Af

‘Wehn I was yoh age, I was wohking five jobs. Five!’

‘Yeah? What jobs were they?’

‘And I scored a fest class in univehsity.’

‘In what?’

‘Matts and E-conomics.’

‘You did two degrees?’

‘Ehn?’

Adam heard his nephew perfectly clear. Joseph was even about to repeat his question when his uncle changed the subject again.

‘And to top it all off, i ‘ad to look aftah my younga siblings. I ‘ad to look aftah TWO- Mmh sorry.’ A globe of cold spittle had landed on Joseph’s cheek, just under his eye. Joseph’s hand slowly rose to wipe it off after an instinctual flinch.

‘Don’t look at me like that, now. I apohlogised.’ Uncle Adam playfully slapped Joseph’s shoulder with a force that left a slightly delayed sting.

‘You spat on my face.’

‘I sed sorry, ah? What do you want me to do? So I should not talk, abi?’

Joseph would have liked that for now. He needed a break. Realising that could be used for his escape, he chose his next words carefully.

‘I’m going to go and quickly wash my face.’

‘Ohkay. But make shoh you come back becos we ‘ave not finished our conva-sashon.’

‘Okay, uncle.’

Poor Joseph smiled, but inside he was crying. Inside he was screaming. Inside he was dying. Piece by piece.