Mr Not Quite Good Enough

by Lauri Kubuitsile

  Gorata sighed and walked towards the house. She spotted Kelebogile and Mark, learning a traditional dance taught by none other than Quentin. Her uptight but now decidedly drunk neighbour had lost all his modern pretences and was stripped down to his bare chest. He was kicking his legs up in the air so high Gorata was sure when he woke up tomorrow with serious babalas he would realise he’d pulled a muscle.

  She got herself some wine and sat down on the steps of the back stoep. There wasn’t much else she could do now. They had agreed everything would be over at ten, so now it was just a matter of waiting.

  “Hey, Lady Gorata.”

  She looked up and there was Ozee, carrying a cup of Mmandu’s beer. Gorata wasn’t quite sure if she was happy to see him or angry because he’d been so short with her when she’d phoned him that morning. She decided to avoid that topic and asked, “So how’s it?” while motioning to the beer.

  He took a sip. “Good, actually. Your sister has many talents.”

  Gorata laughed. “So you’ve met Mmandu?”

  “Who hasn’t?” Ozee sat down next to her on the steps. “She’s a special person, that sister of yours. I think she may be the embodiment of Botho – the living, breathing, walking, talking definition of Botho – she is because we are.”

  Gorata laughed but could see his point. “You think?”

  “Yup.”

  “So how’s your brother?” Gorata asked, even though she was still a bit sore about the way he’d shut her out in the morning. Still, she couldn’t even imagine what it would feel like to be told someone you love had been shot.

  “He’ll be okay. Actually, this may end up being the thing that saves him,” Ozee said, suddenly very serious.

  “What do you mean?” Gorata wondered how Ozee could say getting shot was a good thing. He was an optimist and a generally happy guy, but this was too much.

  “You know how it is in the townships. Some boys just take the wrong way. My brother was running with thugs. Luckily he got shot in the arm. It has scared him, scared him a lot. I think it’ll be enough to make him finally see what my mother and I have been trying to tell him all along.”

  “I’m sorry,” Gorata said.

  Ozee smiled at her. “Don’t be; he made his choices, we all do. He wanted all of the bling and he wanted it fast. So he thought hanging out with thugs, selling dope and stealing cars was the way to get it. A lot of us make that mistake in the townships. This has been a hard lesson for him, but I think he’s finally learnt it. I’m grateful for that – but I won’t lie, I was scared.”

  Gorata rubbed his hand resting next to her on the stoep. “Like I said, I’m sorry.”

  “Yeah, thanks, that’s nice,” he said.

  Gorata took a sip of her wine. “So what’s up with you, Ozee? You’re so smart and you seem to know what’s right, why are you working at a petrol station?”

  Ozee laughed. “What’s wrong with that? It’s an honest day’s work.”

  “Yeah, I know . . . I didn’t mean that . . .” Gorata didn’t really know what she meant. “Maybe . . . you owe it to yourself to do more?”

  “I like my life right now. I think people need to rethink what’s important. Why do I need a lot of stuff to clutter my life? It’s not about the stuff or the job . . . None of that’s important.”

  “I’m not talking about the stuff, or at least not only about the stuff. It’s about making a difference, having an impact.”

  Gorata looked across her garden. Mmandu was in her element. People were certainly having fun: dancing, drinking, talking. And it was a gorgeous Soweto evening. After the warmth of the day, a cool breeze was gently wafting about the scent of spring flowers.

  “Hey, ma-boy Ozee!” Ozee’s annoying kombi-driving friend burst through the crowd. He’d obviously been drinking more than his share of Mmandu’s beer. Gorata was not pleased to see him. “Oh, and little Miss Stuck-on-Herself. How you doin’, baby?”

  “Listen, I need to get a drink. I’ll be right back.” Ozee stood up. “Stunki, take care of her.”

  Gorata looked away from them both. She didn’t need someone taking care of her.

  “No problem, boss.” Stunki sat down in Ozee’s place. “There goes a good man,” he said. “A good, good man.”

  “Is that so? In what way?” Gorata asked – not that she thought Stunki was a reliable judge of who was good and who was bad, but his unexpected earnestness made her curious.

