When Hoopoes Go to Heaven

by Gaile Parkin

  ‘He treated me like royalty back then, Bennie. Royalty! I was crazy about him, gave up everything when we married.’ Mrs Levine sat up. ‘Career, the lot. Went and lived on his farm, gave him two beautiful, wonderful kids. Rachel came here to marry Enock, Adam moved to Australia so he didn’t have to fight in the army for apartheid.’ Her face suddenly changed, and so did her voice, like she had woken from the lovely dream she was in. ‘And still I stayed on the farm with Solly, spending my life doing his bloody accounts.’ She got to her feet, bending to gather up the plants she’d pulled up. ‘Then he only goes and runs off with some little tart who—’

  ‘Mom!’ Auntie Rachel was suddenly behind them. ‘Please!’

  Mrs Levine busied herself with picking up the rest of the wilting plants, ignoring her daughter’s hard stare.

  Auntie Rachel helped Benedict to his feet and gave him a small squeeze. ‘Can you find something else to do while I talk to my mom?’

  He continued on his way down the hill, past the dairy where he could hear the cows being milked, and where he could hear a dog barking and Petros coughing. He wanted to go and talk to Petros, to see how he was and to ask him again about the mines and the gold, but talking to Mrs Levine had already delayed him, and he didn’t want to miss Baba coming home.

  As he carried on down the driveway, he thought about Mr Levine running away with a tart. Was that like the queen of hearts baking some tarts and then somebody running away with them? Who was it who ran away with them? The king of hearts? He couldn’t remember. There was a dish that ran away with something. What was it? A spoon? Something like that. Anyway, Auntie Rachel sometimes made little tarts called Bakewell, which were pastry spread with jam and then filled with cake, with a thin layer of white icing on top. They were okay, but really, cake didn’t need pastry and there should be thick butter icing on top in a nice colour.

  He came to a halt at the gate, where he spent a long time looking at the cattle-grid.

  No.

  He couldn’t bring himself to cross it and run all the way up to the edge of the highway to meet Baba’s white Corolla, no matter how badly he wanted to do just that. He knew that it was silly to imagine that he was small enough to fall through the gaps between the strips of metal.

  But still.

  When he had been much smaller, Grace had sat with him and helped him to read a story about three goats called Billy. They had to get across a bridge without being eaten by a big, ugly monster that lived underneath and looked very scary in the pictures. Benedict knew that the monster wasn’t real, it was just pretend, and there was no monster waiting to eat him under the cattle-grid or under the narrow bridge leading to the pump in the middle of the dam. Anyway, even if there was a monster – which there wasn’t – he knew from the story of the goats how to escape being eaten. The trick was to tell the monster that he was very small – which he wasn’t – and that there was somebody bigger coming along who would be a bigger meal.

  Of course, that would only work if Baba really was coming along behind him. Baba was big enough to scare away any monsters, even the ones that were real and not just pretend. There had been three goats, and the first two had both said that somebody bigger was coming. But there were only two Tungarazas, on account of Benedict’s first baba being late.

  Then Benedict breathed in sharply. What if the three goats weren’t from three generations? What if they were three brothers? Okay, it would be silly for all three brothers to have the same name, but maybe that was normal in goats. Daniel, his smallest brother, would cross the bridge first. Daniel was a year older than Moses, but he was smaller on account of having the same sort of shape as Faith, little and solid. Then Moses would cross, and both of them would rely on their biggest brother coming up behind them to save them.

  Eh!

  He would have to be big enough to save them!

  Taking a deep breath, he stretched out his right foot and rested it lightly on the metal bar of the grid that was closest to him. At once that leg felt like he had been sitting on it badly for too long and it had gone to sleep. That same feeling flooded up his whole body, and he struggled to breathe as he felt himself beginning to fall down, down, down between that bar and the next.

  Dizzy with fright, he sat down hard on the ground and scooted away from the grid on his buttocks, his shallow breaths coming quickly. He could feel his heart pounding in his chest the same way it had when he had run all the way from the dam with his duck in his arms, calling to Uncle Enock.

