by Betty Burton
'Bie, but th's pretty.'
Tugging at her arm he led her along the dusty track through gorse and rough moorland.
'Come on, I'll show you something.'
'Another pit-tip?'
'I'll show you better than that. I'll show you Lawrence's secret bush. It wasn't a hawthorn. It was white, wild roses. I know my Lawrence. He wasn't the only one whose mam sent him to the grammar school.'
She wished she was more like him. Wished to be as assured and confident. He didn't really need her approval of his village. He would have liked it if she had done so, but it was not important, it was not a condition of his approval of her.
'And I'll tell you something else about old Lawrence. If he'd have had you with him when he found the roses, his story would have had a different ending.'
THE GOLD-WIDOW
THE GOLD-WIDOW
Mabotho Majoro was later than she intended. She had planned to rise before dawn, but already the sky showed faint pink through the hut window.
She unwound herself from the sleeping-blanket quietly, so as not to rouse the children, and then placed it neatly rolled against the wall. She dipped a mug into the drinking-water can, drank to freshen herself and fill her stomach, then stepped outside to fetch sticks.
Standing for a moment in the sharp dawn air, Mabotho Majoro looked critically at the hut. There was not much of the thatch left; as it disintegrated she had done what she could with bits of corrugated-iron. The corn-coloured mud walls showed old cracks, patches and a lot of new crazing. The children were for ever idly picking and picking at the loose surface. She would have liked to have repaired both roof and walls before Samu came home from the city, but there was always too much other work, in the fields and on her own mealie plot and vegetable garden.
A handful of dry twigs and grass soon brought the fire to life. Mabotho filled a black pot with water and set it above the flames. From the mealie-sack she took the last of the white kernels, threw them into the pot and stirred with her hand until the water took on a milky look.
She padded back and forth cleaning the hut and yard but could not give it her full attention. The water she had drunk on rising had been only a short-term pacifier, and now the smell of the softening mealies made her hungry, so she shook some tea from a packet into a tin mug and poured on to it some of the bubbling mealie-water. Normally she would have boiled the tea for ten minutes to get the full strength from the leaves, but today she waited only long enough for the leaves to sink.
She took the drink to the door and sat down on the rough stone step. Thin trails of smoke rose from under other black iron pots as other women started preparing mealie-pap or porridge or boiled mealie-meal. The sky was glowing now, soon the sun would rise to bake the vegetable plots even harder. But today Mabotho Majoro would not be jarring her joints as she hoed between rows of corn.
The slapping walk of a woman not wearing shoes came near. Malokisang. Returning home after working all night in the shebeens and beer-halls she owned. Malokisang came and sat on the step and punched Mabotho playfully on the thigh.
'So! Republic Day is here again. The day when Samu has said he will honour his village wife with a visit.'
Mabotho smiled at her childhood friend.
'Republic Day is the day when Samu comes.'
'Oh yes — Samu always comes.' Malokisang rolled her eyes skywards. 'Did he come last Republic Day?'
'The tsotsis stole all his money. He would have come.'
'Well bless the tsotsis. At least you have no child at the breast this Republic Day.'
Malokisang had always been the same, forthright, going right to the heart of any subject. Touching nerves.
'This day he will come.' Mabotho handed tea to Malokisang who took a long drink and with a screwed-up mouth held out the mug.
Mabotho shook her head.
'Ach. I have told you a thousand times, when you are in need of sugar, ask Malokisang. Did we not go through initiation together? Did you not hold me when I would have run and shamed my mother? Did I not comfort you after the cutting? I will give you sugar!'
'Tomorrow we shall have sugar.'
'Tomorrow, tomorrow you will have many thing.' Malokisang's gold front tooth glinted in the rising sun as she elbowed Mabotho, laughing quietly so as not to waken the children.