  Stunki’s head fell back on the step behind him. He lay still for some time, looking up at the stars, and then said, “You don’t even know him. You don’t know nothing about him.”

  “Yeah, you’re right, that’s why I’m asking,” Gorata replied.

  Stunki sat up suddenly and spoke with urgency. “I’d do anything for Ozee. He’s that kind of guy. Loyal . . . I love that guy, seriously. He’s wise like an old man and he’s gonna be great one day.” He turned to Gorata. “Don’t judge him. People aren’t what you see. You got a good life going here, but that don’t mean nothing – it’s all about this.” He pounded his heart. “And Ozee . . . He’s got the biggest one around. And you better watch out, because it looks like he’s deciding to give it to you.”

  Gorata knew Stunki was drunk and probably talking crazy, but she saw tears in his eyes and that surprised her. Men like him didn’t get choked up about things.

  Ozee came back and Stunki wiped his eyes quickly, jumping to his feet to give Ozee his seat back.

  “Okay, I gotta go. Got a nice sweetie waiting for me out front. Later, Ozee,” Stunki said. Then he turned to Gorata. “You take care of my boy, you hear?”

  They watched Stunki push through the crowd. “What was that about?” Ozee asked.

  “You’ve certainly got that guy on your side if push ever comes to a serious shove,” Gorata said.

  “Yeah, well, we’ve been friends since we were kids, like you and Kelebogile. That kind of history means something. We’ve been there for each other.”

  Gorata wondered how Ozee knew about Kelebogile. There had apparently been conversations between the two of them when she was not around. She reminded herself to quiz her friend later.

  “So what are you about anyway?” Ozee asked, turning towards her and looking her in the eyes.

  Gorata wanted to look away but knew it would be cowardly, and she didn’t want him to think she was a coward. She wanted him to respect her. But the bare honesty she saw in his eyes scared her.

  Who was brave enough to show the world everything? Was this man?

  “What do you mean?” Gorata said, trying to buy time.

  “I mean, you move around with all of these big men but you don’t love them – anyone can see that. What’s that about? What are you doing?”

  Gorata gave in. If he wanted the truth, he was going to get it. “I’m stumbling around and making mistakes, you’re right. But I’m just trying to find the right man for me. I know there are women who don’t care about that, but I’m not one of them. I want a husband and I want kids, not just my career. I want everything.”

  “Ambitious, huh?” Ozee said with a gentle smile, and she knew he wasn’t mocking her.

  “Yes,” answered Gorata. “I’m looking for my Mr Right, just like you said the other night. From where you stand, it probably looks pretty chaotic, but that’s all I’m doing. This girl is just trying to find the right boy for her, and sadly, she’s not doing such a good job of it.”

  Gorata looked down at the grass and suddenly felt very sad. It was true, she was failing. Maybe she’d never find the right man. Did everyone give up their dream in the end? Would she end up marrying just anyone, hoping it would work out? Was that why marriages failed so quickly? Was that why so many women were either stuck in loveless marriages or getting divorced?

  Maybe it was all a lie anyway; maybe there was no Mr Right. Maybe it was time Gorata just accepted the inevitable – either to search forever or settle for second best.

  Ozee lay back against the steps so that he c
ould look at her, then he sat up straight and took her face in his hands. “The problem with you is that you don’t know what you’re looking for. You think you do, but you don’t.”

  Then he pulled her face to his and kissed her. He was not one for half measures, she could tell. He kissed her as if today was the end of days, as if they would never see each other again, as if he’d been waiting his whole life for this kiss only.

  After what felt like forever, Ozee leaned back and Gorata tried to get a breath and calm her heart. She’d never been kissed like this before, with so much passion and urgency. Her body raced inside and she wanted to pull him back to her, she wanted to sneak him into the house, into her room.

  She was just leaning forward to kiss him again when someone came up to them.

  “Hey, I’ve been looking all over for you.”

  Gorata looked up and there was Alfred. What was he doing here? She hadn’t seen him since their disastrous date months ago.

