When Hoopoes Go to Heaven

by Gaile Parkin

  Grace was going to be thirteen next birthday, and her cake was going to be special on account of her becoming a teenager. Benedict’s last birthday cake had been special on account of him getting to double numbers. Mama had made him a big butterfly, she had copied it from one of his books. Not his favourite, the African monarch, which didn’t have enough colours for a cake, but one called blue pansy, which was black with big patches of bright blue, small patterns of white and round circles of bright red that looked like pretend eyes.

  Pouring himself a throw-away cup of bright orange Fanta from a big plastic bottle, he moved round to the piece of the garden at the far side of the house where it would be quieter. As he rounded the corner his mouth flew open and he almost spilled his drink. A girl was sitting there with her back to the wall of the house, her knees pulled up to her chest.

  It was Nomsa.

  ‘Sawubona,’ he said.

  She looked up at him. ‘Yebo.’ Her voice was surprisingly soft compared to the hardness of her eyes.

  They told each other their names, then neither of them said anything for quite some time. Benedict wasn’t sure what to do.

  ‘Should I...?’ he began. ‘Do you want me to go?’

  ‘It’s okay, you can sit.’ She looked at him carefully as he found a place across from her on the grass. ‘Did her mother make her invite you, too?’

  Benedict wasn’t sure. ‘I suppose. We live in their other house further up.’

  She nodded, and they were both quiet again.

  ‘I saw you saving a spider,’ said Benedict. ‘And I heard you saved a scorpion.’

  She shrugged her shoulders. ‘People can be cruel.’

  ‘Yes. But the scorpion could have stung you. You were brave.’

  She shrugged her shoulders again. ‘It was nothing.’

  They were quiet for a while before Benedict said, ‘We can look for lizards if you like.’

  ‘Here?’

  He nodded, pointing to the wild, rocky area beyond Auntie Rachel’s vegetables. The rocks marked the edge of the garden and kept the cows from straying into it on their way past to the dairy down the hill. Lizards loved rocks.

  ‘Are they poisonous?’

  ‘Not really. But a big monitor lizard can give you a bad bite.’

  Standing up, they walked together towards the rocks, stopping to greet Lungi and Samson who were sitting on chairs next to the outside room that Lungi and Mavis slept in. It wasn’t a work day for Samson, but he was visiting on account of Lungi being his sister. Titi thought that Lungi was actually Samson’s girlfriend, even though Lungi wasn’t allowed. She had to wait for two whole years to pass after her husband became late, and only then was she allowed to stop wearing her black clothes and cleanse herself of her mourning. Only then was she allowed a boyfriend.

  While Nomsa lifted small rocks without any fear, Benedict was much more careful. Uncle Enock had warned him that anything could be under a stone, anything that could jump at you and bite you or sting you, and it was best to leave stones unturned unless you knew what you were doing. They uncovered a nest of ants and quite a few centipedes, but any lizards were chased away by the noise they were making.

  Then Benedict froze. Very close by, in the long grass in front of the large rock on which they were standing, lay the thick coil of a snake.

  ‘Nomsa!’ he hissed, pointing.

  She drew in her breath. ‘Is it poisonous?’

  ‘Maybe.’ He peered over the edge of the rock. ‘It looks like it might be a puff adder.’

  ‘Eish!’

  ‘We should go. Come.’

  But Nomsa wouldn’t move. Instead, she squatted down on the rock to get a better look.

  ‘No, Nomsa!’ She was making him nervous now. ‘Come on!’ He pulled at her shoulder but she shook him off.

  Then she did something you should never do near a snake. Bending down closer, she stretched her hand towards it.

  Quick as lightning, without any warning, a flash of sudden movement shocked them both, and then there was a loud thud as the blade of Samson’s spade hit the earth after passing right through the snake.

  Benedict looked up at him in shock. He hadn’t even heard him coming! The man spoke a string of angry siSwati at them, gesturing firmly at them to get away from the rocks.

  Back near the house, Benedict felt a bit shaky, his hand trembling as he picked up the throw-away cup of Fanta he had left there. But Nomsa’s hard eyes were bright with excitement. She wanted to know all about snakes. How many kinds were there? Which ones were dangerous?

