Cherry Marbles

by Shukie Nkosana

  “Where are we going?” The sudden absence of the throw made Langa feel cold.

  “Baseline.” Nandi’s lips puckered into a mischievous smile as she walked off. Langa tightly shut her eyes, willing the moment to be a dream.

  “You promised! Well, Regile did but he’s not here, is he?” Nandi called from the kitchen. “Hurry, I can’t afford to be late again tonight.”

  Langa dragged her feet to the bathroom, wondering what was happening in a certain kingdom in Shangana as she quickly washed her face.

  Langa sat comfortably in the front row, a few metres away from the stage Nandi would soon perform on. She sipped on the flat Coke she had bought at the bar as she took in her surroundings.

  Nandi had insisted they walk to Baseline and feel the Newtown night air on their cheeks. Langa, who hardly ever walked, reluctantly agreed to do so after her sister had assured her of their safety. In the end she was glad they’d walked; it had woken her up and she’d seen the Newtown precinct with new eyes. The air had been warm with light-hearted conversations taking place under the starlit sky as the two of them strolled up the Jazz Walk of Fame and appreciated the bronze statue of Brenda Fassie.

  From her seat Langa took in the diverse people around her as they chatted, creating a sweet harmony of oneness. There was an eccentric energy about most of them; their coarse hair was entangled into dreadlocks and she was intrigued by the peculiar relationship they seemed to have with their clothes.

  A famous local comedian took to the stage and had the audience in stitches before an upcoming female singer Langa was convinced would be famous someday sang with only her guitar as accompaniment. By the time Nandi stood on the stage, Langa was having such a great time that she couldn’t think why she hadn’t attended these gigs sooner.

  The bright lights around the stage dimmed as her sister sat completely still on a stool, a drum beating softly in the background. Nandi looked up ruefully as a sole shaft of light rested on her and spoke boldly into the microphone:

  As I write in the clay with my finger

  Tracing my achievements

  Tracing my failures

  Affirming to myself within myself

  Reminded of dreams yet to be dreamed

  Goals yet to be met . . .

  I float on clouds

  Jump on the sun

  Plunge into the sea

  Live musically

  Giving out my joy

  A slice of sunshine in my hand

  A song in my heart.

  As I write in the clay with my finger

  I know today is a celebration

  A day to die a certain death

  With the assurance that I’ll wake

  A controlled abandon

  Casting aside all insecurity.

  Each day I write in the clay with my finger

  Rewrite the chapters of my life

  Repaint the portrait of my journey

  Waiting on the rain like a river

  Waiting for rebirth.

  As I write in the clay

  Dreams mingle in the dust

  Rising, erased by a gust of wind

  Gone with the wind

  They remain embedded in my heart.

  Nandi cast one last glance at the audience before the stage became completely dark. She stood still as the auditorium lights went on and then curtsied. Langa gave her sister a standing ovation along with most of the audience.

  Nandi had tears in her eyes and blew Langa a kiss before squeaking, “Thank you.”

  Chapter 11

  11

  Naledimahlo wrote:

  Fancy meeting you here! I thought you said skyping wasn’t your thing? Just as well; chatting with Pelvis Mover 2 was getting tedious!

  LangzB wrote:

  Naledi – LOL!!! I’m not even going to ask! Anyway, I’ve never had an issue with skype, mngani. I said I drew the line at Facebook!

  Naledimahlo wrote:

  Well, you can’t shy away from social networking forever! I’ll help you create an interesting profile. What’s up though? The past week’s been a bit busy. I kept meaning to call you but didn’t seem to get the chance.

  LangzB wrote:

  I kissed Regile!

  Naledimahlo wrote:

  What?! When? What happened?

  LangzB wrote:

  He came to my house. I was alone and I’d been drinking wine . . . Eish, where do I start? I went through a few messages on his laptop and he lost it when he found out. But that all led to us kissing! I feel awful . . .

  Naledimahlo wrote:

  So you should. You were still engaged last time I checked . . . But I need to hear everything! Will call you in a few secs! OMG! This is juicy!

