Diamonds in the Dust
By Shirley Mowat Tucker
Website: www.diamondsinthedust.net
Winner of Athanatos Christian Ministry's 2011 Christian Novel Contest
Copyright Shirley Mowat Tucker 2011.
All Rights Reserved
Published by Athanatos Publishing Group.
Print edition can be found at online retailers at ISBN 978-0-9822776-9-0
Cover by Julius Broqueza.
Smashwords Edition
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Table of Contents
“An addictive storyline that pulls at the reader’s social conscience and sense of justice, delivered in an honest, humane manner.” ~ Kirkus Reviews
“This book is a must-read! It is written by someone who has lived in Africa and knows her subject well... The redemptive theme of this novel is powerful... we award the novel five Doves, which is our peak rating. This book deserves it.” ~ The Dove Foundation
For Monty Sholund who said I could and I believed him.
Writing a book is more about teamwork than I ever imagined. Alongside me a disparate band of people dipped into my life to encourage, edit, give feedback, keep me from making stupid mistakes which all added to my knowledge and helped refine the finished product.
So I need to say thank you to:
Anthony Horvath, of Athanatos Christian Ministries, for making a dream become a reality and doing it with such openhearted generosity and patience,
to my wonderful Mark for clearing the runway so I could fly and for still loving and believing in me 33 years later,
to my kids Dusty and Jenn, Cathy-Jo and Dan; Why am I so special to have you?
to Mom, 93, and still loving, still forgiving, still my hero; to Dad, gone but not without first nurturing in my heart a love of story–a true gentleman,
to all my dear family and friends: Linda Lagerwey and the Tuesday ladies group–troupers, warriors and encouragers; Elaine Phillips, Sue Lankers, Sue Williams, Lynn Hodge and Richard Rufus-Ellis for editing at different stages,
to Busisiwe Marule for checking the siSwati/Zulu and to Ian Milne for letting me bend his ear about zoological issues,
to Mary Rosenblum, from Long Ridge Writers Group, who inspired me to keep going.
to God, who, because he isn’t here physically, chooses you and me to touch the hurting, the damaged and the hungry.
She’d got away. The man slowed down to a jog and took a deep breath to quiet the hammering in his head and ease the pain in his lungs. He looked up in time to catch one last glimpse of her before she disappeared around the bend. He’d never catch her now. “I’ll get you, you worthless dung beetle. Next time.”
After all that planning she’d slipped through his fingers. He kicked at a large, black rhino beetle struggling through the rain-muddied path in front of him and watched it tumble into the churning waters of the river two meters to his left. Going after her during the day had been a big mistake. Now there were witnesses.
He’d take a short cut and met the others back at the car. The short cut proved to be a long cut as the sodden earth sucked at his shoes like quick-sand and slowed him down to a crawl. But it was way too risky going back the way he’d come.
By the time he reached his car, hidden in some brush, he could feel the weight of his blunder lighten. She’d be back. She’d never leave the others.
*
It wasn’t the lightning that frightened Ida Morgan. She stopped munching on her toast to listen. Thunder grumbled in bad-temper then suddenly threw its venom at the earth, striking its target in a blinding bolt of light. This was a big one. She covered her ears and waited. A deafening crack–splintering and rumbling slowly into silence.
It was what followed that alarmed her. A thin wailing sound slashed at the air for several seconds then that, too, subsided. Someone was in trouble out there but the last time she’d gone to help a person, Tony had died.
Ida jumped up, threw the last morsel of honey toast onto the side-plate and dashed over to the lounge window. At first, distinguishing anything through the driving rain was like trying to see through a striped frosted window. As the storm lessened she began to grasp the extent of the damage to her garden; ripped off branches and twigs hurled to far corners; her bougainvilleas and roses stripped and their bruised flowers strewn across patches of lawn which stood like miniature islands in a flood plain. But no sign of life.
Beyond her fenced garden she noticed the once towering wild fig tree had taken the fury of the lightning strike. Neatly carved down the middle, half the tree had collapsed sideways over the swollen stream whose rushing waters tumbled under it. From where she stood, it looked as though the tips of its branches reached the bank on the far side. This side of the stricken tree remained standing but listed to the right. No sign of movement out there either.
Within minutes the gurgle of rainwater down the drainpipe slowed to a trickle. The storm ended as it often did in the lowveld of South Africa, as suddenly as it had started. Ida hesitated at her front door, clutching the lower gate key. She looked down at her soil-stained ‘takkies’ and wondered how well they’d keep the water out. But she knew she was just buying time. Who cared if her feet got wet? She couldn’t ignore what she had heard.
