Authors: Fanie Viljoen
Mindf**k (6 page)
The bands were awesome. By the time the stars came out the party was already scorching hot. Seeing the stars seemed to be a first for the Gautengers, who turned their eyes up in amazement. The city lights had robbed them of the stars all of their lives.
Sweat dripped down our bodies and mixed with the layers of dust covering us. Dust crept in everywhere, our ears, our noses, under our skins. But that was okay. This kind of party only came once a year.
Barney Simon, who had done so much in promoting South African bands, was now the presenter. He tossed MindFuck T-shirts
into the crowd and said he’d join us in the mosh pit later on. As a new band set up their gear, somebody started juggling with fire. Mesmerizing ribbons of light illuminated the dark. I could almost imagine it being two fireflies caught in a synchronized dance. (Hell, I was getting lyrical – I must have been in love or something. Or perhaps I was just stoned.)
Even Sky Eyes now seemed more relaxed. I think he’d downed three or more beers earlier, and could now manage fits of laughter from time to time. Or it could just have been the heat.
When 16 Stitch appeared on stage, we began to understand where the word MindFuck came from. It was just another word for head bang. Mosh. Shatter your mind. Jump. Scream. Fuck around. Crash and burn, baby. MindFuck!
All three of us were in the mosh pit – me, Kerbs and Sky. Partygirl also joined us in the deranged mass. Unorganized chaos, like our minds. And somehow it made sense –
crashing into others. Falling down. Getting up and doing it again. It was self-expression without limits. It was a forgotten primeval ritual consuming our minds. Searching for pain that would make us feel human again. Self-sacrifice.
And nothing mattered.
It was just you and the music.
You and your dysfunctional self.
You and your loneliness amongst all of the people.
And the music blasted from the black speakers. We danced, our bodies heating up. Another beer, another spliff, and everything seemed lighter. You forgot everything, like you imagined others have forgotten about you.
The bands changed. Arno Carstens was up next. Partygirl went crazy. She told everybody around her that Arno was her favourite artist. The people didn’t seem to
give a fuck. You could see it in their eyes. In their distant eyes.
By then bottles and cans littered the ground, making it difficult not to sprain your ankles. Everybody was probably trying to scrub a standing-spot clean for themselves.
The music started up again. Slowly at first, then gaining momentum, faster and faster. Louder. The band members moved under the red lights. Smoke blew across the stage, turning them into ghosts from the land of rock. Arno grabbed the microphone.
Partygirl screamed out loud to the people around her: ‘He’s singing just for me!’
And through the haze whirling in my mind I thought back to the conversation we’d had earlier at the FMX show. She told me how poor they were. Of her dad’s heart attack and his death. The doctor’s bills that were piling up. How her mother forced her to leave school. She now worked at the Champion Supermarket in Winburg, sometimes putting away some money to
save for a CD without her mother knowing. It was this money she used to pay for the MindFuck ticket. And that morning, when her mother found out about it, she chased Partygirl out of the house. She couldn’t ever go back.
Yes, that night Arno was singing only to Partygirl, for she had nothing left but his songs.
As Partygirl stood there, motionless in the midst of the jumping masses, I could see that she was crying.
I took Partygirl back to the tent. She said she wanted to go back while Arno Carstens was still playing. Then it would be as if the music will always be there for her. As if the music would never stop. I don't think I really understood what she meant. My head was spinning and it sounded as if it could have made sense if only I was sober. So I let it go.
Holy shit, there were a lot of tents. Which one was ours? We should've marked it with a light or something. A flashing police light. Fokofpolisiekar â the word dawned on me. What was it? The answer surfaced through my cloudy mind: it was one of the bands
that still had to perform. Oh, yes. I wanted to laugh.
âThere's the tent,' Partygirl said. She clung to me as we stumbled ahead, falling over tent pegs and empty cans. We stepped in something. What the fuck was that? Did someone take a dump right here between the tents?
The stench followed us all the way to the tent.
âTake off your shoes and leave them outside the door,' I said to Partygirl.
âI think I'd better go and clean them in the water,' she said.
The water?
I thought about my dream. The black water.
âNo, take them off and leave them outside.'
âSomeone will steal them. I didn't bring another pair.' Her voice seemed tired, laden with a weariness that makes drunken people's voices linger.
She made her way down to the water. Barefoot. Fuck, I hoped there weren't any shards of glass in the mud. Or if there were, that would have been the blood that Sky saw. She waded into the water. I followed her. To clean my shoes as well.
âYou're going in too deep,' I said.
Her hips were already below the water's surface.
âPartygirl, get out, please. Come and stand here beside me.'
âThe water is fine.'
âGet out.'
âCome in.'
âFuck, Partygirl.' My voice was anxious.
My heart started beating faster. She went in even deeper.
I tossed my shoes back to the embankment. âGet out!'
Then I followed her. She kept on walking.
âI think I dropped my shoes,' she said. Her voice echoed clearly from the black water. It sounded weird in the dark.
I'm performing magic, Sky said from my dream. Mind magic. And you're my volunteer.
What did he mean? Mind magic.
âGet out, Partygirl!' The water touched her chin.
I dived forward. The water was icy cold.
âTina! Stop!' It was the first time that I had called her by her name.
And suddenly she stopped. She turned around. Her face was hidden in the dark. I could only see her forehead and a part of her nose.
âMy name is Partygirl.'
âTina, stop your shit.' As I approached, her face became more visible. My heart relaxed. âCome,' I said when I reached her.
âI lost my shoes,' she said.