  LangzB wrote:

  Oh boy…

  Almost three weeks went by before Langa saw Regile again. She felt as though he’d left with her faith. Her relationship with God and her prayer group was deteriorating. Last Sunday she’d struggled to get out of bed to attend church. Half-heartedly she’d driven across town to Kensington with Nandi where they’d arrived just in time for the end of the second service. Naledi had given them a dirty look from the middle pew where she sat with Thabo, before self-righteously flipping open her Bible and ignoring them.

  “Sawubona, Langa, how have you been?” Regile asked as they settled down in her office at Buthelezi for their first meeting since his return.

  “I’m fine, thank you. How have you been, apart from literally dropping off the surface of the earth?” Langa snapped. “I tried to call you a few times until I just resorted to forwarding you all the important emails I received.”

  “Thanks, I got all of them. I stayed in Mpumalanga for a lot longer than anticipated. I arrived just at the end of the ingoma, an initiation ceremony for young men, and my mother wouldn’t hear of me leaving before a cow was slaughtered and a goat’s blood was spilt to give praise to the ancestors,” Regile said with a sigh. “Then I had to spend three days in Nigeria; Abuja first, to oversee the construction of an oil plant and then the Niger Delta for the Agbami oil plant.”

  “Sounds hectic,” Langa concluded while switching on her laptop. “Well, you’ll be happy to know the banners are done, as is the catalogue, and Themba assures me our website is up and running.”

  “That’s great news. I wasn’t as worried about the exhibition preparations as you probably imagined. I do trust you to do a good job. After all, your company is at stake here too,” Regile said, smiling.

  Langa couldn’t believe her ears. She’d been dreading their first meeting because she assumed he would still be in the vile mood he’d been in before he left, finding fault with everything she did. Now here he was opening up. Since he’d been away, all she could think about was the passionate kiss they’d shared and the feelings it had seemed to arouse in both of them.

  “Do you realise the exhibition is in two weeks?” Regile asked, his brows arched in disbelief.

  Langa was at that moment having flashbacks of her tongue well into his mouth. She looked at him blankly, wondering again with a pang if he’d paid lobola for Sibusisiwe during his time away.

  “Are you alright?” Regile asked with concern. When she didn’t answer, he pushed his laptop aside and paused for a moment to look intently into her eyes.

  “Langa,” he said softly before sighing in frustration, putting his head in both his hands and exhaling, “about that night at your apartment . . . when I came to pick up my laptop and . . .”

  “There’s something you must know,” Langa interrupting him with a wave of her hands.

  “No, let me finish,” Regile insisted. “I’m sorry for disrespecting you and your fiancé by kissing you; it’s just that you . . . You’re an extremely attractive and intelligent woman. I couldn’t help myself. I didn’t mean to accuse you of going through my emails either, or to put you in a position where you felt you had to do the impossible to impress me. I’ve just been under such a lot of pressure from Ikosi, my father,” Regile said in one breath
.

  He looked the most vulnerable Langa had ever seen him. She searched her brain for the right words to say but was for once rendered speechless.

  “My father firmly believes that my time abroad influenced the way I handle myself. I’m supposed to take over as king someday and he’s upset by the fact that I don’t have a wife, let alone any children. Since I returned to South Africa my parents have made it their sole mission to find me a wife. Believe me, there have been many prospects: beautiful women, brought up well and from prestigious Ndebele homes, but I didn’t really feel I could spend my life with any of them.”

  Langa gulped.

  “This last trip was the worst. My mother set up a parade of women for me to select a wife from, and in the end I succumbed and picked someone. After years of successfully evading marriage, I’ve grown simply weary, especially since I’m not sure I’ll ever find a woman who truly understands me. I’m getting married like you are, soon. Preparations for the wedding have already begun,” Regile announced with a frustrated sigh.