  “Please, can we talk? It’s urgent. Please,” he said.

  He looked dishevelled and uncomfortable. He certainly wasn’t used to the kind of crowd Mmandu had gathered together in the garden. He didn’t even notice Gorata was with someone else. He was upset and awkward, out of his element.

  Ozee stood up and moved to the side. “I’ll talk to you later,” was all he said to Gorata, then he disappeared into the crowd.

  How could he just leave after a kiss like that, a kiss that opened a whole new world for her? Gorata wanted to go after him, but Alfred sat down next to her and took her arm.

  “I’ve been thinking about us. I’d like us to get back together.”

  Gorata heard Alfred speak but didn’t take in anything. All she wanted was to get to Ozee. But it was as if she were frozen, stuck in a place she didn’t like, longing to get to the man she needed.

  Alfred pulled her close and tried to kiss her on the lips Ozee had just kissed. Gorata turned her cheek. She couldn’t allow such a desecration of something so important, so sacred.

  But Alfred wasn’t put off. He persisted.

  “I thought we were taking a break. Why did you come here?” Gorata asked, annoyed.

  “I don’t know. I just kept thinking about you. I realised I liked you much more than I thought I did. I love you.”

  Gorata was angry. Why did men assume that women would just be waiting for them?

  She was about to tell Alfred to bugger off when he fell to one knee. He pulled a small box from his pocket and opened it to reveal the largest diamond ring she had ever seen. “Will you marry me, Gorata?”

  She looked around to see if anyone had noticed Alfred kneeling in front of her. Fortunately everyone was partying, but then she saw Ozee. He stood at the far end of the garden, yet she could see he was looking directly at her.

  “Alfred . . . this is so sudden . . . We broke up . . .”

  “I know, I know. I was stupid.” Alfred stood up, taking a handkerchief out of his pocket to dust his trousers before removing the ring from its box and placing it on Gorata’s finger. “You just keep this. Get used to it. When you’ve thought about it for a while, you can give me your answer. I know it’s all very sudden.”

  Before Gorata could say anything or give Alfred the ring back, he disappeared into the crowd.

  She sat back against the stoep. The ring sitting heavy on her finger, the proposal forgotten. The party raged on around her, but everything was quiet in her head. All she could feel was Ozee’s kiss still echoing through her body.

  Chapter 7

  7

  Gorata laid the Sunday paper down in front of her and took a sip of her coffee. It had been a long, long week. The Monday night party seemed years ago.

  Work was empty without Amita. Even if every night she called Gorata and told her all about her day, that wasn’t the same as being together at the office.

  Though Gorata had been stopping at the petrol station every day, Ozee was never around. Alfred, on the other hand, was everywhere. At work with a dozen roses, at home with groceries for a month. He was doing everything in his power to get Gorata back, but she felt tired. Bone-weary tired.

  “Good morning,” Kelebogile said.

  Gorata answered lethargically as she paged through the paper.

  “Good morning,” a deeper male voice said. Gorata’s head shot up and she saw Mark following Kelebogile to the coffee machine.

  “Oh . . .” Gorata said, knocked out of kilter. “I . . . didn’t know . . . you were here.”

  He was downing a cup of coffee. “Actually I’m just leaving. We have a talk at the church down the road.” He finished the coffee, rinsed the cup and gave Kelebogile a kiss.

  Just then Mmandu came bursting through the door. “Are you ready, lekgowa la mé?”

  “Where are you off to?” Gorata asked her sister.

  “Church. Mark and I are going. He’s going to talk about Aids, and I’m going to get some words from God.” Mmandu repositioned her red-and-blue striped doek and her yellow shawl. “Let’s go, we’ll be late. You two, don’t cook lunch. I’ve got it all going nicely outside in the pots.”

  Mmandu grabbed Mark’s hand and dragged him out of the door. “See you later, Kele!” he shouted weakly from outside.

  Kelebogile stole some pages of the paper and sat down opposite Gorata with her coffee. “Is Amita coming?” she asked casually.

