Now I See You

by Holmes, Priscilla; Holmes, Priscilla;

  He lifted my wrist and kissed it. Then he placed his fingers over my veins, checking my pulse. ‘Fast,’ he said. ‘Racing.’

  ‘What does that mean, doctor?’ I laughed up at him, relaxing into his arms.

  ‘I hope it means you quite like me,’ he said.

  ‘I do,’ I smiled. ‘I really do.’ I melted against him. I felt charmed, almost helpless in the face of his admiration. I was carried along by him; his enthusiasm, his determination, it was all very endearing in a fairy-story kind of way.

  Most men I’d known couldn’t keep their idea of me as a friend and human being separate once sex entered the equation, but Tom was controlled, gentle and – yes – sexy. I kissed him, his tongue soft in my mouth.

  The cell phone vibrated in my pocket. For a moment I was disorientated, wondering where the buzzing came from. I broke away from Tom, opened the phone and tried to concentrate.

  ‘Yes?’ I said. My voice sounded wobbly.

  ‘It’s Khumalo. I’m just letting you know I’m in Grahamstown. I need to meet with you tomorrow.’

  I glanced at my watch. It was one in the morning.

  ‘Zak, do you know what time it is? This call is completely unnecessary. Please don’t phone me again unless it’s an emergency.’

  I heard his laugh. ‘Not alone?’

  I slammed the phone shut. The moment was lost. I turned away from Tom.

  ‘Thabisa... why don’t we –’

  ‘Sorry, Tom, I can’t. It’s hopeless when I’m on duty.’

  ‘I know the feeling. Doctors’ phones always ring at the wrong times.’

  ‘Tom, I –’

  ‘Don’t worry, Thabisa, there’s always a next time.’

  Tom kissed me and stepped out into the night.

  23

  6 July 2006 – 1.00 a.m.

  I tossed and turned. I couldn’t get comfortable. The bedclothes were like bandages winding around my body, pinning me into weird, contorted positions. I remembered things I had banished from my mind for years, refusing to allow them to surface. The nightmares were still there. Talking about Victor had unlocked the part of my brain I had carefully padlocked many years before.

  I lay in the dark, listened to the wind rattling the window, and remembered.

  A concert at Rhodes University, just before I sat my final examinations. Saint Andrews and DSG were both there, all in our green school uniforms. Just kids, mixing with the older university students. Everyone was chatting, laughing together.

  Then, there he was, muscular and tall, shining among all the others. Victor Zondwa. My first love. Second-year law student at Rhodes and angry about everything.

  ‘What are you going to study?’ he asked me, when he had worked the room and finally introduced himself.

  ‘I’m not going to study further,’ I said.

  ‘What?’ His tone was low and compelling. ‘A girl like you, brainy as hell? What a waste.’

  I smiled wryly. ‘Try telling that to my grandfather. He wants me to go back to the village, get married and have a dozen children. Even if I was offered a bursary it wouldn’t be enough to see me through university. I just can’t afford to go any further. So that’s why I’m thinking of joining the police.’’

  ‘The police?’ I stepped back as his voice jabbed at me.

  ‘What’s wrong with that?’ I asked defensively. This guy might be handsome, with his dark perfect skin, strong jaw, but he was pretty arrogant.

  ‘Sorry,’ he said. ‘Reflex action. I hear the word “police” and my hackles rise. But change is coming and this government can’t last much longer. South Africa’s going to need a new police force. Joining now, it’s actually a good idea. You’ll be able to do something really practical for your country. Go for it.’

  ‘So I have your blessing?’ I said tartly. ‘Thank you so much.’

  ‘Sorry,’ he said. ‘I get a bit carried away.’ He smiled at me then and I was glad of the wall behind me, holding me up as my knees turned to jelly.

  His head was shaved, the bones of his skull sculpted like a statue in the art books at the school library.

  He was so alive and enthusiastic, so full of ideas.

  He introduced me to his crowd of friends. He was more of a man than any of the others. I had never been interested in boys, but that evening I felt as if I’d been hit by a two-ton truck.

