Just like that, Menzi took his pistol from the drawer and said goodbye. I stood next to the bed and watched him until he walked out. I couldn't dwell deeply on my thoughts about his personality because he was secretive about it, even when I bombarded him with questions.
When he left, I made the bed and arranged everything in order, even though there was little to tidy.
He kept his room neat.
My stomach growled—I needed to fill it with something solid. I went to open the fridge. It was stocked: yogurts, ice creams, beef, bacon, water, and whiskey. I took the ice cream tin and sat at the table while eating. The ice cream's strawberry taste was my favourite, though the alcohol's aftertaste soured my mouth. I didn't have a toothbrush or anything to clean my mouth. Everything I needed was back at home. I continued eating the ice cream without caring.
Since I began taking strangers home from the Hutton bar, it was the first time I wasn't in my own room at around 8:00 a.m. I knew my friends would worry if they hadn't heard from me.
After eating, I undressed and went straight to the bathroom as Menzi suggested. I turned on the warm water for the tub and allowed it to be half-full. As the tub was filling, I looked around for the soap. Luckily, I saw an unused toothbrush. I took it, tore its packaging open, and brushed my teeth. Then I lay in the tub, just warming my body. I was thinking about the things I did from the night I met Menzi until that morning. I smiled at the memory of those wild moments, though I had limited time with Menzi.
Viola was going to be jealous when I tell her I visited Drazen Central and even entered the Kaden House.
After a long stay in the tub, I stood up and dried myself. I wrapped my body in a white towel, took my clothes, and threw them into his washing machine. Once dry, I dressed again and returned to bed.
The hangover clung to me stubbornly. I tried to close my eyes, thinking I was going to fall asleep, but nothing happened.
Since I had nothing to do, I was tempted to investigate Menzi's belongings for answers. I remembered Viola had also told me she didn't trust Menzi, but I disagreed—until I saw him carrying a pistol.
Despite whatever I saw in Menzi, my instinct didn't push me far that morning. Menzi didn't seem like a man who could hurt women. Maybe his pistol was just for self-protection, since he looked like a man who liked to secure his privacy. However, I went straight to the drawers and opened them, one after the other. My expectation was to see stacks of money, like in his car or guns, and bullets, but I found nothing. Only screwdrivers and some laptop parts were in the drawers. I even looked into his closet and there was nothing useful to help me know him better.
After realizing I had checked everything, his laptop was the last option. Possibly, all his documents were inside his laptop, but there was no way I was going to know his password.
I sat on the chair and scanned every corner of the room like a thief until at last I realized his bed had some drawers.
I smiled as I went to open them as well.
With little work, I found the right drawer, which had two pistols. I held the small, shiny silver pistol, admiring how it reflected the bulb's light. It was as compact as a mug of coffee. I had never imagined that a pistol could feel so light, and holding it was something that never clicked in my mind. The other pistol was brownish. It looked quite similar to the shiny one, except it had an unusual shape.
I pulled the papers underneath the pistols to look.
The information surprised me.
Menzi was a war veteran. He volunteered for the Southern Clash of Drazen, which was a serious civil war between the military and terrorists. It occurred when I was starting my junior year at high school. My foster father also took part in it, but he didn't witness their victory against the terrorists because his leg got injured. He almost died—and his leg ended up amputated.
Menzi was far older than I had imagined—he had to be at least ten years older than me, if he had fought in that civil war.
I understood the reason he was keeping weapons in his room, but I got confused because I never saw my foster father holding any gun except in his pictures.
Menzi was still more energetic than my foster father.
Underneath the papers, there were many other papers, which made me sit on the bed comfortably to browse all of them.
Menzi Mabuyani had been charged with bank robbery and served for two years. I wondered why he served for a few years, or maybe it was because he had been a month shy of his eighteenth birthday, as the ink on the paper said.
He had a brother and a sister. He was the last-born.
I continued looking at the papers until I noticed Menzi was thirty-nine years old, fifteen years older than me.
Another detail shocked me again when I read a police report saying Menzi's brother Muzi slaughtered their family when Menzi was away in the war. Muzi killed his family, complaining about his father's decision to allow Menzi to go to war. He wanted to go himself, but their father didn't allow him.
When Menzi came from the war, he found graves, and his brother was already serving the second year in jail.
Apparently, Menzi had tried to kill his brother in jail.
There was a picture of the entire family in those papers. They looked happy. I asked myself what curse could have befallen Menzi's family. In my conclusion, Menzi was still afraid of his brother. He was always with a pistol to protect himself, so I understood his silence.
I put the papers back in order and closed the drawers.
Since I had nothing to do, I played the music on TV and lay on the bed. I also had no phone. Viola was going to get more worried. Worse, the clock was moving slowly for Menzi to come to drive me home.
I lay on the bed, thinking about Menzi's past and how it had shaped him into the person he was. I felt sympathy for him as my mind raced with questions. Why did his brother commit such a heinous crime? Was Menzi still in danger from his brother? All the questions I couldn't answer. The TV's music finally lulled me to sleep.