by Peter Orner
I sit bookless and read the names of boys left on the rocks near the base of the cross: Absalom Shipanga ’81, Phillemon Silvanus ’77, Nestor Nashongo ’74, Titus Mueshihua ’86, Matundu Kapute ’77, Erwin Mbando ’70, Rodney Goaseb ’87, Adonis Gowab ’84, Abraham Haifiku ’73, Petrus Van Weyk ’73, Johannes Isack ’77, Rueben Holongo ’79, Ihepa Enkono ’82, Stephanus Nami ’81, Andreas Kati ’75, Joseph Manasse ’77, David Visser ’74, Phineas Shivute ’82.
After a while, Vilho peers over the rim of his book. “Do you know what today is?”
“Thursday.”
“Maundy Thursday.”
“What’s that?”
“The day in John when the supplicants wash the feet of the poorest.”
“Whose poorest?”
“How much do you have?” Vilho says.
We empty our pockets of rands, toss the money in the sand. Four rand, sixty total. The light retreats like another traitor. Neither of us washes the other’s feet. We sit in the gray silence, our socks off. Absalom Shipanga. Phillemon Silvanus. Nestor Nashongo. Titus Mueshihua. Matundu Kapute. Erwin Mbando. Rodney Goaseb. Adonis Gowab. Abraham Haifiku. Petrus Van Weyk. Johannes Isack. Rueben Holongo . . .
127
MORNING MEETING
Nothing like this has ever happened to us before. Precipitation is more common. Obadiah’s place is empty at morning meeting. The principal sends a boy and the boy returns, stands, waiting to be told to speak. He’s a Standard Three, one of Obadiah’s, and his uniform’s in good order. Gray wool shorts, clean shirt buttoned to the neck. I don’t know his name. He is nervous, and his lips are trembling. He stands on one bare foot. With the other he scratches the back of his leg.
“Well?”
“Teacher says he is sick, Master Sir.”
“Sick?”
“Yes.”
“He’s in bed?”
“No, Master Sir.”
“Where is he, then?”
“On his car, Master Sir.”
“The pile of sand?”
“Yes.”
“Sick with what?”
“I don’t know, Master Sir.”
“Go find out.”
And so we wait in silence, the principal clearing and reclearing his throat. It was unthinkable to pontificate in the morning without Obadiah. The principal fancied himself not only Obadiah’s boss but also his rhetorical better. Every day he declared victory in this battle.
The boy comes back.
“Speak.”
The boy hesitates.
“Out with it!”
“Teacher says he is sick with creation, Master Sir.”
At break we went out there to check on him. Above our heads, a cloud, pallid and lazy, floated by, promising nothing. I watched it scatter and break apart above the Erongos. He was sitting at the top of the mound, on a chair he’d brought from his kitchen. Under one of the legs of the chair, as if driven through by a stake, was his play.
“How’s it, Teacher?”
“Disgusting.”
“So you’ve finished?”
He hid his face with his hands. “Finished?” he whispered. “Finished?”
“Yes, are you —”
“There is no finished. There’s only surrender.”
He took his hands away and gazed for a long time at each of us, but it looked, somehow, as if he were only remembering us. As if we were gone and he was lonely already.
Then he said, “They lie. It’s nothing at all like giving birth. Giving death? Yes. They lived in my head and they came out in the world shriveled, blue.” He thumbed himself in the chest. “I’m a murderer.”
“Who’d you kill?”
“Ignatius and the others.”
“Who?”
He shook his head. We joined him on the mound until the triangle called us back to work.
