Bandile didn’t like this so-called bond, but didn’t dare say anything. He felt it a violation of his privacy. Molly probably knew this already.
Eight
The Beginning
BANDILE FELT FOOLISH. He really thought that coming to the Cariba Inn was his own idea. Or one of Kulani’s tricks. He hoped most of all that it was a dream – that he would wake up in his own, empty bed.
Of those three possibilities that crossed his mind he had hoped most that it was his own decision. He hoped his psychosis was his conscience forcing him to shed the weight of his material possessions and human bonds in favour of crawling into the deepest caverns of his mind to rediscover within himself that most ancient of talents that set people like him apart from others. Storytelling. But it wasn’t his own mind. It was Molly Shabalala, manipulating him. She lowered the bait and he took it, like a foolish fish.
She knew that he wanted to go back to a time when the creativity flowed, and he was filling the pages of his note pad with emotion, selecting quality from the quantities that would spring from his quill. A time when he, as an aspiring writer, moved from place to place with an artist’s start-up kit made up of a backpack full of dirty clothes, a laptop and an inflatable air mattress. She planted in his mind fantasies of retracing his steps, returning to circumstances similar to those that inspired his greatest creations – not the life of luxury that he felt was choking his pen.
He’d read biography upon biography of successful writers trying similar things to stoke the fires of hunger to create that once burnt bright within them. All of them failed. Given where he was in his career, how quickly he’d shot up to secure himself a place among the legends, he should have been content to hang up his pen. There was nothing left to prove to anyone. The man’s work had paved the way for other writers. Syndication, repeats and archiving of his shows would ensure that his stories would last for lifetimes, like the tales his ancestors left carved on ancient walls. He should have, when he first stated hearing Molly’s voice, checked himself into one of those high-end mental health facilities, with spas, gyms and anti-anxiety medication on demand.
Molly knew just how much Bandile wanted to preserve his reputation. He still wanted to write, even if they were no longer hits. They just had to be good. The man’s commitment to good storytelling was such that he wouldn’t settle for anything less. That’s how he measured his self-worth. And Molly exploited that. She used the fact that all of his latest attempts at storytelling were failures to lure him here and making him suffer.
Curse that dark spirit, he thought.
He jumped out of his chair and looked around the room, in case that thought had summoned her to return. He laughed, almost with admiration, at how well she’d gotten under his skin.
Where to begin?
Bandile asked himself this question as he sat on the bed, gnawing lightly at the top of the biro. There was no point in wasting any more time spitting venomous thoughts at Molly. She would only return them, with interest. He’d been sitting for a long time hunched over the writing pad, waiting for even the smallest drop of a decent sentence to stain the paper. Typically, for him, the perfect first sentence opened up a flood of ideas.
An hour later, his left fingers were still strumming the first page. The only things covering its nakedness so far were some sketches of sad faces and falling stars. Even the advanced writing techniques he had learned over the years couldn’t help him start.
At least he had a loose concept in his head. The script was to be a suspenseful drama about the decisions people make and how they impact the future. The plot revolved around a group of friends: Jabulani, Vincent, Tumo and Lerumo. The problems they face in later years would be the outcomes of decisions made earlier in life. The story would centre around Lerumo, who is pulled into an elaborate plot for revenge by his aunt and uncle. Jabulani would be a playboy who found amusement in the pleasures and stresses of having multiple girlfriends at the same time, none of whom knew of the others. Tumo would get his best friend’s woman pregnant and Vincent, proving that bad things happen to good people, would be an innocent victim of circumstance.
Drama, romance, tragedy and suspense. All the elements were there. This was exactly what Molly had asked for. He just needed to get the actual words on the page, but he couldn’t move past the outline. It turns out that having a map doesn’t mean you know how to get there. Another hour had almost passed and his train of thought still hadn’t left the platform. Molly would be back soon, expecting to be blown away. If not, a world of pain awaited him.
Bandile decided to beat the mental block by taking his craft back to the basics. He got the ball rolling by first drawing a mind map and then summarised the storyline. The characters he would end up using usually came from the often-comical short sketches he used to understand the people in his stories. This also helped him have a better sense of which characters were necessary and which ones did not work. Bandile set each scene by stating whether the action was taking place indoors (interior/INT.) or outdoors (exterior/ EXT.) He made notes about location and time. He included some technical direction for camera shots and picture transitions: Cut to, Fade to, Fade out, Fade in. He left enough room for the director to instruct actors on how to deliver their lines.
Eventually he managed to get going. His pen coughed up a place-holder for the name of his creation: Untitled.
Untitled
by B. K. Ndala
Main characters:
Lerumo Kgabung:
The main character and chief jerk. He acts immaturely and partakes in wild activities to please friends. Got a hot sister? Keep her away from him.
Ivey Zwane:
A fairly popular social-media influencer and a control freak. She’s Lerumo’s girlfriend. Wears the pants in the relationship.
Dineo Kubeka:
A smart and strong feminist on the outside, who also is a twisted mastermind on the inside. She’s Ivey’s friend.
