The Water Man's Daughter (20 page)

Zembe does leave, but she heads to the community centre. She greets a young woman poring over a solitaire game at the front desk.

“Is Mira in? Do you know?”

“Angazi, sis. If he is, though, he’ll be back in the corner office. They always hole up in there. Especially on weekends.”

“They?”

“Him and those no-good boys. Eish, tsotsis, the lot of them.”

“Thanks, Masindi.” Zembe brushes by her before finishing her thank you. She winds through the maze-like hallway to get to the back of the building. The centre is built like a riot-proof boarding house, small rooms off a hallway that cannot possibly fit more than one person at a time. Zembe
would believe that this design was purposeful if it weren’t for the fact that the entire complex was built less than ten years ago – a time when the whole country pretended it could live in peaceful harmony.

Mira pops suddenly from a doorway in the last stretch of hallway. Her body bumps into him and the wall all at once. She collects herself, but not before Mira backs up and scoffs at her attempt to adjust her vest and bag.

“We, ngulube.”
Hey, pig
.

“What did you say, boy?” Zembe can see Mira caught off guard by her aggression. She is caught off guard by how angry she feels. It is not the first time the local tsotsis have mouthed off to her. Maybe it is the claustrophobic hallway and the sheer height of this boy that gets to her. But he has always been confrontational and ungrateful for all Zembe has done for him.

“Voetsek.”

“You shut your mouth, bhuti, before the help you’re about to get disappears. I am here to fix your mistake. But if I decide to get annoyed, it will be worse for you than for me, uyangizwa?”
Understand?

Mira starts to kick the floor like a surly child. His sullen face only makes her more angry. “Is Nomsulwa here?”

“No, she’s probably with that white girl you stuck her with.”

“The Matthews girl …” Zembe’s voice trails off.

“What do you want?” Mira puffs himself up again. Zembe notes a meanness in his face that makes her feel the
tiniest bit scared. He cracks his knuckles, probably a nervous habit, but she winces a little at the sound.

“One of the pipes turned up at the market. Do you know anything about it?”

“No. Why would I know about the pipes? The ones that went missing?” Mira feigns ignorance.

“Siphukuphuku!
Idiot!
I saw you run behind a house like a coward. Now, one of the men reported to be involved looks a lot like you.”

Mira doesn’t pause long before capitulating. “We needed money, for water for Phiri extension. We had no choice.”

“Damn. You’re all in trouble this time.” Zembe is thinking of Nomsulwa, how she has to get her away from those pipes before they are found by the police.

“We had no choice.”

“Ubuduphunga, just stupid … The chief knows. Now I have no choice but to focus fully on recovering them.”

“Are you warning me?”

“I’m letting you know that the
PCF
’s mistake has forced my hand.”

“You shouldn’t do this, Mama, there are people who need that money.”

“I have no choice.” Zembe walks out, hoping against hope that Mira gets the message to Nomsulwa and the two of them at least find some way to remove themselves from the stolen pipe. She wants to recover the pipes, but doesn’t want to arrest the leadership of the
PCF
in the process. “Just make sure you are nowhere near those pipes. I can’t put this off much longer.”

Zembe walks through the now empty community centre. When she finally makes it out of the maze, Masindi is packing up for the day.

“Did you find him?”

“Yebo, thanks, sisi.”

“I don’t like that boy. There’s too much thug in him.”

“I know what you mean.” Zembe squeezes Masindi’s arm and heads out to her car. It’s late enough that dinner and an hour of
TV
will keep Zembe occupied until it is time for bed. She drives slowly, comforted by the company of her township closing up for the day. Hidden behind the tinted glass of the police car, Zembe feels like she is flipping through old family photos, familiar but surprising. Memories you forgot you had.