  Blinking back tears, he took a few deep breaths to calm himself. How he wished he had the little brown bottle of rescue medicine in his pocket! It had been after he had taken his duck to Uncle Enock that Auntie Rachel had given him some drops of it for the first time. He really could do with a few drops now! But all he had was his breathing, and he had to make do with that.

  There had been no monster coming for him. No, he was sure of that. Just the feeling of sliding down into a dark place where he would be lost forever. Unnoticed. Forgotten.

  He forced himself to look over at the grid. The spaces between were really so small! But he did not stand up until Baba’s white Corolla was right next to him and Baba was asking him what he was doing there. He climbed in beside Baba and said he’d been waiting to tell him the good news about Mama, that she’d passed her test.

  Her test had been the day before in the afternoon, so it had been Titi alone who had greeted them at home after school, and Titi alone who had listened to their stories about their school day as they had their fruit and tea.

  When Moses and Daniel had finished their homework, they had played in the garden, not wanting to go down to the other house in case they missed Mama coming home with Henry, and the same worry had kept Benedict and his sisters at the dining table with their books much longer than they needed to be there.

  The hooting from the Quick Impact Corolla all the way up the long driveway had told the whole entire compound what the Tungaraza household had been waiting to hear: Mama had passed!

  ‘As easy as cutting a slice of cake!’ Mama had declared with a big smile as all of them had hugged her. ‘Okay, maybe not a sponge cake. A heavy cake thick with dried fruit.’

  ‘And nuts, too!’ Henry had declared happily, laughing as he grabbed Titi and twirled her around in a dance. ‘Let us not forget that three-point turn with its five points, nè?’ Mama laughed. ‘Or that cone that will never again be able to stand straight!’

  Mama had flopped down on one of the couches with a loud eh and kicked off her smart shoes. Benedict had sat down next to her.

  ‘We’re all proud of you, Mama!’

  Mama had put an arm around him. ‘I’m proud of me, too, my boy. I’m proud of me, too.’ Then she had pulled him closer and planted a kiss on his forehead.

  It was Benedict’s idea that Mama could learn driving, and it was Benedict who had brought her Henry. Tucked under Mama’s arm then, he had felt proud of himself, too. But he never said.

  Now, in Baba’s Corolla, he said, ‘She got her licence, Baba!’ His voice sounded like he didn’t have much breath inside him. Part of that was still about the cattle-grid, but more and more of it was about how excited he was to see Baba.

  ‘That is very good.’ Baba seemed a little sad.

  ‘Mama and Titi are cooking a special supper to welcome you home.’

  ‘That is very good.’

  As they waited for the cows to finish crossing the driveway in front of them, Benedict wondered why Baba wasn’t more pleased. Perhaps he was tired. The drive from Johannesburg to Mbabane was long, and perhaps Baba hadn’t slept so well in the hotel, away from Mama.

  Petros walked with the cows from the milking shed to their sleeping shed, giving Benedict a small wave. When Benedict returned it without thinking before he remembered he wasn’t supposed to know Petros, Baba didn’t even notice. His mind seemed very far away.

  ‘Was the conference good, Baba?’

  Baba nodded. ‘Very good.’

 
‘Did people come from Tanzania?’

  ‘Yes. They brought me—’ Baba clicked his tongue against the roof of his mouth as the last cow stopped right in front of the Corolla and Petros and Krishna came back to move it on. Then the way was clear and they headed up towards the house.

  ‘They brought you what, Baba?’

  ‘Hm?’ Baba seemed to have forgotten that he was in the middle of a sentence. ‘Oh. Yes. News from home.’ He sighed. ‘They brought me news from home.’

  As they tucked in to their supper of spicy chicken pieces with mashed potatoes, boiled gem squash and spinach, Baba smacked his lips together and said how delicious it was, and how happy he was to be back with his family, more especially his beautiful and brilliant wife. Mama smiled and patted her hair, and said how happy she was to have her husband home and how proud of him she was for having spoken at a panAfrican conference.

