Mum told me Grandpa was fiddling with something in the garage and that I’d find him there. When Grandpa wasn’t engaged with odd handyman jobs around Harare, he had taken to fixing up our house. Cracks had been plastered, weeds in the driveway plucked, and the dining table varnished. While Mum was initially grateful, I could see his helpful behaviour had started grating on her. She’d snapped at him when he was drilling holes into the kitchen cabinets while she was on a work phonecall, and finally lost it when she’d tried to shower after work and he stopped her, announcing that he’d just sprayed it with toxic amounts of mould remover.
I could see that asking Grandpa to take me on this errand was Mum’s way of getting a bit of peace and quiet.
‘Hello, poppet,’ Grandpa greeted me, waving a grease-covered hand in my direction. ‘I was just trying to get this garage door working again.’
‘Oh. We don’t really bother closing it. Since we’ve already got the electric fence and everything, Mum just parks Chitty in the driveway.’
‘Huh, okay.’
Sensing his deflation, I suggested it was still a worthwhile task, since a girl I knew from school had the tyres of her family’s station wagon stolen from their driveway. I recounted the story I’d heard to Grandpa.
‘When they went outside, the car was up on bricks. They didn’t even hear anyone steal them.’
‘Well, sheesh, we don’t want that to happen,’ Grandpa said.
I shook my head then asked if he could leave the repair work for a bit to take me to the shops. He agreed, rinsing his hands under the outdoor tap we used to fill up Oscar Wilde’s water bowl.
I hoisted myself into the passenger seat of Grandpa’s Nissan. It was an odd sensation, driving through the city streets in a truck that had rarely ventured off country roads. When we drove on the farm, I’d stand on the back cargo bed, holding onto the bar. Sometimes Grandpa would spray the windscreen and then use the wipers, knowing the water would travel back and splash my face.
Sam Levy’s Village was a shopping centre that did indeed resemble a small country village; stores were housed within English-style cottages and there was even a miniature clock tower in the middle. Potentially, you could’ve been in a quaint British hamlet if it hadn’t been for the African palm trees that lined the central open-air space.
Like his car, Grandpa looked a bit out of place. He was sporting khaki shorts that stopped a good seven inches above his knees, paired with a washed-grey button-down shirt. On his feet were Veldskoens, made from soft rawhide, the same colour as his shorts. If a stranger had to guess, they would peg him for either a safari operator or a farmer, of which he had been both during his lifetime. Mum once joked that no matter how many times Grandpa shopped for new clothes, he somehow always returned home with a version of the same outfit he had been wearing since 1983.
As we walked through the shopping centre, Grandpa spoke in a booming voice, perhaps the result of going a little bit deaf, or not being used to places where he had to lower his voice.
‘You know I went to school with Sam. Sam Levy. He was a couple of years above me at Prince Edward. Nice guy. Jewish fella. Made a huge fortune from this place. His kids are going to be set up, I tell you what.’
I looked around to see who was walking nearby, embarrassed by Grandpa’s loud and blunt assessment of the owner and his assets.
We managed to find a copy of the computer game at an electronics store and, later that afternoon, I was busy learning about metamorphic rocks and helping my virtual character dodge exploding lava. It was a fun game, but I never did get a spare copy to give to someone else.
Before dinner Mum pulled me away from the computer screen and insisted I study for the last Shona test of the term.
I stalked off to the kitchen and climbed atop the bench, greeting Gogo, who was fussing over the stove.
‘How are you?’ she asked.
‘I’m okay, I guess.’
‘No … How. Are. You?’
‘Oh. Wakadini?’
‘I’m okay, I guess,’ Gogo replied, copying my tone of voice and making a show of dropping her arms to mock my lethargic attitude.
After her theatrical display, she handed me the grater and a block of cheddar. ‘Do up to here,’ she instructed, pointing to the edge of the plastic wrapping. I nodded in affirmation and began working away.
‘And what are you grating?’ she asked.
‘Food isn’t on this test.’
