{"id":106,"date":"2016-10-14T13:00:00","date_gmt":"2016-10-14T13:00:00","guid":{"rendered":"https:\/\/dev.shortstorydayafrica.org\/?p=106"},"modified":"2016-10-14T13:00:00","modified_gmt":"2016-10-14T13:00:00","slug":"weekendread-tribe-by-rahla-xenopoulos-tribe","status":"publish","type":"post","link":"https:\/\/shortstorydayafrica.org\/?p=106","title":{"rendered":"The #WeekendRead – Rahla Xenopoulos’ Tribe"},"content":{"rendered":"
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Rahla shares a part of Tribe<\/a>,<\/em> setting up us for a good weekend. There are wildflower-scented soft beaches, the cradling of old friends and the excitement of making new ones. Read on to see, the “Tribe” expanding. <\/strong><\/p>\n<\/div>\n<\/p>\n<\/p>\n<\/p>\n

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\"\"<\/p><\/div>\n<\/p><\/div>\n<\/figure><\/div>\n

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\u00a0<\/p>\n

Everyone is in love on MDMA, but this is where it peaks, the big blow-out, Ibiza, July 1997 \u2026 the hedonist\u2019s holiday \u2026<\/p>\n

Walking up from the beach, Jude hears a girl laughing. He puts down his guitar and stops to listen; the sound inhabits the island like an ancient myth. Such a laugh. Not like his mother who, when amused, emitted what sounded like a nervous hiccupping sound, then scanned the room, checking that no one thought she was being silly.<\/p>\n

He looks at the people catching the last of the day\u2019s sun. Is he the only person being enchanted? Maybe the laughter is part of his trip. He walks towards the sound, like a child beguiled by a will-o\u2019-the-wisp.<\/p>\n

She opens the door before he knocks. Everything about her is unlike what he\u2019d imagined. Small yet confrontational, she sparkles. A transparent white halter-neck dress, slightly torn and shabby at the hem, hugs her body. Unlike the emaciated grunge girls on the island, her African skin has the luxury of flesh. She doesn\u2019t step aside, but stands in the doorway, inviting him instead to study her as she studies him.<\/p>\n

He can\u2019t tell for certain if she\u2019s laughing with him, at him or simply at life. \u201cSo you\u2019re the Jude?\u201d She looks him over. \u201cRight, well, come on in, you look like a bit of fun. They\u2019ve been talking about you, incessantly \u2026\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cYou\u2019re not \u2026\u201d He looks at her.<\/p>\n

She laughs. \u201cNo, luv, I\u2019m not \u2018The Babe\u2019. That\u2019s Olivia. She\u2019s blonde, beautiful and white. I\u2019m Tselane, her friend.\u201d He follows her hips down a passage. \u201cThe real Babe, Olivia, is inside with your mates.\u201d<\/p>\n

The house smells of the ocean, and a pungent tuberose perfume. It smells of sex.<\/p>\n

Before he sees Benjy\u2019s new girlfriend, \u2018The Babe\u2019, or any of his friends, before seeing anything beyond the laughing Tselane, Jude sees a coffee table in the centre of the lounge. It\u2019s got a certain look. He had a theory in first year: if you wanted to analyse a girl, forget Freud, go to her home. Whatever you noticed first symbolised the essence of her character. If it was her music collection, she loved dancing. Books, she didn\u2019t live in this world. Photos, she lived in the past. Bed, she loved to fuck. Once he went to a girl\u2019s place, just one room in student digs, and there in the middle was a four-poster bed covered in pink linen \u2013 virgin! It had turned out to be true; she\u2019d arrived at university virginity intact.<\/p>\n

And here, first thing he sees in Olivia \u201cThe Babe\u2019s\u201d Ibizan holiday villa is a Balinese coffee table. There must be a whole bunch of shit that happens on this table, stuff guys like Jude aren\u2019t included in. Right now, it\u2019s covered in crystals, ashtrays burning with joints, and bottles of Evian water. But Jude imagines it, on other evenings, through different phases, covered with piles of cocaine being snorted by models and rich men. He imagines Olivia dancing on top of it, surrounded by other Eurotrash admiring her as she strips down to a G-string. He wonders what she hides in the table\u2019s two drawers \u2013 condoms, photographs of rock stars in compromising positions, old nail polish \u2026 this Uberbabe his friend has hooked up with. Benjy\u2019s landed the \u201cIt Girl\u201d and she\u2019s crazy for him.<\/p>\n

Oh, she\u2019d resisted at first. \u201cI can\u2019t fall in love with you, Benjamin Stone,\u201d she\u2019d said, sipping a mojito back in London.<\/p>\n

\u201cWhy not?\u201d he\u2019d laughed, knowing she would.<\/p>\n

\u201cBecause you have the attention span of a Sunday morning.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cWhat do you mean?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cYou\u2019ll be easy fun, but inevitably you\u2019ll become Monday.\u201d<\/p>\n

She\u2019d been wrong; he\u2019d prove himself as constant as eight days a week.<\/p>\n

Tselane pulls Jude by the hand, drawing him into the reality of the room.<\/p>\n

\u201cJude, broe, is that you?\u201d says a man with a thick Afrikaans accent. Hannes comes into the room, not gently like Jude did, but like a force of nature, wearing nothing but a kikoi, his hair wet from the shower. He has a scar running across his muscled chest.<\/p>\n

