Blind Date at a Funeral Read Free Page A

mine. All were filled with men of varying ages, except for the bed belonging to the dancer.
    â€˜Wow. Where did you learn to waltz like that, Piet?’ asked a man in the bed opposite me.
    â€˜I was mos a champion,’ said Piet, proudly. ‘Me and my wife used to dance sokkie all the time. But now with my krom leg …’
    Piet suddenly looked up, quickly hobbled over to his bed and climbed under the covers.
    All the other men in the room quickly busied themselves and pretended to be occupied with something or another.
    â€˜Piet!’ said a stern voice from the doorway.
    â€˜Ja, matron,’ he replied, sheepishly.
    â€˜Stay in your bed.’
    â€˜Ja, matron,’ he replied, again.
    The men in the room giggled behind their hands like little schoolgirls.
    A rotund guy in the bed next to me, with a big stomach and an even bigger moustache, noticed that I was awake.
    â€˜You made it,’ he said. ‘I’m Taki. I’m a fat Greek.’ He guffawed at his own joke.
    All the other guys laughed too.
    â€˜Howzit,’ I croaked.
    As I spoke I realised how parched my throat was. I only found out later that you have a pipe shoved down your trachea when you have general surgery.
    I reached over and took a sip from the plastic cup of water that was on my bedside table. It burned all the way down.
    â€˜I’m sorry you landed up in this ward,’ said Taki, with a hearty belly laugh. ‘It’s a bloody zoo.’
    And it was a zoo. It was like
One Flew Over the Cuckoo’s Nest
. Even though some of them were recovering from surgery and some were in there for other ailments and treatment, these guys were out of control.
    In those days, people were only allowed to visit for a couple of hours in the afternoon and in the evenings. Television was very young and there were no sets in the ward, so it was a matter of self-entertainment fuelled by the smuggled brandy that Piet’s son brought in.
    Taki owned a steakhouse, and during visiting hours, his family arrived with bags and bags of burgers and chips and his special monkey-gland sauce.
    Piet was a farmer from the Koppies area in the Free State.
    The other guys were from the ou Transvaal.
    I made pretty good progress during the afternoon and although I felt a deep ache in my leg, the medication worked! It actually made me feel quite euphoric.
    Everyone was so well behaved during visiting hours.
    Later that evening, the matron did her rounds and dimmed the lights. She paused at the door and glared at Piet, who gave her a sheepish little wave. A few minutes later, the giggling started, the booze came out and the fun began.
    It started with Taki passing around sips of brandy in little plastic pill dispensers. I had one gulp, forgetting how raw my throat was. My grimace garnered a loud chuckle from the men. I was a youngster and not a seasoned drinker yet, so one taste, on top of the pain medication, was all I needed.
    I sat with a perpetual grin on my face, watching Taki tell jokes and listening to the other guys share army stories and tales of female conquests, lust and other lunacy.
    Apparently the nurses were in on the soiree and popped in every now and then, with their fingers pressed to their lips, to shush the guys when they got too loud.
    After the stories, we ate the smuggled-in crisps and colddrinks. Then Piet turned on his little red transistor radio, limped out to the middle of the floor and started dancing with the broom like he had done when I first saw him that morning.
    One two three.
    One two three.
    With eyes closed, he moved along the floor very gracefully. He dipped the broom this way and that as he turned and waltzed across the linoleum in his socks. He had a very sweet and innocent look on his face as he nuzzled the handle of the broom like it was a pretty girl with soft, flushed cheeks.
    In the low light from the bedside lamps, Piet seemed to glide across the floor.
    One two three.
    One two three.
    I noticed a