  But Mama was moving her food around on her plate rather than eating it, and Benedict knew that something was wrong.

  She had been fine when Baba had arrived, proudly showing him her driving licence, telling him all about the test and reminding him how clever he had been to have the idea that she should learn to drive. But then Baba had led her into their bedroom and closed the door, and whenever the other children’s noise had died down and Titi’s clattering and splashing in the kitchen had stopped for a moment, Benedict had heard that they were talking in hushed voices.

  At the end of the meal, when Mama brought in her dark chocolate cake with the yellow shape of Africa on it glittering with Dusting Powder (Gold), Baba said how lovely it was. As he sliced into it, he joked about what a crime it was to be cutting Africa up into random pieces as the colonials had done in the past, and Mama laughed, but her laugh was too big for Baba’s joke and her eyes shone a little too brightly.

  Mama and Baba both took tiny pieces, and while Baba managed to finish his piece in between telling them all how powerful Africa could be if African countries would unite and trade with one another rather than with the West, Mama ate little more than a mouthful before quietly dividing her piece up between Moses and Daniel.

  The children moved to the couches to watch TV, Benedict went to his cushion next to the bookshelf, and with Titi washing up in the kitchen, Mama and Baba were alone at the table.

  They were silent.

  Half-heartedly, Benedict looked for Krishna in one of the encyclopaedias. What was it that Mama and Baba weren’t talking about that was stopping them from talking about anything else? They had talked about it behind their bedroom door, so it was obviously something they didn’t want the children to hear.

  Was it something about the children?

  About one of the children?

  Was it about him?

  Eh!

  What had he done wrong?

  He began to cast his mind back over the week that Baba had been away. But no. Mama had been fine until Baba had come home and talked to her in their bedroom. Was Baba disappointed in him for waiting at the gate instead of going all the way up to the highway? He thought about that for a few seconds before dismissing it: Baba would probably have been angry with him if he had put himself in danger by going near the fast highway traffic. What could it be?

  Was Baba angry that Benedict and Petros had greeted each other?

  When Mama’s cell-phone rang, Benedict felt as relieved as Mama and Baba looked.

  It was Zodwa.

  Eh! How could he have forgotten? Getting up from his cushion, he stood looking at Mama hopefully, clasping his hands to his chest. Without him even noticing, two of the fingers on his right hand crossed.

  Listening to Zodwa, Mama began to smile. It was a proper smile, a real one, not pretend. Yes!

  Pushing the button to end the call, she nodded at him and he rushed to hug her, then they told Baba about it together. He hadn’t wanted to tell Baba about it before, when it could have turned out to be just another disappointment.

  ‘Benedict has had a wonderful idea,’ Mama began. ‘A way to save my business.’

  ‘Eh! I need some good news like this!’ Baba looked genuinely pleased, and Benedict beamed.

  ‘Baba, you know that lots of people here become late?’ Baba nodded. ‘And you know that afterwards, after a month or two depending on their church, their family does a ceremony to wash away their sadness and to ask the ancestors to protect them?’ Baba nodded again.

  ‘Pius, they have to slaughter a cow! When they’ve already spent so much on burial. It’s not just once in a while but too, too often. People are struggling!’

  ‘Baba, I asked my friends at school. If somebody really doesn’t have money for a cow, they can kill a goat instead, or even a chicken. The important thing is the ancestors want some blood, else they won’t protect the family. But the family has all come together, and a small thing like a chicken doesn’t give them much to eat. Now, what if they have a cake as well as the chicken?’

  ‘Eh?’ Baba scratched his head. ‘A cake? But now you are talking of changing people’s culture. That is not an easy thing to do.’

  ‘But a cake costs a lot less than a cow, Pius.’

  ‘And culture is not simply a matter of cost, Angel. A practice can be expensive, outdated, even dangerous, but if people justify it as culture it will still remain.’

  ‘It will remain only as long as there is nothing better to replace it! Please listen to Benedict, Pius. He put it to Zodwa and Jabulani so beautifully.’