  The talk was all about the importance of the National Peace Accord and the hope surrounding Nelson Mandela’s release from jail. I’d been living in a bubble. My whole world had been school, passing exams and athletics. Singing in the choir and going home to the valley for the long holidays. Talk like this wasn’t part of my life.

  All the while he watched me with his dark, angry eyes. He was attracted to me; I could see it in his body language. I was surprised and flattered. There were several other girls, older than me, hanging around him, but he didn’t seem interested. I wondered why. He looked like a man who only dated clever college girls with their own cars.

  When the school bus came to take us back to the hostel, Victor asked me if he could visit me on Sunday. ‘You’re allowed visitors then, aren’t you?’

  I felt as if I’d been struck by lightning. ‘Yes... yes of course,’ I stammered.

  The other girls teased me on the way home. ‘That gorgeous boy likes you, Thabisa, better watch out; everyone says he’s an activist. He may activate you!’

  I hardly knew what an activist was, but I felt breathless when I thought about him, my whole body jangling with new thoughts and feelings that fluttered around my body like bees around a hive. Some of them stung. Others were sweet as honey.

  He arrived on an old black bicycle, wearing a worn leather jacket and a red beanie. We walked on the sports field while I told him more about the valley, my grandfather and my schooling. He told me about his Umtata upbringing, the university and why he was studying law. He was alert, aware, critical of everything and he shook me awake.

  ‘I’m going to do something for our country, something big,’ he told me.

  I couldn’t believe how white his teeth were, how rich his skin. And then there was the confidence, bursting out of him. Nothing was insurmountable, not even my dreams of continuing my education.

  ‘If I had any financial support I’d come to Rhodes like you and do something like social work. That’s what I’d like to do. But the way things stand with my grandfather, that’s out. Not that he could afford to help me anyway. I’ve been advised to apply for bursaries, but there aren’t many going. What do you think?’ I asked.

  ‘I reckon you should make the most of whatever opportunities you have now,’ Victor said. Go where you can do some good straight away,’ he said. ‘And joining the police won’t limit you, quite the opposite. You’ll be able to learn and earn. The police will be desperate for a bright, intelligent woman like you. There’s a new world coming, Thabisa, and you can be part of it. Don’t let your grandfather sabotage your plans by forcing you into marriage. Because that’s what will be coming next in his eyes, isn’t it?’

  I stiffened. ‘I’m not going that route,’ I said. ‘My grandfather has already got a husband lined up. I’ve never even met the man. I won’t agree.’

  ‘Absolutely not,’ Victor said. ‘Arranged marriages, sangomas and grandfathers making all the decisions. Then the woman becomes the property of the husband’s family, to become a workhorse and a baby machine. Surely your grandfather doesn’t expect to educate you and then marry you off to some local chief who can’t read or write?’

  ‘My grandfather does what he wants. His word is law in our valley, but I’m going against him over this.’

  Victor snaked his arm round my shoulders and pulled me against him. I felt as if I was melting into his hard, strong body. I pulled myself away when I remembered where we were.

  ‘Don’t sell yourself short, Thabisa,’ he said softly. ‘You are a beautiful girl. Can we meet outside all this?’ He gestured at the school buildings and groups of girls.
/>   ‘I don’t know, Victor, I’m about to sit for my matric, I’ve got a lot of studying to do.’

  ‘Surely you have some free study days?’

  ‘Well, next week, I’ve got two days, but I’m preparing for my English paper.’

  ‘Maybe we could meet up in the afternoon?’ Victor suggested.

  I thought for a moment then nodded.

  Later that week, when he smuggled me into his room at Rhodes and we talked for hours, I knew we were two people on the cusp of something special. I looked around the room: notepads, books, tapes, pens, pencils, and files all over the place. The books all seemed to be about South Africa’s struggle for freedom and the notepads were filled with his angry, black scribble.

