‘Oh, it’s a shame you just missed Amai then. She and Baba retired to bed just recently. Perhaps you can come back tomorrow when she is up?’
‘Mmmm,’ he answered, almost as though he were not paying attention to Farai. His eyes had now found the pot my brother had hidden behind the root of the bowing tree. He paused for a while, watching our uneasy selves, then pulled something out of his pocket and handed it to me.
‘I picked this up today at the bottle store. I don’t know – you are the educated ones who can read.’
My eyes traced the letters on the poster that read: ‘REWARDS. REPORT QUICKLY.’ Selling out one comrade could earn you 2,500 pounds. Selling out a whole platoon could earn you enough to afford to move out of these rural reserves to the African section of the city. And I began to worry that this man who had nothing and no one, and loved to pass on whispers, would not hesitate to volunteer information to the security forces for a pint of beer and a few eats.
‘What does it say?’
Farai glanced at me uneasily. We both knew VaGuhwa could read.
‘I can’t see clearly. It’s quite dark,’ I said.
‘Mmmm.’
‘VaGuhwa, Thandiwe and I really must go. We will tell Amai you came looking for her.’
‘Of course,’ he said, as he walked away with his poster, turning only once to wave at us. A gesture that stole conversation from us and left us alone with our thoughts the rest of the walk to where the comrades hid.
22
A week after seeing VaGuhwa, I sat outside in the early morning, worried. I had seen the look in Farai’s eye the previous day when he had spoken of him, and I feared what would happen to the old man if Farai told the comrades he thought he was a sell-out. There was something about this war that was already beginning to change Farai. Twice that week he had snuck back into the house in the early hours of the morning before Amai woke up. I had not confronted him about it but I had known he must have been with the comrades.
As I sat with a book balanced on my knees, the bushes close by wiggled and Baba’s dog immediately perked up, ears in the air and tail high. His eyes stayed glued in the direction of the trees nearby. I got ready to run. The bushes moved again and I am sure my heart shook violently. All I could think of was how no one would find me if I was taken. Then the dog barked. I jumped as he snarled, moving in the direction of the wiggling trees. Something suddenly emerged out of the greenery. I grabbed my candle and retreated.
‘Thandie, it’s me!’
I turned and my eyes widened.
‘Matthew? What on earth are you doing here?’
‘If I didn’t know better, I’d almost think you’re not keen on seeing me.’
I must have stared at him, baffled.
‘But I do know better.’ His smirk was picked up by the ray of moonlight shining over us. ‘So come with me. I want to show you something.’
‘Matthew, if the comrades, or even worse, your aunt and uncle … if they find out you’re here …’
‘I’ll bring you right back before anyone has even woken up, I promise.’
I stared at him, ignoring all the voices in my head, and followed him.
We walked through the trees towards the river in silence, surrounded by trees and wrapped in the dark of the early morning. Matthew walked in front with a torch in his hand, constantly looking behind to me, to make sure I was all right. I limped slightly as the pebbles on the ground pricked my feet.
‘You’ve hidden your hair again today. I like it when it’s out.’
I refastened my dhuku, quickly tucking away any protruding hair.
‘Well, this keeps things out of it.’
I paused in horror at what I had just said, silently praying he would not now think that I somehow bred lice.
You’re laughing now, mzukuru, because you realise the absurdity of what I had said.
‘I mean, things don’t get in so easily.’ I tried to redeem myself. But I heard myself say that too. He turned back, a smirk pulling up the right corner of his mouth, and the tips of his ears lit up slightly.
‘Maybe I should also try it sometime. With the bike, my hair catches all sorts of things.’
I giggled.
‘Look at that! If your cheeks ever flushed you’d be blushing. I don’t remember you being this shy.’
‘Well, then stop trying to embarrass me,’ I said, but I was smiling.
The tips of his ears shed a little of their glow. His eyes suddenly glided to my feet as he aimed the light of the torch there and his forehead furrowed.