Malokisang had a coarse humour, but it was a small fault. There was very much goodness, much warmheartedness in her. She had not been like this before she went to work in the city. She had never talked about it, but Mabotho knew that she had experienced imprisonment for not carrying her Passbook and abusing a police officer. These days Malokisang was fat and jolly, though her eyes were no longer soft, and she was prosperous now — a Shebeen Queen — the owner of beer-halls.
She looked Mabotho up and down. Abruptly she said, 'You are very thin.'
'You say this all the time.'
'I think Samu does not send you money?'
'He sends money.'
It was almost true. Samu did send her money, but the intervals had become so long that it was now many months since the last instalment came.
'Muh! I tell you my girl, I know you are thin. I say that you have become a gold-widow — I say your man Samu has taken a city wife, and will not come home.'
'Samu will come. If he has a city wife, still he will come.'
'Did he come last year when it was Republic Day? Did he? Don't look away like that — I know he never came! Those men who go to the gold mines, take to the city life. If they have a wife there and children, they cannot afford village families as well.'
'Samu earns very much money in the gold mines,' Mabotho said quietly.
'Ha! — and Samu has also learned how to spend much money! I saw him when he came last time (three years ago — you see? I know when he came!). Ho, what a sight! Shiny pants — tight — with zip! A coat with red lines (I tell you that coat cost plenty!) and a blue hat with many cords around it.'
Mabotho did not need her friend to tell her how Samu had been dressed. She could have described every square inch of cloth, every pearly shirt-button and every tiny hole that made patterns on the toes of his shoes. Samu had looked beautiful — finer than any other man returning from the city.
Malokisang wagged her head like a grandmother.
'Cords on his hat! Ha! How is that going to fill the bellies of his family here? I tell you, they are all the same, these men.'
Suddenly her voice became gentle again. 'Why do you not come, as I have asked many times? Come and help me at the shebeens. I could do with a girl like you. I could trust you. It is not the life one would choose, but then who lives such a life? And it is better than pushing a hoe all day. Look! I see your chest bones — do you see bones like that on me?'
She thrust forward her bosom, stretching the bright pink dress and straining the gilt buttons and patted her healthy black skin.
'If you come, I would pay you good money. It would make me happy, because we are friends and you would get more fatness, be more woman.'
Mabotho felt shamed by her grey, dull skin when compared with Malokisang's rich body in its pink dress, and the plump legs in their red stockings.
'Samu will come this time.'
'So — Samu will come this time. And if he comes this time — will he come next time? Will the time between the money-sending get longer and longer until there is no money?'
Mabotho hung her head. Did everybody know that Samu had stopped sending money home? That she worked from dawn till sundown, hoeing her own maize plot then working for a few cents on the plots of others — and still scarcely enough money to feed the children?
Malokisang put a plump arm round Mabotho's thin shoulder.
'Don't hang your head like that! You should be proud. You are fine, you are the provider for the children. Look around this village. What do you see? It is the women who keep the children from hunger. The men go to the city — all right, they must go, there is no living to be made here, I know this — but how many retur
n? The young boys without wives come once — and never again. Here they cannot get hats with cords! And the ones with village wives? Ah yes, they mean to come. Sometimes they do come — they bring pretty things from the city and leave behind them yet another mouth to feed.'
Mabotho could not argue. It was true, she could have wept for the truth of it. But not Samu. Malokisang did not know Samu so well. Samu would come.
Behind the two women, inside the hut, came sounds of the children awakening. Little Tenta tottered to the doorway, blinking at the light. Malokisang picked him up and kissed his bare belly. 'Ah, here is the result of the last Republic Day visit.' The little boy squirmed with pleasure at the tickling, the feel of the silky dress and plump body.
'Ach. To think that there will be a day when some girl will believe that her life is incomplete without this little thing here. And all it is fit for is making mouths to feed.' She petted and kissed him, making him giggle with delight, then put him down and took the girls one on each side and enclosed them in the circles of her arms and sang them a slightly bawdy song in a deep voice.