She arrived at the new six foot tall wire mesh gate and stopped. Her confidence sagged. She reminded herself it wasn’t so bad in the daylight when she could at least see around her and feel like she had a fighting chance. The fact it was unlikely to happen again was little comfort. With a thorough scan of the whole area she slipped the key into the lock.
Once through the gate, Ida picked her way over slippery boulders and patches of sodden grass to the stream’s edge. Watchful and listening for any sign of movement, she began to question the sound she’d heard after the strike. She felt some of the tension leave her and became aware of the devastation before her. What a mess. This was going to take some cleaning up. Empty milk bottles, cool-drink containers, pieces of ragged white plastic littered the high water mark where grass and weeds lay leveled against the ground, stretching out in the direction of the water’s flow.
As she rounded a rock that rose above her shoulders, a large, blue, plastic bin caught her eye. Wedged in the sheltered recess of a rock and bobbing gently some 20 feet away from her, the blue bin floated in a tangle of uprooted plants and other rubbish. The bin, though scarred by years of rough handling, was sturdy–perfect for carting litter away. If she stood on that rock over there she might be able to pull it in.
She searched around for a stick strong enough to do the job. Glancing back at the bin to gauge how long it needed to be, she grew rigid. The bin began to bounce erratically from side to side as eight little black fingers emerged, gripping the lip of the container. Then faint bursts of sobbing as the fingers disappeared and the bin settled once more.
Ida sprang onto a rock to peer into the bin. A child, barely covered by the wet rags clinging to his body, faced downward, his arms and legs jammed against the corners of the bin.
“Bambelela, ngizokusiza. Hold on. I’ll help you,” Ida said in Zulu, grateful for her childhood relationships on the farm in KwaZulu-Natal. She leapt off the rock. A cursory glance around the area revealed no stick long enough to pull the bin in. She headed home, returning a few minutes later with a garden rake. Clasping her hands around the end of the rake handle she extended it over the water. It was just too short. Maybe there was extra reach using one hand while stretching out and balancing with the other.
The end of the stout wooden rake sagged but she hefted it upward and let it fall. It missed and crashed into the water. She almost had it. The second attempt snagged the bin. A startled yelp came from inside as the rake whacked the edge and sent the bin dipping and diving.
“Kulungile. I have you.” Ida tugged at the container, feeling the resistance of clogging debris. Finally the bin broke free and she tugged it toward the rock she stood on. She knelt down next to the container. Steadying the bin with one hand, she reached out to the child with the other. “Give me your hand.” The child remained glued to the bottom of the container.
Ida sank down on the rock and stretched out her legs. She hooked a toe under the edge of the rim and the bin stabilized. “What is your name?” She leaned back for a few seconds to relieve tense muscles in her neck. There was no answer but a little black face, tear tracked and taut, turned up to stare at her. Ida smiled. “I do not bite.” Again she reached out her hand.
Eyes fixed on the bottom of the bin, the child slowly released pressure on the sides and suddenly grabbed Ida’s hands.
Tears stung Ida’s eyes. His hands were like stripped chicken bones taken from the fridge and his young body rattled with tremors. She stole a glance at him from the corner of her eye. He was taller than she had thought. Maybe eight or nine years old.
“How on earth did you end up in that bin in the middle of the storm?” Ida rubbed his bone-lumpy back while she led him along the path to the house. His only response was a frenetic clicking of teeth.
Once inside the house, she cocooned him in her bright red knitted blanket and settled him on the sofa. After starting a hot bath, she made and handed him a peanut-butter sandwich and milk. The child fought his way out of the blanket and took the plate but turned his face away. Ida strode over to the old Steinway upright, stretched out nimble fingers, and began to coax out the rhythmic sounds of Black Gospel in “Oh, happy day.” Every now and then she raised her eyes to study the child through the mirror above the piano.
Torn between the music and the food he finally decided he could have both. He attacked the food, his chin jutting out from side to side in time to the beat of the music. He stuffed in the food until his bulging cheeks made it difficult to draw his lips together. No problem. He chewed anyway, swallowing hunks of bread, and in no time he was done, sending the last few bites down with the milk. Little fingers chased crumbs around the plate and by the time he’d finished, his shivering had stopped, too.
Ida ended the song and plopped down next to him on the sofa. “What is your name?”
