- Country of Origin: South Africa
- Trigger Warning: Alcohol abuse, family issues, instability
I awoke at the crack of noon. My first order of business was to determine my whereabouts. I appeared to be home, although one can never be certain. I searched for my chalice to soothe my parched throat, but it was empty.
I resolutely made the journey from reclining to standing.
Shall I drink to that?
Sir Henry was asleep in his corner of the domicile, and I had not the heart to wake the man. While he may not have been the best companion to share living quarters with — he often complained about the bracing winds that blew through — a man must receive all the rest he can get. I peered into a nearby fount to see if my armour was in good nick. My shoulder-protecting pauldrons were a bit dented, but the rest appeared fine. Most importantly, my cape with the colours of the rainbow, the symbol of any true Plastic Knight, was pristine as always. I left my residence and went to meet my knight in training, Squire Robert.
He arrived at the meadow on his old steed. It had belonged to his brother, who had no more need of it when he left to become a merchant on the other side of the Kingdom. Robert was a good lad. He spoke to everyone with a smile that could not be false. He had with him my morning’s sustenance. Bread with peanuts ground into a paste and a chalice filled with the dreaded orange sugar beverage.
“I told you not to bring me this vile liquid,” I said.
“Well you can’t just drink wine the whole day,” Robert replied. “Besides, we’re still a week away from the end of the month, and I’m not happy about it either.”
“I shall make do for now. I am simply voicing my displeasure at imbibing such ghastliness.”
“You’re being overly dramatic. Isn’t it the Way of the Plastic Knight to accept food and drink whenever offered?”
I grumbled and finished the drink. Though he was still green, the boy did have an understanding of the Code.
Leaving the meadow, the two of us proceeded to the Lord’s Castle. We paid our respects and then prepared for monster slaying. The boy was not ready to face beasts, and saying something about his upcoming trials, he departed.
Hunting monsters is a dangerous task. You must find a locale with a great number of intersections in order to intercept their path. Once there you must attack, with unwavering fortitude in the face of insurmountable odds. The beasts are truly terrifying — chimera of every possible fashion, wolves with horse heads and chicken legs, snake-headed apes sporting the wings of a bat, and more. Too many to count. Truly, only a Plastic Knight wielding a Great Sword can defeat them.
Fair maiden
From time to time, a citizen of the Kingdom would come and bequeath me the largesse of a small donative for my efforts. At a point, with my cloak flashing brilliantly in the light, a young maiden stopped by me.
“This is amazing,” she said with a smile. “I wish I could give you something, but I don’t have any money on me.”
“Fear not maiden, a Plastic Knight does not strive for wealth, but for honour.”
“You are hilarious.”
I wished the lady farewell and continued my task of defeating the savage hordes.
Go, Man, Go!
Once my long day of fighting was done, I visited the local merchant quarter. This bustling covered market of the Kingdom housed everything from food vendors to fine tailors. I patronized the wine merchant and, thanks to the generosity of the citizenry, procured two flagons made by the Cousins Four company. Before I left, I decided to head to the grocer and procure two fine Orange Fruit of the Man for me and Robert to have later. The boy has always loved them. I made my request to the merchant.
“Look Umkhulu, I’m sorry I don’t know what you are asking for?”
“The Orange Fruit of the Man, dearest lady, an exotic sweet fruit from lands far off. It has a sweet taste and green skin. Most delicious and soft.”
“Oh, okay, I see. Don’t worry, you want two, yes?”
From vintage to nectar to bottle
As I began the journey home, I noticed Ol’ Salazar guarding Kahs. These vicious and noisy creatures with giant silver teeth, wide-set yellow eyes, and stunted legs have power to travel much faster than a horse. Protecting Kaws is a very lucrative employment for a Plastic Knight. Unlike most, Salazar takes his task seriously. He is never too far from his mace if anyone molests one of his charges. I nodded to the man and offered him wine. He accepted.