‘You’re going to get yourself hurt,’ he said, stopping. ‘Here, wear these.’
He pulled off his shoes with their thick rubber soles and handed them to me. The last good pair I had had, although slightly oversized, I’d given to one of the children to wear to school. And I’d sold all the pairs I had worn at nursing school.
‘Oh no, I couldn’t. I’m all right like this.’
‘You’re going to need these if we’re going to make it to the top,’ he said, pointing to a hill only a little way from the river where we now were.
‘The top? Are you going to kill me and bury me where no one will look?’
He grinned and shrugged. I looked at my feet again and then back at him.
‘What about you? Won’t you hurt your feet?’
‘I have farm feet now. My uncle would be so pleased.’
I think I laughed.
In no time we had reached the top of the hill and sat looking down at the river and glimpses of the village and farm below. The sun slowly woke up, treading the sky with footprints of a rich and mesmerising trail of orange and red. Beyond us rose the neck of a tall mountain whose top fogged gently.
‘It’s so beautiful, Matthew. I can’t believe I have never been up here.’
‘The first time I saw this I thought to myself, God must really be some kind of a master painter who puts real heart into his art.’
He paused and looked at me, his face serious.
‘I found this place a few weeks ago, and when I did, I thought of you.’
The last time his face had been like that had ended with me escaping the scene and him fleeing to England. I fidgeted nervously.
‘It’s such a humbling view. It makes you reflect.’
I narrowed my eyes, failing to connect the dots. I had no idea what he was trying to say.
‘When I went back to England I met my father for the first time. I haven’t told anyone. My aunt would be upset if she found out, but I had to find my father. It was you I used to talk to about things like this.’
Matthew had always longed to meet his father, and I think I understand why. Because a young man does need his father. His mother had been in a mental hospital since she got pregnant with him, and his father had left them. The Missus, Matthew’s aunt, and Bas Rogers had taken him in when he was born. So Bas Rogers was the only version of a father Matthew had ever known. From what Amai told me, the Rogerses had not been able to have their own children. Over all the years Matthew and I had been friends, he would occasionally bring up the idea of trying to find his father.
‘Bastard didn’t even feel bad for what he did, can you imagine? He even asked me to buy him a beer, like I owe him something.’
He paused.
‘My uncle must never find out about this though, Thandie.’
He looked at me, his face serious and his voice quiet. I wondered how cosy he thought I was with the bas that I would tell him.
‘You know what the most disturbing part of it all is? I don’t look a thing like him. Not the eyes, the nose, nothing. Not even the hair colour.’
‘Are you all right?’ I asked him.
He shrugged and, not knowing what else to do, I squeezed his shoulder.
‘Did you go and see her?’ He had always wanted to visit his mother, and had not been able to for years.
He looked at me and pulled something out of his pocket.
‘She gave me this. Said it was h
er mother’s.’ A slight discomfort came over me as my eyes settled on the ruby ring he held between his thumb and his index finger. All the while his eyes stayed with me, and I cannot tell you what I feared in that moment, because even I am not sure.
I squeezed his hand and leaned my head on his shoulder. We sat in silence for a while.
‘Do you hear that?’
I listened a little closer. A faint music rose and reached out to us. The sound of the ngoma pounding grew louder and with it rose war songs. The comrades must have been close by, having a pungwe, a night connecting with the locals, dancing, talking and eating. I remembered that Farai had left the house a bit late in the night and I had not heard him coming back.
‘We must leave now,’ I said, panicked.
Matthew immediately got up and held out his hand to me. I looked at him, confused.
‘Let’s dance,’ he said, wriggling in a way that I’m sure he thought was dancing.
‘Matthew, we must go before they see us. The comrades are close.’
The man would not stop wriggling, completely disrespectful to the rhythm of the beating drums. I could not help but snigger.
‘What do you know about dancing?’