  He suddenly looked like a small child who needed rescuing from something he had brought entirely on himself. Langa was taken aback. Firstly because he was opening up, although now that he had, she wasn’t sure she liked what he had to say. Secondly, if his parents had helped him choose a wife, where did that leave Sibusisiwe, who according to the message she’d read was heavily pregnant? Langa was further bowled over when Regile reached for her hand and held it tightly in both his as though he never planned to let go.

  “I’d like to know if you’re happy, I mean with your fiancé. I got the impression that you weren’t, the few times you mentioned him to me,” Regile started. “Over the past weeks I’ve grown attached to you despite my efforts not to . . .”

  Suddenly, Langa’s office door was flung open, revealing an unshaven Richard who stopped in his tracks before screaming, “Surprise!”

  The moment seemed to freeze with all three motionless as if posing for a picture, waiting for the click and the flash to snap them out of their spell.

  “Am I . . . interrupting something?” Richard stammered after what seemed like an eternity, his sunburnt cheeks turning crimson as his curious eyes viewed Regile with alarm. “Maybe Connie was right; I should’ve had her call you first. But I wanted to surprise you.”

  “Of course you’re not interrupting anything, Richard!” Langa let out, hurriedly extricating her hand from Regile’s grip where it had felt so comfortable. She got up awkwardly, bumping her knee on her desk as she rushed to Richard to give him a lifeless hug and a dry peck on the mouth before turning to face Regile.

  “Richard, this is Regile; he’s overseeing the In-Cosmetics Exhibition . . . You know, the Sasol Wax contract. Regile, meet Richard, my fiancé,” Langa said with vocal control that sounded as contrived as a black woman with a bum-length blonde weave.

  “Pleasure to meet you,” Regile said even more absurdly than Langa, if that was possible, while amicably stretching out his hand.

  Richard looked flushed and regarded the hand with a suspecting glare before shaking it lightly, only to avoid being labelled racist, if anything.

  “Likewise, I’m sure,” Richard offered.

  “Regile was just leaving.” Langa stressed the point, her eyes on him.

  “So I was,” Regile confirmed after a blank moment. He stroked his stubbly beard before remembering he had a laptop to pack up before he could leave.

  “Joh, so uRichard didn’t say anything? Thabo would have beaten Regile to a pulp if he’d walked in on him holding my hand and staring into my eyes!” Naledi squealed so loudly that the couple at the next table turned to look at them.

  She looked every part the modern professional woman in a teal trench coat over a tartan dress and court heels. Her smooth face was framed by hair that fell to her shoulders in a cascade of curls, her dimples leaving deep impressions as she narrowed her eyes mischievously.

  “I can’t believe we’re at Tasha’s and I can’t have chocolate cake with custard,” Langa moaned instead, trying half-heartedly to tuck into the grilled chicken salad her friend had ordered for them both.

  “I have to be cruel to be kind. You’ve gained some weight. I can tell you’ve been comfort eating again!” Naledi said candidly. Like Nandi or Zandile, tact was close to nonexistent in her disposition.

  “Thank you, Naledi,” Langa offered dryly as she took a sip of her flavoured water.

  “I can’t imagine what you’re going through but stop being so hard on yourself. Okay, so you kissed him and that was wrong but you’ve got to decide how you feel about Regile.”

  Langa rolled her eyes; she was craving some steak.

  “I know I like him, even if he’s a traditional freak,” she admitted gingerly. “He somehow makes me feel submissive when he puts his foot down about something. I’m not saying I want to be controlled but it’s unlike anything I’ve ever felt with Richard.”

  “Another strong woman bites the dust!” Naledi joked. “Anyway, I’m curious to know what happened when Regile left.”

  “Well, Richard acted completely normal. He couldn’t stop hugging me, telling me how much he missed me, and then we started arguing about the extended four weeks he was away. Though in the end he asked me to come over to his apartment tonight all dolled up; apparently he’s got an announcement to make. He seemed excited but he’s already proposed, so what could it be? Unless . . . Naledi, did you help him plan a surprise wedding for me?” Langa gasped, her heart beating quickly.

  “Of course not. Gosh, mngani, sometimes you let your imagination run completely wild. Like I would keep a surprise wedding from you!”

