold food. Back then it was the only legitimate restaurant in the village. Tourists flocked there in season. By mid January the excitement was over and the town felt sleepy again, except on weekends.
I saw a family of five having a meal there when we passed the bar, on our way upstairs. They were from Boksberg or Benoni. I can’t remember which. The father and his three sons looked like the same person at different ages.
The dad was wearing luminous polly shorts and a vest that had great dips in the armpits. The oldest son had a furry mustache like his dad’s.
The middle child had a mousy brown mullet and a bushy uni-brow that looked like it was sketched on his face with koki pen.
The youngest son looked tough. Although they were all stocky and plump, the littlest of them was probably energetic enough to burn off the family diet of ver koek and biltong.
***
The three brothers came upstairs after their meal, unprepared for Warren’s skill. “Challenger pays for the round,” Warren told them after they enquired about the pool table.
We took turns being Warren’s partner, whilst the Boksberg or Benoni brothers used up their money. They lost four games in a row, not managing to sink a ball during two of them.
They insisted we let them play a game without us once, as it was their last R2 coin.
“No ways, “said Styvies, “beat us once and you can play for as long as you like.”
“that’s how it works here, Koos times three,” said Warren.
“Ja bru, it’s a system that makes this place tick. Rules are rules,” said Rudolph.
I was getting stuck into Level 3 on Street Fighter and only heard the conversation.
The brothers took a few moments to confirm. Meanwhile, Warren was clearing the remaining balls from the previous game— he’d soundly beaten the middle and youngest brother playing left handed.
It was my turn to be Warren’s partner when the oldest and middle brother decided to play their last coin. There was electricity in the air. They were fired up, like soldiers on the front line. Victory meant redemption. We’d been playing on their dime for forty minutes.
Warren broke— Warren always broke, and sank two stripes off the bat. The middle brother answered back with a solid in the corner pocket. I scratched on my turn. A great dual was going down.
The Benoni or Boksberg brothers hissed at every missed opportunity; buried their heads in their hands when Warren sunk a ball; cheered for one another when they sank a few of their own.
I was up with just the black ball to go. I bent low and aimed. As I positioned the cue, the youngest brother reached up and whipped the white ball off the table.
‘Give it back, little guy, said Rudolph,’ speaking before Warren or Styvies had the chance to. The boy turned chili red and had tears went rolling down his cheeks. He backed up and stood in front of his brothers, as if to protect them.
‘What you doing!’ said Warren, grabbing the ball from his hands and placing it back in front of me.
‘Play the shot,’ he said. The other brothers stood frozen.
Again I aimed and again the youngest child stole the ball. The middle brother snatched it from his hand and gave it to me. I said thank you. Warren laughed. Rudolph sighed. Styvies went to smoke a cigarette outside.
I aimed my cue a third time, knowing the youngest brother would steal the ball from me. Something about him wouldn’t quit until justice was done. I often wonder if he was the sort of person who went on to be a police man or a traffic officer.
Instead of stealing the ball, the youngest brother ran at Warren and punched him in the nuts. Warren never missed a beat, and answered with a swift backhand to the young boy’s temple. The child let out a defeated howl. His oldest brother picked him up and Styvieshed downstairs, lulling his brave little brother.
“That’s right, take him away!” shouted Warren.
Styvies laughed at Warren, who was bending low and nursing his injured crucial bits. The room was silent otherwise. There was a hollowness in the air. Like we’d trampled a bunny or a small bird to death.
It wasn’t long before we heard massive foot steps rattling the staircase outside. DOOM DOOM DOOM DOOM
“It’s the dad,’ said Rudolph.
‘We’re dead,’ said Warren.
‘Kak, there’s four of us,’ said Styvies.
I never said anything.
Nothing could have prepared us for what came through the door. She looked like a giant, with ratty brown hair that reached the floor and a nose that was as wrinkled and bumpy as the vet koek she fed her three boys. The woman had to bend in half to fit through the wooden door frame. When she stood up straight her head almost touched the roof.
‘Who hit Nathan!’ she cried in a most polite English accent.
The four of us couldn’t answer.
Warren took the first, most aggressive blow. The mother in her must have seen that it was Warren. She wiped the look of surprise clean off his face with a brutal slap. Her palms were big enough to cup a watermelon. Warren spun off his chair and corkscrewed on to the floor.
Rudolph was next. She grabbed him by his ears and thrust his head into the wall, repeating the motion a few times. He dropped like a bag of damp soil.
Styvies was ready for her next move. He dodged the first three right hooks, but wasn’t anticipating a sneaky left jab that caught him under the chin. His chin split down the middle and spat blood like a punctured hose pipe.
I was next. ‘You!’ she cried, pointing at me. ‘Was it you?’
‘No ma’am!’ I sniveled. I couldn’t have moved quicker if there was a fire burning the place down. She was on me like a hot disease. In a Nazi marching style, she kicked me across the room. I wailed in terror as she advanced. She screamed back, cursing my parents in words and a tone that only angry mothers and scared children can understand.
When the dust cleared and we’d regained consciousness, the enraged mother and her family were gone.
‘What thuss ‘appmined?’ said Styvies, who’d bitten through his tongue.
‘Aggravated assault,’ I said.
‘We gotta find out where they’re staying and torch the place,’ said Rudolph.
No, we deserved that… Let it go. We’re lucky she didn’t tear us in half,’ said Warren, holding his cheek.
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