  As Benedict told her all he knew, he was aware that she was a very strange kind of girl, the kind of girl he might like to have as a brother. Or, if necessary, a sister. He took her into the Mazibukos’ lounge to show her Uncle Enock’s snake book.

  Auntie Rachel was serving tea to a few mothers, some of them holding babies.

  ‘Auntie Rachel, can I show Nomsa a book?’

  Auntie Rachel smiled as she looked at the two of them. ‘Ag, ja, help yourself.’

  Excitedly pulling out the book he was looking for, Benedict made the bookshelf shake, and the slice of petrified wood on top of it bumped against another crystal, almost knocking both pieces of stone to the ground.

  ‘Careful, hey!’

  ‘Sorry, Auntie Rachel.’

  They spent a long time on the floor in front of that bookshelf, and it seemed to Benedict that Nomsa thought he was the kind of boy she might like to have as a brother. But her mood changed suddenly when a man came into the room rattling his car keys. Benedict’s mood changed suddenly, too, when he recognised him as the angry teacher from the high school, the one who had shouted at him and his brothers about using the big boys’ toilets.

  Auntie Rachel greeted him. ‘Hello, Mr Thwala. Finished in Manzini so soon?’

  ‘Yes, yes,’ he boomed. ‘Nomsa, go and find the others, nè?’

  ‘I hate him!’ she whispered into Benedict’s ear as she stood up, leaving Benedict too shocked to say anything back. That was another thing that he and Nomsa had in common. Okay, he didn’t hate Mr Thwala, he just didn’t like him. But still.

  Uncle Enock came in then and shook the man’s hand. ‘Thanks for giving them a ride, nè?’

  ‘My pleasure,’ he bellowed, rattling his keys some more. ‘I was going past here anyway. Always happy to help out.’

  As soon as Nomsa and two other girls had left with Mr Thwala for their ride home, Benedict decided to go back up to the Tungarazas’ house.

  Mrs Levine was sitting on the lowest step near the garage, smoking a cigarette.

  ‘Hi there, Bennie. Had enough?’

  ‘Mm. My friend’s gone home.’

  ‘Sit,’ she said, shifting over a bit and patting the step next to her.

  He did as she said, asking if Mrs Levine had had a nice time playing with the little ones.

  ‘Ja.’ She inhaled deeply, then her words came out in the smoke. ‘For about five minutes. Kids don’t know how to behave these days, hey?’

  ‘I know how to behave!’

  ‘Ja, Bennie, but that’s you.’ She bent and kissed the side of his forehead, smelling of smoke and the famous grouse. ‘You’re a good kid.’

  Benedict thanked her for calling him good, though he didn’t like being called a kid. Or Bennie.

  They said nothing more until she’d finished her cigarette, put it out against the side of the concrete step and slipped what remained of it inside her cigarette box. Then she began to talk like a truck that was going down the Malagwane Hill without any brakes.

  ‘God, but I’m bored! Enock won’t let me help in the dairy, Rachel’s more or less banned me from the garden except that little strip there by the front door, the kids don’t need me, they were all doing just fine before I came, even Lungi gets upset when I try to help in the kitchen. Oh sure, Solly says he wants me back, but it’s only because the accounts are a mess, does he think I’m bloody stupid? No, he can whistle. I can’t go to Australia, Adam’s
made it clear on the phone I won’t be welcome there...’

  While Mrs Levine went on and on, Benedict tried to think of something helpful to say to her. She sounded a bit like Mama had sounded when her business was so slow, before Benedict had found Henry, and before Mama had helped Baba to suggest driving lessons for her.

  Baba would suggest that Mrs Levine should learn something new. She already knew driving, she had hired a blue Golf now so that she didn’t have to bother Auntie Rachel any longer. But there was no more room in the garage, so she parked it right outside the front door, and Benedict knew that Auntie Rachel and Uncle Enock got annoyed every time they had to walk around it to get into the house.

  What other something new could Mrs Levine learn? Benedict struggled to think of one.

  Then an idea came to him. Maybe, instead of learning something new, she could go back to doing something old.