At last Malokisang stretched herself. 'Ah, Mabotho,' she said, 'it's time we forgot the men. Let them go to shine the shoes of white men and dig his gold. We are as strong as they are. Do you not work hard, all day, every day? Where is your hat with many cords? I tell you my girl, you should come and work for me. I will give you regular work, easy work. You will wear pretty dresses like this. You can buy education for the children. Think how it would be — they could become teachers, or nurses, or doctors! Especially the girls. What will it be for them in twenty years? Also waiting for husbands in coats with red lines, who come and fill their bellies with children, when they need them filled with food?'
Mabotho had heard Malokisang's argument before today.
'Samu will buy education for the children,' she said. 'When he comes back, all will be well again, you see.' She smiled shyly. 'When Samu came last here, he said that he will bring me shoes with high heels and open at the toes, and red varnish for my toenails. He has promised me.'
'My! To remind him of city women no doubt!' Malokisang hauled herself to her feet. 'Well, when the train comes and Samu does not, I will be waiting — and you will join the Tribe of the Women. You see.' And she padded off giving Mabotho a playful smack. 'These men are good for just one thing. Buying my beer!'
Mabotho went back to the hut, and in less than an hour she and the children were on their long walk to town, to wait for the train that would bring Samu.
By the time they reached the station the sun was high and Mabotho had to carry Tenta on her back for the last mile or so. The usual waiting place for blacks was a patch of rough ground close by the railway track, and it was there that the family settled to await the arrival of the train.
Soon the children were hungry, and Mabotho divided a small flat loaf between them. But as they ate, their eyes were fixed upon the sweet-smelling cobs sizzling on the charcoal fire of the mealie-seller. Suddenly Mabotho unknotted the end of her scarf and took out a few cents.
'Here, let us have some fun today. Buy mealies — and see that they are fat and well-roasted!'
Tozama, being the eldest, took the money and Mabotho watched as she and 'Mimi' discussed the mealies like women in the market, ignoring Tenta who watched the deal wide-eyed.
They shared the hot cobs and, watching their enjoyment, Mabotho relaxed. Later on she handed out a few more of her precious cents and they all had tins of icy Coke and oranges. She was playful and they played silly games, arousing in Tozama hazy memories of times before 'Mimi' and Tenta, before Mother had to go every day to the maize fields and she, Tozama, had become the little mother to the other two.
As the day wore on, more people arrived. The white ones sat in the shade of the waiting-room, the black ones on the rough ground.
A number of women, wearing bright, Western-style hats, shoes and coloured stockings, came and lounged beneath some trees. They smoked cigarettes and chattered among themselves. A few boys idled about them, showing off, flicking cigarette-ends in an arc to show how streetwise they were. The women were too expensive for them, but at least they could look.
Mabotho recognized several women who used to live in a nearby village before they set themselves up in town. Some were of her own age and a few older.
Like her they too had children, had once waited for husbands to come back from the mines.
Like her they had once been skinny and scrappily dressed. She did not make any judgements. When things got hard, apart from a vegetable plot and a few sticks of furniture, few women had more than the use of their own flesh to sell. Mabotho thought they must be very strong to do that. She could never do that. Take any drunk, half-wit or bully with a rand or two in his pocket. But village wives who became gold-widows must do what they can.
Mabotho seldom had the time or energy to think of anything except whatever chore she was working at. But now, placidly waiting for Samu to arrive, she let her mind wonder about the future.
She watched Tozama chewing the pith off an orange skin. What if Samu did not buy an education for the girls, would they finish up hoeing fields, or going away to be servant-girls in the cities, perhaps leaving their children for Mabotho to bring up? Those women in the hats, some old grandmother was probably seeing to the children.
A chilling vision came. Her own future, an endless grind of mouths to feed, months waiting for money from the city, years waiting for trains.
This time she would be strong with Samu. He must see how important the children's education was. It occurred to her that if the girls became nurses they need never take a husband.
