Chanda's Secrets (18 page)

Nurse Viser puts down her clipboard. “I don't know,” she says. “The virus can hide in the body for years.”

I suck in a cry. Nurse Viser takes my hand. The alphabet runs through my head as she says—“Would your friend like to be tested?”

“No,” I whisper. “She's too scared.”

“I understand,” she whispers back. “Taking the test
is
scary. But living in fear is worse. At least if your friend takes the test, she'll
know
.”

That's the problem,” I say. “If she tests positive, she'll know she's going to die.”

“Maybe not. Each year new drugs are discovered. People live longer.”

“In the West.” I bite my lip. “My friend can't afford those drugs. Nobody can.”

“In Botswana they have a national drug program. We'll get one too, one day.”

“You don't know that.”

“You're right,” she says, “I don't know it. But I believe it. There's some things you have to believe, Chanda. It's the only way to keep going.” She holds my head in her hands like Mama used to do. “In the meantime, if your friend tests positive, she can
put her name in a lottery for experimental drug trials. Or on a list to get treatment from a relief agency.”

“In a lottery—on a list—that's not enough.”

“It's better than nothing.”

“But my friend... my friend...” My voice chokes. “You know I'm not talking about a friend, don't you? You know I'm talking about me.”

She nods.

All of a sudden tears are pouring down my cheeks. I'm crying. In public. I've let Mama down, but I can't stop. Nurse Viser hands me a tissue. I wipe my eyes. “Please don't tell anybody.”

“You're my patient. This is between us.” Nurse Viser pauses. She tilts her head, choosing her words carefully. “Have you heard about the Thabo Welcome Centre?”

“No.” I shake my head hard. “No. No, I haven't.” But I have. Who hasn't? The Thabo Welcome Centre is down the side road from the Section Ten Community Clinic. It's run by Banyana Kaone, this weird old woman everybody calls the AIDS Lady. There's always stories in the papers about her handing out condoms in supermarkets and parks. “The life you save may be your own!” she says. “If you don't care about yourself, care about your partner.” She's right. All the same, I keep as far away from the Welcome Centre as I can. If people think you go there, they say you have the sickness.

Nurse Viser raises an eyebrow. “If you take the HIV/AIDS test,” she says gently, “let's hope it comes back negative. But if it doesn't, the Welcome Centre is a wonderful place.”

I cover my ears. “I don't want to hear this.”

“Chanda, if you test positive, you'll need support. The Centre has a counselor ...”

“I don't care. If I have the AIDS virus, I don't want anyone to know. Besides, I can't test positive. I've got too many people to look after.”

“Either you have the virus or you don't,” Nurse Viser says firmly. “Fear doesn't change the truth.”

“Stop it! Stop!” I twist the tissue into a ball and jump to my feet. “I know I should get tested. All right? But I won't! I can't! I just can't!”

I turn and run, tripping over my chair as I race out the door.

I
BIKE HOME, MY INSIDES IN A KNOT.
I tell myself not to think about AIDS or testing. I have to focus on Mrs. Tafa. I have to fight for her phone. I have to fight for Esther. I have to stay calm.

I wheel up to Mrs. Tafa's yard. Soly's making a circle of pebbles around her lawn chair. He jumps up when I come through the gate.

“See my magic circle?” he asks. “I'm doing it just like Mr. Tafa showed me. Whoever sits in the throne gets to make a wish.”

“Well, it works,” Mrs. Tafa announces. “I was wishing Chanda'd be back so we could have a little talk, and here she is.”

“Hooray,” Soly bubbles. “Mr. Tafa says my magic circle can protect against evil spirits, too!”

“Maybe you should make one for Chanda,” Mrs. Tafa says, giving me a sharp look.

“All right,” Soly says. “But I have to finish this one first.”

“You do that.”

Soly smiles proudly and starts laying more pebbles as Mrs. Tafa hoists herself up and motions me into her house. She shuts
the door behind us and whirls on me with the wrath of God. “You should be ashamed of yourself, taking in that Esther Macholo. Don't think I don't know what that tramp's been up to.”

“I don't care what you know,” I say. “Esther's in trouble. She's my friend.”

“You think your mama wants her babies living with a whore?”

