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The Coffee-Cart Girl 3
the cheapjack, went off into rhapsodies again on Pinkie's
looks when China put the things on her himself, pinning the
bodkin on her beret. He bought himself a knife, dangling
from a fashionable chain. They went back to the coffee-cart.
From this day onwards, Naidoo became a frequent customer
at pinkie's coffee-cart. He often praised her cakes and
coffee. Twice at lunch-time China found him relating some
anecdotes which sent Pinkie off into peals of laughter.
'Where you work, my prend?' asked Naidoo one day. He was
one of the many Indians who will say 'pore-pipty' for 'four
fifty', 'pier fours' for 'five forms', 'werry wital' for
'very vital'.
'Shoe factory, Main Street.'
'Good pay?'
'Where do you find such a thing in this city?'
'Quite right, my prend. Look at me: I was wanted to be a
grocer, and now I'm a cheapjack.'
'I'm hungry today, Pinkie,' China said one day. He was
clearly elated over something.
'It's so beautiful to see you happy, China, what's the
news?'
'Nothing. Hasn't a man the right to be jolly sometimes?'
'Of course. Just wondered if anything special happened.'
He looked at her almost transparent pink fingers as she
washed the coffee things.
'Hey, you've a lovely ring on your finger, where's the
mine?'
Pinkie laughed as she looked at the glass-studded ring,
fingered it and wipe it.
'From Naidoo.'
'What?'
'It's nothing, China. Naidoo didn't have any money for
food, so he offered me this for three days' coffee and
cakes.' She spoke as if she didn't believe her own self. She
sensed a gathering storm.
'You lie!'
'Honestly China, now what would I be lying for?'
So! he thought, she couldn't even lie to keep their
friendship: how distant she sounded. His fury mounted.
'Yes,' you lie! Now listen Pinkie, you're in love with
that cheapjack. Every time I found him here he's been damn
happy with you, grinning and making eyes at you. Yes, I've
watched him every moment.'
He approached the step leading into the cart.
'Do you see me? I've loved you since I first saw you, the
day of the strike.' He was going to say more, but something
rose inside him and choked him. He couldn't utter a word
more. He walked slowly; a knife drawn out, with a menacing
blade, pointed towards her throat. Pinkie retreated deeper
into her, cart, too frightened to plead her case.
At that very moment she realised fully the ghastliness of
a man's jealousy, which gleamed and glanced on the blade and
seemed to have raised a film which steadied the slit eyes.
Against the back wall she managed to speak.
'All right, China, maybe you've done this many times
before. Go ahead and kill me; I won't cry for help, do what
you like with me.'
She panted like a timid little mouse cornered by a cat.
He couldn't finish the job he had set out to do. Why? He had
sent two men packing with a knife before. They had tried to
fight, but this creature wasn't resisting at all. Why, why,
why? He felt the heat pounding in his temples; the knife
dropped, and he sank on to a stool and rested his head on
the wall, his hands trembling.
After a moment he stood up, looking away from Pinkie.
'I'm sorry, Pinkie, I pray you never in your life to think
about this day.'
She looked at him, mystified.
'Say you forgive me.' She nodded twice.
Then she packed up for the day, much earlier than usual.
The following day China did not visit Pinkie; nor the
next. He could not decide to go there. Things were all in a
barbed wire tangle in his mind. But see her he must, he
thought. He would just go and hug her; say nothing but just
press her to himself because he felt too mean even to tell
her not to be afraid of him any more.
The third day the law came. It stepped up the street in
goose-march fashion. The steel on its heels clanged on the
pavement with an ominous echo. It gave commands and
everything came to an end at once. Black man's coffee-cart
was not to operate any more in the city. '... Makes the city
look ugly,' the city fathers said.
For several days China, unaware of what had happened, called
on Pinkie, but always found the coffee-carts empty and
deserted. At last he learned everything from Naidoo, the
cheapjack.
He stepped into her coffee-cart and sat on the stool.
He looked into the cheerless pall of smoke. Outside life
went on as if there had never been a Pinkie who sold coffee
and pancakes.
Dare he hope that she would come back, just to meet him?
Or was it going to turn out to have been a dream? He
wondered.
We'll meet in town, some day, China thought. I'll tell
her all about myself, all about my wicked past; she'll get
used to me, not be afraid of me any more ...
And still he sat in the coffee-cart which was once
Pinkie's all through the lunch-hour ...
End |