‘Ahhh! What are you talking about? I’m a farm-boy! I know everything about dancing,’ he said, his laughter booming and making my eyes pop out. I almost forgot about the comrades, laughing away as though we were surrounded by peace. He pulled me up and twirled me around in the beat of the ngoma, his hands vibrating from the rippling of laughter from within him. When he really laughed, his laugh always caught you by surprise. It was loud and chaotic, and he seemed to creep up and dive into it.
23
A week or so passed before we finally saw Teacher Edwards.
‘Tisvikewo. Knock, knock!’ A voice accompanied footsteps from outside.
Baba immediately stepped out of the kitchen hut, Amai right behind.
‘Ah, Teacher Edwards, I’m so happy you’ve come to visit us. I am so sorry about the other night, but we got word that it was not safe to be about. Please, sit down.’
I peered out through the door before I headed out to greet them. As soon as my eyes scanned the faces of our visitors, my heart stood still, afraid to move.
‘How are you, Matthew, my boy? I’ve been meaning to pass through the house and give you some roundnuts. You always used to trouble me for those when you were younger. Look at you, all grown up.’
My eyes danced between Amai and Matthew, who only smiled when he saw me. He sat on the ground between Teacher Edwards and Tawana.
‘Tawana,’ was all I could manage. He stood up and swallowed me into his big embrace. A few years back, Amai had taken him in when his father had died, shot by the security forces. He had spent a year with us, before his grandmother had sent for him from another village.
‘It’s good to see you again, Thandie. All grown and even more beautiful now.’ He tried to do it discreetly but I caught a teasing look in Matthew’s direction, whose cheeks slightly reddened.
‘Teacher Edwards, you know my oldest, Thandiwe?’ In the same breath Amai diverted the conversation to me. ‘Thandiwe, get the men some chairs and something to drink.’
‘No, no, please don’t worry yourself. We won’t be staying long. We’re fine here,’ Teacher Edwards interfered.
‘Have you managed to convince Matthew to join our services, Teacher Edwards?’ We all looked at Matthew, who now sat there embarrassed and not knowing where to put his eyes.
‘Answer for yourself, Matthew.’ Teacher Edwards laughed.
‘I’ll drop in sometime.’ His eyes glided to me.
‘And, Tawana, how is your new job at the mission?’ Baba tried to join the conversation even though I could tell he was unhappy about this visit.
‘It is going well, Baba. I’ve been received very well.’
‘But they don’t let you stay in the big houses? They keep those for the white teachers, don’t they?’ Baba could not help himself, but at Amai’s displeased look he mumbled a faint apology.
‘Amai-Thandie – we have something rather important we wish to discuss with you.’ Teacher Edwards’s face had become more serious and he had changed from English to Shona. I remember how shocked I had been the first time I had heard him speak in Shona, and fluently too. Only the accent gave him away.
My eyes drifted to Matthew, whose face was also serious as he listened to Teacher Edwards speak. He glanced at me and quickly gave a wink and a tiny grin before nodding at Teacher Edwards, as though he had been listening all along.
‘We’re here about Farai.’
I picked up on the twitch in Baba’s eyes this time, perhaps because I almost shared it.
‘Oh, what has he done now? That boy wants to kill me with stress in this house.’
‘I’m just a little concerned that he might be getting himself into trouble. You see, Tawana here caught him and a couple of other boys in the school’s storage room, looting some of our foodstuffs meant for the boarding house. Now, of course I’m not saying the boys were taking the food to the comrades, but …’
‘Then what exactly are you saying?’ Baba intervened, his voice slightly raised to match his eyebrow.
Teacher Edwards cleared his throat and smiled softly. ‘Mr Shumba, I’m honestly not here to stir trouble …’
‘Is this why you brought this white man here, Tawana? Because it sounds a lot like you’re all here to accuse my son of –’
‘Baba Thandiwe, please!’ Amai pleaded with Baba.
‘You better have this white man gone by the time I come back, busy here accusing my boy of theft! Have we finished the issue of all the land you stole? Have we?’