Tumo Mothusi:
The clever guy with a bit of a chip on his shoulder. Lerumo’s friend since high school. He’s a playa with championship titles in the love game.
Vincent Mbele:
The quiet overachiever whose humility is insulting to his equally ambitious peers. He’s a morally upright guy who still knows how to have fun responsibly.
Jabulani Mthembi:
A self-proclaimed serial playboy who thinks he’s above the rules of society. Girls should never take men like him to meet their parents.
Supporting characters:
Lillian:
Lerumo’s secret baby mama.
Mantwa:
Lerumo’s aunt. She’s using him in an elaborate plot to get revenge on Ivey Zwane’s family.
Molly:
A second-year student Dineo is tutoring.
Main setting:
Eden University: Named after the marvellous creation of scripture, this distinguished tertiary institution is ranked as one of the top universities in the world for its high-quality education. Its five campuses only admit the cream of the crop of applicants; this is how it maintains its reputation. Within the territorial boundaries of the university there is a mall, two student night clubs. Eden Residence offers accommodation to a range of students across faculties.
Fade in
INT. – EDEN RESIDENCE – NIGHT
[In student house no. 423, there are two master’s-level housemates who share an unlikely yet solid bond. Ivey (24), an attractive yellow bone, and Dineo (23), a chocolate Nubian queen and conscious feminist, can hardly be described as friends, yet they are close. They are each attending to their respective priorities when Ivey comes into Dineo’s room for an opinion.]
Ivey (twirls once): Okay, time to put your two cents in. Talk to me, girlfriend. The gods of Gucci have graciously wrapped me up in one of their finest fabrics, Sergio Rossi has my feet covered in exquisite style, my ears are giving refuge to diamonds from Sierra Leone and I had my hair done at Fabulous Queens. How do I look?
/> Dineo (uninterested): Normal. Like the rich girl you are.
Ivey: Do you think he will like it?
Dineo: Call and ask him.
Ivey: You’re not even looking at me.
Dineo: Because you dragged me to the mall with you on the day you bought this outfit. I helped you choose it. We were there for so long that I even know what you’ll be wearing to Moscow later this month.
Ivey: You know, Dineo, you don’t realise just how lucky you are. You are looking at a person who gets paid to make appearances at prestigious events. The least you could do is reward me with some attention. Surely you can afford that much?
Dineo (sarcastically): Oh please, don’t close the Ivey Exhibition just yet! I’m a little busy with my actual, very important work at the moment.
Ivey: Whatever. (Turns to the mirror for more self-indulgence.) I can’t imagine my life without all of this. Being another destitute student with dreams of adding my name to the elite list of the rich and powerful, going through tertiary education with aid from magnanimous corporate trust funds and pity loans … I couldn’t handle that type of stress. As it is, I have a lot on my plate, with setting fashion trends and staying relevant.
Dineo: You are under no obligation to live up to the public’s expectations. Just be yourself.
Ivey: And be like everybody else who feels comfortable with being average? Sorry, but such mediocrity just doesn’t feature in my long list of sterling virtues.
Dineo: What, are you afraid that people won’t like you for being real?
Ivey: Real is nothing but an origami concept. You can fold it in any way you choose. You need to understand that I live in a world where image is everything, and I am not going to allow haters like you to bring me down.
Dineo (heaves a sigh and closes her book): Ivey, the intermittent emergence of your sophisticated ignorance never ceases to catch me off-guard. Firstly, being born in a poor family is not some sort of curse. It is a circumstance that can be changed if a person is willing to defy the odds. Secondly, scholarships and bursaries are given to those individuals who earned the funding through hard work and not because the sponsor feels sorry for them, so—
Ivey (holding her hands up in surrender): Okay, fine. Whatever keeps you motivated. But you know I only said those things to get your attention. So how do I look?
Dineo: Desperate for a man to take you home with him tonight. Your dress shouts insecure. Lerumo is already your boyfriend.
Ivey: Where did you learn man maintenance? From watching talk shows? We are all graduating next year, and I want to know if Lerumo considers me a valuable part of his future.
Dineo: So that’s why you guys are going out to dinner?
Ivey: That’s right. And I won’t be able to see him for some time, so we’re going to discuss our future. But mostly tonight is about celebrating the position he has been promised at M-corp after he graduates.
Dineo: M-corp? As in one of the biggest auditing firms in Africa? That’s great! Tell him I said congrats.
Ivey: Will do. And I will be sure to bring you a doggie-bag. But don’t stay up – I might not even come back tonight.
[She exits]
Fade out
Nine
The Writer’s Plight
BANDILE GOT UP AND stretched, his body free temporarily of the pain of the Mandzana.
Not too bad, he thought.
He massaged the back of his neck with his left hand and exhaled deeply. He was relieved by the progress. It felt good – strings of sentences to fill blank pages. He called it ravage writing, a skill honed back in the day as a teenager aspiring to be a lyricist. He was a regular at the Street Beat cyphers, where freestyles created from complex flows and stanzas stacked with back-to-back rhymes and punch lines were thrown around for sport. Hip-hop laid the foundation on which he built his career as a writer. It felt good to return to his roots.