‘But how are you going to become fluent in Shona if you can’t remember, eh? Practise, Hannah.’
‘Chizi,’ I said, pinching some of the freshly grated cheese and dropping it into my mouth.
‘Hey,’ Gogo exclaimed, taking the cheese bowl away and placing it out of my reach.
Grandpa came into the kitchen and asked what I was doing. I told him I was practising for the Shona test.
‘Hi, Ruth. Zviri kufamba sei?’ Grandpa asked Gogo how it was going as he reached into the bowl of cheese, the beds of his fingernails still black from the garage work earlier that day.
‘Uh-uh, that is it, out of the kitchen,’ Gogo said, shooing us both away with a tea towel as though we were naughty schoolchildren.
Over steaming bowls of spaghetti bolognaise we spoke about our days. Nana said she’d been put in touch with a man who owned a local furniture store that needed an accounts secretary, but during the interview, when it came to light she did not possess the requisite computer skills, she was politely declined.
‘I’m quick on paper though,’ Nana said. ‘And I’d have more experience than some young girl working her first job, you know?’
Both Grandpa and Mum agreed wholeheartedly, offering her some comforting platitudes, along the lines of ‘they don’t know what they’re missing’ and ‘things will work out for the best’.
‘I was thinking,’ Mum started. ‘Hannah’s nearly on holidays, we should organise a camping trip to Mana Pools or maybe up to Matopos.’
‘Oh, that’d be lovely,’ Nana said, and I joined her in expressing my excitement.
We began brainstorming ideas and dates and logistics around the table. Mum suggested that maybe on the way we could visit the Great Zimbabwe Ruins, an abandoned city that used to be a royal palace in the eleventh century. Grandpa remarked that we didn’t need to drive three hundred kilometres to see the ruins of Zimbabwe because we could just look around us.
‘Dad …’ Mum chided him.
‘No, I’m sorry, the trip does sound like a great idea,’ Grandpa said, adding that the camps as we knew them probably weren’t going to be around for too much longer.
14
Mum had just picked me up from school and we were driving to the Avondale shops to purchase supplies for the first full dress rehearsal of the charity show. We were stopped in traffic but could see the windscreen cleaners in the distance. The men stood eagerly at the lights, cut water bottles and squeegees in hand, ready to pounce on unsuspecting vehicles, and ambush them with a half-hearted cleaning spritz. After they had finished up on the car in front of us, we were the next targets. Wielding one bottle filled with water and another filled with cleaning liquid, they got to work on our car windows.
‘Hannah, check to see if we’ve got some old notes in the glove box, a two hundred or five hundred or something we can give to them.’
I found some change, which Mum slipped through the top of her window to the men.
‘Tatenda, tatenda,’ the men thanked Mum as the light turned to green.
At the shops we found almost everything Mum had scrawled on her shopping list: chips and dips and white wine for the cast; blue paint and green cardboard from the art-supply shop; and an armful of colourful cloths from the adjacent flea market.
As we carried the supplies to the car, a man who had been leaning against the streetlamp came bounding towards us.
‘Hey, Mama!’ the man
called out.
‘Hi, hi,’ Mum replied, quickening her pace.
‘Let me help you with that box, huh? Two beautiful ladies, Mama and daughter, hey.’
‘No, no, thanks,’ Mum said, trying to shrug him off, but he had already taken the box out of her grasp and was walking towards the car. As soon as he’d hauled it into the boot, he stood next to the driver’s side, blocking Mum from getting into the car.
‘I’m sorry, I don’t have any money,’ she said.
‘Ahhhh, Mama, come on now.’
‘I spent the last of my cash at the flea market. I really don’t have any money on me,’ Mum repeated. She pulled out her car keys and reached behind the man to unlock the car, apologising as she did so. He continued to stand there, unmoving, forcing her to open the door against him and squeeze in the narrow gap available. Mum reversed out, the man’s eyes holding her gaze through the windscreen.
