The Smoke That Thunders

by Nathan Bassett

  Seeing and hearing all of this, Peter felt fear and awe welling up in his belly. The emotions unnerved him, but he longed to understand the depth of this pure, raw passion. He wanted to understand their oppression. His was only a meager glimpse of their struggle, their degradation, their rage, their hope. He knew it would only ever be an unworthy glimpse. He was White – he lived in a White world and could never fully understand the reality of the world they had been forced to live in. He would never comprehend the depths of this emotion. He simply wanted to respect, appreciate, and honor their passion, their anger and their hope.

  ***

  Peter and Roger shared a meal with Dumisani and his wife’s family after the rally. The small, one-bedroom, one living room home was brimming with family members: Dumisani’s wife and their four children, her mother, two sisters and one brother, their spouses, and countless cousins.

  Standing in a cramped circle, Dumisani gave thanks for the meal and the rally and implored God to bring a peaceful revolution. The women served up chicken and mealie and sent the children outside. The adults sat on the floor in a large circle and enjoyed their food and this stolen moment together.

  Free-flowing conversations filled the small room, half in Zulu and half in English, with an occasional slip into Afrikaans.

  Dumisani noticed Peter’s sheepish expression, “Cha, no, no. We must all speak in English. We must not leave our American guest in this whirlwind of African banter. Peter, I do apologize. You must shake your fist harshly at anyone not speaking English. Except for my mother-in-law, dear Ugogo (a Zulu word referring to a grandmother), who speaks little English but understands what you say quite well.”

  Dumisani leaned closer to Peter and said quietly but loud enough for all to hear, “She’s speaks English better than I do. She is just an old-fashioned, stubborn grandma we have learned to ignore.” As others laughed, a chicken bone bounced off Dumisani’s forehead. Then more chicken bones pelted Dumisani. “You see, Peter, what disrespect African females have for their men? It is truly shocking.”

  “Eish! Eish!” Grandma spoke slowly, accentuating every other word. “What is a shock to me is that my daughter has been quite unable to teach you proper respect. And that in no way reflects on the daughter of mine, but rather the poor choice our family made in accepting you to be her husband. For this, my daughter, I am very, very sorry.”

  Dumisani arose and pulled his wife up off the floor. He danced with her, carefully avoiding the encroaching circle of feet. “Yebo, Ugogo, yebo. Indeed, you are so very right. How glad I am that you were all so blind – or, perhaps, that I was so convincing. Certainly, I have the most wonderful woman in all of Africa, and for that, dearest Ugogo, I bow down to you and honor you.”

  The men hissed and booed and chicken bones flew around the room. Anecdotes about Dumisani, the children, and grandma followed.

  After several stories, Ugogo stood up. With tears trickling down her cheeks, she spoke, “Those were the days when we were all together. Now we steal visits and hope we do not become caught. Months at a time, we wait to see our family. That is the gift apartheid and the colonialists have given us.” They stood one by one and embraced the matriarch.

  Dumisani looked at Peter. “My wife, my children, they are not to be here. Nisha must be in Bophuthatswana, unless she obtains papers to work elsewhere. My sisters-in-law are not supposed to be here either. The government sent them to the Munsieville Township two months ago. They decided, for reasons we do not understand, that they belong there and no longer in Sharpeville with Ugogo; so she remains here now all alone. The government decides these things knowing very well – and certainly not caring about – the impact they are making upon our families. My dear sister-in-law’s husband lives in a township a hundred and twenty kilometers away. She has not seen him for eight months. This is the first time I have seen my family in six weeks. You can imagine, Peter, that this does not help the problem of infidelity.” Dumisani looked toward his wife. “But I will never forget our marriage, our love.” Looking at Peter, he said, “That is what they want, but to hell with them! I so want to pray that God will never, never forgive them. Pray for us, Peter.”