“What Esther's done, she's done for her family. Keeping a family together whatever it takes—that's something Mama understands.”

“Don't mention your mama and that little bitch in the same breath,” Mrs. Tafa thunders. “Esther Macholo can sleep with the pigs, for all I care. But she's not sleeping next door to me. Either you kick her out or I do.”

My guts clench. “I'm sorry, Mrs. Tafa. I'm not kicking her out. She's staying right where she is, and there's nothing you can do about it. Now, if you don't mind, I need to use your phone to let Mama know.”

Mrs. Tafa hoots. “Nothing I can do about it? As long as that slut's under your roof, you'll never use my phone. You'll never speak to your mama again.”

“Oh, yes, I will,” I hear myself say. “I'll speak to her one way or another. When I do, I'll—I'll—I'll tell her you made me whore for the money to use a pay phone!”

Mrs. Tafa wobbles backwards. “What?”

“You heard me. I'll tell the whole neighborhood!”

She clutches her chest. “That tramp's under your roof one night, and listen to your filth! It's the devil talking!” She points to her phone. “Go ahead then, Jezebel. Use it, if it means so much to you. Use it and be damned.” She runs outside.

I panic: What did I just say? Never mind, I tell myself, it was worth it to see the old goat twitch. I'm shaking as the operator makes the connection to Tiro. The general dealer answers on the fourth ring. There's laughter in the background. I picture a group of men sitting by an old Coca-Cola cooler playing cards and smoking.

“Yeah?” says the dealer with a hearty voice.

“Mr. Kamwendo?”

“That's me.”

“It's Chanda Kabelo. Remember me?”

“Yeah. Your granny and grampa are the Thelas. You called a while back when your sister passed.”

“Yes, and, well, as you probably know, my mama's visiting Granny and Grampa, and, well, could you please give her a message?”

“Yeah. Sure.”

“Tell her everything's going well and we all miss her and to please call, I have to talk to her.”

I hear a clunk as if he's put the receiver down on the counter. Then I hear him talking to a customer and a cash register opening. There's the sound of a little bell and a screen door opening and banging shut.

“Hello?” I say. I hear the receiver bounce on the floor and some swearing. “Hello? Are you still there?”

“Yeah, yeah.”

“So you got my message?”

“Yeah.”

“Tell Mama to make sure to speak to
me
. Not the neighbor lady.”

“Sure thing.”

I want to ask him if he's seen her, if she's well, if everything's okay. I want to ask him so much. But if I do, maybe he'll wonder why I'm asking. Maybe he'll know something's wrong. Maybe he'll spread things. So I don't ask anything. I just say: “Thank you.”

I hang up. An emptiness swallows me. A second ago I was talking to someone only a five-minute walk from Mama. I was that close to her. And now she's hundreds of miles away again.

And I don't know how she is.

And I don't know why she hasn't called.

And I'm afraid to find out.

B
Y LATE AFTERNOON,
Esther's swelling is worse. By nighttime, she's unrecognizable. Iris and Soly say hello through the curtain, but she doesn't want anyone but me to see her.

She stays behind the curtain until the middle of the week. I bring her food, but she doesn't eat much even when I spoonfeed it. I leave her a potty and empty it in the outhouse at sunset and daybreak.

Around about Thursday, Esther makes her first steps into the living area. Tiny steps, like an old woman. I hold her by the elbow to keep her from falling down. I also hide the hand mirror by the front door so she won't see what she looks like. It doesn't matter. She can tell by the stares she gets from Soly and Iris.

Back in her room, Esther touches the sides of her head. It hurts her to lift her hands and elbows, but it hurts her even more to imagine what she can't see. “I'm ugly,” she weeps. “I wish they'd killed me.”

I ignore the last part. “It's just a little swelling,” I say. “It'll come down.” I hope so. Her head's full of lumps, like a bag stuffed with marula nuts. There's a puckering around the stitches. I pat them clean with a cotton towel and boiled water, but it doesn't make a difference.

Meanwhile, things with Mrs. Tafa are really tense. She keeps babysitting Soly, but she ignores me. The morning after our fight, she stayed out of sight when I lifted him over the hedge.