She began to think of things in a new way. No husbands. No lobolo. Not to be sold by the father to the husband. She had never before thought of a dowry in that light. What difference was there between the money paid by the drunks and half-wits, and lobolo paid by a husband? A woman was bought from the father by the husband. A woman was bought! When a man married he bought a home, an animal or two and a wife. And the wife ended up with three children and a hoe. At least the women under the trees kept their money. Or did they? Mabotho wasn't sure. Quite possibly there was some man, somewhere, getting something out of it, it seemed to be the way of things. She hoped that the women kept the money. They deserved it, doing that!
Revolutionary thoughts for Mabotho. Malokisang was often telling how gold-widows should make better lives for themselves and their children, but it was always after the men had left them. A nurse need never have to take a husband! A nurse could own herself!
Down the line the approaching train hooted. At once there was bustling and chatter. People began to move towards the railway-track.
The train pulled to a halt and passengers began to alight. Standing apart, with Tozama, 'Mimi' and Tenta at her skirts, Mabotho searched among the black passengers for Samu. She saw a few men who she knew worked with Samu. She made a move towards one who had brought her a message last year, telling how the tsotsis had stolen Samu's money and he could not get back to the village this year. Why did he suddenly turn away? She was certain that he had seen her. Soon there was nobody left on the rough ground except herself and the women under the trees bargaining with men in city suits.
Samu had not come.
Mabotho suddenly held out her hands to the girls. 'Come! This is the first day of education. First! I tell you remember this day. This hot day when we walked from the village and waited for the train from the city, and nobody came. Next!' She looked at their serious little faces, holding back on the laughter that wanted to come bubbling out. Then 'Mimi' jigged with excitement and Tenta copied her, not knowing why except that there was something nice going on. Tozama was old enough not to get excited until she knew there was something to get excited about. 'Next, we shall have Coke and ... hot-dogs. Then! We shall go back to the village. And I shall learn to sell beer and you shall learn to write and do numbers.'
Soon the bulging dusty village bus halted in a cloud of dust, and
Mabotho gave a handful of cents to the driver as though she had all the money in the world. On the bus she hugged her children.
An emotion she did not understand began to flow through her. She did not understand it because it was new to her. For the first time she felt the elation of freedom.
Well, freedom of a kind.
THE COMPANY WIFE
THE COMPANY WIFE
Liz raised her arms and stretched her legs, making an X of her body, and stared through the fancy leaves and flowers of the burglar-proofing at the alien constellations of the southern hemisphere. On other nights she had lain like this, trying to fix the pattern of stars in her mind, but they remained random.
Back home there were familiar patterns in the night sky.
'Dear Mum,
'In Africa mid-summer is in December and the night sky is just what I had imagined it would be. It reminds me of those dark pansies that Gran grows by her front door. The stars appear very bright, like bits of Christmas-tree decoration...'
Beside her in the rumpled bed, John breathed deep and gentle. He worked long hours on the high, dusty sun-stricken veldt, he came to bed early and slept soundly. Not Liz, though, she had little to do all day to tire her. Just the duties of an overseas company wife. Shopping, deciding on menus for entertaining visiting members of the board from the UK, taking their wives round the city. Everybody on expenses. Liz was on expenses. She had dreary coffee and dull tea with other company wives. The old ennui.
'...and if you are invited to someone's house for Sunday tea, you often find the servant wearing a white uniform with scarlet turban and sash. They carry round cucumber sandwiches and silver teapots. It must have been like this a hundred years ago back home — if you were well off...'
Liz smiled, imagining her mother's apparent casualness when she asked the aunts if they wanted to read Lizzie's latest letter. Liz never exaggerated in her letters, it was not necessary. The company provided. Chauffeur, uniformed nanny, flat in the suburbs, with services and a swimming pool. There had been a time when the aunts had looked down on Liz's mum, it still hurt. It did them no harm to have a little of Liz's temporary affluence pushed under their noses.
