Ways of Dying (9 page)

Toloki heard how his friend was burnt to death in a deadly game he played with a white colleague. During their lunch break this white colleague sent him to fetch a gallon of petrol from the mill's petrol depot. When he came back with the petrol he found a black labourer, who was known as the white man's crony, on the floor, struggling to free himself from his white friend who had his knee on his chest. The crony later said, ‘I do not know exactly how it happened, but I remember kicking the container and the man was doused with petrol all over.' As he was trying to clean his face with a piece of cloth, the white colleague jokingly said that he was going to burn him. He then struck a match and threw it at him.

The crony continued, ‘The fire was so big that I was frightened. I went around screaming for help. But by the time they put out the flames and took him to hospital, it was too late. He
was badly burnt.' The crony insisted that his white friend was playing. He had played such fire tricks on other workers before, including on him only the previous month. ‘The same white man doused me with petrol and set me alight last month. I sustained burns, but I healed after a while. Although he is a big white baas, he is very friendly and likes to play with black labourers.'

However the man's father refused to believe that it was all a game. He said that before his son died, he had told him that the white man hated him because he was doing so well in his job. He had been a labourer for many years, serving the company with honesty and dedication, and had recently been tipped for a more senior position. The white man had conspired with the crony to kill him. They were motivated by jealousy. ‘I cannot believe the many stories that are told, but I believe what my son told me,' the old man said. ‘Why did the white man who burnt my son laugh at him when he was in flames? Why did he refuse to help him?' But the crony was adamant that the white colleague was merely laughing because it was a game. To him the flames were a joke. When the man screamed and ran around in pain, he thought he was dancing.

Toloki went to his friend's funeral, and solemnly listened to the Nurse explain how this our brother died. He heard of how the people led the life of birds, in fear that they would not see the next day. He heard other funeral orators talk of the wars of freedom that were beginning to take root in the cities, wars that were necessary even in that small town.

That night Toloki took his boots and hung them on his shoulders, and walked the road. He said he would not work at a place where the masters played such funless games with their servants. But first he went to say goodbye to the old man, and to pay back the money with which his deceased friend had bought him fat cakes and milk. The old man insisted that he kept the money, and wanted to give him more for provision,
but Toloki said, ‘Your need is greater than mine, father. I was paid only two days ago, so I still have some money.'

Toloki spent many days on the road. He walked through semi-arid lands that stretched for many miles, where the boers farmed ostriches and prickly pears. When he ran out of money, he took part-time jobs with farmers. At some places, he joined workers to harvest the prickly pears. At others, he worked for merchants who sold coal on horse carts, and who paid him only in food, after he had loaded and unloaded bags and bags of coal.

Deaths and funerals continued to dog his way throughout. For instance, in one village he found the whole community in mourning. The previous week, in a moment of mass rage, the villagers had set upon a group of ten men, beat them up, stabbed them with knives, hurled them into a shack, and set it alight. Then they had danced around the burning shack, singing and chanting about their victory over these thugs, who had been terrorizing the community for a long time. It seemed these bandits, who were roasted in a funeral pyre, had thrived on raping maidens, and robbing and murdering defenceless community members. The police were unable to take any action against these gangsters, so the members of the community had come together, and had decided to serve their own blend of justice. According to a journalist who wrote about the incident ‘it was as if the killing had, in a mind-blowing instant, amputated a foul and festering limb from the soul of the community.' When Toloki got there, all the villagers were numbed by their actions. They had become prosecutors, judges and executioners. But every one of them knew that the village would forever be enshrouded by the smell of burning flesh. The community would never be the same again, and for the rest of their lives, its people would walk in a daze.

Finally, three months after leaving his village, Toloki arrived in the city.

The sun rises on Noria's shack. All the work has been completed, and the structure is a collage in bright sunny colours. And of bits of iron sheets, some of which shimmer in the morning rays, while others are rust-laden. It would certainly be at home in any museum of modern art. Toloki and Noria stand back, and gaze admiringly at it. First they smile, then they giggle, and finally they burst out laughing. Sudden elation overwhelms Toloki. Noria's laughter is surely regaining its old potency.

‘I did not know that our hands were capable of such creation.'

‘I did, Toloki. I did. You have always been good at creating beautiful things with your hands.'

‘I don't believe you, Noria. You are only saying this to be nice. You know what they thought of me in the village.'

‘Don't you remember the April calendar?'

‘The what?'

‘It is still there, Toloki. The calendar with the picture you made.'

He had forgotten about the calendar. When he won the national art competition, his colourful drawing was one of twelve that were selected for use in the following year's calendar. His was chosen for April. Even though Jwara had not shown any appreciation of the books that his son had won as a prize, Toloki hoped that he would be happy about the calendar. After all, it was going to grace the walls of homes and offices throughout the land. In April, everyone would know who Toloki was, for his name was printed just below the picture, together with
the name of his school, and his age, and the class he was doing. Once more the big man from the milling company drove all the way from town to the village school to deliver a big bunch of calendars. Toloki asked for three, one each for himself, his father, and his mother. When he got home he ran excitedly to the workshop, and found his father brooding over his figurines.

‘So, now you think you are better? You think you are a great creator like me?'

‘I want to be like you, father. I want to create from dreams like you.'

‘Don't you see, you poor boy, that you are too ugly for that? How can beautiful things come from you?'

But Toloki's mother said Jwara was jealous.