  I tried to see through to the core of him, and he wouldn’t allow me, but I felt the space between us, ready to ignite. He didn’t try to touch me, but I knew he wanted to.

  Through my matric examinations we snatched time to be together. Victor was a different person when he was alone with me. In public he was always talking about issues, noisy and angry. He tore other people’s ideas to pieces. He put forward outrageous schemes, then debated them with ferocious energy until everyone agreed with him. He was popular and impressive, everyone wanted to know him.

  But alone and in private, with me, he was tender, enquiring, funny. I told him all my fears, dreams and thoughts. My heart was racing for new experiences, all involving him.

  My body clamoured with new sensations I didn’t really understand. There was nobody to talk to about it. Most of the other girls in my year didn’t have boyfriends and if they did, they didn’t discuss them. Not openly, at least.

  After the examinations were over and just before Catherine Talbot drove me back to Encobo for the holidays, Victor and I spent a day together in Grahamstown. We picnicked by the river, talked and laughed. He teased me about my grey eyes. I teased him about his red beanie. Every part of my body was chiming like a bell.

  ‘Let’s go,’ he said pulling me to my feet. ‘A friend has loaned me his place for a few hours.’

  ‘Oh,’ I said, and then we said nothing more.

  Victor didn’t look at me while he unlocked the door to his friend’s cottage.

  I felt as if I was hurtling toward a cliff face. My school education was finished; I knew I’d done well. I was approaching a new life. I knew I would never be the same again. The only way was to move forward. I wanted Victor but I didn’t know what it entailed.

  Victor led me into a small dark room, drew me toward him and kissed me. His mouth was hot. It was my first real kiss, and his tongue was in my mouth, insistent, exploring. His hands were under my clothes, his fingers on my breasts. I helped him loosen my bra and he bent and sucked my nipples while I gasped at the pleasure of his mouth.

  Then he undressed and stood before me. I stared at him in amazement. I had never seen a man naked before. I tried to understand what I should do next.

  He helped me out of my clothes carefully and then he ran his hands over my body.

  ‘You’re beautiful,’ he whispered. He felt in his jacket and produced a condom.

  ‘We don’t want any babies at this point, do we?’ he said softly. ‘Not now, right?’

  We lay on a bed in the corner of the room and he covered me with his body.

  ‘Are you sure?’ he asked looking into my eyes. ‘Do you want me?’

  ‘Yes,’ I said, although I was scared, really scared.

  ‘Don’t be afraid,’ he murmured against my neck. ‘Just relax, try and trust me.’

  I wondered for a moment how many other women he’d had, but the thoughts got lost as I clutched at his shoulders and opened myself to him. He was gentle, but it was painful, very painful. Then suddenly, all the pain subsided and tendrils of pleasure curled around my body. I couldn’t believe what I was feeling. He was my other half. We were one person.

  Victor promised to send his uncle to visit my grandfather as soon as he was able, maybe in a few months. His father would offer lobola. His parents were both lawyers, who had met when they were studying at Fort Hare University. They respected their Xhosa culture and would certainly observe the formalities.

  ‘Deep down singamaqaba – we are Qaba; we don’t want to lose our cultural identity,’ Victor said.

  We would be married when my training was finished and I graduated from Police College. Meanwhile, Victor would be in Pretoria for a few weeks at the beginning of my training, organising a protest march and we would see one another.

  First love had grabbed me round the throat. I could hardly breathe when I thought of him. I was dumb with admiration and pride when I heard him talk at rallies and political meetings, oblivious to the men and woman who gazed at him, coveting him. He was mine. I was the one who got to touch him, rest my face on his shoulder, and run my hands over his chest and his smooth, shaved head. I could un-button him, shed his clothes, and become naked with him. Then we could kiss. And oh God, the kisses... what they led to.

  I entered Police College on winged feet. The other girls complained about the conditions, the food and the discipline, but I hardly noticed them. I enjoyed everything and lived for the times I saw Victor.

