CHAPTER FORTY-NINE: Ceilin' and Cussin'

Soon after Daddy and Brenda had returned to the sunny climes of South Africa, Giselle called me at work.  "I just wanted to let you know," she said, "that my son’s bedroom ceilin' has fallen down on top of him, and I'm goin' downtown to report it to the authorities."

"Wait, what?" I said, surprised.  "Is he okay? Why are you reporting it, though?  Wim will come and fix it."

“It ain’t safe, and they should know.”  Before I could answer, Giselle hung up in my ear.

I called Wim at his maintenance job at Vacationer's Inn.  He promised he would go over to Schemmerhorn straight after work.

When I arrived home that night, Mummy told me Wim had gone to Schemmerhorn at about 4:30 p.m. but no one had been at home.

"He did peer in the window, though," she said. "The ceiling fell down in two parts. One was resting on a computer-game-type thing.  He doesn't think it would have hit Giselle's son if he was in bed, but it had nothing to do with the walls he just put up."

Giselle called later on, very upset.  "I phoned you this morning at ten o'clock and Wim didn't even come!" she yelled into the phone.

I tried to remain calm.  "Giselle, he went to your place straight after work but you weren't home.  He did look in the window, though, and saw the ceiling."

"He can't see anythin' through that window,” Giselle retorted. “The ceilin's in the way."  She'd  obviously forgotten that Wim was six foot four and could easily see in the window.

"Anyway," she continued. "How come he came so late? This is serious.  I had to take my son to the hospital an’ now he's scared to go in his room again. Wim has to come over now. I reported it to the building inspector, and they came and looked at it and said you should’ve got a #permit to put those walls up."

"Not for #renovation and #repair."

"Uh, huh, yes you do.  They'll be sending you a notice pretty soon 'bout the violation."

"Okay, whatever. Wim will call you when he gets home."

"Fine, but he needs to come first thing in the morning and get this mess straightened out!"

"He won't be able to til he’s finished work.  He just started a new job.  He can't just take time off --"

"I don't give a f___ what Wim's got.  I want him ova heah first thing!" Giselle screamed hysterically.  "This is all Wim's fault! He was the one put them walls up an’ did a f__g job!  The ceilin's just layin' theah, and . . ."  A string of expletives followed, every other word beginning with the letter "F."

I held the phone away from my ear while Giselle ranted on.

When she eventually paused for breath, I broke in, ever so calmly.  "Does it make you feel better to swear at me like that?"

"Wh . . . what?  Let me tell you somethin'!  It's the #landlord's responsibility to provide a safe place to live.  Well, this ain't safe!  I tol' you, my son's scared to death to sleep in that room. Ever again!"

"Maybe he should see a psychiatrist," I suggested.

Giselle fairly exploded.  "A psychiatrist!  My son don' need no psy-chi-a-trist!  He needs a safe place to live!  You in big trouble, Lady!"

"Why am I in trouble?"  Still oh-so-calmly.

"Wh . . . what?  Because-the-ceiling-fell-down!"

"So, we'll fix it.  It's an old #house.  These things happen."

"Yeah, but it's Wim's shit job putting the walls up that made the ceilin' fall down."

"He says the walls have nothing to do with it."

"Well, he's lying to you, Stace, 'cause they do."

"As I said," I repeated, "I will have Wim call you when he gets home."

"Fine!" And with a few more choice expletives, my angry #tenant hung up the phone.

By now I was shaking uncontrollably.  Mummy tried to comfort me, but I was seeing visions of red dollar signs and lawsuits floating before my eyes.

Wim came home and called Giselle, who treated him to another incoherent, expletive-interspersed barrage of dialogue.

He told her firmly that he would be over at five o’clock the next evening and no sooner. After warning her she'd better be there this time, he hung up the phone and turned to me.

"Agh, she's just trying to scare you," he said in his usual, dismissive manner.  "Being all dramatic and hysterical.  Her son didn't get hurt.  She's always taking him to the hospital for migraine headaches."

"Yes, well, she's probably going to sue me," I said. "You know what people are like … any chance to make a quick buck. Anyway, I have to go pack."

The next day I escaped to a rural college, an hour’s drive away, looking forward to a weekend of poetry and creative writing and my very first stay in a college dorm.