‘Ha! The stupid images that you make have never appeared in any calendar. Toloki's picture will be seen all over the country'

Jwara was so angry that he decreed that the disastrous calendar must never be seen in his house again. From that day, Toloki gave up trying to impress his father. And he gave up drawing pictures. He even – tearfully and with bitterness that gnawed at him for a long time afterwards – destroyed his precious calendar. But at his school they were proud of it, and through all the years, it was always April on the classroom wall. He is surprised to hear from Noria that to this day, after more than twenty years, it is still yellowing April at his school.

When the neighbours wake up that morning, they all come to witness the wonder that grew in the night. They marvel at the workmanship, and at how the plastic and canvas of different colours have been woven together to form patterns that seem to say something to the viewer. No one can really say what their message is, except to observe that it is a very profound one.

Toloki and Noria are working inside the shack, sweeping the floor with branches from a tree and firming it with their feet,
when they hear a song outside. They walk out, and meet the singers: a group of children carrying water in small buckets and in bottles. Toloki recognises some of those who accompanied him with song and dance when he came looking for Noria yesterday.

‘We have brought you water for your floor, Mother Noria.'

‘Thank you, my children.'

The two creators mix soil and water to make very soft mud. Then they plaster the mud on the floor, making the geometric patterns that women make with cow dung back in the village. All the time the children sing and dance outside. At one stage they sing the song that they composed about Toloki yesterday. Noria angrily tells them that it is naughty of them to sing rude songs about adults. Toloki says, ‘Let them sing, Noria. Never stifle the creativity of children.' But they are ashamed to sing the song again. Instead they sing other songs, some of which they have heard their parents, and their brothers and sisters, sing at demonstrations, and at political rallies and funerals. Soon the song becomes stronger, with the voices of adults joining in. The women of the neighbourhood, following the lead of their children, are bringing all sorts of household items to the shack. There are pots, a primus stove, a washing basin, a plastic bucket, a plate, and a spoon. There are even two old grey blankets, which are known as donkey blankets because of their colour, and a pillow. Another neighbour has brought a billycan of soured soft porridge, and steamed bread.

‘We want to lend you these things, Noria. You can use them until your situation has changed for the better, when you have found yourself.'

‘Thank you very much. Just leave them out there. I'll put them inside when the floor is dry.'

‘You are lucky, Noria, to have neighbours like these.'

‘It is our life here at the settlement, Toloki. We are like two hands that wash each other.'

By midday the performers have all left, and the creators are hungry. They sit outside the shack and eat the steamed bread, and drink the porridge from the billy. Shadrack comes and joins them. He praises their work, and thanks Toloki for helping Noria. Toloki wonders why he should take it upon himself to thank him on behalf of Noria. Where was he when he was growing up with Noria in the village? But he keeps these thoughts to himself, and gracefully accepts the man's expression of gratitude. Then Shadrack says he wants to talk privately with Noria. She stands up and they go behind the shack. Toloki can hear every word they say.

Shadrack says that he wants to return all the money she paid him for petrol. Noria wants to know why. In a voice that is hoarse with passion, he says, ‘Because I have realised how much I love you, Noria. When we were in the van, and we were talking about our lives, and our dreams for our people, I realised that you were my soulmate. I think this has been growing in me for a while. I do not know why I was blind for such a long time.'

Noria thanks him for his kind words, and says that it is very flattering for her, a ragged woman of hopeless means, to be loved by such a great man as Bhut'Shaddy. Indeed the temptation is very great for her to be captivated by his honeyed tone. But unfortunately she finds it impossible to love at the moment. She advises the lovelorn man to find someone more deserving of his affection. There are many young girls – some of them are even beauty queens and others have education – who would give their right arm to be his wife. Shadrack utters an anguished scream, ‘I need you, Noria. I have no one to eat my money with.'

‘You need me for the wrong reasons, Bhut'Shaddy.'

‘At least think about it, Noria. And please take this money.'

‘I am sorry, Bhut'Shaddy, I cannot accept it.'

Noria comes back to join Toloki, who is watching a disappointed Shadrack scurry away in shame. There is a glint of satisfaction
in Toloki's eyes. But then again, he realises that his glee might be premature. Perhaps Noria is playing a game with Shadrack. Women are known to play such games before accepting proposals.

‘Why did you do it? You know he could make you live like a queen?'

‘I do not take things from men, Toloki.'

‘You do not? I thought . . .'

‘That was long ago, Toloki. Life has changed since then. Even you, I am going to pay you back every cent you have helped me with.'

‘But I was doing it for you, Noria, because you are my home-girl, and we played together when we were children.'

‘I accepted your help because I knew you were doing it from your kind heart. You did not expect anything in return. But I insist that when I have found myself, I'll pay you back.'

This is not the Noria of the village. In the village, we all knew that by the time she reached her mid-teens, she had acquired a reputation for making men happy. And in return they gave her things, which she gladly accepted. We were not sure whether it was Jwara who started her on this road. After all, she sang for him from the age of five, and he showered her with expensive presents in return.

The Noria of the village. Both she and Toloki began school in the same year. She was seven, and he was ten. He began school at a ripe old age because he had been looking after his father's small flock of sheep and goats. This was before Jwara sold the animals to Xesibe in order to concentrate on his smithy. Toloki and Noria used to walk to school together. She cut a pretty picture in her khaki shirt and pitch-black gymdress, which was ironed every morning by That Mountain Woman. Unlike the
gymdresses of other pupils at school, it maintained its sharp pleats, and it was not patched. Toloki, on the other hand, wore a khaki shirt and khaki shorts that were patched all over with pieces of cloth from his mother's old dresses.