Sediba and I laughed. There was something so easy but also so vulnerable about Scott, that I took to him right away.
“All of us have been dying to meet the guy who tamed this one,” he said with a flick of his thumb at Sediba. “We were hoping you wouldn’t be gorgeous, so we’d at least say nasty things about you since he wouldn’t settle with any of us.” We were both laughing and looking at him run his forefinger up and down in the air. “Tell me something bad about you. What’s wrong with you?”
“I don’t know . . . I’m a bit of a clumsy lover.”
“Yes! Thank you. Just a pretty face. Are you really horrid? Because that gives me something to talk about.” His expression was mock hopeful.
“Awful,” I said. Sediba folded his arms, a little embarrassed but obviously quite pleased that his friend and I were getting on fine so early on.
I hadn’t realized that as we were talking someone had come up towards us and now he had draped one arm around Scott.
“Oh! Ah . . . ” I started but wasn’t sure what to say.
“You’ve met?” Scott looked from me to the guy I had met once as Danny at Rodney’s place.
He was standing with a satisfied grin across his face, looking quite clean-cut, and also attired in a white top and a pair of white linen pants that suited the relaxed, beach atmosphere. I wondered if they had planned matching outfits for the wedding as well, which struck me as being a bit silly. The Danny I had met had been less relaxed than this one. This guy looked at ease but there was also something else, apart from his longer hair, that was very different, but I couldn’t put my finger on it.
I looked over at Sediba, whose narrowed eyes were full of curiosity.
“Danny,” I said finally.
“Kabelo,” he said with an easy laugh. “I remember you.”
“Yes . . . me too.” It was embarrassing, seeing the first guy I had ever had sex with as I stood there with my current boyfriend. It made me want to find a hole and climb into it.
“We met at one of Rod’s parties,” he explained casually, responding to Scott and Sediba’s curious looks before offering Sediba his hand. “You must be Sediba. I’ve heard a lot about you. Scott thinks you’re his only hope of looking stunning tomorrow.”
Sediba laughed and I wanted to join him but the laughter got stuck like a piece of dry bread in my throat. Had Danny, now Daniel, not mentioned Rodney, I might have gone on maybe one more minute without thinking about it. The possibility of seeing him might not have come crashing down at that moment, ending my two minutes of a good time. I wanted to ask about Rodney but was too afraid I might find out that he’d also be coming.
“Yes,” Scott was saying. “I feel better already.”
The conversation was coming to me in little spurts, like the dial on a radio moving and stopping along several stations and barely making sense.
“I have two shirts like you asked . . . ” came Sediba’s words. Some laughter, and Daniel was saying something about “go whale-watching . . . morning . . . ” “Are you OK?” Scott was saying. “You guys must be exhausted. Let me get you settled in the guesthouse . . . ” Then Sediba’s hand was squeezing mine and we were following Daniel and Scott towards the small white house. I tried to remember to breathe, to listen more and be part of the conversation. I tried to imagine that Rodney and I—if we were to meet here—would be nothing but very happy to see each other.
On the way to our rooms Sediba and Scott fell into step and Daniel stopped to let me catch up and walked alongside me.
“So howzit Kabelo? How’ve you been?”
“I’m fine thanks,” I said. “So I’m trying to decide what’s different about you,” I was speaking with a lowered voice, not sure if Sediba was or wasn’t catching bits and pieces of the conversation; not wanting him to.
“Well, is it maybe the fact that I’m not high?” Scott said and belted out a laugh that mimicked Rodney’s a little bit. I didn’t remember him being so expressive. There was something very cool about him when we had first met, like he was being careful about how much he was giving away. Now he just seemed like he’d open up about anything if you asked.
“I don’t remember you being high,” I said.
Daniel stopped and looked at me. “Everyone says that. I don’t know, I think I was always the guy who could take drugs and look normal. Maybe I had a high tolerance. Anyway, the difference is, I’m off drugs. Well, the heavy ones, at least. What about you? I remember you enjoying the booze and weed!”
I was irritated that he was making no effort to lower his voice. We were at the door of the cottage now. Sediba and Scott had stopped and were watching us.
“I heard about Rodney’s parties,” Scott said. “Didn’t think of Sediba being with a bad boy.” He hit Sediba playfully on the shoulder.
I was so mortified by the comment that even my attempt to laugh it off fell flat. A strange little chuckle came out instead, making me look and feel terribly awkward.
Sediba said, his eyes upon me, “I want to hear more . . . ”
“We used to go to parties thrown by a mutual friend,” I offered, believing now that Rodney would very likely be here. He had said how close his and Danny’s families were. And as if he’d heard my thoughts, Daniel said, “Well, Sediba will meet Rod this weekend.”
I took a breath and let the air stay in my lungs for a while. Sediba was still eyeing me curiously as we followed the guys into the house. He put his hand lightly on my shoulder, wanting me to look at him, but I only gave him a brief glance.
