Short Story: A Happy Christmas

Short Story: A Happy Christmas

A HAPPY CHRISTMAS

The Christmas lights that decorated Cape Town’s main street twinkled like colourful neon stars. It looked magical. And in the dark of night when you stand at the very top of the street, up by the government Gardens and stared down towards Table Bay, it looked like fairyland.

‘Jissie, its pretty,’ whispered Jan Appel.

Tinkie, his companion for many years, agreed. He glanced across at her. Once she’d been beautiful. Even though her eyes were yellowed these days, they still reminded him of warm, dark chocolate.

He hadn’t had anything to offer her, no job, no home, but Tinkie hadn’t minded. She said she would follow him anywhere and that she loved him, then she’d chuckled and said, ‘An’ your lekker voice, Jan.’

Tugging on his arm, she said, ‘I’m hungry – let’s go … you can sing for the touris’.’

Jan nodded, ‘Ja, jis’ like always. An’ this time, I gotta feeling we gonna make lotsa money, then we can buy me a little dop,’ he clutched at his stomach – he needed a drink desperately and then he added, ‘an’ a nice red dress for you …’

This Christmas he wanted his sweetheart to have a new dress when they ate lunch at the soup kitchen by Saint Mary’s Cathedral. Even if he had to steal it, she’d get one.

He licked his dry lips. His tongue felt swollen and dry. Although the night was warm, Jan shivered as though it were winter.

Taking Tinkie’s hand he headed towards Long Street. He knew the clubs and bars would be overflowing with young people, clean, fresh-smelling young people.

Maybe if he sang really well, someone would give him a bottle of beer, anything; he didn’t care as long as it fed the angry beast.

He hummed as he strummed his old guitar. Both the guitar and his voice were out of tune. Still he tried. He had to get his hands on a dop, the drink would help him though until the morning and then he’d make another plan.

‘Daar kommie Alabama, die Alabama, Hy kom oor die see …’

He sang the old traditional Cape Malay song, the song of his forefathers, but no one seemed to care.

A young couple sniggered from their table at the sight of the old man in his filthy clothes and broken guitar.

‘Why don’t they put these people in a shelter? They’re such an embarrassment!’ scoffed the man.

After the couple left their table, Tinkie noticed something lying beneath the chair. Leaning down she picked it up. Her eyes widened – the wallet was stuffed with money, more money than she’d ever seen.

‘Jan, we got a lekker Chrismis present here, hey? Enough for your dop an’ a nice dress for me!’

For a moment she thought about handing the wallet in, but decided not to. As they headed for their little home under the bridge down by the harbour, Jan’s thoughts on his medicine and Tinkie’s on the red dress she was going to buy at the flea market near the fancy new soccer stadium. Ja, it was going to be a Happy Christmas indeed.

THE END