128
GOAS THEATER
The Most Excellent and Lamentable Tragedy
of Ignatius Mumbeli or, The Suitcase
by
Mimnermus
Ignatius Mumbeli, an unknown soldier Erastus Pohamba
Kosmos Indongo, a famous elder statesman Obadiah Horaseb
Izelda Indongo, Indongo’s wife Antoinette Horaseb
Paradise Gowab, a seamstress Mavala Shikongo
Boer Policeman Number 1, bearded Larry Kaplansk
Boer Policeman Number 2, beardless Larry Kaplansk
Boer Policeman Number 3, bald Larry Kaplansk
Auntie Wilhelmina Auntie Wilhelmina
Festus Festus Galli, U.N. Secretary General Festus Uises
Suitcase Courtesy of Mavala Shikongo
Platoon of Blue Helmets Boys of Standard Seven
Gunfire Sound Effects Boys of Standard Six
Refreshment Specialist/Spiritual Advisor Vilho Kakuritjire
Set Design Theofilus !Nowases
Lighting Theofilus !Nowases
Box Office Theofilus !Nowases
Costumes Theofilus !Nowases
First Grip Theofilus !Nowases
Second Grip Theofilus !Nowases
Dramaturge Theofilus !Nowases
The Players would like to thank the following sponsors:
Desconde Motors, Schmidsdorf Meats and Poultry, and the Kingdom of Sweden
SCENE 1: The bedsheet rises on the cramped kitchen of a typical location house in the Ovambo section of Katatura location, Windhoek. A battered kitchen table, a battered cupboard, a battered kettle on the stove. If possible, a cockroach should scramble back and forth across the table during the scene. If no cockroaches are available (when are they around when you need them?), a drawing of a cockroach in motion will suffice. KOSMOS INDONGO in an elegant white suit and Panama hat. His beautiful wife, in a simple frock, tends to the kettle. Throughout the scene she gazes lovingly at her husband. There is a sharp rap on the door.
INDONGO: Entrez.
MUMBELI (offstage): Sir?
INDONGO: I said, Entrez. It’s French for entrez. Entrez!
The door opens hesitantly.
MUMBELI (dressed in the simple blue jumper of a railway worker): Good evening, sir. (He nods to IZELDA, who is gazing lovingly at her husband.)
INDONGO (a man of action bored by pleasantries): So, my man, you wish to join the struggle?
MUMBELI: I do, sir.
INDONGO: Very dangerous.
MUMBELI: I accept the dangers. Every night I dream —
INDONGO (whaps the cockroach): In dreams begin lies, my son.
MUMBELI: Excuse?
INDONGO: I have dreamed away decades. Not the years, but the dreams that age us. It’s odd. They seem so harmless in the morning. (IZELDAgazes lovingly at her husband.) Who are you, my son?
MUMBELI: I am Ignatius Mumbeli.
INDONGO: May your name be remembered.
MUMBELI: It is not my name that’s important. It is my country.
INDONGO (smiles): Well spoken. I too have waited long enough. Across two world wars. Two colonial powers. Two international organizations. Countless useless toothless resolutions. The rulings of the World Court. Whose court is the World Court? Are we not part of the world? I misplaced my faith. (He takes a gun from his pocket and sets it on the table.) And yet you think I am in love with the gun of this, the first act?
MUMBELI (taking up the gun): No, sir.
INDONGO: My son, I grant you this valise of high quality. Fill it with many things, including ammunition, but most of all with courage.
MUMBELI: I thank you for this case, sir. I pledge to fill it not only with the necessary items, such as socks, undershirts, sweaters, small keepsakes, but also with —
BOER POLICEMAN NUMBER 1 (shouting): Ah! Is this a meeting in violation of the Non-Assembly Act, SA 771, Section 10, as applicable to the mandated territory? Am I late? Passes, var are your passes? Vostek! Bliksem! (INDONGO and MUMBELI run around the table, followed by BOER POLICEMAN NUMBER 1, waving his sjambok. Eventually who is chasing whom becomes confused after MUMBELI seizes the sjambok and he and
INDONGO chase the POLICEMAN. IZELDA holds the kettle, watches.)
Bulb dims.
SCENE 2: The living room of a typical location house in the Damara section of Katatura location. Two blue chairs.
PARADISE (sewing a scarf): So you have come, my gallant, to say farewell? (She begins to cry.)
MUMBELI (placing his suitcase center stage): Don’t weep, baby.
PARADISE: Would you I show more mirth than I am mistress of?
MUMBELI: Oh, in a better world than this . . .
PARADISE: Alas. (They clasp hands.)
MUMBELI: Alas.
PARADISE: My pride in you is a mansion bitter built. My heart, however, is torn asunder. Go, my lovely! But know this: I will wait for you. (Pause. Quietly) That’s a very nice case.
MUMBELI: Always judge the man by the caliber of his luggage.
PARADISE (holds up scarf): I knit you this. Carry it well.
MUMBELI: Baby, it’s beautiful. (Pause.) But I’m not sure I’ve got room.
PARADISE: Your case is full?
MUMBELI: Yes, I have filled it with the necessary items, such as undergarments and sweaters, but also with—(The door swings open.)