  ‘Baba, it’s not about changing a culture, it’s not about replacing what people do now. It’s about starting a new fashion. It’s a way of celebrating somebody’s life after all the sadness about him being late. A cow is just a cow, Baba. Okay, they can slaughter it for the ancestors, but that’s about the ancestors looking after them. What about the late person who’s gone? The cow doesn’t say anything about that person, about who he was in his life. Say he worked as a pineapple picker. His family can remember him with a cake like a pineapple. Or say he was a teacher. He can get a cake like a giant piece of chalk—’

  ‘Or a chalkboard duster,’ said Mama.

  ‘Yes. And then everybody can be looking at the cake and remembering him and talking about his life, and they won’t see that the meat they’re getting isn’t a whole cow or is just a goat or a chicken.’

  ‘Or they won’t mind,’ said Mama, ‘even if they do see. The cake will be so lovely they won’t complain.’

  ‘I see. And Zodwa agrees with this?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Did they vote, Mama?’

  Zodwa had said that she wanted the decision to be made by everybody at Ubuntu, on account of people needing to get democracy wherever they could in a place where votes didn’t count for very much.

  ‘Yes. And tonight she took the idea to the late Ubuntu’s brother, the man who actually owns the business.’

  ‘He agreed?’

  Mama nodded, and Benedict knew that Zodwa had helped her brother-in-law to see that he had had the idea himself, just as Mama and Zodwa had planned. ‘He just wants a percentage of the new branch of the business.’

  Over the tea that Titi made for them, Mama told Baba that they would start with a pilot project, the kind of small trial that Baba always said was the way to begin any new venture, and that Mama would do the baking at first, training other ladies to bake and decorate in the second phase as the project grew, so that by the time Mama left Swaziland the business would have two feet of its own.

  Benedict counted on his fingers. ‘It helps people to celebrate the life of their late nicely, it gives Ubuntu Funerals an edge, and it gives Mama more business. It’s for winning and winning and winning, Baba.’

  ‘Eh, I have not been speaking into empty air!’ declared Baba. ‘My words have not been wasted. I am a proud man tonight. Very proud indeed.’

  His chest swelling, Benedict knew that it was time to make Baba even more proud. He cleared his throat before he spoke.

  ‘Mama, I want a percentage, too.’

&nb
sp; ‘Eh!’

  He expected Baba to slap him on the back, shake his hand, laugh with joy, clap his hands together. Anything. Anything except shake his head, which was what he began to do. Baba told him he should have built up to it, he should have talked about how the idea had been his and about how much money could come to the business – and to Mama – because of his idea. Then he should have said exactly what percentage he wanted – two, five, ten – and justified why it was right for him to ask for it. That was how a man negotiated.

  Baba didn’t need to say it, but that was how Benedict had shown he wasn’t yet a man.

  Mama was in trouble, too. She hadn’t negotiated any financial arrangements with Zodwa, and Baba was going to have to step in and put something on paper. He would need to—

  ‘Pius,’ Mama tapped on Baba’s watch. ‘News.’

  When the tea he had shared with Mama and Baba woke him in the night and he tiptoed across the passage to the toilet, Benedict heard Mama and Baba talking in the lounge in the same hushed voices they had used in their bedroom.

  ‘Angel, this disappointment is cutting through me like a machete through a ripe melon.’

  ‘Uh-uh-uh.’

  Benedict used the toilet quietly, not flushing in case the noise of it woke up the whole entire house. The voices were still there as he slipped silently back across the passage towards the boys’ bedroom.

  ‘How will we manage, Pius?’

  ‘We’ll find a way. What choice do we have?’

  Crawling sleepily into his bed, Benedict knew for sure that something very big had happened.

  ELEVEN

  WHEN DANIEL AND MOSES SHOUTED FROM THE garden that the Ubuntu Funerals van had arrived, Benedict was at the dining table chatting with his sisters as they tidied away their homework books.

  ‘My mama always had homework of her own,’ Faith remembered. ‘She was always preparing tomorrow’s lessons.’