“A fine vintage. One may be inclined to call it a nectar, do you not agree?” I said.
“I dunno, can hardly taste anything these days.”
I examined the man and noticed for the first time how heavy his eyes seemed, how deep the creases on his brow were, how taut the skin on his cheeks. The life of a Plastic Knight, rewarding as it may be, is a hard one. I left my struggling compatriot and headed back to my domicile. Sir Henry greeted me with joyous salutations. I believed my patron was glad I was home until I saw he spied the wine. I gave him a bottle and ignored his overplayed gratitude. I cursed the god that brought this vile wretch to my sanctum. We finished the bottle. I then realised that the sun had nearly set. It was time to meet with my squire again.
At the arena
Squire was performing in the Arena when I arrived. He struck furiously, the crowd cried out in triumph. I shouted “Huzzah!” and his comrades lifted him up and cheered. I met him outside after the events.
“Congratulations, young squire! A fine performance, I must say.”
“Thanks. I saw you were here about halfway in. Did you see me sc…?” but before he could finish his query, he was whisked away by one of his compatriots. I left him to his glory for a while. Once everyone else left, he returned to me.
“Sorry. Josh just wanted to say ‘well done.’ Anyway, why were you so late?” Robert asked.
“Well, hunting and killing the fiercest beasts in the land is not something one can do in a single turn of an hourglass. I also paid a visit to the fine wine vendor. He has a wonderful establishment, I must say.”
My squire seemed despondent. I asked what the matter was.
“You went to… actually, forget about it.”
“No, what is the matter, my young squire?”
“I just… I just can’t believe you went to the goddamn bottle store again. After what Mom… you know what? Fuck it! I’m done.”
The boy marched off before I could ask him what he was talking about. What is a mum? I decided to let him go. He obviously still burned with the fire of competition.
“Well into the night, towards adventure!”
***
Morning already?
I woke up but kept my eyes closed. I could feel my achy legs from the day before. My knees were stinging from the carpet burn I got off the grass. I rotated my ankles, and felt the dull throbbing pain of the late tackle from after I scored the game-winning goal last night. Everyone was so shocked that the ref didn’t even call a foul. My heart was pumping and I felt an electric energy all through my arms and legs. I could still hear the crowd chanting my name, their roar filling my body. I don’t know how Lebogang Manyana managed to play at Soccer City, with 50,000 chanting his name. I could still see Josh looking at me with a grin on his face, congratulating me.
Then I saw Granddad stumble over. I made myself cross and now I was properly awake. I called for Mom but she didn’t answer. She had left for church already. I don’t know why she always went to church, probably to pray for Granddad. I left my room and turned right, walked past the bathroom and into the kitchen. I popped some bread in the toaster, hearing the faint click as it locked in my breakfast. It was still six days to the end of the month, so I mixed some No Name squash drink for myself. I had peanut butter on the toast without more. Six days until payday.
Once I finished eating, I remembered I was supposed to meet up with the old man again today. Part of me felt like going back upstairs and sleeping the day away, but I got dressed, made some food and drink for him, grabbed my bag, got on my bike and was on my way. I rode through the neighbourhood, heading towards the park, our usual meeting place. There weren’t that many cars out, so I could build some speed, feeling the lactic acid in my charley horse legs finally burn away.
Out to lunch in the park
By the time I arrived at the park, I had a decent sweat going. It was a sunny day with no clouds in the sky. Couples had come in to be in love and make goo-goo eyes at each other. I sat by a bench for a bit just taking in the people.
Everyone had a smile on their face and a few gave me a nod as they walked by. I started to look around the park, pushing my bike as I walked.
I kept looking through the park until I saw a flash of colour through the bushes. I dropped my bike and dived in, the thorns raking through my legs and arms. I felt blood on my legs and I winced in pain. I got to the flash of colour, though I still couldn’t see it clearly through the bushes. I reached for it, more thorns tearing at me, and pulled out a condom wrapper. After washing my hands at a nearby fountain, I decided to move on to the statue.