Although the draft was taking shape, experience had taught him he would only be in a position to finish it once he knew how the story ended. He was not one of those writers who got lost in their own stories. He was deliberate. He wrote with the end in mind, all the plots and sub-plots being pillars that held up the story.
At the same time, he was in no rush to think about the end. Reaching the end also meant the end for him. Once he’d delivered to Molly what she wanted, that would be it. The Mandzana would run its course and deflate his body like a punctured beach ball. Somehow, his second predicament with reaching the end of writing a story was that empty feeling. The characters inhabit the writer’s waking moments and dreams – a sign that the story could be a good one. Reaching the end meant parting ways with these characters, to saying goodbye to old friends who you’d known from childhood. Then, the doubt. Once the story leaves their mailbox, the writer’s self-questioning reaches its peak. Is the story any good? Will publishers pick it up? Does it live up to expectations?
Bandile glanced at the watch on his wrist. It was 1:29pm; time for a short break. He walked over to the kitchenette and poured himself two tall glasses of water, drinking them in quick succession. He felt revitalised. He hadn’t realised he was thirsty until that moment – another one of those quirks writers have. Sometimes, when caught in moments of inspiration and the words are flowing, the needs of the body begin not to matter. Thirst, hunger, the need to relieve yourself; they fade away into quiet hums in the background that can be easily ignored.
The writer returned to his desk and read the last page again, trying to decide on where to go from there. He was absentmindedly clicking the pen as he read. Before he knew it almost half an hour had gone without him adding anything new to the page. Molly would be back within four hours, and she would expect more than he had to offer. There wasn’t another moment to waste. He had to write and think at the same time – not his preferred style.
INT. – RESTAURANT, GOURMET GARDENS – NIGHT
[Lerumo and Ivey are having dinner at a French-themed restaurant. Dessert has already been served, but the bad cherry is about to come on top.]
Lerumo: You look amazing; I hope you didn’t go through too much trouble to make this evening special for me.
Ivey (beaming): Not really … But I just wanted to show you how proud I am of your accomplishment.
Lerumo: As am I of yours. Six months in Moscow as one of 10 delegates at the Y-80 Young Leaders Programme – that’s a big deal!
Ivey: Do you see how you and I make a good team? We are among the best of our generation. (She sweeps a hand across the air, taking in their surroundings.) That’s why we celebrate like this. We earned it.
Lerumo: I appreciate it, but … we could have gone for something simple. If we ordered pizza and watched movies at my place, I would still consider that special.
Ivey (jokingly): For a guy who’s from a very rich family, you sure like it cheap.
Lerumo: Simple is not always synonymous with cheap.
Ivey: Is it a crime for a lady to spoil her man at classy places that offer exquisite cuisine? I want to show you how much you mean to me. That is also why I told my mother about us. (Pause) She wants to meet you. So, you’re having dinner with us next Friday.
Lerumo (coughing as he almost chokes on ice cream. He is very surprised): Sorry, it must have gone down the wrong pipe … Your mom, huh? That would be great, but don’t you think it’s rather sudden?
Ivey: After eighteen months? No, Lerumo. What we have is special and deserves our parents’ blessing. Besides, it’s not like we are getting married. Why are you getting nervous? What’s wrong?
Lerumo: Nothing. I just think that we should wait, you know? Give your mother a chance to focus on your dad’s health.
Ivey: Lerumo, mom is fine. My dad was a good provider, but an awful father and husband. He may have all sorts of titles and companies making millions, but to me he’s just a familiar stranger who spent years wandering in the wilderness instead of loving us. Of course, I want to see him well. But we are prepared for whatever fate may have in stor
e for him.
Lerumo: But, babe … this is still a big step. And I want us to do things right. Which is why I think we need to take some more time to get to know each other better. Before opening our relationship up to other people.
Ivey: But we know all there is to know about each other. Personality traits, favourite food, the types of music we like. We have a lot in common – even your favourite colour is mine too.
Lerumo: Those are simple basics, babe. There might still be a lot of things we have to learn about each other. So it would be best if we just take baby steps.
Ivey: our relationship has long passed the infancy stage. This baby can now walk and talk.
Lerumo: True. But you might be forcing it to sprint in the Olympics and run for president. Meeting your family is a big deal. Next thing they will asking me about my long term goals for us.
Ivey: Which would be a fair question, Mr Phamola. What are your intentions here? Are you just killing time with a pretty face? Simply enjoying making muffins with a model and then moving on?
Lerumo: All I am trying to tell you here is … seeds don’t just bear fruit overnight. There even comes a time in a man’s life when he must cut the branches off …
Ivey: Just cut the riddles and speak up. What is it?
Lerumo: All I am saying is, we need to take a break to just –
Ivey: Is there someone else?
Lerumo: Well … that’s not important. What really matters is that we both—
The Last Sentence Page 4
