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Short Story: Catcalls and Catharsis by Andre Izaaks

'Here she comes, guys!' Someone screamed from the other side of the construction site. And, like hungry rats after a tasty morsel, they scurried over to where their mate gesticulated, suggestively. Their daily dose of amusement had arrived.

Casually, she made her way through the temporary wooden structure erected on the pavement as thoroughfare for pedestrians while construction on the new shopping-centre was ongoing.

As it had become something of a habit by then, Jerry Jacobs led the small procession of men. Among this gang on the construction site, he boasted the most lurid and vulgar vocabulary with the concomitant temerity to direct it at others, also. To the delight of his colleagues, he let rip with a blend of colourful pick-up lines, repugnant references to the female anatomy and all things obscene he could think of. Inspired, his colleagues in turn shouted a variety of abuses of their own, wolf-whistled, then roared with delight and self-induced exuberance.

Without saying a word, she walked hastily out of sight of her abusers and with evident relief realised that it was Friday. She would not have to undergo this humiliating routine the next day.

*

This team of his really had to pull up its socks if it wanted to have a say when the final stages of the league came around, Jerry thought and flicked to the soccer channel. He poured beer into a glass and with a self-satisfactory air, placed his feet on a little ottoman positioned at the base of his comfortable chair. The match was about to start. He caught sight of his packet of cigarettes lying on the coffee-table near the television, felt the urge to light up but considered the effort of leaning over and stretching to reach them too much.

'Joanie! Come here!' He bellowed. A minute later, his fifteen-year old daughter's head popped around the door jamb. 'Come hand me my smokes,' he said.

With an expression hardly masking her incredulity, Joanie handed him the packet. Annoyance made way for frustration when he pointed to the glass in his hand. She took a cigarette out of the packet, placed it between his lips while he extricated a lighter from a pocket, and let the flame touch the tip.

This father of hers was sometimes impossible, thought Joanie to herself, and downright lazy. These two traits were alternating lately especially when she was around. He was so spoilt. Her mother had started this mess and, according to Joanie, had the audacity to run off as soon as she had realised the extent of her father's entitlement. That's not to say that her mother had herself been completely innocent. Before she had left, she had taken an unhealthy liking to clubbing with friends. Unhealthy because it led to arguments between her parents during which Joanie heard them exchange vicious insults and regularly witnessed their scuffles. Her mother tried to make up for these indiscretions by being more submissive to her father on their good days. Nevertheless, the arguments became nastier until one day her mother took off with only a bag of clothes and other necessities, and moved back to her parents' in a neighbouring town. Joanie's parents had never married and as such, the separation had no legal repercussions. Despite her mother's urging to the contrary, Joanie had decided to live with her father. Their old flat was her home, after all, and in this town were her school and all of her friends. She had been to visit her mother on a few occasions but had always felt relief afterwards at returning to her father. Soon, she, Joanie, would be forced to remind him of his expanding waist-line and the dangers of obesity. He will no doubt have to listen to her. She just had to bide her time and seize an opportunity when it presented itself. Better it would be still if she were to create it.

*

His daughter had really grown, Jerry thought during the soccer match's half-time break. Her once slim figure had become plumper of late and the fruit of puberty showed itself in an ample supply of bosom and buttocks. He secretly hoped that Joanie would not end up with her mother's full figure.

'Trashy Trudie' his mother remarked after he had introduced them to each other. He'd thought nothing of it then; it was only later that her words would come to mind again and as usual, had a ring of truth to them. In the end, he was glad he had never married her. They had had their good times, Trudie and he, and he could not reminisce about their bedroom escapades without a pleasant stirring in his loins. And, not always confined to the bedroom either, mind you. It was probably these same desires that eventually contributed to their separation, he thought. Her needs unmet, she had no choice but to take them elsewhere. With her physical attributes such as they were, it would be easy to find a willing partner; one who would satisfy her to her heart and curvaceous body's content. They were never married, he reminded himself again, and when the effects of diabetes came upon him in full force, she had no qualms over striking her colours from the mast. God, if it were not for this damned illness he would still have a go at her.

Recalling the day's events at the construction site, Jerry couldn't hide a mirthful chuckle as he thought about their daily dose of excitement. That day had been one of particular enjoyment - he really gave it to her and had earned the other blokes' admiration. Younger than he they perhaps were, virile and up to the task, but when it came to vulgar language, Jerry Jacobs beat them hands down.

The poor thing, he thought, taking the same route every day as if she took delight in their abuse. She even tried to stare him down, twice, but he got the upper hand every time by shouting her down. They heckled and teased other women too but somehow this girl had been singled out by him for special treatment. He knew it was because she reminded him of Trudie – her figure, her hair, her gait. And, these reminders did something to him - they set off triggers that infuriated him with despair at his private impotence.