âThat's okay, we'll find them. Tomorrow.'
âBut by then they'll have drifted away.'
âThis is not the sea. It's a dam.'
I didn't know how much sense that made. Are there currents in a dam?
We got out of the water, mud squeezing out from between our toes.
âLet's go find the towels.' Shivering
bodies in the dark. We unzipped the tent. Got in, zipped it back up again. It was warmer inside. She started removing her clothes. I scratched around in my bag for a towel.
âI only brought one.' I held it out to her.
She took it and started drying her body. Her breasts were white, stiff. She dried her long, black hair. I noticed her neck, how it curved off over her shoulders. She unbuttoned her jeans, pulled down the zip, slightly lifting her bum as she pealed the jeans from her legs. She wore white panties. Wet. In front there was a darkened spot.
I stared hypnotized. I could feel myself growing hard, pulled the wet T-shirt over my head and shifted closer to her. I touched her. She looked up. The towel fell in her lap. I caressed her face with the back of my fingers. Her skin was soft. She placed her hand on mine. Gently. She moved my hand down, over her breast, her belly, navel, into the front of her panties. She closed her eyes.
Fuck, I thought.
I felt her heat, wetness.
She unbuttoned my jeans, pulled them down slowly.
She lay down on the wrinkled sleeping bags, pulled me closer.
Without a condom.
She told me that she loved me.
My body pressed up against Partygirl’s. I heard her gasp softly every time I thrust my hips forward.
She wants to talk to me, I thought, but I only had one thing on my mind, and it wasn’t talking.
Partygirl was the first to look up. She shoved me off her. The tent’s zip opened up.
‘May I join the fun?’ It was Kerbs.
‘No, fuck off, Kerbs. Fuck off!’
‘What do you mean?’ He reeked of booze. It was too dark in the tent to see his face, but I imagined his pupils being as large as 1 Rand coins. ‘Come on, let me have a go at her.’
‘No! Fuck off!’
He was kneeling at the entrance of the tent, touching the front of his pants. His hard-on. ‘When you’re finished, then.’
‘No!’ Partygirl and I said simultaneously.
‘Fuck you, Burns! Then I’ll take her!’ he hissed through his grinding teeth.
He pushed me out of the way. I rolled over something sharp (a knife?) ‘Ouch, shit!’
I felt for blood and saw Kerbs trying to undo his fly, but having difficulty. Partygirl wanted to roll away. Kerbs pinned her down between his knees.
I got up, grabbed Kerbs by the throat, and tried to pull him from her. His dick was hard.
He tore my hands from his throat. Powerfully. Quick. I didn’t even see his fist flying; only felt it striking me on the chin, then my temple. The pain shot through my head like a crossbow arrow.
Partygirl screamed.
‘Shut up!’ shouted Kerbs.
Where’s my knife? I felt around between the wrinkled sleeping bags. Kerbs was on top of Partygirl again. His pants down round his knees. His hand over her mouth. Where’s the knife? I tossed the sleeping bags aside on a pile, felt around in the darkness. The fucking darkness. I heard Partygirl trying to scream from underneath Kerbs’ hand. I saw his crotch starting to push. Shit, no!
‘Kerbs!’ I yelled. ‘Fuck, Kerbs, stop it! You bastard!’
I found what I was looking for. Was it the pocket knife? Short blade … No, it was a bottle opener.
‘Kerbs!’
I heard him moaning. Voices from outside just passed by the tent.
I was behind Kerbs again, forcing the point of the metal spiral against his back. He knocked me off with his elbow. I shouldn’t have gotten so drunk. My arms felt weak. Kerbs was as strong as an ox. He kept on going. Partygirl was crying now.
‘Go find Sky,’ Kerbs moaned. ‘Tell him it’s almost his turn.’ I remained there, on my knees, my hands burying my face. I didn’t want to see, didn’t want to hear. ‘Go on, fuck, find Sky!’
Sky – the blood that he saw.
Yes, I had to get Sky. He would know what to do. But he had to come quick!
I hurried out of the tent.
Sky was already sitting outside. Waiting his turn?
No, not Sky. He wouldn’t have. He was fucked-up, but he wouldn’t. Would he?
‘Sky?’ He looked up. In the distance I heard the music. Lark, I thought, but it didn’t matter. Not now. ‘Come help, he’s raping her. He’s fucking raping Partygirl!’
‘It’s too late,’ Sky sighed. ‘You know that, Burns.’
‘No, come help me!’ I grabbed him by the arm, tried pulling him up.
‘I told you that bad shit is going to happen.’
‘Come on, Sky!’
‘Sit. Wait,’ said Sky. His voice was calm. Soft. He raised his head and looked up at the stars. As if he could read them. As if
tonight’s events were written in the stars.
‘Fuck, Sky …’ I was pasted, my body didn’t want to go any further. I felt my head rushing off in a thousand directions. I couldn’t think clearly anymore. It was the spliff and booze.
I fell down on the ground next to Sky.
And I wondered: would he go in when Kerbs had finished?
Kerbs emerged from the tent, crouching. My first thought was that he looked like a caveman. Big, hairy, strong. His prey devoured. I still couldn’t see his eyes even though we were outside. They were just two dark empty shadows in his head. His mouth hung slightly open, white teeth flashing. Like an animal.
He didn’t have a shirt on, only an unfastened pair of pants that he had trouble buttoning up.
And then I saw his hands.
The blood covering his fingers.
I didn’t even have to ask. I just knew. Partygirl was dead.