MY MOTHER DIED BEFORE I COULD MURDER HER

CHAPTER 3

Always there.

At four years old, I contracted poliomyelitis. It was 1948, the start of a minor epidemic in Johannesburg, and I was the first known case. It attacked my chest on the left side and at first I was treated for a cold, or flu, or something minor. By the time the doctor confirmed that it was polio, it had passed through, leaving a few muscles atrophied below my collarbone. A cousin of mine had polio and ended up with a short withered arm. Of the two of us, I was the lucky one. Throughout my life it had no serious effect other than weakness on my left side, and I think I should’ve been a couple of inches taller.

     During the following couple of years, I came down with German measles, mumps, scarlet fever, chicken pox—the lot. It was as if I was dealt all the major diseases to clear my future of any infections. I hardly remember anything of that time, other than having a nurse sleeping in my room (and me trying to wake early enough so that I could watch her dress), everyone having to wash their hands when they trooped in to say hello, and also the time when all the little girls in the street and a couple of cousins spent time sitting on my bed, trying to catch measles or mumps, I’m not sure which.

     The outcome of all this was that the cherub disappeared and little Josh was no longer that beautiful child, but now a skinny mutt, with big ears and a cow lick. I was small for my age and my personality changed from being miserable to becoming independent and wanting to show everyone, especially my parents, that I could compete with the best of them in sports.

     I was crazy about soccer and although I always wanted to be a great goalkeeper, like my hero, Manie van der Merwe, I was too short and if truth be told, scared of the hard kick coming my way in goals. So I played left back and switched my hero worship to Morrie Jacobsen, a great left back, playing for Rangers. Although Rangers were the archrival of the team I supported, Morrie was the best, and he was Jewish. I was honor-bound to pick him.

     Team sport was played on Wednesdays. School was let out early to allow our soccer team to travel to another school, or vice versa, for that important game. I think that I was eight years old when I made the under-10 A side, and once I was in, that’s where I stayed during the following couple of seasons, always in the A team.

     I spent hours on the lawn at the side of our house, practicing with Morris. He was great. He knew how to coach and encourage and best of all, he had boundless patience when teaching the finer nuances of the game. I became an expert slide-tackler. No opponent ever passed me down the wing. I would nail him and always came away with the ball. And despite being small, I was fearless. And could dribble. And control the ball.

     All the way through primary school, we had a good soccer team and won most of our games. The kids’ parents were supportive, and at all our games on Wednesdays, there was a group of moms and some dads. Every week I’d look for my mom or dad, but they never came to any of the games. They never turned up for soccer matches, or when I was on the cricket team, or played tennis, or represented our school at breaststroke in swimming galas. They never turned up, not to one game!

     I’d ask them, week after week. “Please come and watch; it’s an important game.” I wanted to show them that even though I was just a little runt, I could hold my own at sport.

     “If I don’t have an appointment with a customer, I’ll be there,” my dad would say. “But you know business is business and I’ve got to take care of business.” My mom never really made excuses, she just smiled at me, pinched my cheek and oozing encouragement said, “I’m sure you’re good. You’ll be fine.”

     They had no fucking idea just how important it was to show up. Thank goodness for Morris. Morris was well known by almost all the teachers and kids at the school. Often he’d turn up to class because I’d forgotten to take my sandwiches, or left my tuck shop spending money behind, and the teachers would always be great to him.