BOER POLICEMAN NUMBER 2: What here? A Damara and an Ovambo cavorting? A clear violation of the Division of Races Act, SA 193, Section 18, Clause 15 (2) (C), as such is applicable to mandated territories. Passes! Var are your passes! Ah! Beautiful knitting! I never cease to be amazed by the craftiness of you native wenches. Such innate talent! May I? (MUMBELI refuses and begins to chase BOER POLICEMAN NUMBER 2, with the scarf, as if it were a sjambok. . . .)
Bulb dims.
SCENE 3: On the border. A barbed-wire fence strewn across the stage. On the other side of the fence, a sign: ANGOLA. MUMBELI looks at Angola, then turns around slowly—a great weight on his shoulders and a gun in his hand—to look lovingly at the audience, as at a much-loved country.
MUMBELI: My story? You should like to know my story? Now you ask? I have none. I was killed on the border, by a fence. Once, I had one. I was called Ignatius Mumbeli. I had a mother also. You too? Funny how we all—Mine was a charwoman for a white family in the dorp. I remember waiting on the stoep while she folded sheets. Sheets were washed on Wednesdays. They were aired out all other days. She mopped the floor before dinner and after dinner. On her hands and knees, she mopped the floor. Before dinner and after dinner. She shined their shoes. She raised four of them and five of us. Once, one of them died. I remember. His name was Jan. She came home and wept over him. Now, may I ask, whose mother will weep over me? I had a girl. If I had more time, I would tell you about my beautiful. Her name was Paradise. Her parents, you see, were optimists —
AUNTIE (having climbed in through a stage-left window): Come to my boozalum, angel.
MUMBELI: Are you a ghost, Mother?
AUNTIE: No ghost, boy, I’m your fantasy.
OBADIAH: [Cut! Cut! Cut! Get her out of here!]
BOER POLICEMAN NUMBER 3 (gun drawn, plastic bag wrapped tight on his head to simulate baldness): Aha! Terrorist! Dummkopf! Var do you think you’re going? Who gave you a pass to leave the mandated territory, eh? Eh? (BOER POLICEMAN NUMBER 3 and MUMBELI [and AUNTIE] fight. BOER POLICEMAN NUMBER 3 shoots MUMBELI. MUMBELI shoots BOER POLICEMAN NUMBER 3. MUMBELI dies. BOER POLICEMAN NUMBER 3 dies.)
AUNTIE (noticing the suitcase): Hmmmm. (Snatches it, creeps off.)
FESTUS FESTUS GALLI (trailed by a platoon of blue helmets, stops at the bodies): Ah, tut tut tut. Clean this mess up, boys. Oh, this quarry cries havoc. (Consults script.) Or is it this havoc cries quarry?
Bulb out.
129
NOTES FROM THE LAST AND FIRST REHEARSAL
Hostel dining hall. Night.
MAVALA: I don’t mind being a seamstress, but I’m definitely too tall to play a Damara.
POHAMBA: Herr Director, do you not think there ought to be a kiss in Scene 2? When both of them say, “Alas.” Right there would be an excellent moment —
KAPLANSK: Do I really have to say “native wenches”? I’ll say anything in any language I don’t understand, but I draw the line at saying native wenches.
POHAMBA: That doesn’t mean you don’t think it.
KAPLANSK: Think what? What are you insinuating?
POHAMBA: Insinuating your arse.
ANTOINETTE (Scowls. Leaves.)
FESTUS: Maybe that’s a long speech for Mumbeli at the end?
OBADIAH (wit’s end, end of the rope, last hurrah, goodbye to all that, things don’t fall apart, they implode): Even Festus is a critic. All we ever do is make speeches. Don’t you even understand that? You think anybody talks to each other? Ever? Talks to each other?
130
GRAVES
I have something to tell you.”
“Is it shocking?”
“Von Swine is aware.”
“Of what?”
“This.”
“That’s not shocking.”
“Listen. Last night after rehearsal, he didn’t pant, he knocked. So I was curious. He’d never knocked before. I got up and opened it. He only smiled. Then he turned around and walked away. It was the first time I ever closed the door on him.”
“So the kid told. Or maybe it was Festus. Anyway, he’s the last to —”
“Who told Festus?”
“Nobody. I’m just saying we’re not a well-kept—do you think he’ll tell the priest?”
