“We’re going,” he continued, “because these are good friends of mine and I want you to meet them. Also, we won’t have to avoid each other like at the last wedding.” He had remained friends with the guys he had met at varsity. Unlike me, he had gone alone, without high school friends and he’d had a true fresh start, not taken pains to hide his sexuality. Refusing to keep moving between two or three worlds, wearing different hats for different friends, he had met people who were also gay and stayed with them—friendships that were now still solid. He had mentioned once or twice that I’d like them or they’d like me, but they were scattered across the country and there hadn’t been an opportunity to meet them all until now, when his friend Scott was marrying a guy Sediba hadn’t yet met. It would be a first for both of us: a wedding between two guys, both White.
This was the first time in two weeks that he had mentioned Lelo’s wedding. The memory of that weekend still stung. We tip-toed around the topic, and when he said “the last wedding,” his voice lifting the words as if with the tips of two fingers and then suddenly dropping them with disgust. I stopped buttoning my jeans and watched him.
He sat on the bed and tugged at his shoelaces, not really tying them, just pulling with impatience.
“We’re going. It’ll be fun, you’ll see. Different.”
I’d been the one waking up at night restless, but his anger about Lelo’s wedding came out in quieter, less detectable ways. I could feel it when he stood still at my window, staring outside with his jaw clenched, or when he stared at the floor instead of watching TV. I could see it in his eyes when he hesitated at the door, jangling his keys, not wanting to leave. The only times that he had seemed visibly upset before had been when he argued about politics with Trunka, Lelo, and Base, the four of them divided between PAC and ANC. Seeing him this way now was unsettling. I stood a few steps to his left, holding my breath.
“You’re . . . angry,” I said.
He glanced up at me briefly, not really seeing me and then back down, back to the thing he was doing with his shoelaces. When he was finished he put both his hands at his sides on the bed, his shoulders arching as he took a deep breath.
“You know what Trunka said to me?” I went to sit behind him, staying quiet. “He said it only took Lelo one week. One week and he was back at Lerato’s house. As soon as Masechaba goes to school in the morning, Lelo is back at Lerato’s house. He’s bringing paper work home, going into work later because it gives him time with Lerato in the mornings while his wife is at school.”
I said: “Well, he always did say he’d never leave her. Remember? Before he got married he always said how good she was in bed and he could never leave . . . ” It was unlike me to repeat something like this and I felt shame slither through me like a quiet snake through long grass. We didn’t talk about the guys at home and their sex lives. Sediba looked at me for a moment like he was taking in a stranger, and I turned my palms up to say I didn’t know what to make of any of it.
“Good in bed?”
“Diba . . . ”
I didn’t really want to be talking about Lelo and Masechaba or what he was doing with Lerato. I didn’t want to remember. But Sediba turned to face me and asked me the question as if seriously expecting an answer: “And if that’s how he feels, if he likes sleeping with her, why the fuck did he get married to someone else?”
I panicked. I was not used to dealing with an angry Sediba. My mind said the thing to do was let him say what he needed to—be quiet and let him talk. But then he stopped talking, sat up straight, took a deep breath, and after a bit stood up to go and look in the mirror.
“Let’s go, then,” he said finally. “Let’s get on with the day.”
I stood up and followed him out of the flat and to the car, where he got in and then out again, saying, “Can you drive for a bit, I need to think.” I took the wheel and we drove silently through busy streets and mild traffic jams, the radio off.
When he dropped me off, he said again, more calmly this time: “We’re going to this wedding.” I nodded and squeezed his hand. Usually he’d try to kiss me and I’d say: “Not here, my patients and colleagues . . . ,” but that day when he leaned over I moved forward and quickly kissed him before his mouth reached mine, like I was apologizing for standing by while other people did things like get married to one person while sleeping with another. Having grown up in a house with my silent parents, I had been taught to be quiet about anger, resentment, and contempt. I had been taught it was unrefined to express these things.
I stood at the hospital entrance and watched as he turned right and headed towards the highway, feeling somewhat helpless. We were going to this wedding and we were going together.
All week, whenever we spoke on the phone, I avoided asking him how the other guys were. He didn’t seem angry when we spoke—he never did when he was away from me. He liked to save certain conversations for when we saw each other, that he found it impolite to discuss on the phone certain things, private things that should only be said face to face. Sediba would always be the boy from the family who made you want to straighten your tie and shine your shoes.
When he came to fetch me that weekend he was wearing a very flattering black ivy cap with his favourite dark blue jeans and white t-shirt. I noticed that his belt was new. Sediba was a bit of a shopper. He liked to treat himself to little accessories: a belt here, a hat there. Nothing too big or expensive, but he’d often go out after a long week and find something small that complemented an item in his wardrobe. He strolled into the flat, cheerfully giving me a kiss as he always did when he greeted me and then throwing his keys on the coffee table. He was obviously looking forward to this trip. I hadn’t seen him this cheerful in a while.