It was quite a lovely cottage, with mostly bare white walls and a polished cement floor. The door opened onto a sitting room with large French doors facing the water. Next to the sitting room was the kitchen with a rectangular wooden table and four chairs. A passage led to a bedroom on the same side, also with French doors opening onto a balcony overlooking the beach. White curtains rose and fell as the sea breeze blew in through the open doors. The duvet cover was white and so were the pillows. The overall feeling of the place was neat, clean, and minimalist. I wanted to stay longer than we had planned.
When Scott and Daniel finally left, Sediba flopped onto the bed while I stood at the open doors looking out to the empty beach. I had decided that I wanted to spot Rodney before he spotted me and work out how to approach him.
“So who is Rodney, an old lover?” I turned to find him propped up sideways on his elbow, head resting on his hand.
“He’s an old friend. I’m not excited to see him.” I walked over to him, took off my shoes and lay beside him.
“What’s wrong?”
“I should tell you about Rodney.”
“What about Daniel?”
“That’s just a little bit embarrassing. One-night thing. Rodney’s . . . well . . . I don’t know. The Rodney thing is more than just a little embarrassment.”
He reached up and stroked my cheek. “This is the Cape Town stuff, hey? This is the thing you don’t talk about.”
I nodded. “I’ll tell you. For now let’s just say I don’t want to see Rodney.”
“And Daniel was a fling then?”
“Brief, one-time thing. He seems so different. So much more . . . comfortable than the last time I saw him.” He was now on his back, facing the ceiling and I went to lie on his chest. “And Scott? What was that about, how you wouldn’t settle with any of them?”
Sediba chuckled. “Don’t all gay men sleep with one or two of their friends? It’s a small community.”
“I never had a community,” I sounded bitter and immediately regretted it.
“The parties were not a community?”
It occurred to me then that that was exactly what the parties were. I barely remembered most of the people’s names and I would never be invited to anyone’s wedding, but that was what we were: a small, dysfunctional ga
y community.
He rubbed my head and said, “I like this hair cut. The guy did a good job.” I smiled up at him and he kissed me. I loved that he knew when I didn’t feel like talking. We lay in silence, listening to the crash of waves, dozing off to the sound of it, the laughter and chatting around the braai area fading into the distance.
There were lots of activities planned for the weekend: a boat ride and then a braai later the evening of the day we arrived; sundowners on the beach followed by a dip and then of course a brunch after the ceremony. The events would go on until late Sunday afternoon when everyone was expected to leave. There was an itinerary laid out on the kitchen table along with a book of instructions about the cottage saying where the towels were, tips about conserving water and so on. It seemed we’d only have an hour or so to recharge before each event.
Sediba had worked like a mad man all week, rescheduling clients and overbooking so that he could feel OK about taking a few days off—such was his work ethic. He hated disappointing his clients and leaving his mother with more work. I lay on my back listening to his breathing until a knock on the door woke me up.
Barefoot and feeling refreshed, I got up and went to the door, assuming it would be Scott. When I opened the door the light hit my eyes so harshly that I had to squint and step sideways to avoid the glare. The woman standing before me was obviously not here for the party. She must have been about my mother’s age and she was wearing a maid’s uniform: crisp white dress with a light blue collar and an apron to match. Her hair was tucked neatly under a bonnet matching the uniform. On her feet were old worn-out running shoes.
“Molweni,” she said politely. I said: “Molweni Ma,” and stepped aside to let her in but she didn’t move. She explained in isiXhosa that she was there to bring fresh towels and handed me a stack. I took them and thanked her before politely smiling and closing the door.
“She’s the only other Black person here then,” Sediba remarked as we were getting ready for the evening festivities.
“It’s going to be uncomfortable. I was sort of glad she didn’t see us together.”
Sediba stopped fastening his belt to look at me. “No,” he shook his head. “We’re not doing this, not this weekend. I’m not here to hide. We don’t know her, we don’t have to hide.”
“You know what I mean. It’s like having a parent here.”
“What’s uncomfortable is that Scott’s family is keeping up with this ridiculousness, putting their helper in a uniform—that’s what’s embarrassing.” He walked over and put his arms around me and said into my eyes: “We, are not embarrassing.”
I wanted to say something about him not saying the same thing the week of Lelo’s wedding, him hiding just as much as I did, but it was nice, standing there in a lovely room with a beautiful view. I didn’t want to spoil it.
So I decided I was going to have a good weekend if it was the last thing I did. There would be no one here expecting me to find a wife, and for that reason alone, I wanted to enjoy myself. As we walked to the beach for the boat ride, Scott and Daniel came over and handed us glasses of champagne.
“Everyone should be sloshed before a boat ride,” Daniel declared.
And we all raised a glass to their future, with Scott putting his arm around Sediba and adding, “And lifelong friends!”
I’m not someone who enjoys boat rides. Not even with the hope of spotting whales—it was the time of year when record numbers of whales are seen as they migrate, and that beach is known as one of the best for whale-watching. The constant rocking made me feel sick and I was eating salty crackers to settle my stomach. Sediba kept checking on me and then going back to talking to friends, laughing about this, that, and the other thing—old inside jokes they all shared.
