Chanda's Secrets by Allan Stratton

Author:Allan Stratton
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: JUV030010
Publisher: Annick Press Ltd
Published: 2004-09-10T04:00:00+00:00

20

I PEDAL HARD TO THE LIBERTY. Esther a whore? It’s a lie. An evil lie. She only lets tourists take her picture. Or maybe pictures count as whoring to the holy hypocrites at Bethel Gospel Hall.

All the same ... why did Esther lie about going home? What’s the real reason she made me promise not to visit her place?

I think about the Polaroids. I think about the men who take them. Who give her name to their friends. Who write her on the Internet. Esther laughed when I got upset about it. But I’m right. Tourists can take pictures of anyone. They don’t need to send e-mails for that.

I think about the rumors. What Mrs. Tafa’s said. And Mama. And the boys at school. The girls too. I’ve always taken Esther’s side. But what if they’re right? What if I’m a fool? No, stop it, stop it. If I think like that, what kind of a friend am I?

I wheel around the Liberty’s circular drive. No Esther. What a relief. Or maybe not.

I head to the side streets. At night they’re alive with whores in short skirts and bright plastic knee-highs who hop into cars at stop signs. By day they’re quiet. Clients are shy of the light, so the action moves into the Sir Cecil Rhodes Commemorative Garden. That’s what the guidebooks call it. We just call it hooker park.

It’s five blocks long, three wide. There’s rapes and murders, but it’s okay in the afternoon if you stick to the main sidewalk. Hookers hang out on the benches soaking up sun or catching some sleep. If a guy’s interested, they go into the bushes. Or if he’s a trucker he’ll take them to his van. That’s what they say at school, anyway.

The park’s surrounded by a stone wall. I go in by the iron gate on the south side and ride around the main route—it’s a large figure eight—taking a quick peek up the side trails. At the north end, there’s a gully and the sidewalk turns into a footbridge. I hear noises underneath, but I’m smart enough not to stop. The third time I bike around, a man is scrambling up the embankment in a hurry. Below, a woman is wiping the inside of her legs with a rag.

I start to relax. Three times around and no sign of Esther. I say a prayer of thanks. What was I thinking? I feel so guilty. I heard a nasty lie and all of a sudden I turned into Mrs. Tafa.

I decide to go to the Red Fishtail Mall. I’ll drive in front of Mr. Mpho’s Electronics, then check the Internet cafe.

That’s my plan at least, but I don’t get very far. As I leave the park, a limo with tinted windows stops at the side of the road ahead of me. Someone’s getting out of the back seat. Someone very familiar.

“Esther!”

“Chanda!”

The limo takes off. Esther stands in front of me holding a plastic grocery bag. Inside the bag, I see her regular clothes.

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