‘You know why men approach us, don’t you?’ she asked. I didn’t. ‘They see two women, well, a woman and her daughter, and it’s an easy mark. Sometimes you’ve got to be very aggressive, but they know women won’t be like that. Especially not with their child around. But the most powerful thing you can learn, is how to say no.’
‘Like … no, I don’t want to do my homework?’
‘Well, maybe not to everything.’
‘Oh, wait. We forgot the masking tape,’ I said, glancing down at the list in my hand.
‘Oh god. Okay. Don’t worry about it. I’m not going back there today,’ Mum said.
Just before we pulled into the Prince Edward car park, I voiced what had been on my mind.
‘Dad smacked me the other day because I wouldn’t kiss him in front of Michaela and her dad.’
‘He did what?’ Mum asked, lifting the sunglasses she’d put on while driving, to look at me properly.
‘Because I didn’t want to kiss him. I guess I also said he had bad breath.’
‘That is completely inappropriate,’ Mum said, using her favourite word. ‘I am so sorry, Hannah. You should’ve told me. I’m going to have to speak to him about this.’
‘Don’t. It wasn’t actually that hard or anything. It was nothing.’
‘I … Okay. But if he does it again … And you shouldn’t ever be afraid not to do something you don’t want to do, okay, Hannah? Especially if men ask you to. You aren’t under any obligation, do you understand me? You can say no.’
‘Okay, Mum.’
‘Mu-um,’ I called out, my voice echoing through the school theatre.
She walked over to me, her heels making a clip-clop sound on the wooden floorboards as she fiddled with a pair of earrings.
‘It’s about the lyrics,’ I said, when she reached me.
‘Are you having trouble remembering them?’
‘No, it’s not that. It’s just … Well, you always say how working at the stock exchange is hard, because you have to deal with men who don’t think that you’re good enough, right?’ I took in a breath. ‘And you’ve said that even though you and Dad are divorced, it doesn’t mean you are incapable of doing things. That women don’t need men, right?’
Mum nodded carefully, unsure of where my line of questioning was going.
‘Well, Liesl is pretty much saying that because she’s a girl she doesn’t know anything. She says she’s totally unprepared for a world of men and needs to be told what to do by Rolf.’ I began to repeat a few lines, in a rushed half-singing voice.
‘The Sound of Music was my favourite film when I was young,’ Mum said, before wrapping me up in a big hug. When she pulled away, I noticed she was blinking back tears. I wondered if she was crying because I just ruined her favourite film.
Mum summoned Zayn over. ‘Do you think you could play Liesl?’ she asked him. ‘Bit of a fresh take. You can wear my white “Send in the Clowns” dress.’
Zayn contemplated the idea. ‘Oh, why not,’ he said, throwing his hands into the air. ‘My mother has just come to terms with the fact that I’m a man who likes other men, why not throw on a dress and test her acceptance!’
‘Brilliant,’ Mum said with a laugh, then turned to me. ‘Now, how do we make you into Rolf?’
We rummaged through the costume boxes in the back rooms, the contents of which were a combination of old handmade pieces from shows past and lost property. We found a pair of khaki pants that, according to the clothing tag, belonged to someone with the initials MZ – probably a former boarding student. The rest of the costume was easy: a dress shirt and tie, and a piece of red fabric to wrap around my arm, all of which were found in a matter of minutes.
As I pulled the pants on, I could feel the buttons digging into me, restricting my movement. I pulled at the flesh underneath my belly button, then pushed my stomach inwards with both hands to see the small mound it created. Mum said it was just ‘puppy fat’, but I wondered if maybe it wasn’t just puppy fat, and if I became fat-fat, what would Dad think? Would he care? Or would he find a way to create the perfect daughter in his image, another daughter, instead of me?
My father’s comments have stayed with me like a tattoo to this day. Even as I grew taller and my body developed definition through curves, no amount of shrinking would make his words disappear. His voice remained in my head, matching animals to people and behaviour. Fat little hippo. Ungrateful cow. Greedy pig.