“Why not? Father, there’s fornication going on in the veld and it isn’t only the goats.”
“The goats are gone.”
“Yes.”
“He didn’t say anything?”
“No, only that smile.”
“Smiled like how?”
“Like he was taking joy in it.”
“In what?”
“In my success. In proving, once again—so I called him back.”
“What?”
“I invited him in.”
“What?”
“Yes. And he comes back. He sighs, rubs his fat face. ‘I couldn’t sleep,’ he says. ‘I thought perhaps you couldn’t either.’ It was all very formal and dignified. Then he starts sliding off his belt. When he’s down to his shorts, I start shouting for my sister. Oh, did I shout. You didn’t hear me down there?”
“No.”
“Tuyeni! And the man is so confused. Tomo starts bawling. And Tuyeni, heavy sleeper always, but this time she comes running.”
Mavala rolls over, runs her finger from the ditch in the hinge of my arm to my wrist.
“Wait.”
“There isn’t much time.”
“Just tell it.”
“Well, she came into my room, and what do you think?”
“He’s in your room, with his pants down, in the middle of the night? I think she freaked.”
“No. She looked at me like she used to look at me when we were sisters. Like she loved me, but there was also nothing to be done with me. Then she took him by the hand and led him away like he was a child. It was very beautiful. And man and wife left the slut with her crying kid.”
131
GRAVES
The light slants, the sun nonexistent behind a wall of sky. The graves rise like hulks. The wind is so constant you don’t know you’re hearing it until it falls. She drapes her arm across my neck.
“Hold me.”
“All right.”
Then: “Will you go?”
“Now? We’ve got twenty minutes at least. Why?”
“Don’t ask. Will you? Here, take your sock.”
132
WUNDERBUSCH
“Myrothamnas flabellifolia: A small, woody, aromatically fragrant shrub. It endures droughts by putting itself into a state of dormancy wherein its leaves shrivel, turn brown as the chlorophyll becomes inactive, and eventually become so dry that they can be crumpled into dust between one’s fingers. At the same time, its branches bend upward into a vertically bunched position. Yet at first rain the plant suddenly becomes ‘alive’ once more. The branc
hes descend into more normal positions, the leaves become soft and pliable, and the chlorophyll becomes green and active. This transformation takes only an hour at most, and can be brought about artificially by spraying the plants with water or by immersing them in a tub of water for only a few minutes. Because of this ability to return to life after apparent death, the species is called the ‘resurrection plant’ (in German, Wunderbusch). The natives use the plants for the brewing of a pleasantly scented tea, hence there is a name for the species in each of the native tongues. For instance, in Herero it is Ongandulwaze and in Nama it is !godogib.”
133
FARM LINE
Just after the second triangle, the farm line will ring. It will sound, as it always does, like a chain being dragged across asphalt. The principal will pick it up from his office. Miss Tuyeni will pick it up from the kitchen of their house. The priest from his office. Krieger from his house. There will be a chorus of Hellos and Who is calling? Who is calling? Asking for whom? The headmaster, please. Speaking! It will be Prinsloo, and he will tell the principal (and everyone else listening) that he saw the girl teacher, the one with the bitty skirts, walking down the C-32 at what odd in the morning. The sky still bloody. Strange for a Wednesday. Is today another one of these new holidays? I thought we just had one. A suitcase too. She didn’t put her hand out, so I didn’t stop. I thought you might like to know.
134
GOAS MORNING
Not yet dawn, that strange light before the light, and Antoinette’s in the dining-hall kitchen slicing morning bread for the boys, thick slices of brown bread with an ungenerous slap of butter that the boys will try to make go further by spreading it around with their tongues. They eat their morning bread slowly. Mavala knocks on the glass window of the door. Antoinette looks up, not surprised, because to her there is no such thing as a surprise. She opens the door and Mavala carries Tomo inside. He’s sleeping in his car seat. She sets him down in the corner of the kitchen where the gray hasn’t reached. She leaves his stuffed horse, a few of his cars. A plastic bag full of clothes and diapers. He’ll be saying more words soon. After that will come sentences. So beautiful when he’s helpless with sleep, she’d like to sink down with him in the corner. Her body arcing toward him. She drags her fingers down his face. Then she stands and whispers things to Antoinette that Antoinette listens to—but as always with the two of them, their understanding goes beyond words, and now, past the promises Mavala’s making, promises she insists on repeating.
