said they were posers, out for a cheap thrill.
The girl at the counter is busy with her reflection, patting down her newly permed hair.
I swoop my hand in the jelly babies.
I shove my hand in my pocket, the jelly babies in my fist.
I walk outside, making sure that my feet stay on the pavement and do not start flying off, running, my heart beating and bumping,
waiting to hear the security guard calling out behind me, “Thief! Thief!” his baton knocking on my shoulder.
I smell the sweat under my arms.
I keep my hand in my pocket all the way home, the jelly babies, warm and sticky, safe.
There is whispering in Mummy’s room.
Mrs. Ncube comes out.
“Lindiwe, don’t worry now. Your mother is quite all right. How is school, my daughter? How is your research?”
I say “fine” and go in my room.
I take the jelly babies from my pocket. I squeeze them in my hands till they are almost melting. I put them in my mouth and
spit them out on the bedspread.
I look at the mess.
I take out the box with the earrings and put it next to me on the bed.
I lie down on the bed and I think of Ian, driving away.
When I come out of the room, Mrs. Ncube and Mummy are in the lounge. I go and ask them if they want tea.
Mrs. Ncube gets up and says, “No, no, thank you, my child, I am just going.” She turns to Mummy, “Bye-bye, Ma Lindi.”
Mummy says bye-bye quietly. She does not get up. Her hands are folded on her lap.
I take Mrs. Ncube to the gate.
When she is outside she adjusts her head scarf and says, “Your mother will get better, my dear, don’t worry; these things
happen.”
I find Mummy sitting on her bed. The big Family Bible with the gold lettering that Daddy is paying for in monthly installments
is open. Her hands are flat on the page. She looks up.
“I tried everything for a boy. Everything.”
She looks down at the pages again. The Family Tree with all the branches she cannot fill.
I know that she is thinking about the two babies who died inside her.
One of them was a boy.
I wait for her to say more.
When Daddy comes home, he goes to the bedroom and waits by the door. Then he goes to the workshop where he stays all night.
23.
I go over
to the McKenzies. I crawl under the gap in the fence. Anyone could see me, but I don’t care. I go to the boy’s kaya and knock.
No one comes. I push open the door. The room is dark and smells of paraffin oil and smoke. My eyes begin to see things in
the dark. There is only a straw mat on the floor. This is where Ian sleeps. I lie down on the mat and wait.
Mphiri and Ian do not come.
I crawl back under the fence.
The house is quiet. I go outside to Rosanna’s room, and I find her lying down on the mattress holding her stomach. “Are you
okay?” I ask her. She doesn’t say anything. Maybe she is sleeping.
The light in the workshop is on. I start walking; I should ask Daddy if he wants anything to eat. And then I change my mind.
I turn and go to Maphosa’s room.
I open the door and I can smell Maphosa. I switch on the light. There is a thin mattress on the floor, a tin cup, a tin plate
and saucer in a corner. There is a stove and an old dish towel. There is a vegetable crate upside down. On the wall there
is Bob Marley. I lift up the mattress. There is no AK-47. I think of the soldiers by the garage. I think of Maphosa and his
friends, whether they have gone back to the bush to fight, if a new war is starting all over again, so soon.
I think of Daddy, Mummy, Rosanna, Bridgette, Ian.
In my room I take out the newspaper article from the pink handbag. I look at the picture and then I lift the paper up and
I put my lips gently on his hair.
24.
“
You wouldn’t believe
I was with a chick last night. A fricking expat. I was over at the curry munchers, Naiks down at Lobengula, trying to pick
out a shirt, and she just comes over and says that the blue one really brings out my eyes. These European chicks as forward
as you like. And
The girl at the counter is busy with her reflection, patting down her newly permed hair.
I swoop my hand in the jelly babies.
I shove my hand in my pocket, the jelly babies in my fist.
I walk outside, making sure that my feet stay on the pavement and do not start flying off, running, my heart beating and bumping,
waiting to hear the security guard calling out behind me, “Thief! Thief!” his baton knocking on my shoulder.
I smell the sweat under my arms.
I keep my hand in my pocket all the way home, the jelly babies, warm and sticky, safe.
There is whispering in Mummy’s room.
Mrs. Ncube comes out.
“Lindiwe, don’t worry now. Your mother is quite all right. How is school, my daughter? How is your research?”
I say “fine” and go in my room.
I take the jelly babies from my pocket. I squeeze them in my hands till they are almost melting. I put them in my mouth and
spit them out on the bedspread.
I look at the mess.
I take out the box with the earrings and put it next to me on the bed.
I lie down on the bed and I think of Ian, driving away.
When I come out of the room, Mrs. Ncube and Mummy are in the lounge. I go and ask them if they want tea.
Mrs. Ncube gets up and says, “No, no, thank you, my child, I am just going.” She turns to Mummy, “Bye-bye, Ma Lindi.”
Mummy says bye-bye quietly. She does not get up. Her hands are folded on her lap.
I take Mrs. Ncube to the gate.
When she is outside she adjusts her head scarf and says, “Your mother will get better, my dear, don’t worry; these things
happen.”
I find Mummy sitting on her bed. The big Family Bible with the gold lettering that Daddy is paying for in monthly installments
is open. Her hands are flat on the page. She looks up.
“I tried everything for a boy. Everything.”
She looks down at the pages again. The Family Tree with all the branches she cannot fill.
I know that she is thinking about the two babies who died inside her.
One of them was a boy.
I wait for her to say more.
When Daddy comes home, he goes to the bedroom and waits by the door. Then he goes to the workshop where he stays all night.
23.
I go over
to the McKenzies. I crawl under the gap in the fence. Anyone could see me, but I don’t care. I go to the boy’s kaya and knock.
No one comes. I push open the door. The room is dark and smells of paraffin oil and smoke. My eyes begin to see things in
the dark. There is only a straw mat on the floor. This is where Ian sleeps. I lie down on the mat and wait.
Mphiri and Ian do not come.
I crawl back under the fence.
The house is quiet. I go outside to Rosanna’s room, and I find her lying down on the mattress holding her stomach. “Are you
okay?” I ask her. She doesn’t say anything. Maybe she is sleeping.
The light in the workshop is on. I start walking; I should ask Daddy if he wants anything to eat. And then I change my mind.
I turn and go to Maphosa’s room.
I open the door and I can smell Maphosa. I switch on the light. There is a thin mattress on the floor, a tin cup, a tin plate
and saucer in a corner. There is a stove and an old dish towel. There is a vegetable crate upside down. On the wall there
is Bob Marley. I lift up the mattress. There is no AK-47. I think of the soldiers by the garage. I think of Maphosa and his
friends, whether they have gone back to the bush to fight, if a new war is starting all over again, so soon.
I think of Daddy, Mummy, Rosanna, Bridgette, Ian.
In my room I take out the newspaper article from the pink handbag. I look at the picture and then I lift the paper up and
I put my lips gently on his hair.
24.
“
You wouldn’t believe
I was with a chick last night. A fricking expat. I was over at the curry munchers, Naiks down at Lobengula, trying to pick
out a shirt, and she just comes over and says that the blue one really brings out my eyes. These European chicks as forward
as you like. And
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