  CHAPTER 34

  The State of Affairs

  Chad wanted to tell Peter that he had hardly missed him since he started spending most of his time with the Johannesburg congregation. But no, he told himself, that would be cruel and unnecessary, and Peter is doing what he thinks he has to do. Just bite your tongue. If Chad had been more honest, he would have admitted his own efforts in the church were no more than a sideshow for him. His attention, his focus, his passion, was on nurturing a worthy and lasting relationship with Sarah; that was all that mattered. Peter once hinted that Chad’s infatuation with Sarah had developed into a “gross and obnoxious obsession.” Chad did not argue and simply stated, “She is why I’m here. That is all that I care about. So be it.”

  Chad knew his days in South Africa were evaporating far too quickly. The passage of time can be so cruel: It seemed each day lasted for only a few heartbeats. He became more intense, more desperate, making the most of every moment he had left with Sarah.

  They spent lingering evenings watching the royal African sun disappear while the stars of the southern hemisphere stealthily took their places. They talked of engagement, of marriage. They fantasized about a life together, about perfect children, raised perfectly. Both promised that the other would be insanely happy.

  They did not talk about where this storybook paradise would be built; that might cause unwanted debates and unsettling arguments. There was no time to deal with such distractions. The subject of where home would be remained a secret that each heart guarded.

  Lying under a blanket, with the chill of a late autumn evening taking hold, Chad nonchalantly said, “Your dad is late again. That’s four nights this week. Three nights last week, four—”

  “Shut up! I know. He’s working late.”

  “So you’ve said, but your mom, she started smoking again. She seems—”

  “Don’t, okay? I know. She doesn’t like it. Would you?”

  “I don’t know. Something’s just different. When your dad’s home, he’s only drinking one beer instead of his usual seven or eight or nine.”

  “So? What is your point? He’s cut down. Maybe he’s back in AA. Maybe that’s where he is.” Sarah’s tone betrayed any confidence in her own words.

  “Sarah, what’s going on? I’m not blind. What’s up? And it isn’t work, and it isn’t AA.”

  Sarah sat up and looked at her house. Her mother sat alone on a stool in the kitchen, sipping tea and smoking a cigarette. “It’s not good. He’s done this before – twice. When I was younger, before … before he stopped his binging.” She paused and looked straight into Chad’s moonlight-enhanced eyes. “He had an affair. Twice, with the same woman. Does that count twice, or is it only once?”

  “How old were you then?”

  “Seven the first time. Eleven … no, twelve the second time.”

  “I’d count that as two. Are you sure, or are you guessing? What does your mom think?”

  “She’ll deny it until she can’t. I think he is, but I choose not to believe what I think. I just won’t believe it. It won’t … it wouldn’t last long.”

  “That doesn’t make sense. You know, but you don’t want to know? You’re just happy to ignore it? That doesn’t make sense either.”

  “If I determine not to believe it, then maybe it’s not true.”

  “So is it the same woman? Not that it’s true, mind you.”

  “Don’t know. Maybe not ... probably.”

  “Why don’t you ask him? Why don’t you talk to your mom about it?”

  “Yeah, right. Let’s pry open Pandora’s Box and let the kak explode and bury us all.”

  Chad took Sarah’s hand and with it pointed at the stars. “Where’s that constellation, the flying fish?”

  “There.” Sarah pointed his finger at each star of th
e constellation. “Volans, the flying fish. And there. There is Mensa. You’ll never see those constellations where you used to live.”

 

  CHAPTER 35

  Susan

  Roger’s church, Grace Presbyterian, wrestled with battles of their own. Like woodworms busy in the darkness, destroying the value of the prized antique armoire, tension and dissension was infesting the congregation: “You’re getting too liberal ... You’re leaning toward that liberation theology ... These outreaches are just too divisive.”

  The quiet dissent increased after each outreach and each report from the pulpit describing the efforts in the townships and bantustans. Personal attacks on Roger increased, including phone calls, letters, and private conversations. More and more, smug parishioners pulled him aside in the hallway or parking lot or called him late at night, all expressing their concerns that were really nothing more than veiled demands. Some of these demands turned into threats. Somehow, though, Roger ignored it all.

  Attacks on Dumisani were more subtle. Increasingly, church members treated him like a Bantu, and the word “Kaffir” began to slip past the lips of people more often. Dumisani ignored this.