“Our flight leaves in two hours and I still don’t know what I’m going to wear tonight,” I said. I was nervous about meeting his friends and I was nervous about us going out together, to meet people and sit together where everyone knew that we would go back to the same room and sleep in the same bed. I was not ready for that, but I suspected that saying so would throw a dark cloud over our weekend. And even if I were not ready, I wanted to have a good time. An escape from everything I knew sounded quite tempting.
Sediba took my hand and led me to the bedroom. “That’s why you have me, isn’t it? You’re in this for the free fashion advice, right?”
I grinned. “That’s the only reason I’m in this.” And like that I felt more at ease because there was a return to the Sediba I enjoyed, the one who could make me laugh in an instant.
We played around in the bedroom, with me choosing the clothes that I knew he’d disapprove of and laying them on the bed, pretending I was seriously considering them while he closed his eyes and shook his head, insisting, “You’d be lost without me. You’re lucky I came when I did. In fact I’m staying with you just to make sure you don’t repeat any of these fashion mistakes,” and I’d say: “Please don’t ever leave me then!”
By the time we got serious and looked at our watches we were having to throw our things together in a rush and dash to the airport. I had never been on a trip with anyone other than my parents and friends before. It took me a moment to realize that I was starting to feel anxious not because of this trip, but because every time I stepped on a plane my body remembered having to take a seat between two people who rarely spoke to each other. I had to adjust my mood and start looking forward to a great weekend. Sediba looked relaxed and content, resting his head against the back of his seat by the window. “Don’t be alarmed by some of my friends,” he said with an easy chuckle. “They’ve never met someone I was seeing so they might ask a lot of questions. They’re all a bit curious.”
I was jealousy. I didn’t have any old friends who could look forward to meeting him. Andrew remained curious about Sediba, dropping hints about us all going out together with Angie, the woman he was now seeing, but I kept postponi
ng the date and avoiding the subject whenever I could.
“What are they curious about?”
“Well, I mean I’ve gone out with one or two of them but never very seriously and I don’t normally offer details about what’s going on with me.”
I nodded. I hadn’t thought about that but of course it made sense that I would meet someone he had been with. I still didn’t like to ask Sediba about boyfriends—I could laugh about a story or two but liked to imagine that he, like me, had had nothing but brief encounters before I came along. I suppose at some point I had decided that I was the first guy whose bed he had returned to over and over again, and as always happens when one needs to keep a fantasy going, I hadn’t given him a chance to tell me otherwise.
He was running his finger along the outline of the window frame when he added, “I guess they’re curious because I didn’t offer much about myself before and now I’ve said a quite a lot about you. You know, more than I’ve said about anyone else.” His eyes darted from the window to me and then back.
Satisfied delight rippled through me. I grinned at him.
“I’m sure you’ve done the same with your friends,” he said.
I shifted in my seat then and reached for the in-flight magazine.“I really haven’t kept in touch with my old friends,” I told him.
“You and your school friends were so close. All going to UCT together and staying in the same res?”
It was nice, at least, to be sitting next to one old friend who remembered a thing or two about my high school years. Sediba had not forgotten me talking about the guys from school. I thought about my old friends and how, once we were at UCT, our paths had hardly crossed. I wasn’t even sure where they all were now.
“It’s been a while.”
I didn’t look at Sediba because I couldn’t face his curiosity. I was dodgy about Cape Town and I knew it. Every time he brought it up, I’d say: “Ah, that feels like so long ago now,” or “Eish, Jo. Cape Town was crazy,” knowing exactly what it sounded like. I was implying that it was so much fun I didn’t even know where to begin talking about it. Sometimes to myself, I even pretended that it had never happened—that I had gone from Maimela straight to Durban.
This time, as always, he let it go. Yet it was always coming. The threat of the Cape Town conversation was always looming, darting out at odd moments and I aimed to tuck it into small corners every time. When she came to bring our meal, the stewardess’s eyelashes fluttered at Sediba. With her fingertips she brushed her hairline, calling our attention to a bun of beautifully wrapped locks. She was quite attractive and obviously used to easily getting attention. Sediba smiled back politely and thanked her, barely acknowledging her flirtation. I winked at him after she was gone but he didn’t seem to want to joke about it. Throughout the flight she would come and give him special attention, asking if he needed anything, but when I looked at him his eyes were on the magazine or out the window.
After he had handed her his empty cup and she lingered near us a little bit longer than necessary, her eyes on him, I teased him with a whisper: “I think someone wants your phone number.”
He rolled his eyes and glared at me. “Doesn’t she see that I’m with someone? I mean if she were with her man, would I flirt with her?” He clicked his tongue, the anger, and bitterness of the previous few weeks resurfacing.
“Come on. Not everyone can tell,” I offered.
He turned his whole body towards me. “Exactly. That’s the problem.”
I felt accused of something and couldn’t respond. He waited but I only shook my head. “It’s not me you should be angry with,” I said.
Sediba closed his eyes and turned back to face the window, ending the conversation.
We started our descent over Cape Town, picture-perfect mountains in the distance, the stuff of postcards and tourist magazines. But closer, just beneath the wings of the plane, were the squatter camps: endless fields littered with cardboard and plastic homes spread alongside the perfectly maintained roads. I gripped my armrest. My temples throbbed at the sight of Devil’s Peak in the distance, my knee shook slightly and I tried to resume my breathing.