A
FTER DROPPING
C
LAIRE AT HER HOTEL
, N
OMSULWA
drives fast down the highway away from the city. When she arrives home, despite her exhaustion, she cannot relax. She surveys the main room, the kitchen with bread, milk, and fruit in disarray on the counter, the floor with missing tiles and tracks of dirt that reappear despite her constant sweeping. Then ants, ants that make their way along the wall, a long line from the garden. Nomsulwa grabs her spray bottle and cloth and attacks the bugs from the front. She sprays and wipes and repeats: ridiculous, useless, but she can’t stop herself.

Nomsulwa recleans the spot next to the door, she rubs the off-white wall with all the force she has, allows the movement of her hand to distract her a little from her morning.

The phone rings, excusing her from the task at hand. She places the bottle and cloth in the corner and picks up. A voice on the other end mentions the usual greeting, but Nomsulwa is distracted by the line of ants, already growing again, winding their way along the wall.

“Sorry, what?” Nomsulwa catches herself.

“Nomsulwa, it’s Pim.” Why is Mira’s girlfriend calling her?

“Hi, Pim. How’s Aluta? How’s the baby?”

“Fine, fine, they’re both fine. As well as can be expected.”

Nomsulwa doesn’t ask how her husband is.

“Mira asked me to call you. His phone is out of minutes. He’s at the community centre, but he needs to see you.”

Sure
, Nomsulwa thinks.
Because if he called me himself he’d have to deal with our fight. And I’d have another chance to yell
.

“I’m exhausted, Pim. Really. Was up most of the night. Can you get him to call me tomorrow?”

“Can’t you just head down there for a minute? He seems really upset.”

Nomsulwa clenches her teeth. Mira knew that if Pim asked, she’d say yes.

“Fine, how long will he be there?”

“Another hour at least, I think.”

“Then I’ll go.”

“Thanks, sis.”

“Oh, and Pim? Aluta, are you sure she’s okay?”

“She’s making it out of her room most days now. And she ate breakfast with us yesterday. It’s a good thing he stopped before he …” Pim can’t continue.

“I’ll find a time to come by,” Nomsulwa promises.

N
OMSULWA WATCHES
M
IRA FROM THE DOORWAY OF
the wide room. The sunset squeaks through the dirty windows. It throws shadows on the floor. In the dark centre, Mira stands in front of an older woman. He gestures emphatically and his head moves in their direction over and over again.
When Nomsulwa sees him she forgets to be mad. The sting of their confrontation didn’t even last two days. She imagines sneaking up and tickling his sides until he can no longer continue explaining the next meeting’s agenda or the pickup time for the emergency water supply. Instead, she waits for him to finish. The woman begins to leave and he turns towards the offices with his hands shoved deep into his pockets. His pants are too short and the cuffs wave like eager flags around his ankles. Nomsulwa watches the flapping as Mira approaches, not wanting to see his face.

“Glad you came, sisi.”

She hesitates, not sure what to say.

“I got your message.”

Mira looks at Nomsulwa. He seems to study every line from the corner of her eyes to her chin. Then he smiles. “I’m glad you came.”

“You told Pim you needed to talk to me. So, out with it.” She’s not going to relax. He tried to take everything from her because she spent a few days downtown on a police assignment. She forces herself to be on guard with him, to forget that he is family.

“Ag, sisi. You can’t stay angry with me forever.”

“You acted like an idiot. We could be in trouble for this, me more than you, and you knew that.”

Mira pauses, as if contemplating Nomsulwa’s charge. But he takes a deep breath and continues, less friendly, less soft. “If you hadn’t threatened to lock me up we could have moved the pipe before the police had time to jump on the
market. You should have let us do what we thought was best. You always have to control everything, Nomsulwa, you take it in your hands and won’t let anyone else in.”

Nomsulwa backs away from her cousin.

“You called me.” She offers this and turns to walk out.

“Lalela! I did call you … I need your help. I had a visit from Zembe.”

She stops and wheels back towards the office. “I told you …” She is speechless. “We are done for now … the movement –”

“No. She came to warn us. We have a little time to make this all go away.”