When I got back at lunch, she was in her lawn chair. I hollered hello. She pretended to be sleeping. I hollered again. She turned her back.

“Mrs. Tafa,” I said, “thanks for letting me use your phone yesterday. I'm sorry I was rude.”

She got up and walked into her house. Since then we haven't said a word to each other. It's gotten so uncomfortable, I try not to be outside at the same time as her. She'll never forgive me. Not until I get rid of Esther. And I won't do that, ever.

Mealtimes are the worst. Mrs. Tafa manages to get Iris and Soly into her house right beforehand and spoils them with treats. At first they claimed they couldn't hear me calling them. So I started ringing a cowbell. That worked on Soly. Not Iris.

The first time she refused to come, I said, “Soly, is Mrs. Tafa keeping Iris inside her place?”

His little eyes got big as moons. “If I tell, they'll be mad at me.”

“Well, if you
don't
tell,
I'll
be mad at you.”

“I know. So what am I supposed to do?”

I didn't know what to answer. I just told him to wash his hands and come to the table. Around about the time we were cleaning up, the Little Herself strolled in, eager to let Soly know about the candies he missed.

“Iris,” I said, “Mama put me in charge. From now on, you come when I call.”

“I'll come when I want,” she taunted. “Maybe I won't even come at all.”

“Iris—”

She stuck out her tongue, put her hands over her ears and ran around the table yelling at the top of her lungs. I wrestled her to the ground. Sat on her. “You're going to listen to me, Iris.”

“Leave me alone. This isn't my real home. You aren't my real sister. I hate you.”

I hate you? I thought I was going to die. I went limp. Iris pushed me off and ran outside.

“You should lock her up in her room,” said Esther.

“She'd just get out. Then she'd go to Mrs. Tafa. Next thing you know she'd be staying there.” I buried my face in my hands. “Why does she hate me?”

“She doesn't hate you.”

I want to ask Mrs. Tafa to back me up. But she won't. She wants to be the boss. And she has treats to give. I can't compete.

I can't eat much anymore, either. Or sleep. What if Mama never comes back? What if something happens to her when she does? Will Mrs. Tafa take over? Will she steal my family? How can I stop her?

I wander into the yard in the middle of the night and sit at the side of the house, praying my magic stork will appear. “Please, mma moleane, visit me again. Bring me another dream-vision of Mama.” Of course it doesn't. I knew it wouldn't. There's no such thing as magic. The stork I saw was just a stork. It lives by the Kawkee dam. It came here by accident. It'll never come again.

The weekend passes. Mrs. Tafa does the cemetery tour without me. There's still no word from Mama. It's been two weeks since she left. A week since I phoned. Why hasn't she called back?

I want to bang on Mrs. Tafa's door and yell: “Mama's phoned, hasn't she? She wouldn't leave us like this. Not all alone without a word.”

But if I bang on her door, what difference would it make? Mrs. Tafa wouldn't tell me. Even if she did, I wouldn't believe her.

I live with this terrible not-knowing into the next week. Then, Tuesday afternoon, something happens. Something so terrible Mama's sure to come home.

T
UESDAY MORNING
I
TELL
I
RIS AND
S
OLY
I'll be late for lunch. “I have to stay at school to do a makeup test for English,” I say. “But don't worry. Esther will be here. There's soup left over from last night. She'll give you a bowl.”

“Who cares about your soup?” Iris says. “We'll be at Mrs. Tafa's. Mrs. Tafa has figs. Mrs. Tafa has cookies. Mrs. Tafa has everything.”

“Iris, I don't have time to argue.”

“Good. 'Cause I don't have time to listen.” She takes off for school.

I lift Soly over Mrs. Tafa's hedge, and catch up to Iris on my bike. Actually, I don't quite catch up; I stay two blocks behind her. For the past week, she's refused to walk with me. If I don't stay back, she squats on the ground and refuses to budge.

Where's the Iris who loved me? She's gone. I'm a failure.

We near the kindergarten playground. Iris runs into one of
the Sibanda kids and little Lena Gambe. I let her walk the rest of the way with them. There's so much to do before class. I haven't read anything in ages and I have that English test. Mr. Selalame would give me another extension, but I'm too embarrassed to ask. He's been too good to me.