“The Cape contrasts,” Sediba said. “Millionaires fly over squatters, plastic and cardboard homes near some of Africa’s wealthiest.”
I shut my eyes and grunted, wanting very much to hold his hand that minute. It seems stupid now but I hadn’t anticipated the wave of wretchedness that gripped me at the sight of Cape Town. Maybe I had thought only of the wedding and meeting new people, and that had me fooled into thinking I was going to a completely new place. And I had never been to Witsand. It was one of the many coastal towns in the Cape that I hadn’t yet visited and from what I heard it was a small tourist place, quiet in the winter and far removed from the bustle of the city. It sounded idyllic. Perhaps in my imaginings I had neglected to land in the city, heading straight to the beach town instead. Now here I was, forced to confront my first few varsity days amidst mountains and a view of UCT. I had a fleeting memory of myself stumbling and falling, my head spinning from too much booze.
If he noticed that I was a bit shaken, Sediba took it for excitement and nostalgia. When we had settled into our hired car he said, “Do you miss it? You look like you’ve got a lot on your mind. You haven’t said much since we landed. Feeling nostalgic?”
I exhaled and put my hand on his thigh, feeling a bit more at ease now that we were alone again.
“I’m just remembering,” I said and opened my window.
After we’d driven for a while, he said, “You know, someday I’d really like to hear about Cape Town. You talked about it so excitedly before you left and you were so looking forward to it. Eintlik I was surprised when I heard you’d gone to Durban. Even that day when I first saw you jogging I thought I had made a mistake. I thought for sure it couldn’t be you.”
“Eish . . . I had to leave Cape Town. Too much partying and too little studying. I almost flunked, so I left. My parents were kind of furious with me.”
This was at least partly true, I reasoned. I looked at the directions on the map, shrugging off the thoughts of Rodney, the drugs and the day I packed my bags and walked out of the residence with no one there to say goodbye.
***
It is quite a seductive coastal drive along the Atlantic side of the Cape. The towns further north are littered with shops and crowded with tourists and sunbathers, but then you go further south and it starts to feel like you’re leaving everyone behind. It’s the sprawling white sands that first hint at the change in pace—so white and clear, you almost think you’re the first people to get here. The land looks untouched. I had always meant to do some exploring but never got around to it because I was either too hung over or too busy catching up with my studies.
Sediba looked over at me, and when we drove into the smaller roads and reached a stop sign, he leaned over and kissed me. He was purely excited, but for me both panic and excitement rose in my chest, at odds with one another.
“I think you’ll like Scott. I’ve never met Daniel but I’m sure he’s nice. Scott always had good people around him.”
“So where did he meet Daniel?”
“Here in Cape Town. I think Daniel went to UCT or something.” He was trying to focus as he drove so we didn’t miss our turns as we moved farther and farther away from the cluster of houses at the entrance to the town.
“Are you sure?” I started.
“He did say it was secluded. It’s a private beach or feels like it or something like that.”
Suddenly we were on a dirt road and couldn’t see the water anymore. We were climbing, going up a hill between patches of grass, before we suddenly found ourselves facing a large red brick house. The road seemed to end, as if it were created especially for the house. We went up its driveway, which became a circle at the end, reminiscent of the grand Engli
sh country homes one read about in novels.
“This is it,” I said.
“You see how Whites screwed us on the land issue?” Sediba said. “This is how the 1913 Native Land Act looks . . . in a nutshell.”
We stepped out the car and stood there for a moment, taking in the estate. There was some noise somewhere in the back of the house but no one was at the front. A few cars were parked around the driveway, not enough for a party yet. The guests were not meant to arrive until later that evening for the pre-wedding supper.
Sediba started walking and I followed. Round a bend we saw the sprawling green grass of the backyard, overlooking the beach. To our left stood a smaller, white unit—which in the township would be called a “big house.” It was older, built in the style of the old Cape, with a white wall and a tiled roof. Further down and nearer to the beach, before the grass curved into what I assumed must be stairs, they had built a round outdoor braai area, white like the smaller house and sheltered with a thatched roof. Around the braai area were a few people lounging on chairs, chatting and drinking. A stone path led down to them but I stood at Sediba’s left, hesitant.
“There he is!” He called out just as a guy our age with a white shirt and white pants started coming our way, calling out, “Sediba!”
“That’s Scott,” Sediba said and to my great surprise, took my hand with the delight of someone about to introduce his favourite person in the world. “Come,” he was saying. “Come.”
I felt the instinct to pull my hand away but stopped myself. Anyway, he was gripping it so firmly and so happily that I was suddenly swept up in his joy. Scott was half running now, waving his hands in the air. The people behind him were staring, curious. It didn’t escape me, of course, that we were the only people there who were not White and I wondered if that would be the case all weekend.
Scott threw his arms around Sediba, before turning to looking me up and down, eyes narrowing: “Oh, no! You are not supposed to be this gorgeous. We’re supposed to gossip about you and you’re giving us nothing.” He was leaning over now, brushing his right cheek against my left.
Such a Lonely, Lovely Road Page 13
