Here comes the Ding-Dong. The Ding-Dong’s also a Kombi, like the Members’ one. It sells soft-serve, with a stretched tape that plays false notes, the same little song over and over again, up and down the streets of Triomf.
There it goes faster now, around the bottom corner. When it goes faster, the tune plays higher notes. Treppie has different words for that tune, depending on what kind of mood he’s in.
Most of the time his words go like this:
Oh the sun it rises up,
and it sinks again into its pit
and then the bloody lot of us
sink deeper in the shit
Oh the sun comes up and sinks again
into its goddamn pit
and then the bloody lot of us
dissolve like ice cream in the dirt.
Sometimes it goes like this:
Oh the dogs they’re sitting in a ring
it’s ’cause they know here comes a thing
oh the dogs they’re crying in a ring
it’s cause bad news to them you bring.
There’s no end to Treppie. Once he gets going, you can’t get a word in sideways. Only he can stop himself — when he’s had enough or when he runs out of rhymes.
Here comes Toby now, running from behind the house.
‘Whoof! Whoof!’ he says. Old yellow thing with a curly tail.
‘Whoof!’ Mol replies. ‘You also want to go for a ride, hey, Toby?’
Toby and Gerty run in circles on the grass. Then Toby lifts his leg and pees against the fence.
When Toby comes charging out like this, Mol knows it’s actually Pop who’s looking for her. She stands quietly at the wire fence with a little smile on her face. She knows exactly what’s going to happen next.
‘Oh, so here’s the missus, hey. We were just wondering where’s the missus now, and meanwhile she’s out here all the time,’ Pop calls out from behind her.
He puts his hand on her shoulder.
‘So what’s the missus doing out here, hey? What’s so interesting here in Martha Street today?’
Toby’s jumping up against them. Gerty sits at Mol’s feet, shivering.
When people tune in their voices to the dogs like this, the dogs know they’re part of the company. That’s a nice thing for a dog to know. And it’s nice for people too.
‘So, Gerty,’ Pop says, ‘tell me why the missus is spending so much time here in the yard today. Tell the old man.’
‘Gerty’s wondering if she’s going to get a soft-serve today.’
Pop smiles like he knows something they don’t. He feels in his back pocket.
‘The Kombi went round this way,’ she says, pointing to where it’s busy turning at the bottom of Martha Street.
Pop turns and walks to the Volksie parked under the little side roof next to the front door. Lambert calls it the carport.
‘Get in!’ Pop says, opening the driver’s door for the dogs.
Mol signals with her eyes to the lounge: what about them?
Ag, let’s not worry about them, Pop signals back.
‘We’re taking a chance, hey — it could mean trouble,’ Mol says softly.
But Pop shakes his head. She mustn’t worry. He gets into the car.
Pop starts the car. Mol opens the gate.
Toby jumps into the dicky at the back. ‘Swish-swish-swish’ goes his tail as he wags it against the seat. Then he jumps out of the dicky again, on to the back seat, and then back into the dicky. In and out, in and out.
‘Sit still, Toby, you’re going to piss in your pants if you carry on like this!’ Pop says gruffly. Toby quietens down. Gerty sits on Mol’s seat in front, shivering and pawing.
Pop swings out and waits for Mol to close the gate. He wants to drive down Martha and then turn up into Gerty so he can catch up with the Ding-Dong.
Mol gets in and shouts: ‘Go!’
But it’s too late.
‘Hey! Where d’you think you’re going? Hey, wait!’
It’s Lambert. He’s standing on the little stoep in front, in his green T-shirt, which is stretched over his fat belly, and his black boxer shorts, which keep falling down his backside. He’s up to his elbows in dirt from digging his hole.
‘What did I tell you,’ Mol says to Pop.
Pop turns down his window. ‘Bring me a litre Coke and twenty Paul Revere,’ Lambert shouts.
‘Okay,’ shouts Pop.
‘Okay,’ shouts Mol.
‘Whoof!’ barks Toby through the window, right next to Pop’s head. Gerty jumps up and down on Mol’s lap to see what’s going on.
Here comes Treppie too. He marches across the lawn towards the little front gate. His back is stiff and there’s a spring in his step. A stiff spring. When Treppie walks like this you know there’s shit to play.
Mol rubs Gerty’s back.
‘There goes our soft-serve,’ she says.
‘What was that, hey, Mol? Hey? Hey?’ Treppie’s past the gate now. He shoves his head through Pop’s window.
‘I was just talking to the dog,’ she says.
‘So why you sneak out like this without even asking a person if he wants anything, hey?’
‘What is it you want, Treppie?’ says Pop.
‘I said, why you sneaking out like you’re on a secret mission or something, hey?’
‘Kaboof!’ Treppie thumps his fist on the Volksie’s roof. ‘Whoof!’ says Toby.
‘Ee-ee-ee,’ says Gerty.
‘Just going for a little ride,’ says Pop.
Pop lets go of the wheel and takes his cigarettes out of the top pocket of his khaki shirt. He lights up. The Volksie goes ‘zicka-zicka-zicka-zicka’ as they all wait there in the hot sun.
Toby licks Pop’s ear. Pop reaches back and scratches Toby’s head. ‘Just going for a little ride, not so, my old doggies,’ he says, looking straight ahead. ‘Just a little afternoon ride, hey, just for a few blocks.’
Treppie straightens up next to the car. He lights up. He’s taking his time.
The sound of the Ding-Dong gets fainter and fainter down the streets of Triomf.
Mol looks straight ahead.
This could go on forever. Nothing to be done.
Just wait and see, that’s all.
She looks at the big old tree at the bottom of Martha Street. It’s the only shady tree in the whole of Martha Street, indeed in the whole of Triomf. Pop says it’s an oak tree.
He says he thinks that tree’s easily three hundred years old. Much older than him. He says it’s very interesting that they left it alone when they bulldozed Sophiatown. Oaks are special trees. They’re supposed to live for hundreds of years. Pop says it must have taken a special kind of person to plant that tree, someone with a feeling for the future generations. And it must’ve been a special kind of resettlement officer, Pop says, who told his men to leave that tree alone — someone with a feeling for trees.
‘Switch off,’ says Treppie. ‘I’m standing here in the fumes. Sis!’ He waves his hand in front of his nose. Pop switches off.
‘So, Gerty, what you think Treppie wants, hey? Hey, Gerty, what does he want us to get him from the café?’ she asks.
Treppie sticks his head through Pop’s window again.
‘Peppermints,’ he says. ‘Wilsons Extra Strongs. Two packets.’ He holds up two fingers.
‘Right!’ says Pop. ‘Two.’ He starts the car.
Pop reverses Molletjie’s tail slowly out into the street while Treppie walks alongside. When Pop pulls away, Treppie slams the roof — ‘kaboof!’ — one more time.
‘Whoof! Whoof! Gharrr!’ Toby snarls at Treppie.