  The persistent and hungry woodworm gnawed quietly until the damage became, perhaps, irreversible.

  ***

  “Disgusting!” Peter declared when he heard that a group of twenty people had left the church.

  “No, it is fine, Peter.” Roger stated with confidence. “Others will follow them, and that is fine, as well. I am not here to please. I answer to God and my own conscience. We will carry on with our mission, our calling. Not all understand, and not all can accept the direction we are taking. It is well that they move on. That should not worry us.”

  Roger’s last statement ignited an uneasy feeling in Peter. He repeated Roger’s declaration with a questioning look, “That should not worry us?”

  “Peter, Jesus experienced the same. His closest followers left. We should expect no less. His closest followers betrayed Him. We can expect no less.”

  ***

  Chad had nearly drifted off to a sleep on the sofa when the phone rang late Tuesday evening.

  George spoke slowly. “Susan Van den Berg is in hospital.”

  Another breakdown? Another bloody breakdown!

  George continued with deliberate succinctness. “She has tried to commit suicide, Chad.”

  “What! Why? How?”

  “We don’t know.”

  “Shit! Sorry. Where’s Sarah? Where’s Johan?”

  “We don’t know where Johan is, but Sarah is with Susan. Chad, can you please pick Lisa up and take her to the hospital?”

  “Do you think she should see her mom like that? Can she handle it?”

  “Yes. Please pick her up. She is staying the night with Emma at the Thompson’s. Do you know where they …”

  “Yeah. They’re on Mt. Moriah Circle, near the edge of town, right?”

  “Yes. After you pick her up, please see if you can locate Johan. Chad, it does sound significant this time.”

  Simon stayed home making calls, trying to find Johan. Peter was in Johannesburg. As Chad drove, he debated with himself as to what he would say to Lisa and how he would say it. How do you tell someone their mother wants to die?

  When he arrived, Emma answered the door with Lisa peering from behind. “What are you doing here?” Emma asked with a coy grin.

  “Lisa, you need to come with me.”

  “No! Why? Is it Mom? I hate her. Has she gone wacko again? I’m not going. She’ll be fine.”

  “I’m sure she’ll be okay, but I need to take you to the hospital. Just come.”

  Emma declared, “I’m coming too.”

  Lisa hugged Emma and whispered in her ear. “No, don’t. I’ll come back. I’ll see you later.” Lisa slammed the car door hard enough to rattle the whole car. “So what happened this time?”

  “I really don’t know.” Chad could lie with the best of them, and he knew this was a forgivable fib. “Do you know where your dad is?”

  “How would I know?” she said defiantly.

  “Do you? It’s important.”

  Lisa’s volume increased. “Why? What’s going on, Chad?”

  “Nothing!” Chad paused, then calmly said, “He just needs to know where your mom is. Where is he?”

  “I don’t know!” she said, this time in a restrained scream.

  “I think you do. Just tell me. It’s no big deal, but we need to find him. Where the hell is he?”

  “Well, I ... we’re not supposed to know.”

  “Tell me, damn it!” Chad shouted. He took a breath. “I’m sorry. I’m sorry. Where is your dad?”

  “He’s in Vereeniging. We – Sarah and me – went there the other night to see if the kombi was there, to see if he was with her again. We can’t go there. We can’t. No way! That’s where he is. Don’t make me go. Take me to hospital.”

  “I can’t. I need you to show me where he is. I don’t know my way around Vereeniging.”

  “He’ll kill me. Probably both of us. You know that. Is mom dead?”

  “No!”

  “Is she dying?”

  “God. No. She’s not dying. She’s fine, I’m sure.”

  After several firm knocks, Chad pounded on the door. He was petrified – not an emotion he was familiar with. This is crazy. What am I doing here? Will the crazy drunken brute kill me or just beat the hell out of me?

  She opened the door. Her full-figured frame was partly covered by an oversized and crinkled pink blouse, halfway-unbuttoned drawing attention to her tired, saggy breasts. Wine splashed over her glass as she opened the door and curtly asked, “Wat wil jy?”