The child looked down.
“Is it Vusi?” A shake of the head.
“Phineas?” He frowned.
“Okay,” she said, straightening up. “It’s Moses then.” Ida pulled him up. “Time for a nice warm bath, Moses.”
Moses’ face remained blank. Ida made washing body movements. A tiny light flickered in the brown eyes. Ah!
Closing the bathroom door on the child she went in search of a T-shirt and a pair of shorts from a time long before she’d reached her present five feet one inch. When she returned with them she stopped short. Moses stood in the middle of the bath, fully clothed, scrubbing both the clothes and himself with energy. Brown water slopped up the side of the bath leaving a line of scum in its wake.
“Moses.”
The child stopped abruptly and stared at the wall.
“Sorry,” Ida said, turning her eyes away from him. “It is easier to wash yourself when you take your clothes off first. You can dry yourself with this towel. Then put these clothes on.” She looped them over the rail. “They are too big but they’re clean.” She began to help pull off sopping rags, wandering what color they used to be. Then she looked down. Her head snapped up.
“You’re not Moses. You’re Mosesina.” She stared into the face of the girl. She paused. “What the heck,” she said. “Moses is easier.”
While she waited, Ida picked up the phone and dialed White River Police Station. “I’d like to report a missing child,” she said. “Actually, she’s not missing; I found her.” A pause. “I don’t know. She can’t speak. No, she’s not dead. She’s just too traumatized to speak. Maybe you can get her to talk?” She gave her address, “It’s 6 Jacaranda Drive.” She concluded the call and waited for the police to arrive.
On her way to see how Moses was doing, she heard the phone. “No, Mr. Mbuso,” Ida said into the phone, clutching it tightly. “I know how important it is. I’ll have it done in time. By Wednesday next week. I promise.” She caught her breath and continued. “Yes, first thing.” She slowly returned the phone. Another weekend spent working. She couldn’t lose this job. If her finances didn’t improve soon she’d be losing her home. Things had been very tight since Tony had gone.
When Moses still had not returned from the bathroom, Ida went to investigate. She heard sounds of movement behind the door. On opening it, she saw Moses on the floor mopping up the last splash of water. The child had almost done a better job of the bathroom than she would have. Moses flipped the towel onto the side of the bath and smiled from behind her hand.
“Ngiyabonga, Moses. Thank you.”
The bell at the front gate rang at five minutes before eight. Moses swung round to face Ida at the kitchen table and started to rise. Ida caught her by the arm. “It’s okay, Moses. I think it’s the police. They have come to help you.” She stepped over to the intercom at the kitchen door while checking through the kitchen window. A police GTI was parked outside her gate. She pressed the gate buzzer.
The sergeant hoisted himself out of the car. He sauntered to the gate, leaning backward somewhat, in order to carry the load of his ample stomach in front of him. Behind him, an officer, whose immaculate uniform ended at his mirror-clean boots, both minus shoelaces.
“Mrs. Morgan?”
“Good morning.” She took the sergeant’s hand. “Thank you for coming.”
“I am Sergeant Jawena.” He faced the other man. “This is Officer Dube.” Officer Dube’s eyes were active in his still face, taking in the house, the garden, the car and finally settling on Ida. He investigated her, too, but did not attempt to greet her. Ida wondered if the small patch of white hair at his right temple was the result of the parasite Bilharzia or if that was an old wives’ tale.
“Tell me what happened here,” Sergeant Jawena said, his round face serious and attentive.
As Ida explained, she looked back at the house. The tip of Moses’ head showed above the lace curtains in the kitchen, then disappeared.
When she had finished, Sergeant Jawena shuffled his feet on the driveway and said nothing for several seconds.
“You can help her?” Ida asked.
“Mrs. Morgan, we can help this girl.” He shook his head slowly. “But it is a big problem. Everyday we are hearing about children who are needing help. It will take some time.”
“All she needs is someone to find out who she is and where she lives.” Officer Dube took a sudden interest. “They are too many,” he said. His restless eyes were off again, searching.
“Too many problems or too many children?” The tension in Ida’s neck was returning. “Why don’t I get her? Maybe she’ll talk to you.” Ida strode over to the kitchen door and leaned through it. “Moses. Come. The policeman wants to talk to you.” She tapped the side of the doorway, waiting.
“Moses?”
She looked at her watch. Time for working was being eaten up. There was no response. She stepped through the doorway. A quick search of the house revealed the front door was unlocked and the child had gone.
