Hunger Eats a Man (6 page)

Sithole is glad she responds thus. Just what he needs. “Oh-ho! You are just saying that to please yourself.” He tries to prevent himself from laughing. “Do you think I was telling the truth when I said it is our tradition that Sithole men don't kiss women? I only said that because I did not know where to kiss you with those giant pimples on your face.”

MaXulu feels like screaming. She knows she has a disease that causes the worst kind of pimples on her face, but her husband has always told her she is beautiful in spite of them. He has even tried
to convince her that she is beautiful because of them, something she flatly denies. But now he tells her this!

“So why don't you leave me and marry those without pimples? Hhe?” She starts to sob. “You just want me to feel bad.” She blows her nose and then says, “You hate me.”

“Suit yourself!” Sithole does not care that his wife is in pain. He stands up to leave. When he is in the kitchen, he mutters, “Yes. No one says my ancestors have no wheels and gets away with it.”

Many people grab their things when the truck arrives. There is too much chaos and no consideration is made for Priest or anyone, for that matter, who is believed to be above others. As the prospective workers chase after the truck, some fall and are run over by the others. The truck is quite big, but it cannot accommodate all these people. Priest sees himself running and struggling with the rest. He tries to turn deaf ears to the kind of language being exchanged:

“Hey, you fool! Why do you tread on me like this?”

“Can't you see that I also want a job? Arsehole!”

But one woman, who is safely on the truck, remembers the importance of the Priest in times like this. “The Priest. Somebody make space for the Priest!”

The truck is now overloaded and many people have given up hope of getting to it. In a moment people try to move themselves, becoming even more compressed. Priest is then told to get into the space that has been made for him. It isn't a space at all but he climbs in, as instructed. All he does now he does absent-mindedly. He is not sure if he is really awake or dreaming.

The way he is crammed on to the truck makes Priest suppose that being on this truck is the most uncomfortable experience he has ever had. He begins to wonder if he is really supposed to be here. If being employed means he has to endure this pain twice every day, it will
also mean he will be paying much more for much less. The journey to the farm is about a fifteen-minute drive. All this time Priest sits exactly in one spot, not able to move himself.

It takes about three minutes before Priest is aware of how disagreeably he has seated himself. He learns that he has sat himself between the thighs of a woman who opened them widely, letting him rest his elbows on her knees. He has his legs tightly kept together so that another woman cannot sit between his thighs but rather on top of them. The woman who is seated over him is so close that it is hard for him to pronounce any sound freely. Recognising the situation he is in reminds Priest of his rank in society. He thinks this may be a way of dethroning him. He turns his head to the side and then complains, “Oh God, what have I done to you? Why do you squeeze me like this?”

By uttering this complaint, Priest again attracts a lot of attention to himself. Some feel pity for him and some think they have to laugh.

“Move your legs, you! Can't you see that Priest needs more space?”

“He is used to having too much space to himself in the church. But this is not the church, this is Johnson's truck. We are all equal.”

“What do you want me to do? I can't move!”

“But Priest needs space. Tell the others next to you to move and make space for Priest.”

Priest hears these voices as if in a dream. He wants to tell the woman who is talking on his behalf to stop, but words do not come out of his mouth. He listens sadly as these people continue to discuss him. He hears the others talk, laugh, swear and sing. He still cannot believe that this is really himself.

It is like a dream come true when the truck finally arrives at the farm and Priest, with his colleagues, alights. Johnson looks at the people and wonders how his truck could have managed such a number of people. He is about forty-eight, tall in height and strongly built. His face does not betray any sense of kindness, and his many deeds confirm this lack.

“What do you think this is?” Johnson bellows at the driver. The driver is frightened when he sees his master becoming red with rage. “Don't you know that I paid money for this truck, or do you think I got it for free as affirmative action?” Johnson alternately points a finger at the driver and the truck as he speaks.