  Chad stood motionless for a moment, wondering if this was the right house. Jesus! Johan could not be with a woman like this. This thought impeded his reply, but he finally asked with a rather demanding tone, “Is Johan here?”

  “I’m sorry, sweetie. I can’t help you.”

  “Johan!” Chad shouted with as much urgency as he could induce.

  “What in the hell are you doing here, mompie?” Johan’s fist balled up as he walked toward the door.

  “Susan’s in hospital. It’s serious.”

  Johan closed his eyes and sighed. “Well? How serious?”

  “Serious enough to come here.”

  ***

  Sarah darted toward Johan as he ran down the corridor; Chad and Lisa followed several strides behind. As Johan approached, Sarah lifted her bloodstained shirt and shook it at her father. When he made an effort to embrace her, she began pounding his chest with blows that drove Johan backwards. “How could you do this!? How could you do it again!? God, I hate you! I hate you!”

  Johan absorbed her beating in silence, backing up until he was pinned against the corridor wall; with her eyes closed, she continued hitting him with full force.

  Lisa grabbed at Sarah’s flailing arms and could only slow them down slightly. She screamed, “Where’s Mom? Is she okay? Where is she?”

  “I’m sorry, Lizzie. I’m sorry. I’m sorry. God! I’m so sorry.”

  “You told her! You told her! Get away from me! Go to hell, Sarah! Go to hell!”

  “I’m sorry.” Suddenly, her sobs broke loose and tears quickly covered her cheeks and flowed down her blouse mingling with her mother’s blood; the fabric of her shirt turned a pinkish hue.

  Johan slipped to the floor and moaned as he tried to keep sobs from taking control. Lisa swung her fist at Sarah, catching her on the left jaw. Chad grabbed Lisa from behind and held her tight until her anger turned to woeful tears.

  After ten minutes, the initial wave of emotion receded. The three family members embraced one another, sharing quiet tears.

  Chad stood watching, not knowing what his role should be. Part of him wanted to turn and walk quietly down the corridor, to escape. The pain was too much for an outsider to bear, and he felt very much an outsider. Part of him wanted to grab Sarah and hold her as tight
as he could until her pain subsided. He wanted somehow to make this all go away. He slipped into an empty room and sat down on a bare, cold hospital bed. He felt helpless and inadequate as he listened to a family weep for lost life.

  Chad eventually heard a nurse ask the family gently and lovingly if they were ready to say goodbye; tears turned to sobs once again. Chad followed behind as the nurse escorted them to the room where Susan’s body now rested. He stood in the background, watching a family, minus one, still unable to believe such a thing could happen to them. Silently, they stood around the bed. Each had questions they could not ask, but there was no point, for their questions would never find answers.

  Sarah turned, stepped back, took Chad’s hand, and brought him into their circle. Both squeezed their entwined hands tightly.

  He wanted to yank her away from this. Her life should not be like this. Families should not have to endure such things.

  Sarah embraced him as quiet tears flowed down her cheeks.

  He was afraid to ever to let her go. With his chin nestled on her shoulder, he closed his eyes and wondered what would happen next. How would this horrific night would dictate their tomorrows?

  ***

  Chad drove the family home in the kombi. “You’ll stay?” Chad was taken aback by Johan’s emotionless request.

  “Sure. Of course.”

  Johan did two things when he walked through the door. First, he removed all the liquor out of its locked cabinet, gathered all the beer bottles from the refrigerator, and poured all of it down the kitchen sink. “I don’t want any temptation,” he said in a tone devoid of life. He then grabbed a cleaning bucket and mop, and went into the bathroom. He scrubbed away all evidence of the tragedy. Sarah, Lisa, and Chad sat silently on the sofa, as close together as possible. They could hear the sound of the stiff, harsh brush cleaning the pink floor tiles, the turquoise enamel sink, and the matching bathtub.

  An hour later, Johan came out, gathered blankets and a pillow, and walked toward the back door. He turned as he exited the living room. “I am sorry … I’m … I love you two.” He looked at his two girls for a moment and opened his mouth again, but nothing came out. He turned and retired to the maid’s room behind the garage.