‘The Church of Christ the Dreamer,’ Isaiah proferred.

The young man looked at Isaiah carefully. He seemed to hesitate about saying something in reply, but finally got it out:

‘God.’

‘That’s right.’

‘There. Inside.’

‘Inside.’

The stranger gave Isaiah his tin back. There was still some tea left. Isaiah hesitated in taking it, but then decided against urging him to finish it all.

‘I ring the bell. On Sundays and before evening songs. I ring the bell.’ Isaiah pointed at the square belfry. ‘You’ve heard it, haven’t you? It’s me.’

‘Why do you ring it?’

Isaiah closed his eyes with pleasure. ‘To call all the other people to believe in God. Some are lazy, you know, and don’t want to hear.’ When he opened his eyes, he was surprized to see the expression in the other man’s face. He was visibly fighting against exhaustion, blinking very quickly and hanging on to Isaiah’s lips as if what they had to say was of profound importance to him.

He was about to ask something when Miss Marriot’s shrill ‘Isaiah’ cut into their silence, and Isaiah groaned and looked back at the small white woman.

She came up to the two men.

‘Have you got all the marigolds in, Isaiah?’

‘No Miss Marry.’

‘Oh.’

Isaiah got to his feet and threw out the dregs of the tea in his tin.

‘Is this your friend, Isaiah?’ She didn’t wait for a reply. ‘You know we don’t allow strangers in the grounds.’

She turned to Tsotsi. ‘What’s your name?’

He got up and walked out of the gate without even acknowledging her presence.

‘Who is that man, Isaiah?’

‘I don’t know, Madam.’

‘Well, please tell him…that this is not a park but church grounds…and that he’s welcome to pray…in fact, we want him to pray. Come to me when you’ve got in all the marigolds.’ She couldn’t think of anything more to say and went back to her office.

Isaiah went back to work and a few seconds later the young man came up to the fence. ‘Have you been inside?’ he asked Isaiah.

‘What do you mean man? I ring the bell. I told you. On Sundays and before the evening songs.’

‘Inside.’

‘Just there. By that door. The rope is hanging there.’

‘What’s inside?’

‘The organ. The music, you know. All the seats, and the candles, and Jesus Cries on a cross.’

‘Jesus.’

‘Inside there.’

‘Inside there on the cross.’

The young man sat down on the pavement and they continued their conversation through the fence.

‘What’s he do?’

‘What’s he do? Man he’s dead.’

‘Dead.’

‘They killed. They put him up on the cross and he died.’

‘What did he do?’

‘His father sent him.’

‘Who’s that?’

‘God.’

‘Yes. Tell me about God.’

‘Why are you asking these things? Why do you look so tired?’

The young man took his time in replying. ‘He’s got something to do with me. Tell me about God, old man.’

Isaiah wiped the sweat off his forehead. He was enjoying himself. ‘God made the world. He made everything. You, me, this street, everything.’