No Turning Back by Beverley Naidoo

his head with water under the railway tap. Ducking his own head under and seeing his malunde friends through a cascade of icy-cold water. His body hitting the freezing lake, feeling like it was splintering.
    Later, lying under the covers in bed, he imagined the places where his friends might be sleeping. Had Lucas found another hideout under a staircase, in an alleyway or another empty plot? The faint sound of music, beating from Judy’s stereo down the corridor, reminded him of a song he had heard coming a few times from clubs and cafes in Hillbrow. It would be cold out there. Mr. Danny and Judy had been very kind to him. But he could tell that Davidwasn’t happy about him. And Mama Ada…once she started asking him questions, she was bound to find out the truth. That he wasn’t really an orphan. What if they found out he had a mother and stepfather? What then?
    Sipho turned in the bed and buried his face in the pillow. The other day Jabu had told him about ostriches and how they buried their heads in the sand.
    “Hey, they’re stupid, man! They must leave their brains in the sand!” Sipho had joked.
    But now he wished he could do the same. If only he could forget all the disturbing thoughts that jostled in his head.

13. A World Away
    W hen he woke, the wall opposite the window was slashed with a strip of bright sunlight. Not sure what to do, Sipho lay in bed, enjoying its softness and listening to the sounds of the house. It was very quiet. Quiet enough to hear birds calling and answering each other outside. Every now and again a dog barked somewhere in the distance. There was no sound, even of motor cars. Perhaps because it was Sunday. Sunday mornings in the township were usually quieter too than weekdays. But even then, when he lay waking on the mattress on the floor of the shack, before long there would always be sounds of someone doing something. A baby crying, a voice calling, a dog barking or whining, someone shouting at it to shut up, a rooster squawking…
    He had closed his eyes again, trying to make out how many kinds of birds there were outside from their different calls, when he heard a shuffling sound at his door. At first he was puzzled,half expecting the door to open, until he realized who it was. Copper! Slipping out of bed, he went to let him in. In the beam of sunlight, Copper’s silky hair seemed even more reddish golden than the night before.
    “Sawubona, Copper!” whispered Sipho. “You’re a good dog.”
    Copper’s large eyes looked up as if they understood, while Sipho stroked him and scratched behind his ears. Sitting on the edge of the bed, with Copper relaxing beside him, Sipho began to feel he had a friend he could trust. When Judy put her head around the door a little later to ask if he would like some breakfast, she smiled.
    “Copper must really like you! He doesn’t usually take to strangers that easily.”
    But while Copper’s eyes made him feel safe, Mama Ada’s made him feel nervous, and it wasn’t long before she had the opportunity to question him. He had brought his empty porridge bowl to her at the sink, when she said to him, “Tell me about yourself, Sipho. How do you come to be on the streets?”
    “I was with my grandmother, Mama. She worked for the white farmer. Then she died.”
    “So who took care of you?”
    As he looked downward at the zigzag tiles on the floor, his mind raced crazily. He didn’t want to lie, but what could he do?
    “My mother…she brought me here. But then she got very sick, Mama.” His voice had gone down to almost a whisper, and he paused. No, he couldn’t bring himself to say the actual words that his mother had died. That would be very bad. Instead he wiped his eyes with his hand.
    “There was no one to look after me…and there was too much fighting and killing in that place. That’s why I came to town.”
    “Where did your mother live?” Mama Ada asked.
    Again Sipho panicked. He had to name a different place.
    “It was Phola