She hurried around the flower beds, up the garden path, and along the side of the house. No Moses. When she returned to the sergeant he was scribbling in a small notebook with a stub of pencil. Officer Dube stood peering over his shoulder. They looked up as she approached.
“She’s gone. I’ve looked everywhere but I can’t find her.” Ida felt the heat in her face.
“Maybe she has done something wrong. She does not want to be caught,” Officer Dube said, eyes narrowed, as he stared at the stream beyond the front fence. Sergeant Jawena glared at him.
“Maybe she lives nearby. Maybe she has gone home.” The Sergeant closed his notebook and stuffed it into his top pocket with his pudgy hands.
“Shouldn’t we look for her?” Ida said.
“These children, they are clever.” Officer Dube stepped up close to Ida, hunting for something in her eyes. “She will be okay.”
Sergeant Jawena stepped between them. “Mrs. Morgan, I can see you are worried about her. If she comes back you can phone me and we will come to get her.”
Ida ran into the house to get her diary and a pen. She wrote down Jawena’s number then watched the men leave. What did the officer mean, ‘these children’?
That afternoon Ida sat at her antique writing desk in her small bedroom. She wasn’t into antiques. She wasn’t into any particular style of furniture, come to think of it. A desk was to work on, not look at. She picked at the point of her blunt pencil and peered out the window. What happened to the child? She straightened her back, picked up a ball point pen and stared at the leather bound ledger in front of her. She shook her head and was soon lost in her bookkeeping work.
Before she knew it, the sun had disappeared behind the line of granite hills on the horizon and left a crimson bouquet in the sky. She headed to the kitchen.
She lifted an egg to crack open on the side of a stainless steel bowl when she heard it–a faint tapping at the kitchen door. She stood still and listened. There it was again. Without a sound she stepped sideways to stare out the window. The gate was still locked. She moved over to the sink, stretching herself over it and twisting her body so she could see who was standing at the door.
“Who is it?” No one answered. “Go away or I’ll phone the police,” she called out. At that there was a flash of movement from behind the door and a child streaked across Ida’s vision, heading toward the gate.
Ida flew over to the door, unlocking it. “Moses,” she shouted. “Kulungile. Come back. I thought you were a tsotsi.” The child stopped and glanced behind her. Ida caught up with her and placed an arm around the thin shoulders. “Come inside. You can sleep here tonight.”
Moses stood inside the kitchen door with her arms linked behind her back, waiting. At first Ida did not notice. Then…
“Oh. You can sit down.” Ida indicated a chair at the table.
She searched around in her rather limited Zulu vocabulary for the word “bacon”. “Tonight we will eat pig and egg,” she said instead. She’d been keeping the bacon for a special occasion and this was it. The aroma of sizzling bacon drew attention to her hunger. “I could eat a whole pig tonight.” For the first time, Moses’ mouth stretched in a smile.
Together they sat at opposite ends of the small round kitchen table, eating, and sipping hot sweet tea. Ida tried to make conversation.
“I feel like I’m talking into a phone with no one at the other end,” Ida said, observing Moses eat small bites of food using the tips of her thin fingers. “I see pig is not your first choice in dinner,” she said in English. Moses stared back for a moment then went back to her food.
Ida wiped the crumbs off the side of her mouth and she scraped back her chair. Leaning over the table to gather the dirty dishes she said, “I have work to do. Come, I will show you where you can sleep.”
Moses followed Ida into a small room where the single bed, spread with a multi-colored crocheted quilt, was already made up. She switched on the light and took Moses’ hand, leading her to the side table. “You switch the lamp on here.” She showed her.
Moses let go of her hand and walked around the bed taking in the room. When her feet touched the soft rug at her feet she bent down and her young fingers caressed it. Then, lowering herself onto it, she lay down with her legs tucked up to her chin. With her cheek she stroked its thick softness.
Ida hurried out before the waterworks started. No more tears. Losing your husband to murder at 40 taught you tears don’t change anything. She gave her head a quick shake and moved off to her desk.
Shortly after Ida had settled back to her work she heard the ffssh of a tap running and the clatter of dishes from the kitchen. She pushed back her chair and went to check. Moses stood on the stool next to the kitchen sink washing the supper dishes. Just louder than her breath came a whispered tune. Ida grinned. So the vocal chords were in working order. She walked up behind the child and raised her arms to place them around the slim body but memories of the past pulled them down again to her sides. Silently she stepped out of the room.