  “Anyway, it was as if he didn’t notice Regile holding my hand,” Langa said.

  “So what do you think Regile was about to say before Richard walked into your office? Hhayi, i-timing yona, shame! I told you there would be drama ahead when this whole Sasol Wax thing started, didn’t I?” Naledi quipped. “Now they both want to marry you! Hhayi, you’re hot, girlfriend!”

  “Quite the contrary. Regile is getting married to some paraded seductress and for all I know, Richard may very well want to call off the wedding after today.”

  “He wouldn’t tell you to dress up so that he can dump you,” Naledi said and popped a strip of chicken in her mouth. “What I’d like to know is what’s up with this Sibusisiwe business. Who is she?”

  “She’s the concubine whom he’ll introduce later. Uyazi, how they do it with these polygamous marriages. He can whip out a wife and a full-grown child at the drop of a hat. Kings are allowed to do that,” Langa announced, convinced that she was right.

  “I think you’re in love with him,” Naledi said, adding more French dressing to a dry patch of salad. “Did you try to call Regile after Richard left?”

  “No need; we have a briefing first thing tomorrow. Besides, he can call me if it’s a matter of life and death,” Langa told her friend. “And I’m not in love with him!” she added sharply after a few seconds.

  “So aren’t you curious to hear Regile’s take on what happened?” Naledi asked, ignoring her protests.

  “Not in the least,” was Langa’s haughty though dishonest reply. “Where are the waiters? I seriously need cake before I head to Richard’s place.”

  Chapter 12

  12

  “Your apartment looks amazing!” Langa marvelled as she took in the rose petals Richard had paved the floors with and the flicker of the dozens of candles he had lit everywhere. He smiled before taking her handbag and leading her into his lounge.

  She gasped for breath at what she saw. In the middle of the room he’d set up a picnic basket on a Persian rug surrounded by the most comfortable-looking purple velvet continental cushions. Long-stemmed white roses sat in a crystal vase next to an ice bucket that held an unopened bottle of Dom Perignon.

  “It’s beautiful,” Langa whispered, bringing her hands to her cheeks and then twirling her body to soak in the lavender essence that was thick in the air
. She’d taken time to pick out the body-hugging fuchsia dress and carefully applied her make-up.

  “I’m glad you like it. Now, if you’d take a seat, my gorgeous lady, dinner can be served,” he said as he took her hand and helped her settle her buxom frame on the cushions.

  “Due to the fact that I am heavily short-staffed, I will be playing the role of the chef, waiter, barman as well as myself tonight,” Richard informed her with a wink, taking a bow. He turned around to put a Shirley Bassey CD into the player and skipped to their favourite track, the one they’d sung together in a karaoke bar in Stellenbosch. Langa marvelled as she took in her fiancé’s black tuxedo and jelled hair; he looked like a handsome Casanova out of an Italian Mafia film.

  “We’ll begin the evening with Namibia’s best aperitif and the beverage that kept me sane in the bush: a sweet port with a name I cannot pronounce,” Richard said, grinning as he poured it and carefully handed her one glass. He quickly disappeared into the kitchen and brought back a tray of hot garlic bread with butter melting in its centre. He offered her a side plate, then selected the best-looking slice and put it on her plate with a set of tongs.

  “Richard, what’s going on? You’re scaring me!” Langa giggled. “Please tell me what this is about. The anticipation is killing me.”

  “Well, not before I’ve fed you, my love,” he said with a sexy smile. “Now drink up to open all your taste buds for the meal of a century.”

  Langa took a sip of the port and tried to ignore the memories rushing back of the last time she’d had alcohol. Richard sat down on a cushion beside her and stroked her cheeks.

  “I’m sorry I was away for so long. Hearing you cry on the phone the other day made me feel like the worst bloke ever.”

  Langa smiled at him nervously. She’d kissed some other guy. That was ten times worse!

  Richard had a sip of his port before having a slice of the garlic bread. Then he slowly brought his face closer to hers for a kiss.