  In early 1992, when I was still a rookie, he came to Pretoria to help the police organise the protest march on Church Square. Responsible, he called it. Working together for peaceful protest. No more violence, no more bloodshed. The people’s voices could be heard if both sides showed respect for each other.

  I was seconded to a patrol that evening, with twelve other trainees from the college. We were on duty as cadets to help control the crowd and keep things peaceful.

  There were crowds of demonstrators in Church Square and many police officers trying to cordon them off, hold them back. We cadets couldn’t understand why the crowd was so aggressive to the police. All we were doing was trying to maintain law and order. Wasn’t that what Victor had said, that we new trainees had a part to play in the new South Africa that was emerging? Why did they hate us so much? I watched as fresh waves of students arrived, pushing through the streets surrounding the square, blocking it off on all sides.

  Suddenly, horns blaring, blunt-nosed vans swept into the square. The sea of demonstrators parted. The vehicles stopped in the centre and disgorged a force of heavily armed police officers who took up positions, surrounding the square and forming an extra cordon. A thick-set man in police uniform, holding a snarling dog on a leash, grabbed me, yelling: ‘Form a cordon... lift the shields... don’t fall back!’

  I obeyed, holding up the plastic shield I had been given earlier.

  Then we began to move. The police line advanced relentlessly and I was carried forward with it, my shield locked into place by shields on either side of me. We pushed forward, into the first line of students, forcing them back, crushing them into the wave of bodies behind them.

  And then the first student fell. A girl with long blonde hair, down on her hands and knees.

  I heard bewildered cries: ‘What have we done? How can you attack us like this? This is a peaceful demonstration.’

  And then the first stone, followed by another and then another flew past my head. One hit my cheek and blood trickled down my neck. I learned later that Victor and his supporters had promised that there would be no stone-throwing. But other more militant students had told everyone to come prepared. I also learned that the powers that be had promised there would be no aggressive action from the police. Another command that wasn’t followed by men shouting the orders, urging the dogs onward, raising their batons.

  Police officers moved through the crowd. Resistance was met with truncheons and sticks. Panic filled the square. People pushed, pleaded, struggled with the police and tried to break through the cordon to escape. Benches overturned, people fell and others trampled them, unable to stop the heaving masses pushing behind them.

  Then I saw Victor. He was at the front of the crowd, shouting. ‘Back off! Don’t attack the police! Retreat!’

  But th
ey couldn’t retreat; the square was clogged and there was no way out. They were jammed in, tight against each other. People were screaming. The police were snatching people at random; dragging them towards the police trucks.

  Some young men pushed forward against the cordon. I saw the police officers pull out their weapons.

  ‘No... no...’ I heard myself scream.

  Gun fire, like fireworks, popping and crackling. People falling over. Screaming going on... and on. Never-ending.

  In slow motion I saw Victor fall back and crumple to the ground. Blood gushing down his shirt, staining his jacket red, dripping from his hand. Somehow, I tore free of the cordon. I scrambled through the crowd, punching, pushing them apart, until I reached him. A police officer lashed out at me with his stick.

  ‘Get back in line,’ he shouted. I ignored him.

  Victor was barely conscious, blood pouring out of a gaping wound in his chest. I tried to stem the flow of blood with my jacket but it wouldn’t stop. He looked up and recognised me. He tried to speak, but couldn’t. I watched the light fade from his eyes. He fell back in my arms. Eyes wide, staring.

  The screaming went on and on and I wondered vaguely who it was. Then I realised, it was me, howling and keening. I knelt in the dust, holding Victor’s body, rocking him in my arms. Somebody pulled me away and wrapped a blanket round my shoulders. I was shivering uncontrollably. I watched two policemen throw Victor’s body into the back of a van as if it were a carcass, my last glimpse of him before the door slammed shut and the van drove off. I never saw him again.

  I sat up in bed, tears pouring down my face as I remembered.

  I still miss him. There is still anguish in my bones and my blood. There always will be. Such a waste. Such a pointless death.

  However much we love someone, we lose them in the end. If life doesn’t steal them, then death will do it.