The Pickup Read Free Page A

weekend.—
    The car was not to her liking—too big, difficult to park— and perhaps it was not meant to be. He had a contact who was on the lookout, he would bring another the next weekend. If that was all right.
    First she said she didn’t know if she’d be free; and then she did it, she told him her telephone number. No paper to note it on. The celebration with the friends was still warm upon her, she laughed. Put it on your wrist. And then was embarrassed at her flippancy because he took a ballpoint out of his pocket, turned his wrist face-up, and was writing the number across the delicate skin and the blue veins revealed of himself, there.
    He called, brief and formal over the telephone, addressing her as ‘Miss’ with her surname, and the arrangement was for an earlier date, after working hours. That car, again, was not quite right for her. They drove a short way out of town to confirm this. It was as if freed of the city it was not only the road open to them; with her face turned to that road ahead she was able to ask what the friends had touched on—
needs must.
How does a graduate in economics become a motor mechanic? Wasn’t that quite a long training, apprenticeship and so on? And as he began to speak, she interrupted: Look, I’m Julie, don’t call me anything else.
    Julie. Well, Julie. His voice was low although they were alone, on the road, no-one to overhear. He was hesitant, after all, did he really know this girl, her gossiping friends, theloud careless forum of the EL-AY Café; but the desire to confide in her overcame him. He was no qualified mechanic. Luckily for him he had tinkered with cars since he was a small boy, his uncle—mother’s brother—fixed people’s cars and trucks in his backyard … he learnt from him instead of playing with other boys … The garage employs him illegally—’black’, yes that’s the word they use. It’s cheap for the owner; he doesn’t pay accident insurance, pension, medical aid. And now the seldom-granted smile, and this time it rises to the intense, solemn eyes as she turns her glance a moment to him. All the principles of workers’ rights I was taught in my studies.
    What an awful man, exploiter.
    What would I do without him. He risks, I must pay for that. That’s how it works, for us.
    The next car was the right one—size, fuel consumption, price—and perhaps it had always been available, kept in reserve for the right time to be revealed. She was pleased with the car and also had the satisfaction (although she could not say this to him) he surely would get some sort of kick-back from whoever the owner was—unqualified, working ‘black’ he couldn’t be earning much.
    We must celebrate. Good you convinced me it was time to get rid of the old rattle-trap. Really. I’m just lazy about these things. But you don’t drink wine …
    Oh sometimes.
    Fine! Then we’ll christen my new car.
    But not at the café.
    He had spoken: with this, a change in their positions was swiftly taken, these were smoothly and firmly reversed, like a shift of gears synchronized under her foot; he was in charge of the acquaintanceship.
    At my place then.
    In quiet authority, he had no need to enthuse accord.
    Even though it passed muster with the whites among the friends that her ‘place’ was sufficiently removed from The Suburbs’ ostentation to meet their standards of leaving home behind, and was accepted by the blacks among them as the kind of place they themselves moved to from the old segregation, her outhouse renovated as a cottage was comfortable enough, its under-furnishings nevertheless giving away a certain ease inherent in, conditioned by, luxuries taken for granted as necessities: there was a bathroom that dwarfed the living-cum-bedroom by comparison, and the cramped kitchen was equipped with freezer and gadgets. It was untidy; the