“What are you talking about? We’re in trouble either way. If we don’t sell them, she will find them and we’ll be through. If we do sell them, we’ll be caught in a second. Again, finished. God, Mira, how could you?”

“She doesn’t want you arrested. She needs you to look after the white girl. Now all we have to do is execute our plan a little faster. The heat’s just been turned up. We sell the pipes and use the money.”

“You mean
blow
the money.”

“No, I found a project, a good one. Well, it found us. And then we can get the money out of sight, out of town right away. There will be nothing connecting us to the pipes when it is done.”

Nomsulwa wonders what Mira has in mind. It takes as much work for the organization to spend money properly as it does to raise it. And it can’t just be used to buy more
water. The water company would notice if their community of women suddenly had an influx of coins to spend filling up their meters.

Seeing her hesitate, Mira continues. “We got a call from Kwanele –”

“Kwanele called?”

“He asked to speak with you, but when I said you weren’t around he told me about the crisis in Victoria. The cholera outbreak isn’t being contained. They have found a sanitation engineer willing to help, but there is no money for a facility. They’ve asked for a government grant and received nothing. We can give them the start-up funds they need. He sounds desperate … well, as desperate as he ever sounds.”

“I’m not sure what you need me to do. Go sell the pipes. Send him the money.”

“Nomsulwa, you have to see him again. You have to be willing to work with him again. He needs help. They’ve lost over thirty-five people already. They may have to move everything.”

“I’ll call him.”

“You should be the one to deliver the money. You set up the project so that I can hand the money off to you when the sale is complete.”

“I have Claire to worry about, remember? The key to the police information? I can’t go spend my days out in the desert.”

“Take her with you.”

Mira’s face is plaintive. How can she think about the white girl when this is their chance to complete the pipe project more successfully than they ever imagined? Being needed again feels good. Feels familiar. This is her real life. She nods her head without thinking too hard about what she is agreeing to.

“How are you going to sell the pipes without tipping off the police? Zembe might not want me arrested, but she certainly wants those pipes back.”

Mira lowers his voice conspiratorially. “We have a comrade from the eastern townships who owns farmland outside the city. We’re going to transport it there, bury it, and then bring the buyers to the land.”

“What buyers?”

“The man from the market. With that many pipes it makes sense for him to send his men far from the town, away from prying eyes. He has already agreed to hire a car and four boys who don’t ever work in Phiri to load and drive the steel to his sister’s shop out of town. You always wanted to wait to make the sale when things had died down, but it’s just as easy to sell now. And we have reason to hurry.”

Nomsulwa hates to admit it, but the plan makes sense. If the black market merchants send new runners to pick up the pipes, no one will be tipped off to their location. And if they go far enough out of town, finding the piece of land where the pipes are buried will be next to impossible without a tipoff. Kwanele’s town is close. She could be up there by the end of the morning. Maybe with a little nudging,
Claire would be willing to come with her. That would keep her out of trouble with Zembe, too.

“I’ll see what I can put in place. Either way, go ahead with the sale. This is good work, Mira.” Nomsulwa squeezes his arm. It feels so skinny, no different than when they were kids. “Thank you.”

“For what?”

“For figuring this out, for leaving me out of it and off the police radar.”

“Of course.”

Mira looks at the ground. He must be blushing. Nomsulwa wants to hug him, but gives him a final friendly shove and leaves.

C
LAIRE IS SITTING ON THE BED
. O
UTSIDE THE WINDOW
, the sky is darkening fast. The room smells like sleep and Claire. Nomsulwa can pick out the two smells distinctly. One heavy, sweet: sleep; the other high and sharp, like musk and lilies: Claire. Nomsulwa can feel sweat collecting behind her knees and across her forehead. She wishes it weren’t so damn hot in the room. She notices a line of perspiration on Claire’s lip and then forces herself back to the task at hand.