By the time I got there my legs had started to feel rubbery and I was breathing hard. I looked around. I didn’t know who it was a statue of, just some old guy on a horse with a face too worn to see, but Granddad liked to kneel in front of it. I chilled there for a bit because I was kinda pissed at Granddad and didn’t really feel like finding him. Then I remembered seeing him stumbling, the smell of wine on his breath. I started worrying that he had got himself hurt. It had happened before.
I stopped people walking past the statue and asked, “Hey, have you seen an old man with a scruffy beard wearing a plastic costume?”
Some beer belly with a bald head told me to “Fuck off you bloody tsotsi!” He was probably thinking I was scamming him or something. A young white guy ignored me, saying “Sorry I don’t have anything on me, hey.”
My heart started beating faster and faster, images filled my mind of Granddad lying at the bottom of a ditch, his head cracked open and his face bloody.
I cycled down the road for quite a while, the sound of my own grinding chain distracting me. I kept going until I got to the courtyard next to the dam. Granddad would often “busk” there, pulling out a long piece of plastic pipe, yes, and swinging it around like crazy. It doesn’t sound too exciting, but he really goes for it, jumping and diving with flourishes and everything. People would often stop and watch and some would give him money.
I looked around, remembering that when I was eight years old, I felt so proud watching him. Afterwards he would buy us each a mango, or as he called them the orange fruit of the man. I could almost taste the sweetness of the fruit, sticky pulp clinging to my face. I always felt so safe around him. I believed he was the strongest man in the universe and would always protect me. I thought that until four years later when some drunk asshole punched him in the face during one of his performances.
I started looking more desperately, calling out to him, feeling the panic building in my chest.
Before giving in, I thought I’d better check the mini-mall. It was an okay place I guess, it had a little bit of everything, but the building stank and none of the stores ever had exactly what you wanted. I looked in the bushes and the dark corners of the parking lot. Still nothing. I asked Old Sal the car security guard if he had seen him. He rested his chin on his knobkierrie (African club) stick and said, “Not since yesterday. Tell him thanks for the wine.” He gave me a toothless grin. I said “No problem” and let him be. Old Sal had been there as long as I could remember, as unchanging as he was ancient, but still no slouch with his knobkierrie in hand.
I asked the shopkeepers if he’d been in. The bottle store was already closed and the manager at the supermarket said he didn’t see anything.
As I was leaving one of the ladies at the counter asked, “Are you looking for the orange man-fruit Umkhulu?”
“Yeah. An old man who dresses strange?”
“I saw him yesterday. Hasn’t been in today. If I see him, I’ll tell him you are looking for him.”
I figured I’d visit the overpass where he stayed, in case he was holed up there, but that’d be unusual. The place was absolutely trashed, with old blankets and garbage everywhere. Near a dirty mattress was what looked like a puddle of pee. Henry was still asleep. I tried to wake him to ask him where Granddad was, but all I got was a fart in response.
My Mom had always wanted Granddad to live with us, but he didn’t want to. He had always said, “The life of a Plastic Knight is one of absolute freedom. Why would I allow myself to be chained to the prison of domesticity?” Although he was homeless, Granddad didn’t stray too far away from his usual spots. So if I couldn’t find him anywhere it was something to worry about.
I started cycling through the streets aimlessly, looking out for any sign of Granddad and thinking about the time he helped me learn to ride a bike.
He would say, “Robert my young lad, to ride a steed first you must earn its respect. You must have confidence, my young man.”
“But what if I fall, Granddad?”
“Then you will rise again.”