  “What’s going on? Did he spend the night?” Gorata asked, ignoring Kelebogile’s question. She could see Kelebogile was trying to act like having a man sleep over with her was the most normal thing in the world – but it wasn’t, it was unheard of. Gorata was surprised the earth hadn’t stopped on its axis.

  Kelebogile’s answer was just above a whisper. “Yes.”

  “So it’s like that then?” Gorata asked.

  “Yes . . . I really like him. I like him a lot. More than anyone ever.”

  Gorata smiled. “You mean you love him?”

  “Yes,” Kelebogile said tentatively, and then a bit louder, “Yes, I love him. I can’t believe it. I never thought I was made for all of this.”

  Gorata could see tears in her best friend’s eyes and she rushed around the table to take Kelebogile in her arms. “Why? Why would you not be made for love?”

  “I don’t know. You know how men are here. They want curvy, sexy women, women like you, not some tiny, flat-chested tomboy like me.”

  “Oh, Kele! Don’t say that! If they’re so stupid to pass you up, it serves them right that Mark came all the way from America to snatch you up from under their stupid noses,” Gorata said. “I’m so happy for you two. He’s great.”

  Just then someone shouted from the sitting room. “Hello! Anyone home?”

  Amita came around the corner, looking just like her normal self, not like someone from TV who didn’t want to be friends with them any more. Gorata gave her a hug and suddenly the long, lonely week she’d suffered through vanished. She was here with her girls and everything was good.

  “So what did you bring?” Gorata noticed a fancy cardboard box, which she recognised as being from the German bakery across town.

  Amita lifted the lid to show a luscious pile of chocolate éclairs. The three friends screamed in delight and Kelebogile jumped up to get coffee for Amita. “I’m famished,” she said after putting the coffee down, and promptly dug into the box for a huge éclair.

  “I bet you are,” Gorata teased. “The quiet types are always the wild ones.”

  Amita looked around, confused. “What’s going on here?”

  Gorata quickly let her in on the news and Amita joked, “I saw Mark doing that Tsonga love dance the other night at Joanne’s birthday party. He wasn’t half bad. You know what they say . . . If they can dance, they’re also good at the horizontal shuffle.”

  “Stop it, you two!” Kelebogile exclaimed and then changed the subject. “So has Patient Two alias Shawna woken from her coma yet?”

  “No,” Amita said sadly. “I’m wondering if she ever will. Maybe I
left the day job too soon.”

  “Well, Mr Pilane would have you back in a heartbeat. He’s been awful since you left,” Gorata said while paging through the paper again.

  “I saw the script for next week. Karabo at least wakes up from her coma and, of course, has amnesia. I can only hope Shawna follows suit. I haven’t even moved, let alone spoken a word, and this is my first acting credit. They could have used a dressmaker’s dummy for all the acting I’ve done.” Amita bit into her éclair as if she was attacking it.

  “There must be a reason they didn’t wake her up yet. I’m sure Shawna will come round soon,” Kelebogile said. “They can’t just continue to pay you for lying around in bed.”

  “Ah shame man,” Gorata said, reading the paper.

  “Ah shame man, what?” Amita asked.

  “Did you read Batho Ba Mzansi?”

  “No, tell us,” Kelebogile said, moving around with the coffee pot and filling everyone’s mugs.

  “You know, I must cut this out for Ozee. It will really help him with this issue of his brother,” Gorata said.

  “Why?” Amita asked, getting impatient. “Read it to us.”

  “Okay, here goes.” Gorata didn’t mind reading Bra Kee’s wise words again:

  We all know him. He’s our neighbour, he’s our cousin, he’s our father or our brother. He’s the guy who takes the easy way.

  He’s the guy who is ruining our beautiful country, but when you point that out to him, he’s got all sorts of excuses. He is “redistributing the wealth” or he is “implementing affirmative action” or he is “just trying to feed his family”.

  But that’s not it. He is a thief. He is trying to take the easy route to wealth. And most of us just sit by and watch. We sit by, and he is killing us.

  One great man said that bad things happen when good people do nothing. Batho ba Mzansi, it is time you step up. You can’t sit by and let crime go on, no matter who is the perpetrator.