J. Coetzee - The Childhood of Jesus

‘But how could you have let him go off with a man like that?’ he protests.

She brushes the question away with a peremptory toss of the head. ‘A growing boy needs a man in his life. He can’t be with his mother all the time. And I thought he was a nice man. I thought he was sincere. David is fascinated by his earring. He wants an earring too.’

‘Did you say you would buy him one?’

‘I told him he can wear an earring when he is older, but not yet.’

‘I’ll leave you to your discussion,’ says Álvaro. ‘Call me if you need me.’

‘What about your own part in this?’ he asks, when they are alone. ‘How could you have entrusted your child to that man? Is there something you are not telling me? Is it possible you too find him fascinating, with his gold earrings and his naked ladies in pens?’

She pretends not to hear. ‘I waited and waited,’ she says. ‘Then I caught the bus because I thought they might have come back home. Then when they weren’t there I phoned my brother, and he said he would phone the police, but then he phoned back to say the police wouldn’t help because I am not. . because I don’t have the right papers for David.’

She pauses, staring fixedly into the distance. ‘He told me. .’ she says, ‘he told me he would give me a child. He didn’t tell me. . he didn’t tell me he would take my child away.’ Suddenly she is sobbing helplessly. ‘He didn’t tell me. . he didn’t tell me. .’

His anger does not fade, but his heart goes out to the woman nonetheless. Careless of the watching stevedores, he takes her in his arms. She sobs on his shoulder. ‘He didn’t tell me. .’

He told me he would give me a child. His head is whirling. ‘Come away,’ he says. ‘Let us go somewhere private.’ He leads her behind the shed. ‘Listen to me, Inés. David is safe, I am sure of that. Daga would not dare to do anything to him. Go back to the apartment and wait there. I will find out where he lives and pay him a call.’ He pauses. ‘What did he mean when he said he would give you a child?’

She pulls herself free. The sobs cease. ‘What do you suppose he meant?’ she says, a hard edge to her voice.

Half an hour later he is at the Relocation Centre. ‘I need some information urgently,’ he says to Ana. ‘Do you know a man named Daga? He is in his thirties, slim, wears an earring. Worked at the docks briefly.’

‘Why do you ask?’

‘Because I need to speak to him. He has taken David from his mother and disappeared. If you won’t help me I will have to go to the police.’

‘His name is Emilio Daga. Everyone knows him. He lives in the City Blocks. At least, that is where he is registered.’

‘Where exactly in the City Blocks?’

She retires to the bank of card drawers, comes back with an address on a scrap of paper. ‘Next time you are here,’ she says, ‘tell me how you tracked down his mother. I would like to know, if you have the time.’

The City Blocks are the most desirable of the complexes administered by the Centre. The address Ana has given leads him to an apartment on the top floor of the main block. He knocks. The door is opened by an attractive young woman, rather too heavily made up, teetering unsteadily on high heels. In fact not a woman at all — he doubts she is older than sixteen.

‘I am looking for someone named Emilio Daga,’ he says. ‘Does he live here?’

‘Sure,’ says the girl. ‘Come in. Have you come to fetch David?’

The interior smells of stale cigarette smoke. Daga, dressed in a cotton T-shirt and jeans, barefoot, sits facing a large window with a view of the city and the setting sun. He swivels in his chair, raises a hand in greeting.

‘I’ve come for David,’ he says.

‘He’s in the bedroom watching television,’ says Daga. ‘Are you the uncle? David! Your uncle is here!’

The boy rushes in from the adjoining room in great excitement. ‘Simón, come and see! It’s Mickey Mouse! He has a dog named Plato, and he is driving a train, and the Red Indians are shooting arrows at him. Come quickly!’

He ignores the boy, addresses Daga. ‘His mother has been frantic with worry. How could you do this?’

He has not been so close to Daga before. The bold head of hair, with its mass of golden curls, turns out to be coarse and greasy. The T-shirt has a hole at the armpit. To his surprise, he feels no fear of the man.

Daga does not rise. ‘Calm down, viejo ,’ he says. ‘We had a good time together. Then the youngster took a nap. He slept like a log, like an angel. Now he is watching the kids’ show. Where is the harm in that?’

He does not reply. ‘Come, David!’ he says. ‘We’re leaving. Say goodbye to señor Daga.’

‘No! I want to look at Mickey Mouse!’

‘You can look at Mickey next time,’ says Daga. ‘I promise. We will keep him here just for you.’

‘And Plato?’

‘And Plato. We can keep Plato too, can’t we, sweetie?’

‘Sure,’ says the girl. ‘We’ll keep them locked up in the mouse-box till next time.’

‘Come,’ he says to the child. ‘Your mother has been worrying herself sick.’

‘She’s not my mother.’

‘Of course she is your mother. She loves you very much.’

‘Who is she, young fellow, if she isn’t your mother?’ says Daga.

‘She is just a lady. I haven’t got a mother.’

‘You have got a mother. Inés is your mother,’ he, Simón, says. ‘Give me your hand.’

‘No! I haven’t got a mother and I haven’t got a father. I just am.’

‘That’s nonsense. Every one of us has a mother. Every one of us has a father.’

‘Have you got a mother?’ says the boy, addressing Daga.

‘No,’ says Daga. ‘I haven’t got a mother either.’

‘See!’ says the boy triumphantly. ‘I want to stay with you, I don’t want to go to Inés.’

‘Come here,’ says Daga. The boy trots over; he lifts him onto his knee. The boy nestles against his chest, his thumb in his mouth. ‘You want to stay with me?’ The boy nods. ‘You want to live with me and Frannie, just the three of us?’ The boy nods again. ‘That OK with you, sweetheart — that David comes and lives with us?’

‘Sure,’ says the girl.

‘He is not competent to choose,’ says he, Simón. ‘He is just a child.’

‘You are right. He is just a child. It is up to his parents to decide. But, as you heard, he hasn’t got parents. So what do we do?’

‘David has a mother who loves him as much as any mother in the world. As for me, I may not be his father but I care about him. Care about him and care for him and take care of him. He is coming with me.’

Daga hears this little speech in silence and then, to his surprise, gives him a smile, a rather attractive smile, showing off his excellent teeth. ‘That’s good,’ he says. ‘You take him back to his lady mother. Tell her he had a good time. Tell her he is always safe with me. You do feel safe with me, don’t you, young man?’

The boy nods, his thumb still in his mouth.

‘Right, then maybe it’s time to go off with your gentleman guardian.’ He lifts the boy from his lap. ‘Come again soon. Promise? Come and watch Mickey.’

‘Why do I have to speak Spanish all the time?’

‘We have to speak some language, my boy, unless we want to bark and howl like animals. And if we are going to speak some language, it is best we all speak the same one. Isn’t that reasonable?’

‘But why Spanish? I hate Spanish.’

‘You don’t hate Spanish. You speak very good Spanish. Your Spanish is better than mine. You are just being contrary. What language do you want to speak?’