I kept cycling and cycling
My legs ached, the muscles almost cramping. My throat was dry and I had finished Granddad’s orange squash hours ago. My heart was pounding in my ears and my head hurt. I began cycling downhill, pushing pace, going faster and faster. A passing car jumped to a stop. I swerved to avoid it. My bike hit the pavement. Pain shot through my body as the air left my lungs. Luckily I landed in a bush and didn’t seem to have hurt myself too badly. I had cuts all over my arms, hands and legs now. I turned my head and saw a massive rock right by my face. My heart dropped. I get why mom always nagged me about a helmet.
It was getting dark so I gave up and started for home. I passed by the football field just in case anyone saw him after I left. The field was probably the nicest place in a five-kilometer radius. The grass was always green and mown, the floodlights the only consistent lights in the area, all due to an outreach program that looked for up-and-coming players for professional clubs. My dream was to get a scholarship through the program. I just had to make sure my team won the league.
Josh came up to me. “Hey man, I just wanted to say again that the goal you scored last night was craaazy,” he said.
“Thanks, man. I was wondering if you saw that guy who was talking to me before I left?”
“Who you talking about?”
“You know, that old man I was with, kinda talks like our Shakespeare lessons in English.”
“Oh shit that guy, uh nah. Haven’t seen him since yesterday, dude.”
“Thanks. I’m out, see you around.”
And he kept recycling
I was a few blocks from home, wondering how I was going to tell Mom that her dad was missing, when I actually saw him passed out on the pavement. He was still wearing the suit made of old plastic milk bottles, and his cloak stitched together out of chip packets.
I woke him up and told him to come with me. I half carried him, with his arm around my shoulder, and most of his weight resting on me. He smelled like toilets and wine. I wondered if he had wet himself while he was sleeping.
“Where are we headed to, my squire?” His words were slurred.
“Back to Mom’s place. You need a meal and a bed. No arguments.”
“You cannot trap me in such confines, my good sir, I will resist with much fortitude.”
He tried to walk away from me and nearly fell back onto the pavement. Picking him back up, I said, “Listen, dear Knight, you have been invited by um … the Countess to come to a royal feast in order to celebrate your many accomplishments. It is, um, at her behest that I implore you to come join us. She has heard of your many exploits — from me.”
“If it is at her behest then I shall join you for said feasting. We shall sing and dance the night away. With many pitchers of wine.” He paused and looked me in the eyes for a second. “You have been injured, dear squire.”
“A few rapscallions are no match for the squire of a Plastic Knight, no?”
“While I have no doubts of your combative prowess, I beseech you leave the slaying of monsters and defeating of vagabonds to professionals. We cannot have the hero of the arena being harmed.”
“I guess you’re right. Come on then, Mom will be happy to see you.”
“Wait, squire, I have something for you.” He stopped and nearly stumbled. He reached into his jacket pocket and pulled out something green and golden.
“I have an Orange Fruit of the Man.” He took a knife out from his other pocket, made one long slice along the edge, and expertly peeled the mango in one quick movement. He handed it to me with a flourish.
I bit into it, tasting the sweetness, feeling the soft fruit on my cheeks.
Thank you to Yosef Baskin and Kacper Janusz for their inspired edits on the story.
If you are interested in submitting a story to Yuvoice, please visit our submissions page here.
Yuvoice uplifts diverse voices around the world. We focus on perspectives of real people living through history and how Planet Earth looks through their eyes. We never necessarily endorse, promote, or agree with the pieces we publish. We want to showcase viewpoints of all types. Please check out our Statement of Global Progress for further information on our stance. And if you’ve enjoyed this piece, please drop a comment and support the author! As always, Yuvoice does not necessarily endorse or agree with any positions or opinions in our pieces.
Ancer was born and raised South African. Growing up in newsrooms and exposed to Tolkien at an impressionable age, he fell in love with the written word. This love is somewhat unrequited, as he later learned that he had a learning disability known as dysgraphia, particularly difficult if you want to be a writer. Against his better judgment, Ancer persisted, eventually studying creative writing at the University of the Witwatersrand. From there, Ancer became a writing ronin, traveling across South Africa and writing for whoever would pay, often not that much.
