The invite

A short story inspired in part by truth

The child's cries for help didn't go unnoticed. The terriers barked at the walls of our house, as if the walls themselves were at fault. Inbetween the yips and woofs I could make out the faint sound of a child in distress. My heart raced as I climbed the stairs to the master bedroom on the first floor, a vantage point. The shapes made more sense as I squinted through the tinted windows, 4 men were dragging a pair of goats into our neighbours yard. The goat was bleeting an alarmed and scared tone, a sinister, primal tone.

What should I do? What shouldn't I do. Here we were in civilised suburbia and our neighbours are taking in a pair of goats for butchering. It seemed so cruel, so basic. Then I thought to myself, who am I to label another culture's activities in such a way? They have as much a right to live here in Pleasantville as I do.

The witnessed story came up at dinner.

"You can take them out the bush" sneered my father-in-law. A bitter statement from someone who's expected to set the example. I recoiled inside, I wanted to right his wrongs in front of my impressionable younger brother.

Mom dodged the statement as always and instead offered her own. "They've invited us around for a Thanksgiving evening on Saturday". She looked over at me and asked: "Would you like to go with me, Shaun?"

I felt cornered. I'd like to think I have an open mind, but the thought of spending an evening with complete strangers frightened me, even if I stuck my head over the wall to say Hi every now and then. Not to disappoint a lady asking for a dance, I said yes. A date with my mom. Saturday. Dress Casual.

Saturday was upon us. I put on my favourite jeans and a comfortable shirt and headed upstairs. A quick survey revealed the goats were still leashed to the tree in the neighbours backyard. Hopeless goats. Mom emerged freshly powdered, she was ready to mingle.

We stepped outside. There were cars parked wherever pavement allowed, fancy Mercs, plenty of BMWs and even a car guard walked amongst them. I rang the bell, acting as mom's bodyguard. Jazz oozed out from behind the front-door, oozing that soon overflowed when the door swung open against the tide. A lady in her late 30s greeted us in English with a quizzical look on her face. I responded in Xhosa, she smiled. I felt the mask being lifted off my face.

Once inside, smells of earthy cooking and cigarette smoke came to. I felt like the clothes on my back were being scrutinised, that my walk was being studied. I felt naked. Mom was equally tense but smiling like a trooper. Our hostess introduced us around, names I could scarcily reproduce. I was never good with names. A drink in hand each, we started to relax. Mom was chatting to our neighbour while I shot-gunned the breeze with her equally aged son. He was a perpetual student. I was a work-a-holic. He was religious. I had given up hope. He liked Castle Lager. I had just finished my third Amstel. Or was it my third?

The party evolved and I bore witness to Darwin's theories being shot to pieces. Booze can be a terrible thing. An elderly, twisted man came up to me. He wore critique on his face, maybe even a snarl. To cut the ice I asked if he'd teach me some Xhosa words. He whispered in my ear. Everyone else had stopped their conversations and were watching the exchange, trying to eavesdrop on his whisper in my ear. In a slurring English and Xhosa he whispered in my ear "Tell them the following... " "Say to them..." and what he said I can't repeat. Seeing I was on stage, I turned to my audience and said in fluent Xhosa: "He said I must say to tell you all that he's got balls the size of an elephant's!"

The crowd burst out laughing and I too laughed. Mom stood there trying to make sense of it all, laughing along with everyone else. My antagonist was not even smiling. One of the uncles came forward and put his burly arms around the two of us and made us the best of friends. We shook hands and shared more drinks to the sounds of "No hard feelings" in Xhosa. I felt at peace.

That night, the goats too found peace.