Zayn and Mum packed up the costumes and polished off the last of the wine and snacks, while I sat atop the stack of six plastic chairs I’d collected, playing on my blue Nintendo Game Boy. They were talking about their friend Jeanine and her upcoming wedding. I always thought that if I were a spy, I wouldn’t bother with elaborate costumes or high-tech equipment, I would just sit down and pretend to be deeply invested in completing a level, occasionally making disgruntled faces or pleased ‘yes!’ sounds to prove how absorbed by the game I was.
‘I’m taking Matt as my plus one,’ Zayn said.
‘Oh, so things are pretty serious then?’ Mum asked.
‘Serious? We’re practically living together. I don’t think he’s been back to his house in a month. Of course, Constance isn’t happy.’
‘Oh no, is she … not accepting of …’ Mum’s voice trailed off.
‘No, no. Constance is great, she’s not a homophobe. No, she’s just not thrilled about the extra laundry and meals. I could have a room full of male concubines, and that would be fine and dandy, but she’d expect a pay rise.’
Mum laughed and continued folding outfits into the great wooden chest in the wings.
‘Who are you going to the wedding with?’ Zayn asked, as he held a child’s size Alice in Wonderland dress to his front and examined himself in the mirror.
‘I’m going with Hannah,’ she replied.
‘Jane. It has been ten years. You’re allowed to have fun.’ He put the dress down on the table. ‘Haven’t you tortured yourself long enough?’
‘I haven’t been torturing myself. Someone else has been doing that quite well on my behalf.’
‘It’s a damn shame I’m only trained in piano and the marimbas, else I’d be playing you the world’s smallest violin,’ Zayn said, miming the minuscule instrument with his long fingers.
‘I was just taught a lesson about gender from my eleven-year-old daughter, who I apparently preach to constantly about not needing men.’
‘This isn’t about men. This is about companionship. Living a little.’
‘Greg Van der Walt did offer to drive Hannah and me up to Nyanga,’ Mum said.
This was the first I’d heard about the offered lift, and I was rather annoyed by the prospect that it might not just be Mum and me on the car journey, like the ones we used to enjoy together on the way up to the farm. I was ready to protest from my throne of chairs but didn’t want to break my cover and reveal that I was eavesdropping.
‘So take the offer,’
Zayn said. ‘It’s not a contract. At least you won’t be paying for petrol.’
‘Oh, no. I would definitely pay him back for the petrol—’
‘Relax, Jane. You don’t need to take everything quite so literally. Go with Greg, have a dance, let your hair down. Hannah is old enough now – she doesn’t need you hovering over her all the time anyway.’
‘I’ll think about it. I will,’ Mum said. She lifted the blue Alice dress off the table, threw it in the trunk and banged it shut.
15
‘… Fifth is jessica hunter-grey, fourth Diana Chigumba, third Hannah Reynolds, second we have Amy Blighnaught, and head of the class is Melody Sibanda.’
Diana reached her palm back behind her desk and I leant forwards to slap it. We had done well. Diana beat me the term before, but we had placed sixth and fifth respectively, so these new results were good news for both of us.
‘If anyone who was not called out would like to know their place, please come and visit me at my desk. Those in the bottom five, expect a call to your parents and some additional homework over the break.’
And that was that. The school term had come to an end. We Bishopslea girls spilt out onto the grass, a sea of blue, arms filled with art projects and rolled-up posters that had been unpinned from the walls they’d been displayed on, leaving the corridors empty and dull.
I lay with Diana on the grassy patch next to the roundabout, where the Zimbabwean flag flapped softly against the silhouette of the school. Diana was going to spend her month-long holiday visiting family in Malawi, and I told her how much I’d miss her company. At least I was going to be busy. During the holidays I had the charity show, the camping trip and Dad’s sixtieth birthday at Victoria Falls.
As soon as we got home, I handed Mum the thick envelope containing my report card. I held my breath as she stuck her fingernail under the adhesive part at the top, opening it while maintaining the integrity of the envelope. I would’ve just ripped it.
Mum took out the report, and her brow furrowed.
Little Stones Page 9