  Even if it was very old, she might be able to take it down from a shelf, blow the dust off it and give it a good polish.

  ‘...and then he bloody—’

  ‘Mrs Levine, you know teaching babies to suck?’

  ‘What?’ She looked at him as if she’d forgotten that he was there.

  ‘Teaching babies to suck. What you used to do. You’ve got a certificate, right?’

  Mrs Levine lit another cigarette. ‘I’ve got a whole bloody degree in speech therapy! Teaching babies to suck was just about all the use I put it to before I threw it all away and married Solly. Now he says to me—’

  ‘Speech therapy?’ She didn’t seem to mind when he interrupted.

  ‘Ja. Getting rid of stuttering, helping people get all their sounds right. That type of thing. Anything to do with what goes on in the mouth and throat. Breathing, too.’

  What she was saying was very exciting to Benedict, and he crossed two fingers of the hand that wasn’t next to Mrs Levine.

  ‘It’s nice to have a skill,’ he said.

  ‘Ag, ja, but I haven’t done it for years.’

  ‘I bet you could still do it.’

  ‘Hah!’

  ‘There are people here who can’t say all their sounds right.’

  ‘No, I’m sure there are. But it was so long ago now. I probably only imagined I had the skill, just as I imagined I was married to a man who loved me, and I imagined I had kids who wanted—’

  ‘There’s a boy in my class who can’t say sss.’ Benedict was anxious not to let the opportunity pass. ‘Everybody laughs at him.’

  ‘Ag, kids are cruel, hey?’

  ‘Mm. Maybe you could try helping him and see if you still know how.’

  She was quiet for a while. Then, placing a hand on one of his shoulders, she pushed herself to her feet. ‘Ag, my throat’s dry from all this talking, I need to find a drink.’ She began walking towards the Mazibukos’ front door.

  ‘He’s my friend, Mrs Levine! The boy who can’t say sss, he’s my friend!’ He said it loudly to her retreating back.

  Back at the house, he hoped that Mama and Baba had had enough time to talk by now and he wouldn’t be disturbing them. But the house was silent. The door to Mama and Baba’s bedroom was closed and he couldn’t hear any voices behind it, so they must be taking a nap. He wouldn’t disturb them. Titi would normally be sleeping at that time, too, but she was out with Henry.

  Benedict went to the bookshelf. Standing in front of it, he thought he might look up Mrs Levine’s ice-cream bush, but as he reached down for the plant book his eye was caught by the edge of a piece of paper under one of Mama’s magazines next to the basket for keys. Eh! Was that already some sums about their cake business? Baba had told Mama she had to keep proper records if she was sharing her profits with somebody who was getting a percentage.

  He pulled out the piece of paper. It was a letter, neatly typed. Had somebody written to place an order? He began to read it.

  The address at the top was a school in Mwanza, on the shores of Lake Victoria, the place where he had lived with his first mama and baba before they were late. Was this an old letter? He checked the date. No, it was only about two months old.

  It was addressed to Baba at the university in Dar es Salaam. How had it got here, to Swaziland? Of course! Somebody from that university had been to the conference in Johannesburg. He had brought the letter to Baba. This was the news from home that Baba had mentioned.

  It wasn’t anything about the cake business, so he shouldn’t read it. He was putting it back under Mama’s magazine when he saw that there was another page attached behind the first. He glanced at it quickly. It was a photocopy of some kind of form, with an official stamp. But it had nothing to do with him.

  Wait! There was his first baba’s name: Joseph Abednego Tungaraza.

  But it wasn’t right to read somebody else’s things.

  He put it back.

  TWELVE

  MAVIS WAS PROUD OF WHAT SHE HAD ACHIEVED. Most cleaners would sit around waiting till a party was finished and only then begin to clean. But not Mavis. No. All the way through, silent and unseen, she had moved from the kitchen to the big downstairs room where Innocence and the girls danced and pretended not to be looking at Vusi, to the garden where the younger ones ran about noisily and dizzily, to the lounge where Madam drank tea with the mothers, to near the garage where Doctor and the fathers stood around drinking beer, and back again to the kitchen. All along the way she gathered up glasses, cups and plates, discarding the paper ones in a large black bin liner, and washing the others at once, so that when she went out and collected more, the empty sink would be ready for them.

