The Shoes
A successful food expedition could be something as simple as retrieving a half-eaten apple from a garbage bin, but this expedition had been more than successful. A paper bag someone had left lying on the grass in a park after lunch had revealed a full ham sandwich and a more-yellow-than-black banana. Sipho and Bongani divided the spoils, and now, almost replete, were walking once more along the pavement. This was La Rochelle, a neighbourhood of tired houses on small plots, patches of brown lawn, the occasional dog sleeping on a driveway. The pavement was hot with the late afternoon sun. Cicadas rattled in the trees above them.
“Bongani, here is my new house,” said Sipho, gesturing across a low wall to a small nondescript home. “You like it?”
“Ah, it is a good house, but see here? This is my new house. What do you say?” said Bongani. He pointed across the road to another house, similarly run-down and decrepit. “And see there? I have a dog. And look, a bicycle too!”
“Yes, that looks like a fine home you have. Let us cross over and take a closer look, shall we? Maybe that bicycle would make a good ride today.”
The boys crossed the road and stood before the low fence looking into the yard. The dog lay sleeping in the shade of a Jacaranda tree.
“Look there,” said Sipho. “Alongside the bicycle. Do you see that? New shoes!” He gestured to where the bicycle lay on the front lawn. Alongside lay a pair of new Nike track-shoes, just his size, and ready for the taking. “I need those shoes, Bongani. I will get them! Watch the dog!”
He quickly vaulted the fence, and in six strides he reached the shoes, swept them up and turned. By now the dog was awake and tearing across the yard. Sipho cleared the fence just as the dog reached it, barking furiously through the wire. In a moment they were away down the road, running as fast as their legs could carry them, Sipho clutching his hard-won prize, both of them laughing happily at their success.
They slowed as they reached the main road, waiting to allow the traffic to pass before crossing quickly and sliding down into the dry rainwater ditch on the other side. Panting, Sipho sat in the ditch and put the shoes on. The inside of them was smooth and clean and slightly cool against his skin. He had forgotten what shoes felt like. His feet had been bare for so long that they had developed calluses on the soles. He flexed his toes inside them. The laces were still tied in the bow the previous owner had tied them in, and he had to work the knot loose and then retie them in his own way, the way his father had taught him to tie laces when he was five years old.
“Look, a perfect fit. These shoes were made just for my feet!” said Sipho. “Allow me to show you how well they fit, these new shoes.” He stood up and paraded before his friend. They both laughed.
“Yes, you, Sipho,” said Bongani. “You are now a thief too. I hope those shoes can make you run fast, their owner will be sure to follow you. With his dog, that dog that nearly got you.”
“Ha! That dog was an old man! He would have to run very fast to catch me now. I have new shoes!”
Bongani watched him parade in the ditch and laughed, and the laugh was his old laugh, the one from the first weeks, from the man in the flower bed, from before the glue. Sipho heard it and stopped for a moment. Then he turned a slow circle in the dry sand, arms out, the new shoes catching the afternoon light, and Bongani laughed harder, and Sipho laughed too, and for a little while the two of them laughing together were the only thing in the world.
“Come,” said Sipho, “It is late. Let’s get away from here and find some food. I am hungry, shopping for new shoes is hard business.”
Was it true that he felt stronger, able to walk further, now that the new shoes were on? He sprung up on his toes a few times, feeling the comfort of the sole against his foot, and then started walking away, the bare feet of his friend slapping the ground beside him.