Doing my best to be polite, I chatted briefly with a guy who wore sunglasses for the duration of the boat ride, even when it was not so bright anymore. It was unsettling not seeing his eyes because I had never met him before. He said his name was Abe and he had a set of very expensive-looking binoculars. Every now and then he’d push up his sunglasses and glue his eyes onto the binoculars. All he was interested in was whales, saying, “I’m an avid whale-watcher” more times than he needed to. He didn’t seem to mind that I was silent, leaning over the railing with my eyes closed. He was full of information about the whales though. If I had paid better attention I might today be able to say a thing or two about whale migration.
We finally docked back near the house and I was the first to hurry along the boardwalk so I could return to the cottage to rest my head. Sediba stayed behind with his friends, who were all welcoming and eager to get to know me, so I was sorry to be feeling ill. I could see they all had genuine affection for Sediba. They would ask his opinions on their clothes or on their hair, and they asked about his mother, his business, and about me. I was glad for him to have this, but I was also painfully envious of this other world, the world away from Kasi where he seemed very much at ease.
I had my shoes in my hands as I walked down the boardwalk and onto the beach, slowing down to take deep breaths and let the nausea fade. I must have been deep in thought, listening to the birds’ koh-hoh and the swoosh of the water, so that I didn’t see Rodney until I was just steps away from him.
His hair was shorter, cleaner cut, and his face a little fuller. The way I remembered him, I couldn’t have imagined Rodney in formal black pants and a button-down white shirt, as he was now. The only thing that was the same about him was that the pants were a little too big and he was as skinny as ever. He had rolled up the pants like someone getting ready to wade into the water and the sleeves of the shirt were pulled up and buttoned just above his elbows.
He was sitting on the sand, a tall glass of a clear drink in his hand. He looked up as I approached and said—as cheerfully as one might upon seeing a very good old friend—“Oh my God! What the hell are you doing here?”
I stopped and for a moment felt nothing but pure joy at seeing him.
“My God, Rod! Look at you!”
We embraced warmly. He stepped back and looked me up and down. His hand went up and he ran it from the back to the front of my head.
“Howzit man? You look very hot with your hair like that. You look like a grown up.” He chuckled.
“And you also—except your hair is shorter.”
“Oh, I would never have thought—yuss, look at you. Are you a doctor now?”
“Last few months of community service,” I told him. “What about you?”
“Oh, I gave that rubbish up. I have my own gallery now. Went to art school, opened a little gallery. It’s really more of a tiny work studio than anything, but I love it and I don’t have to be a doctor.”
“Wow, Rod . . . ” I was searching for something to say when the group from the boat reached us. I don’t know what it was about me and Rodney—maybe how close we were standing or him still rubbing his hand against my hair—but something about it made Sediba come and stand so close that our shoulders were touching. It felt less romantic and more protective.
“This is Sediba,” I said to Rodney. They shook hands.
Rodney said, “Wow, hi. I heard about you from Scott but I didn’t think . . . I didn’t know of course . . . ”
“I know, I didn’t realize when he said ‘Daniel’ that it would be Danny.”
“I don’t call myself that anymore,” was Danny’s response from somewhere in the background. “Past life.”
“Past a lot of things,” Rodney said and the two of them laughed like they had just shared a joke that no one else could understand.
As everyone started walking again, Rodney and I stayed back and fell into step with each other. Sediba walked ahead with Scott but kept glancing back at us curiously. Rodney and I were talking about nothing serious, he catching me up on his gallery and I asking questions about it, but still I felt guilt
y about us staying apart from the others. So when plates were handed out I went to sit next to Sediba and we ate together, listening to Scott and Daniel’s playful banter about how they met. Everyone was laughing and having a good time. At one point Sediba looked at me and said, “Are you all right?” I think his question related to Rodney, because he had known how nervous I was about Cape Town. I nodded and then, rather unexpectedly, he reached back and put his hand gently on my lower back. I smiled, looked happily into his big, round eyes.
In a while I saw Rodney go off from the group and sit at the top step leading to the beach. Sediba was talking to a friend of his about what it meant to have a business in Kasi instead of the centre of town, when I slipped off and went to sit next to Rodney.
I took off my shoes and lowered myself next to him, leaning my arm against the railing. We sat looking out at the water, the sky a much darker colour now and the water barely visible. Our shoes at our sides and our feet rubbing against the sand on the wooden steps, I realized how much I had missed Rodney and how, much of the time, I could not find my way past the guilt. Rodney looked pensive.
“This beach feels new, undiscovered.” I spoke first. He smiled at me and then turned to face the party behind us.
“So who’s the guy?” He was spreading his pretty, mischievous grin now. I found it both lovely and reassuring.
“It’s Sediba. He’s someone I’ve known a long, long time.”
Rodney hit me playfully with the back of his hand. You’d think we had not gone a day without seeing each other.
“He seems . . . smitten.”
This was not a conversation I was used to having. I didn’t have friends who asked me about my love life or who even saw us together. It was uncomfortable even as it felt good to be that free to talk about Sediba. I rubbed my hands against the railing and Rodney laughed out loud—a haunting sound that had me flinching, unable to look at him.
Such a Lonely, Lovely Road Page 14