Tension rose like dust at this point, and Amai kept her head down. Matthew looked alarmed and Teacher Edwards’s face had blotches of pink as though he had been stung by something. Only Tawana seemed calm. Perhaps because he knew Baba.
‘I will not have any of this in my house, Mai Thandiwe. I will not have it!’ Baba said to Amai as he got up and left, mumbling to himself.
‘I’m sorry about my husband, Teacher Edwards. The stress of the war is getting to all of us.’
‘We shouldn’t stay longer. It will be disrespectful to your husband if we do, and we are not trying to upset anyone,’ Teacher Edwards said.
‘As I imagine you must know, Amai Thandie, I would never think it my place to interfere if the boy has decided he feels inclined to play a part in collaborating with the freedom fighters. That’s not why I’m here. I’m only concerned that if indeed assisting the comrades is what led him to do this, it puts us in a difficult position, because the comrades will need more and the boarding house will become a source for them. And we cannot afford to lose any resources because we are taking care of a lot of students who need to be fed.’
‘I understand what you’re saying, Teacher Edwards. Baba and I will see if we can talk some sense into the boy. We are hoping that he can get his O level certificate and be a teacher, you see.’
Tawana cleared his throat and looked at Amai with soft eyes.
‘Yes, well … err … about that as well, Amai, I’m told Farai has not been in class for the past two weeks. I don’t know if you were aware …’
‘He has not been to class? Did you know about this, Thandiwe?’
I shook my head, although I had suspected it, with the way he had been cosying up to the comrades.
Amai sighed and looked away for a while. ‘Leave it all to me. I will talk to his father and we will see what to do.’
‘I’m terribly sorry, Amai Thandie, for such an intrusion this early in the morning. We had better get going now before the other teachers wonder where we are.’
The men stood up to leave and Amai got to her feet as a sign of respect.
‘Thank you for coming to visit. You must come back again, with Nurse Edwards next time.’
‘Of course, yes. I had almost forgotten that she sent us to bring you a few things. We heard about the addition
al two children you took in just last week. You’re doing God’s work.’
I looked away. If we were doing God’s work, then whose work were the rest of them doing, shooting our fathers and brothers in the woods?
Teacher Edwards handed over a bag to Amai and squeezed her hand. I could see the top of a bottle of cooking oil and what looked like mealie meal.
‘Never tire of doing good,’ he said as he let go of her hand. I still didn’t trust him, but as I stood there I couldn’t help thinking to myself that, for the first time, there was no black or white, only people … Perhaps this was the way it ought to be.
24
It was a Sunday in the warm month of April 1975, the day the Christians celebrated the resurrection of their Lord. Amai had already left for the mission to attend the church service, something about communion. All the children had gone with her. Baba had gone to visit some friends at the next village, an excuse to stop Amai from asking him to join her. Farai was somewhere, hopefully still alive. We had not seen him for at least a week. But Baba had said not to worry, he was a man fighting for the cause.
I remember wiping that long table outside on the Rogerses’ veranda. The Missus had said there were friends coming over for lunch to celebrate the religious holiday. I laid the mats in front of each seat, ten places to be exact.
‘Judy will be coming to see Matthew, so make sure to place them next to each other,’ the Missus had emphasised before the family had left for the service in Umtali, where they could have a service away from the mission folk, who allowed everyone to mix and dine together in spite of the segregation laws. To my surprise, the bas had gone along to church too, missing his card game. It was probably the only time I had seen the bas go to church. The rest of the time the Missus went alone.
The breeze blew lightly at the gum trees lining the driveway and I marvelled at the sight of the tea plants stretching out across the estate. No wonder men from the city came to buy bags of the bas’s tea. It was lush and green, ‘good crop’, as he called it. And no wonder trucks of it always left the estate full. Baba had said the bas’s tea was in demand. Something about a special process that the bas used when he dried the leaves. Once Baba had brought some of the dried leaves and had brewed a cup for us. I hated to admit it, but I had started to enjoy the delicious taste from the moment the aroma had floated out of the brewing pot.
The Colours That Blind Page 9