*

Well, well, this wasn't so bad, after all, Jerry thought as he sat down next to Joanie on the park bench. He removed his tracksuit top and took delight in a cool breeze that played along his bare arms and the sides of his face. Sweat oozed from every pore in his skin. It was Sunday and Joanie had nagged him for weeks to accompany her to the park, almost a kilometre away from the flat. She was really concerned about his health and adamant a walk would do him well. He was surprised that she had been right. He felt better already. He turned to look at her, smiled, and gently, put one arm around her shoulders. She looked up at her father and smiled back, sweetly. They'd come here often as a family when Joanie had been much younger. He and Trudie would contemplate and discuss life while Joanie enjoyed herself on the swings. Good times, he mused.

*
Renee walked along the pathway with a lightness in her step, playfully counting wooden fence poles along the way. The construction site she was forced to pass on her way to work every morning was empty and silent on Sundays. She recalled with dread the last encounter – the vulgar remarks, insults, wolf-whistling and heckling from the workers. Thankfully they were gone whenever she passed the site again on her way back to the parking lot. 

As an instructor and personal trainer, her schedule was incredibly busy and she was almost always the last to leave the gym. She hoped the new shopping-centre would soon be completed. She had had it with the unruly hard-hat lot working on the site. Twice she had stopped to look the ringleader in his face but that only served to inspire the nutcase to higher levels of vulgarity and lewdness. Not that she wasn't taking precautions; she was the most devoted student in the self-defence class she had started attending the month before.

*

After a delightful morning in the park, Jerry and Joanie intended to enjoy a light meal on their way home. The relaxed atmosphere of the Sunday and the change of scenery contributed greatly to a father-daughter bonding session because Joanie had made it clear how important he was to her and her concern for his well-being caused Jerry to reflect on his existence and state of mind.

While strolling leisurely along the pavement, a car slowed to crawling speed alongside them. The electric windows rolled down and revealed the sneering faces of three young men, a little older than Joanie. Their hard, glittering eyes were directed at her ripe young body, pert and trim like her mother's, and one made suggestive gestures for her to see, using his hands. Thundering thumps of music reverberated from the interior of the car.

Instantly protective of his daughter, Jerry turned bright red in anger and thrust a middle-finger into the air at them. The car stopped, abruptly. One of the young men leapt out and charged at him. Joanie screamed out of fear at the scuffle that ensued.

The young man, fit and powerful, and in no time, was on top of Jerry and had him pinned down to the ground. From a pocket, a flick-knife appeared in one of his hands, its blade flashing menacingly in the sun. The spectacle had drawn a crowd.

Just as the young man made a stabbing motion towards Jerry's chest area, he was violently pulled off the older man and backwards, so suddenly, that he landed on his back in the street. He got up immediately and ran towards the car which summarily roared away in a fury of angry revving, the stink of burning tyres on tar hanging heavily in the air.

On the pavement, now up on all fours, panting and exhausted, Jerry looked up at his rescuer, for the first time. It was a woman. Their eyes met. She saw him. He saw her.

*

If someone had asked Jerry afterwards why he had said nothing to the woman who had rescued him from certain injury and or untimely death, he would have cited his exhaustion and poor health as excuses. It was just as well because he would not have known what to say in any case, panting furiously away, as he looked up at her and she, down at him.

She had saved his life. She had risked life and limb to save him not knowing in that instant who he had been. Crying hysterically, Joanie hoisted him up off the ground and led him away.

Later, in bed, he found that he could not sleep. The incident haunted him, rolled him about on his bed like a swaying ship. All the women in his life had tried to save him from himself; even his mother, although she never liked Trudie, just wanted what was good for him. Joanie, his daughter, who reprimanded him sometimes like a naughty brother, made his heart soft and swell with tenderness, and then contract with sorrow when he remembered how often he had mistreated her and yet, she continued, in good faith, to look out for him.

*

'Here she comes, guys!' Someone shouted from the other side of the construction site.

They looked to him with anticipation glittering in their hard eyes but Jerry Jacobs instead motioned for them to continue working. To the man, their mouths went slack with surprise. They watched him walk briskly to the wooden thoroughfare, towards their daily dose of excitement, his hard-hat in one hand.

Renee stopped abruptly when she saw him approach. Her breath became flat and quick in her throat, her stomach knotted – she felt her heart beat in her throat and heard it pound in her ears.

'Hi,' he said, aware of the eyes on his back, uneasy before the woman's watchful eyes on his face. 'Thanks for saving my life yesterday.'

She nodded without saying a word.

'And – please, forgive me...and my colleagues...if it is possible to request such an impossible thing?'

Too fearful and uneasy to wait for her response, he turned around and walked briskly back the way he had come across the site. His colleagues' slack faces and questioning eyes followed his every move.

Someday, he thought to himself, when he had mustered up enough courage, he'd like to join her gym. 

END

This short story was published on Book Buddy's blog with the permission and approval of the author, Andre Izaaks, resident of Mariental, Hardap Region, southern Namibia, the owner of all rights to this work. This short story may not be reproduced nor printed, in full or in part, without the written permission of the author, and without acknowledgement. For particulars, please mail bookbuddynamibia@gmail.com. 

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