Pg. 60 – Chapter 11
<hll> Two photos <ihil>
"Get that computer technician... uh, Thomas.,» "Thompsen," Mr. Andersen helps
Doc Pienaar. "Get Thompsen to come and see." "But will he come out so late in
the 's so late in the evening, Doc? "asked Mr. Ander sen." He stays at Harrismith.
He'll have to drive all the way in - "" That's what he's paid for, damn it! "From his
tone of voice I can deduce that Dok's ball is pinching now. But what? What's
wrong with the computers? learner database. The answer comes sooner than I
expect. "Are you sure you looked correctly, Pete?" asks Doc. Mr. Andersen's voice
is calm, but the anxiety still permeates: "I tell you, Doc. There are no contacts on
Eckardt's records. Not even his parents' names. No address, no phone numbers.
Nothing. Just his name: Eckardt Wilken. "Again alone in my dark dorm room and I
can not sleep. It's as if Eckardt does not want to let me sleep. He is gone, but now
suddenly more present than ever. Like John in those first stormy days after his
death. The days of terrible rage. In the back of my mind something just keeps
saying: I hope Eckardt is okay, I do not hope he did something stupid and start.
And if he started something stupid, what then? His school record is clean There
are rumors that he committed suicide.
,Pg.61
Note that there is no body. His cellphone and laptop are still in his room. In a way,
all that stuff should make sense. Over and over it turns in my head. Every
,now and then I turn in my bed until I can no longer hold it and have to get up. My
body hurts. Next to my bed lies the packed bag I had to use for rugby earlier
today. I aim to kick it, but decide against it. Just take it and throw it in the corner
of the room by the cupboard where it might be out of my way. The residence
hallway is cold. Quiet, except for a sleepy groan here or a cough there. A single
light burns at the bottom of the stairs. I walk down the corridor, the floor is cool
under my feet. Closer to Eckardt's room. My heart beats harder, faster against my
sternum. "Greg? Aren't you sleeping yet?" asks a voice behind me. I'm scared, but
hide it. Just feel how my inside jerks and keeps gait stationary. Dis Kwanele. He is
wearing a gown and slippers and is standing with his hands in the gown's pockets.
If someone from a township saw him like that, they would say he's a coconut.
Especially with his perfect English, without a hint of African accent. "I'm on my
way to the bathroom." He says nothing, just look at me. I wonder if he believes
my story. If not, it has nothing to do with him why I’m up in the middle of the
night in the hostel hallway anyway. What is he doing here? And that's just what
I'm asking him.- to take my attention away. "And you? Why are you still awake" I
was busy studying. "I want to shake my head in disbelief, but I do not. Your
miserable fool. It's Saturday night. Get a life." But I am on my way to bed now,
"Good night, Greg." "Night." I walk to the bathroom. Close the door behind me
and stay inside for a long time to make sure Kwanele really does as he said. When
I thought it was safe, I opened the bathroom door carefully. I walk to the side of
my room, but it's more to make sure Kwanele Is gone. Then I turn around and
walk to the stairs. That's where uncle lan.
, Pg. 62
hostel father, hides the runner for this floor. Eckardt told me "Look there," Ekk-o
said. “It's like hiding your house's front door key under a stone in the garden. And
many guys do that with their computer passwords too. Keep it on loose sheets of
paper or shown in diaries next to their computers where they can easily get it. "
At the steps there are a dark wooden table with two of those Da Vinci's
inventions: his armoured vehicle and his helicopter. The key is in the armoured
vehicle's hull. I take it out carefully. With the runner in my hand, I walk to
Eckardt's room. Unlock it. Slip in quickly, push the door shut and wait in the dark
to make sure that no one followed me. It's quiet outside in the hallway. Only then
do I turn on the room light. This is where I got to know the underworld of Ekk-o.
The room still looks just like I last saw it. So the police have not come to take
anything yet. That guy from the uniform branch said they leave it for the
detectives. And they were not here yet. It feels like something's gripping me.
Forces to ...'s what. An image of Johns pale hand, curled fingers flash through my
mind. I suddenly feel nauseous. It's the unknown that does it, I know. The
unanswered questions. Like the stuff hidden between HTML that the websurfer is
not supposed to see on the web page. I sit down on the chair in front of the desk.
My head turns. Tomorrow the Sunday newspapers come out. Then I'll see what
that journalist wrote. What she could get out of school. I feel better, my eyes can
focus again. On the wall hangs the notepad I accidentally knocked down that
night. But something is different on the board ... the pieces of paper, school
timetable, study program. Something's gone. Something is out of place. Search.
Aa! There's a new photo up, pinned with a single gold