\u201cSo good, we\u2019re all here,\u201d Jude says, his eyes smiling.<\/p>\n

\u201cSo good,\u201d Hannes says, lighting a cigarette, which he holds between his thumb and forefinger.<\/p>\n

A mass of blonde hair on the floor turns, revealing the faces of Benjamin and Olivia. She is staggeringly beautiful. It\u2019s not just the obviously high cheekbones or the green of her eyes \u2013 there\u2019s warmth in her broad smile. Benjy jumps up off the cushion they were sprawled over. Unconsciously he runs his fingers through his hair, pushing it off his handsome face. \u201cI didn\u2019t think you\u2019d come out to this Sodom with all its Gomorrah.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cIt\u2019s me, I found him,\u201d announces Tselane in a playful voice that surprises Jude but doesn\u2019t seem to surprise the others.<\/p>\n

Olivia cracks up. Grasping her friend\u2019s hand, she says, \u201cDid you, T? Did you pick him up off the street? Pull him out of the water?\u201d<\/p>\n

He didn\u2019t expect these girls to be funny. Now that she\u2019s standing closer to him, he can smell Olivia\u2019s sophisticated perfume and feel the reverberations of her laughter. Jude sees what really attracts Benjy to Olivia. This laughter. Both girls have great laughs; Olivia\u2019s not as much as Tselane\u2019s, but then, Olivia\u2019s is accompanied by her astonishing beauty.<\/p>\n

\u201cI\u2019m so excited to finally meet you. And you have your guitar. Sit down. Ben tells me you serenaded him through childhood,\u201d Olivia says, talking over any shyness he would normally have felt. \u201cI\u2019ll call Pierre off the beach.\u201d<\/p>\n

Covered in sand, Hannes\u2019s brother Pierre comes in. His accent isn\u2019t as guttural as Hannes\u2019s, but different as they are, they share a rawness, an Afrikaans honesty, that Jude\u2019s always appreciated. Pierre\u2019s body is more sinewy than Hannes\u2019s, his movements more measured. They\u2019re both sexy, but women have always thought Pierre is less encumbered, less of a risk. Without bothering to shower, Pierre sits down.<\/p>\n

Jude\u2019s been at Oxford in a tunnel of studying, cum laude-ing his degree in psychiatry. Pierre and Benjy are riding the same wave, surfing the net, building digital empires; Pierre in Cape Town, Benjy in London. But Pierre will sell out before it crashes.<\/p>\n

Caf\u00e9 del Mar plays on the stereo, the sliding doors are open and waves break outside. The ease of youth and privilege fills the room.<\/p>\n

\u201cSo, boet, what have you got to show for yourself?\u201d Hannes asks Jude.<\/p>\n

Smiling, Jude pulls a plastic bag containing a white rock out his pocket. \u201cGram of the finest MDMA on the island. Any of you care to crush it?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u00a0<\/p>\n<\/div>\n<\/p>\n<\/p>\n<\/p>\n

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Rahla Xenopoulos is the author of A Memoir of Love and Madness<\/em><\/a> and the novel Bubbles<\/em><\/a>. Many of her short stories have been published in magazines and in Women Flashing, Twist<\/em> and Just Keep Breathing.<\/em> She lives in Cape Town. Her latest novel Tribe<\/em><\/a> was released to critical acclaim.<\/p>\n<\/div>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"

Rahla shares a part of Tribe, setting up us for a good weekend. There are wildflower-scented soft beaches, the cradling of old friends and the excitement of making new ones. Read on to see, the “Tribe” expanding.  \u00a0 Everyone is in love on MDMA, but this is where it peaks, the big blow-out, Ibiza, July 1997 \u2026 […]<\/p>\n","protected":false},"author":1,"featured_media":0,"comment_status":"open","ping_status":"open","sticky":false,"template":"","format":"standard","meta":{"footnotes":""},"categories":[46],"tags":[39,53],"class_list":["post-106","post","type-post","status-publish","format-standard","hentry","category-weekend-read","tag-weekendread","tag-south-african-writer","entry"],"_links":{"self":[{"href":"https:\/\/shortstorydayafrica.org\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/posts\/106","targetHints":{"allow":["GET"]}}],"collection":[{"href":"https:\/\/shortstorydayafrica.org\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/posts"}],"about":[{"href":"https:\/\/shortstorydayafrica.org\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/types\/post"}],"author":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/shortstorydayafrica.org\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/users\/1"}],"replies":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/shortstorydayafrica.org\/index.php?rest_route=%2Fwp%2Fv2%2Fcomments&post=106"}],"version-history":[{"count":0,"href":"https:\/\/shortstorydayafrica.org\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/posts\/106\/revisions"}],"wp:attachment":[{"href":"https:\/\/shortstorydayafrica.org\/index.php?rest_route=%2Fwp%2Fv2%2Fmedia&parent=106"}],"wp:term":[{"taxonomy":"category","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/shortstorydayafrica.org\/index.php?rest_route=%2Fwp%2Fv2%2Fcategories&post=106"},{"taxonomy":"post_tag","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/shortstorydayafrica.org\/index.php?rest_route=%2Fwp%2Fv2%2Ftags&post=106"}],"curies":[{"name":"wp","href":"https:\/\/api.w.org\/{rel}","templated":true}]}}