Memories of a visit to ‘town’ - Johannesburg in the 1940’s - are very clear in this
little girl’s mind, especially the thrilling adventure of travelling in a high-speed lift.
THE LIFT THE LIFT
[a bedtime story]
BARBARA DURLACHER
Holding her mother’s hand, the child trotted along the pavement, matching her steps
to the mother’s impatient, longer stride. She was sucking a bright orange lolly, careful
not to let the drips go on her beautiful new, blue coat. She loved these days in town,
it was always exciting, and Mommy usually gave her a sweetie or a lolly if she started
to get tired and cross. It helped to cheer her up.
First they went to the butchers for the weekly joint.
“A nice leg ‘o lamb, please Mr Pincher,” her Mommy said when the queue reached
the glass counter. The other ladies were helped by Mr Brownall, while Mrs Coetzee
took the cash.
Hanging behind the counter were big curly silver hooks, horrible looking things.
Sometimes they had whole sides of beef on them, half a sheep or a sad looking
turkey, yellow feet helplessly dangling, feathers all faded and dull.
She did not like looking at them, it was more interesting drawing patterns in the clean
sawdust on the floor with the toe of her shiny black patent-leather shoes, the ones
with the lovely cut-out half-moons; they were her favourites and she always wore
them when they came to town.
She smoothed her smart new summer coat, Mommy said she looked just like a little
blue angel in it, and she loved the colour: there was only a tiny stub left of her blue
crayon in her pencil box because she used it so much.
After the butchers, they went to the Municipal Rates Hall where Mommy had to ‘pay
her rates and taxes,’ she said with irritation, anxiously counting the notes and coins in
her purse. The Rates Hall was boring, long queues of people, it was hot and crowded
and the tiled walls and floors echoed with the noise of feet shuffling forward, and
subdued conversations. Sometimes she heard the clang of a tram coming down
Market Street outside the City Hall, or the sound of the Indian flower sellers
squabbling over the price of marigolds and roses.
At last they were finished, and after a quick stop at the French Hairdressers in the
Market Arcade to get Daddy’s shaving cream, she knew that the next stop would be
to ‘have a cuppa’ with Auntie Ida. She always looked forward to that. Auntie Ida
worked in a big, tall, skyscraper with a really funny name, sometimes she
remembered, but mostly she forgot. She thought it was something like ‘Agnes’… no,
not that, it was ‘Aegis’ Building and she had a friend here. His name was Archie and
he drove the lift.
The lift was her secret place and she often dreamed about it. Sometimes her dream
took the form of a nightmare when Archie forgot to pull the lever back in time, when
he was making it go fast, so fast, right up to Auntie’s floor without any stops and they
burst right through the ceiling, rocketing straight into the sky. But usually Archie
remembered, and managed to bring the lift to a smooth halt after that stomach-
dropping first swoop, right at Auntie’s floor, without even a tiny step for her to fall over
when the doors slid smoothly open.
The lift was bright and shiny inside too, and she loved looking at her distorted image,
moving her features and bending her knees, so that she bulged at the waist or
suddenly elongated in the most unexpected way, until Mommy said to her “Now
that’s enough, nice little girls don’t make faces at other people in lifts,” [but she only
said this if there were other people in the lift, never when it was just them and Archie]
and she had to stop.
When they reached Auntie’s office, the two sisters settled down to drink their tea and
eat a plate of biscuits, but Auntie always remembered to give her a handful of lovely
coloured pencils and a big piece of paper. She was left to draw her pictures while
their voices murmured quietly in the distance and she drew trees, and clouds, and
houses with smoke coming out of a chimney, and a front door with windows for eyes
and roses on either side of the path. She loved these quiet mornings in town and
never wanted to go home.
Then, the time came for Mommy to put on her leather gloves, pick up her heavy
parcels and take her hand once more. Down they went in the lift, they were going
home. But this wasn’t so exciting and she just said “Bye!” to Archie: they had to hurry
for the bus.
Rounding the last corner, Mommy cried out in disgust. “Oh no, we’ve just missed it,
and there’s not another until half-past two!” sitting abruptly on the maroon seat in the
sun to get her breath.
They waited and waited, and no more buses came, they were both hungry and thirsty
and Mommy said they couldn’t get a cold-drink because all her money was finished;
they would just have to wait until the bus came.
Then, suddenly a hooter was blaring and a big red car drew up in front of them. It
was Mr Pincher from the Butcher with Mrs Coetzee in the front seat. “Can I give you
a lift?” Could he give them a lift? What a silly question, here they’d been waiting for
HOURS and at last they were rescued, they didn’t care where he was taking them,
just as long as they got home sometime they were happy to accept.
“So, Daddy, Mr Pincher took Mrs Coetzee home first, an then, he ‘specially drove all
the way to our house Daddy, so we wouldn’t be late … an, here we are, but gosh I’m
tired!” she mumbled, as he quietly gathered her up in his arms, and carried her off to
bed.
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