  There were just the last few party-guests left now – one couple still with Madam, Doctor and Gogo Levine in the lounge, one or two girls still with Innocence – and after they had gone, Mavis would do one last round to clear everything. When Lungi came in later to find out from Madam who could still eat what for supper, she would not see a kitchen that looked like there had been a party.

  As she waited for the kettle to boil, Mavis finished giving the big table a last wipe-down with a damp cloth. Then she rubbed at the part right in the middle with a dry cloth before putting the basket back there. It was a very beautiful basket with bold zigzags of red, black and cream, and Mavis didn’t want to let it spoil by getting its bottom damp. She liked to think that her cousin had made it, meanwhile she knew it could have been made by any of the ladies who worked for the same project as her cousin. But maybe it really was her cousin who had collected the lutindzi grasses from the fields, exchanged them for the dyed ones brought by the project, woven the basket in her home and then waited for the project to come and fetch it for selling to tourists – or Madam – in the shop near Doctor’s animal clinic.

  Nobody could see how beautiful the basket really was unless they came to look while all the stones that Madam kept inside it were in the sink. The stones were many and a duster couldn’t clean them nice-nice, they needed washing. Eish, the stones had too many colours, many more colours than all the wool that Mavis could buy in Mbabane. Each one was about the size of the top part of Mavis’s thumb, and not one of them had any piece that was sharp or square. Madam had told Olga about them one rainy morning when Mavis was hanging the washing in the sheltered part outside the back door. Olga had stayed home from school with a bad cold, and she didn’t want to leave the kitchen until Lungi’s biscuits were out of the oven, so Madam had sat her on the table and talked to her about the stones.

  They were tumbled, Madam had said, there was a special tumbling machine that made them keep falling and rubbing against each other until their sharp edges became smooth and round, it was what happened to stones at the sea. Mavis had never been to the sea, it was far away in Mozambique. When life pushes you around and knocks you, Madam had told Olga, it makes you smooth and special like these stones so that you can shine and everybody can see how beautiful you are.

  Checking that she had done all she could in the kitchen for now, Mavis made herself a cup of tea and went outside with it. The chairs that Lungi an
d Samson had been sitting on were empty, but the door to Mavis and Lungi’s room was open. Lungi was probably walking down to the gate with Samson. Mavis settled on one of the chairs to drink her tea.

  The kwerekwere boy, the eldest, she had seen him in the lounge during the party, looking at books with another child. Life had certainly tumbled him, both of his parents were late. But look how he was shining! Titi said he had started a new business with his gogo. Imagine that! He was going to grow up to be a fine young man, one who could take care of all his family’s needs.

  Her own boy would have been like that, Mavis was certain. Not in exactly that way. No. That way needed knowing the world and having parents with more schooling than just primary. Her own boy would have been like Petros, who already had a good job and was kind and generous, giving things to others like a rich man who needed nothing. Her own boy would be saving his money for his mother in a tin under his bed, he wouldn’t be asking anybody for anything. He would be making it okay that Mavis didn’t have a husband to be an adult for her and to sign things for her, he would be in charge of her himself.

  But, eish.

  There would be no husband for Mavis.

  And there was no boy.

  Holding her cup of tea tightly, Mavis closed her eyes.

  Push, the midwife had told her. Push! But she was just fourteen and she was way too small and the baby wouldn’t come. It was a long time before anybody went to look for a car, and another long time before a car came. When they picked her up to put her in it, the pain was so great that her mind had said no, stop, and it hadn’t let her wake up again until she was in the hospital with her belly already stitched shut. Her baby boy was late, and her womb was gone.

  That was how life had tumbled Mavis.

  Madam never said, but Mavis knew that if she asked, Madam would say that she shone as a cleaner. Nobody could ever run their finger along the top of a door and find dirt there. Nobody could ever look at one of Doctor’s shirts and say that it hadn’t been washed and ironed nice-nice. No. Life had tumbled her, and she was shining.