The Madonna of Excelsior (35 page)

Indeed, Adam de Vries sat all day long in his office, drawing up the last wills and testaments of his fellow citizens.

That afternoon we saw Niki sitting on her white chair among the hives of different colours. Popi was sitting on the grass, her head resting between Niki's knees. The wind was blowing very hard. In its whines, they could hear the songs of Viliki and the Seller of Songs that the wind carried from distant villages and farmsteads. They could also hear their moans of pleasure coming from distant fields of sunflowers.

And then the bees began to swarm. They buzzed away from one of the hives in a black ball around the queen. And then they formed a big black cloud. We saw Niki and Popi walking under the
cloud, following the bees. Or were the bees following them? We did not know. We just saw the women and the bees all moving in the same direction. Until they disappeared into a cluster of blue-gum trees a distance away.

We knew that the bees had succeeded in filling the gaping hole in Popi's heart. Popi, who had been ruled by anger, had finally been calmed by the bees. The bees had finally completed the healing work that had been begun by the creations of the trinity.

Yet the trinity never knew all these things. His work was to paint the subjects, and not to poke his nose into their lives beyond the canvas.

F
ROM THE SINS
of our mothers all these things flow.

The research for this novel was made possible by a generous grant from the National Arts Council of South Africa.

I would like to thank four lovely women—Debe Morris (Toronto, Canada), Sara Gonzalez (Barcelona, Spain), Berniece Friedmann (Cape Town, South Africa) and NomCebo (from my childhood world of Orlando East)—who read each chapter as soon as I finished writing it and e-mailed me flattering remarks. In the manner of true muses they nourished my imagination.

Zakes Mda