“I want to see Nelson Mandela’s inauguration address.”

“Well, if I’m going to be forced to watch it with you, I’m going to need a drink,” I say, heading to the fridge.

“Of course you are,” she mutters.

“You want something?”

“No.”

“Come on, live a little! Surely it wouldn’t kill you to celebrate the ‘new South Africa.’ One drink?” I cajole. “To toast the new president.”

Dee considers it and then, to my surprise, nods. “Okay. One drink.”

I pour myself a vodka martini and Dee a glass of wine as the news jingle plays and the newscaster begins intoning about the day’s events. It’s that Cruywagen fellow, the one who looks like a ventriloquist dummy after too many face-lifts. That’s the thing about plastic surgery: you have to know when to stop. Hell, that’s the secret to just about everything in life, isn’t it?

“Here you go.” I hand the glass to Dee, who immediately shushes me.

Nelson Mandela’s flat, monotonous voice blasts from the TV’s tinny speakers. He sounds so calm amid the hysteria that his presidency has incited that I can’t help but be soothed by it.

“We understand it, still, that there is no easy road to freedom. We know it well that none of us acting alone can achieve success. We must therefore act together as a united people, for national reconciliation, for nation building, for the birth of a new world. Let there be justice for all.”

The inauguration crowd roars in approval and I swear Dee wipes a tear away. She takes a quick sip of her wine and I lean forward with my hand extended. “Cheers,” I say, and we clink glasses.

“Cheers.”

She turns the volume of the television down and we sit in silence. Some silences can be comfortable, I suppose, but this isn’t one of them. I light a cigarette and lean back into the couch, closing my eyes. “Do you think he means what he says?” I ask, nodding at the television. “All that stuff about reconciliation?”

“Yes, I do.”

“But is all that ‘Kumbaya’ stuff even possible? I mean, if I was Mandela, I’d be really, really pissed off about all those years in prison. I’d want revenge against the people who did that to me.”

“Lucky you’re not him then.”

That’s when I hear an eerie, high-pitched noise coming from outside. “Did you hear that?”

Dee cocks her head and listens for a moment.

I feel a sliver of alarm. “I really think we should get better security. I’ve been hearing that the crime here has been getting out of hand. Just another reason why we should sell,” I can’t help adding.

There’s a noise outside again, one we’ve both heard because Dee’s head snaps in the same direction. It’s piercing and sinister, like cats mating.