LITMIR.BIZ

Скачать книгу

had chosen to believe Aunt Thandi’s infection was a result of negligence by the hospital. It was said that some time back, before Yuri’s birth, Aunt Thandi had been involved in a car accident and had lost a lot of blood. At the hospital she was given a blood transfusion and that was how she had contracted HIV.

      “Wow, look at you! I like that complexion,” said Mama as soon as I walked into the kitchen, wearing my fur-lined slippers. “Come here and give Mama a big hug.”

      She squeezed me hard against her enormous pear-shaped breasts as if I had been lost for a decade.

      “You look fine too, Mama.”

      “So, tell me about your university results,” she said, as soon as she let go of me. “I know that my boy has done well. I can’t wait to see you in a suit with that black gown that lawyers and advocates wear in court!”

      “Eeee-eh . . .” my reply was slow to come, “that’s what I was hoping to discuss with you, Mama.”

      “What happened? Do you want to take me to the graduation ceremony? I don’t mind going to Cape Town with you even though I’m like this . . .” She rubbed her belly. “It would be a great opportunity because I’ve never been to the Mother City. I was talking about it with Zinhle when we saw a nice dress at Southgate Mall the other day. I wanted to buy it specially for your big day.”

      “No, Mama. The university has withheld my results because I owe them money,” I lied. “So, until I’ve paid them, they won’t give me the results.”

      “That university is very greedy! How do they think you’ll become an advocate without your results, huh?” she asked crossly. “Tell them that you’ll settle your debts when you’re working as an advocate next year. I’m sure they can give you an extension?”

      “I tried that, Mama, but they wouldn’t listen to me.”

      “Ag, shame, my baby! Don’t stress . . .” She tried to comfort me by hugging me again. “I’m sure we can make a plan.”

      I shrugged and looked at Mama.

      “But how, Mama?” I asked, my voice devoid of interest. “I owe them R22 000. How can you afford to pay the university?”

      “Just leave everything up to Mama, okay? In the meantime you can apply for this job,” she said, pointing at the newspaper on the kitchen table.

      “No, Mama,” I shook my head, “I don’t want you to go to the abomashonisa again. You know how those loan sharks are, they’ll take all your money if you fail to pay on time.”

      “Actually, I wasn’t even thinking about them.”

      “Am I missing something here?” I asked as I saw her smile. “Does this mean that the supermarket is paying you well these days?”

      “Are you trying to be funny, Bafana?” she asked, the smile vanishing from her face. “What can I do with R21 an hour, huh? You tell me.”

      “Why don’t you join the workers’ union, Mama?” I asked.

      Mama raised her eyebrows and gave me a sour look. She was sweating a bit above her upper lip.

      “Iyhooo! Do you want them to fire me like they did with the others? Ask Zinhle what they did to her before she completed her nursing course. I can’t risk that! Where will I get the money to put the food on the table if I join the union, huh? Those rich bastards don’t care about us South Africans because of the illegal immigrants. That’s why they were so quick to fire Zinhle in the first place, they know it’s easy to get these amakwere-kwere and underpay them. No, I’ve joined a stokvel society and it’ll be my turn next month. I think I’ll make a good profit. It’ll be way too short to pay for your results, but it’ll be something.”

      By that time Yuri had entered the kitchen, followed by my uncle’s dog, Verwoerd. Every time that I looked at Yuri, he reminded me of the slow, painful death of his mother.

      “Stop that!” Mama shouted at Yuri angrily as he started scratching at his little hand until his skin broke. Then she looked at me and said, “He always does that when he’s hungry. I left his food at home in Naturena.”

      “I don’t mind running to the shop and buying him a kota with cheese and a Vienna,” I offered.

      “No, his sickness requires that I feed him a special diet,” said Mama. “He’s only allowed the chicken stew I make with onion, garlic, potatoes, carrots, pumpkin and green beans. I’ll have to leave for Naturena now,” she said, standing up. “You’ll have to make your own breakfast. I’ll see you tomorrow morning.”

      FOUR

      Thursday, November 25

      The following morning, before she went to work, Mama passed by our house in Chi again. To my utter astonishment, she asked me to draft an advert for the sale of our house. At first I thought my ears were playing elaborate tricks on me, but when she insisted that I should send the advert to the Sowetan newspaper offices in Industria for publication the following day, I realised she was serious. I was completely against the idea because Uncle Nyawana was still living in the house and although my elder uncle, Guava, was in jail for arson and assault, he was still part of our family and it was his house as well. I thought it was unfair of Mama to decide to sell the house without speaking to my uncles.

      “But Mama, have you discussed this with my uncles?” I asked.

      “There’s no need to do that now. Besides, both of your uncles have RDP houses, in Snake Park and Slovoville respectively. It’s only a matter of time before they leave this house for their low-cost houses.”

      “What about the family history in this house? I’m sure we’re not that desperate.”

      “You need your results so that you can start earning a salary for yourself, don’t you, Bafana? This house means nothing to the kind of money that you’ll be earning once you’ve become an advocate. You can buy thousands of these houses in just one year,” she said, trying to convince me. “Anyway, all the memories in this place are bad ones. Both your grandparents died here and your uncle Guava went to jail straight from this house. There are no good memories here. Just don’t tell your uncle about our plan yet.”

      “Okay, how much shall I advertise it for?”

      “What do you think? I mean, there are no improvements; it’s still two bedrooms, a dining room, a kitchen and a small yard. The house isn’t even plastered.”

      “But houses are expensive nowadays, Mama.”

      “Make it forty thousand then.”

      “Okay, fine, Mama.”

      As I was talking to Mama in the kitchen I looked out through the dirty window into our small, dusty driveway and saw Priest Mthembu approaching. He lived in the house at the corner of our street and preached nearby at the Roma church. Looking at the black briefcase that he was carrying, I guessed that he was on his way home from his night shift at the Croesus yeast company.

      My uncle had just come out from the toilet after doing his morning ritual and was now smoking a zol under the apricot tree. As Priest Mthembu approached, I called out to my uncle.

      “A-ye-ye, Uncle! Sek’shubile! Danger! The priest is here,” I warned him, expecting him to put out the zol that he was smoking.

      “Yeah, Bafana is right. What will the priest say when he sees you smoking dagga, huh Jabu?” said Mama. “He’ll probably think that we don’t have any respect in this house.”

      “Priest Mthembu knows very well that I don’t respect him. He once said to my face that I’m a heathen and will not go to heaven,” responded my uncle.

      By a stroke of luck, Priest Mthembu didn’t hear my uncle as he had seen someone he knew and had stopped to greet him.

      “And I stopped attending his evangel when he started preaching that Jesus was not the son of

Скачать книгу