“I tried to control them, Mnumzane,” the driver says in a tremulous voice. “They all forced themselves into the truck. I tried to stop them, but they would not listen. They told me that they all want work.”

“Do you know how much damage you may have done to my truck? My own money?”

“I know, Mnumzane.”

“How much is it?”

“I think it must be a great deal of damage, Mnumzane. I'm very sorry.”

“I'm going to check the damage you have caused and I will take it from your salary.”

As the above scene unfolds, Priest is watching and listening, wondering at how things haven't changed. When Johnson has finished with his driver, he turns to look at his prospective employees and, as he directs his fierce glance at them, they all look down in fright. Nobody wants their eyes to meet with the grey, cat-like eyes of Johnson.

Johnson brightens up when he realises these people have come because they have nowhere else to go. A few years ago farmers' lives were made miserable by these blacks who now come to them looking for work, suffering and sadness written on their faces and their meagre bodies.

“What have you all come here for?” Johnson shouts after a while, looking at the seekers of employment closely, as if trying to find out if there are any familiar faces amongst them. “What have you all come here for?” he repeats when no one ventures a reply.

Priest, who resides closer to God and the Word, is too much engrossed in his own thoughts to respond to Johnson. So one woman, the one who interrogated Priest about the money and was accused of
ugliness, comes closer to Johnson and answers, “We want work. We are hungry.”

She speaks with a clear, fearless voice. The others nod their approval. Some even go so far as to articulate words of agreement, saying, “Yes, we want work” or “Yes, we are hungry”.

Johnson likes the last word that woman has said. Hunger and destitution force people to accept the most unreasonable terms, especially if they have nowhere else to go. He suddenly remembers a song one of his former employees used to sing when he was drunk: “You will remember me when you've run out of strength.” The tune rings in Johnson's mind. These people have really run out of strength, and indeed they have remembered him, the white farmer.

“It's not my fault that you are hungry. Don't say it as if I have an obligation,” Johnson states with so much vehemence that many wish they could withdraw the utterances of approval they made when the ugly woman spoke. It is a shame they can't.

“We heard that you wanted workers and that is why we came. I think that is why you sent your truck also. Here we are then.”

Before Johnson has his words ready, there ensues a bitter noise among the people. The cause for the chaos is the manner in which the ugly woman demonstrates disrespect for the white man, the people's only hope.

“Why do you talk to
umlungu
like that? Can't you see that you'll blow it for all of us?”

“I told you she needs to be killed,” says a man in green overalls.

“Hey, you dog. Don't talk that nonsense to me,” the ugly woman growls and takes two steps in his direction. He takes two steps backwards, only stopping when he notices what he is doing.

“If that was me, I would be red with blood now,” one man suggests.

“Me too. I have never been insulted by a woman before.”

These words find their way to the ears of the man in green overalls. He realises he has to do something to protect his reputation. Instead he says, “South African law strongly disapproves of women abuse.”

The people look at the man in green, astonished.

“I don't want to go to jail. My children will have no one to support them.” As he utters the last sentence, the man in green remembers that his children have lived for many years without him actually supporting them. When he recalls this fact, he thinks that the others are thinking the same thing, so he decides to correct himself. “I don't want my children to be sorry that I am in jail.”

“Peace, everyone. In the name of Jesus, we have come to seek work,” Priest puts as much stress as he can on his words.

Johnson, who has looked at these people, trying to find any familiar face but not doing so, is very shocked when he recognises Priest. How greatly seeking employment changes people's looks! Johnson has never seen Priest without his priestly attire before. The fact that Priest is not only without his honourable clothing, but also wearing large old boots and a very tattered overall, moves Johnson.

As Johnson struggles to make sense of what is in front of him, Priest continues, “In the name of the Lord's only Son, we have come to seek employment. Hunger is killing us and our children.” Priest pauses and observes the attention with which Johnson is listening. “We have come to offer ourselves to work for you on the terms that best suit you.” Priest stops again, looks at the sun, as if asking if it is okay to say what he is going to say next. “We can even work on Sunday if you want.”

