‘Hey Mo! I got a table. Carried it all the way here.’
‘Where’d you get it?’
‘Other side of the city. Riots going on.’
‘You looted it?’
‘I had to fight another woman off. Like an octopus, all tentacles. She had a chair. She wasn’t getting the table.’
Mo studied the pine table. ‘Anybody else see you?’
‘Everybody was taking things.’
‘The police…?’
‘… were nowhere.’
‘You did good, Saf. The house’s pretty bare.’
The next day she returned with two chairs. Mo signalled approval. The day after Saf brought a vacuum cleaner.
‘Don’t we have a vacuum cleaner?’
‘When did you last clean up? It’s broke.’
The following day Saf returned with a tv, the day after a radio.
‘House is filling up,’ Mo murmured.
‘You want me to stop?’
‘Jus don’t get caught. We get deported back where we came from, we’re toast.’
The next day she brought home tinned food. The next, bed linen; then, a drinks cabinet. The next, a truck pulled up outside the apartment. She got out and directed two men. They brought in a refrigerator, wardrobe, bookcase, two more chairs, some vases, and enough crockery for six people.
‘Where we gonna put all this stuff!’
‘We’ve got room.’
‘There’s a fridge in the kitchen already.’
‘Put it in front of the first one.’
‘Then we can’t open the first one?’
‘It’s back-up.’
A man from the truck said, ‘Where do you want this?’
‘Put it in front of the old one,’ Saf said.
‘Two stoves! This is insane!’
‘Your mother was right about you. Women have spent their lives spoiling you.’
‘Stop it. Now!’
The next morning Mo went to the chicken packing factory. When he returned the house was bare. Both stoves and fridges were gone. Thank God! Then he got his brain into gear. Their belongings had disappeared. The bed: where was it? Where would he sleep tonight? No plates, cutlery, clothes. Had she got rid of everything? No passport even. He had nothing to identify himself by.
He sat on the floor, tired, hungry. He must have fallen asleep. When he woke, it was dark. The clock on the wall was missing. Where was Saf? He fell asleep again. The light woke him. He was hungry. No food, no Saf. He ought to be getting off to the factory. A bell rang. The two truckmen carried in a heavy box, then left. He had no scissors, so he cut the tape with his teeth. He pulled out a bulky object in a black bag, ripping its plastic with his nails.
‘Saf!’
His wife lay on the floor before him in a foetal position. Her hands were tied behind her back. Her mouth was gagged, she was limp. Did she have a pulse?
‘I told you they don’t like foreigners here, Saf. Trash, that’s all we are.’
He lay down beside her in the same foetal position.
‘This country destroys your soul.’
He began to sleep.
