gave her daily reports on his sales of the little packages, until the Greek cafi owners got sick of finding their machines stuffed with white discs and learned to chase him away and to sniff their clientele for the telltale odour of peppermint dust.
No matter, she had a backup scheme all ready. She had heard how the Slavin boy had learned to make free telephone calls at a tickey box. Isaac bribed Slavin with a toffee apple and found out how to outwit the operator in any public telephone booth just by scratching a copper wire to emulate the sound of dropping coins. As per Mameâs suggestion he started selling trunk calls around the neighbourhood, but in two weeks flat everyone knew the method and no one would pay. Then the phone company wised up and the trick wouldnât turn at all.
Her next idea was a trade in counterfeit tram tickets but before that goody could get off the ground, Abel found out what had been going on and gave them both lectures. Ma told Abel he wasnât opening his eyes: the whole world was sliding down and down with the Depression, the few customers they had werenât paying, she was having to feed the family mielie pap and thin gravy almost every night (in case you havenât noticed) which is no good for growing children and their bones, specially, and look at all the boarded-up shops on Beit Street, look at the
White
beggars now . . . This didnât seem to matter to Abel who started waiting for Isaac after school and still does, making him sit down in the kitchen with his books, counselling patience and calm attention to his homework, before limping back to the workshop and hours of tranquil absorption in his own labours. But Gitelle lets him slip out the back door when she can. His bar mitzvah present was a second-hand Raleigh bicycle with wonky wheels, which heâs now too big for (what he wouldnât do for a car!) but still uses to pay visits to people who owe them money. He stands there looking sad and hungry and accusing till they give him something, or if they donât he might come back later and put a stone through a window. He shares Mameâs view of people who donât pay their debts. Parasites. No-goodniks.
When he canât get out and is forced to sit in the kitchen or the classroom his mind goes out for him. For hour after hour all heâll do is fantasize about automobiles: all the models and all the makes that he doesnât own and has never driven in. A red and black â31 Pierce-Arrow; a new Chevy Roadster, all cream with the neat hood of the leather top down; a big â33 Hupmobile, jet-black with whitewall tires and that long vertical grilleâjust a beautiful brute of a machine. Or the opposite, a sporty lightweight GM or a racing Talbot tourer, the new â34 Talbot built for pure speed with the engine cooped in that narrow front like the fuselage of an aeroplane. Eventually these automotive cravings lead him to try start up a weekend car polishing business but such manual work doesnât pay well in a market saturated with cheap Black labour. He hangs around some garages in Braamfontein instead, where he fetches tea and they teach himâsavage thrill!âhow to drive, then even allow himâcan you believe?âto park some of the cars.
But when Gitelle finds out heâs doing this for no pay she makes him quit. Heâs being a Stupid. She has a better idea. In this summer heat, specially now that the convertibles have their tops down, how about offering the people exactly what they want? Be close to cars that way. She provides the start-up capital and he invests it all in colâdrinks. Bottles of cola and cream soda and fizzy granadilla, Bashewâs ginger beer and raspberry. He packs them in tin buckets with chipped ice from the iceman and waits for rushhour traffic to dam up when the robots turn from green to red at the bottom of Harrow Road, wearing a bottle cap opener on a string around his neck.
No matter, she had a backup scheme all ready. She had heard how the Slavin boy had learned to make free telephone calls at a tickey box. Isaac bribed Slavin with a toffee apple and found out how to outwit the operator in any public telephone booth just by scratching a copper wire to emulate the sound of dropping coins. As per Mameâs suggestion he started selling trunk calls around the neighbourhood, but in two weeks flat everyone knew the method and no one would pay. Then the phone company wised up and the trick wouldnât turn at all.
Her next idea was a trade in counterfeit tram tickets but before that goody could get off the ground, Abel found out what had been going on and gave them both lectures. Ma told Abel he wasnât opening his eyes: the whole world was sliding down and down with the Depression, the few customers they had werenât paying, she was having to feed the family mielie pap and thin gravy almost every night (in case you havenât noticed) which is no good for growing children and their bones, specially, and look at all the boarded-up shops on Beit Street, look at the
White
beggars now . . . This didnât seem to matter to Abel who started waiting for Isaac after school and still does, making him sit down in the kitchen with his books, counselling patience and calm attention to his homework, before limping back to the workshop and hours of tranquil absorption in his own labours. But Gitelle lets him slip out the back door when she can. His bar mitzvah present was a second-hand Raleigh bicycle with wonky wheels, which heâs now too big for (what he wouldnât do for a car!) but still uses to pay visits to people who owe them money. He stands there looking sad and hungry and accusing till they give him something, or if they donât he might come back later and put a stone through a window. He shares Mameâs view of people who donât pay their debts. Parasites. No-goodniks.
When he canât get out and is forced to sit in the kitchen or the classroom his mind goes out for him. For hour after hour all heâll do is fantasize about automobiles: all the models and all the makes that he doesnât own and has never driven in. A red and black â31 Pierce-Arrow; a new Chevy Roadster, all cream with the neat hood of the leather top down; a big â33 Hupmobile, jet-black with whitewall tires and that long vertical grilleâjust a beautiful brute of a machine. Or the opposite, a sporty lightweight GM or a racing Talbot tourer, the new â34 Talbot built for pure speed with the engine cooped in that narrow front like the fuselage of an aeroplane. Eventually these automotive cravings lead him to try start up a weekend car polishing business but such manual work doesnât pay well in a market saturated with cheap Black labour. He hangs around some garages in Braamfontein instead, where he fetches tea and they teach himâsavage thrill!âhow to drive, then even allow himâcan you believe?âto park some of the cars.
But when Gitelle finds out heâs doing this for no pay she makes him quit. Heâs being a Stupid. She has a better idea. In this summer heat, specially now that the convertibles have their tops down, how about offering the people exactly what they want? Be close to cars that way. She provides the start-up capital and he invests it all in colâdrinks. Bottles of cola and cream soda and fizzy granadilla, Bashewâs ginger beer and raspberry. He packs them in tin buckets with chipped ice from the iceman and waits for rushhour traffic to dam up when the robots turn from green to red at the bottom of Harrow Road, wearing a bottle cap opener on a string around his neck.
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