Johnson sees that these people are just what they've always been, and he despises them for it. Even so, these people are just what he wants. In the last few months he has been trying to decide on the wage for his workers with difficulty. Now he knows with certainty that these people will accept his first offer. He smiles at the enchanting realisation of how much money he is going to save.

“Yes, I do need people to work,” Johnson starts in a friendly tone. “As you know, I want to plant trees, so there is going to be a lot of work.”

He observes the people's faces lightening as he speaks. Hope, which
has been lost, returns to them. They are indeed going to get employed and be able to do something for their families, no matter how little.

“I know that most of you are unfamiliar with the business of planting trees. And those who know it do not know it from a planter's point of view.” He pauses and watches the people whose faces have become serious. “So, I'm telling you, it is very expensive. One thing I cannot tolerate is for you to be lazy when I cannot see you.”

The people nod approvingly. It's unthinkable that they can be lazy and jeopardise their only hope.

“The only way to avoid that is for you to work on a quota system.”

Many people who are familiar with the term look wildly at Johnson. This system is one hundred per cent in favour of the employer. Workers have to work from morning till late without rest.

“I am only prepared to pay you eight cents for every eighty-centimetre hole you will dig,” Johnson announces, earning himself a great deal of disapproval from his audience.

The mention of eight cents eradicates all traces of fear from the people. The need for respect is put on the backburner. What does this man think they are? The things one can do with eight cents are absolutely nil. Eight cents have to be more than ten times multiplied before they make a rand, which is now nothing in itself.

“He is mad!” one man protests.

“What can you possibly do with eight cents?”

“This is an insult. This
umlungu
is insulting us.”

“We may be hungry, but we are not mad.”

Johnson sees that his offer is totally unacceptable to the people. He has anticipated this, so he calls on his second strategy: “If that is not okay with you, I will increase it dramatically by offering you R16.” Many people brighten up. It makes them feel content to hear the money translated into rand. But that satisfaction diminishes when they hear how much they have to do to earn the money: “But you will have to dig two hundred holes per person.”

Again, this piece of information creates another clash. Does this man think they are donkeys or what?

Priest, who is very talented with numbers, concentrates on counting precisely how much Johnson has added to his previous offer. “It's exactly the same,” he shouts, not particularly addressing Johnson or the people. “R16 for two hundred holes is exactly eight cents per hole if you divide.” Priest is sad, he is losing his mind, “Oh God, why are you so far away when we need you?”

There ensues a hot debate as to whether the people have to accept Johnson's offer or not. Some see the offer as an insult to their man- and womanhood. R16 is a small amount, but having to dig two hundred holes for it is unthinkable.

“I'll rather die of hunger than be a slave.”

“He should take us back to where he took us from.”

“It's better not to work than not to work when you are working.”

“There is no such thing as an ancestor.”

After a great disagreement, those who have done this kind of work before testify that it is humanly possible to dig two hundred holes in one day, although it is very daunting. The worker has to be on the fields by six and work all the way through to six in the evening – six to six, as they call it – with only thirty minutes for rest and eating. When they recall the miserable conditions in which they left their homes, many decide to give it a try. Half a loaf, or even a quarter of it, is better than nothing, no matter how hard you work for it.

Priest has vested so much hope in this job that it is hard for him to refuse it. But what actually motivates him is the thought of his wife back home. If he turns it down, the matter will come up every time there is a problem.

Priest sees by the look on MaDuma's face that she is not happy to see him coming back home so early in the morning. The news has spread all over Ndlalidlindoda that there were so many people who had gone to Johnson's that he was unlikely to need them all. Now, as she sees him, MaDuma thinks her husband has failed to secure himself a job at the farm. She has begun to imagine life if her husband is earning at least something. His failure to get a job affects her badly.