I hate my job, I really do. It's longand tedious. It requires so much walking ad my expenses don't eveninclude a company car. Oh wait, what expenses? Oh right, I don'thave any. I sigh angrily and flip to page 9 of my of my list ofnames. It's only 10:34am. I wish I could look forward to a weekend,'chillen with the boys. But then I remember that I don't getweekends or any days off. And there are no boys to "chill" with.
Who is next on my list? Ah, RebeccaJane. I wonder if she was named after anyone. No matter. She livesat, let's see, Apartment 112, 42 Wilberway Cape Town. That liftbetter be working.
***
What'd'ya know? The lift'sbroken. I had to walk up all those flights of stairs. Have I told youthat I hate my Job? I reach apartment 112 and knock on the door. Apair of eyes looks at me through the letterbox opening.
"May I come in?" I ask, ever sopolitely. She can hardly say no. I hear a bolt slide back and thedoor swings open. A young woman in mismatched socks greets me. Herlong auburn hair is untidy and her elasticised pants have got yoghurtstains on them. At this stage she should start screaming and cryingor at least turn pale and start to tremble. But she doesn't. Sheregards me as if I were a dirty cloth on a table that she needs toclean. Then her face changes. A sweet, sweet smile appears on herfreckled face.
"Tea or coffee?" she asks trying tofind my face. "And please don't drag your robes on the floor, Ijust cleaned!"
She turns her back on me and walks intothe kitchen. As she turns I get the chance to look at her bulgingstomach. If I had a heart I would say that it fell into my throat.
"So, um..." I stutter as I settlemyself on the couch," How long have you been pregnant?" What away to start a conversation!
She turns around, her eyes wide. "9months. You never answered: tea or coffee?"
"I'm fine." I say completely notfine. I feel myself growing hot. I am angry. Its not fair." Who isthe father?" I ask as she sits down opposite me on one of thekitchen chairs, the wrong way round. She can't be more than 17.
"Don't know, don't care." Shelooks down at her mug in her hands and looks momentarily angry. "Sonow what?" she asks looking directly where my eyes should be.
"Well," I say," I am assuming youknow who I am?"
"Obviously you're not my lawyer areyou, Mr Death?" Her sarcasm echoes around the room. I like thisone. She's feisty.
"Do you have a will Rebecca?"
"I have nothing to leave." Shelooks sad. "How am I to die?"
This part hurts me." Childbirth."
She has been looking very calm all thiswhile but now she cracks. I can hear her voice break as she turnspale.
"Will he live? Will I get to seehim?"
I consult my list. There are no babieson my list.
"He'll live." And in that momentof emotion and stupidity I said" I'll make sure of it."
We had a lovely chat. Rebecca was quitean extraordinary girl with such a horrible fate. I won't go intodetails but in the afternoon, Rebecca gave birth to a healthy babyboy. She got to hold him and her last words were: "My boy. Mybeautiful boy."