The cat. She’d almost forgotten. She moved over to the pantry and retrieved the cat food. But when she picked up the cat’s bowl she saw the food had not been touched. She opened the back door and called into the night. “Cricket?” The cat with only three more lives left did not respond. Maybe his nose was out of joint with having an unfamiliar guest here. She closed the door and headed to her office. Picking up her pen, she settled down to her bookkeeping.
By twelve o’clock that night Ida was nodding off at her desk. After her five-thirty start this morning she was finished. She went through to the lounge and sank into the cool leather of her favorite arm chair. Her eyes closed. For the first time in two years she was glad she had lived today. But if she sat here any longer she wouldn’t have the energy to go to bed.
She sighed, planted her feet together in front of her and pushed herself out the armchair. After placing the tufted seat pillow in the center of the chair-back to cover the worn patch where she’d been sitting, she made her way down the short, tiled passage to the spare bedroom. She stood for a moment with her ear against the door then silently opened it.
The lace curtain at the window swelled gently as a cool breeze blew through the open but barred window. Moonlight streamed onto the bed. She stiffened. The bed was still made up and as empty as when she’d left it that morning.
“Moses?” she said softly. She waited. Her head twisted around to scan the house behind her. She took a step into the room. Listening. Only the muted sound of a dog barking and the incessant chirping of a summer cricket.
“Moses?” A few steps to the end of the bed. As she rounded the bed, her slipper connected with something hard on the floor. She jumped back, slapping her hand over her mouth, and stumbled onto the bed. In front of her, the small body of Moses shot up and staggered over to the window, falling into a tiny whimpering ball.
Ida pressed her fingers against her thumping temples. “I’m so sorry,” she said. The whites of the child’s eyes stared back. Ida sank onto her haunches in front of her and reached out her hands. “Beds are for sleeping on.” She patted the bed. “You don’t have to sleep on the floor.”
She walked over to the light switch, and flicked it on. Then moving over to the bed, flung back the sheet and blanket, lay down, covered herself and pretended to snore with a loud voice and wide open mouth. She peeped through her fingers at Moses still sitting against the wall. The child’s face softened but Ida noticed her repeatedly sneak a glance at the cupboard door.
Ida looked from Moses to the cupboard and back again. “What’s in the cupboard?” she said. “Moses?” Her voice a harsh whisper. The child dropped her head on her knees and rocked back and forward, keening in a low voice.
Ida rose slowly, pausing each time the bed creaked. When she was upright, she tiptoed out the room and rushed to the lounge, stumbling over the edge of the grass rug, and lunged for the phone. Stabbing at the numbers with trembling fingers she began to tap out 013 750 0888 for the police. When she reached the 5 her head shot up and her fingers stopped. If the child was afraid of something in the cupboard, why had she been sleeping peacefully on the floor? Slowly she replaced the phone.
She reached into the broom cupboard and grabbed the heavy wooden handle of the broom, just in case, and crept back to the bedroom. Moses was quiet now but still sat crumpled against the wall. Her eyes widened when she saw Ida with the broom and scrambled to get on her feet.
Ida placed a finger to her mouth. “Shh.” With the broom held rigid in front of her she edged toward the cupboard and extended her free hand to grasp the handle. The door burst open and the cupboard came to life with high pitched screams. A jumble of cardboard boxes and years of stored odds and ends exploded out of the cupboard.
Ida snatched up the other end of the broom, snapped it sideways in front of her body. She stepped back. The avalanche of her belongings settled and her eyes became accustomed to the shadows in the cupboard. Trying to melt into the back of the cupboard, two ragged children clung to each other.
Her head slumped forward. For a moment she stood with her eyes jammed shut. A migraine was on its way.
“How did they get in here?” she asked, flopping onto the edge of the bed.
Moses stared down at the floor.
“Ja. I know you can hear me,” she said under her breath in English. The children in the cupboard remained very still. Only their eyes moved as they glanced back and forth from Ida to Moses. “Wozani. Come,” Ida said quietly, bending forward then beckoning them with her fingers. In unison they glanced over at Moses who flicked her wrist and signaled them to come. They sidled over to Moses.
Both children appeared to be boys. Ida wasn’t going to presume anything this time. The older appeared to be about six and the younger about three years old.
“Are they your brothers, Moses?”
She nodded.
“How did they get in?” Once more Moses hung her head and drew her brothers to her. The older boy pulled loose.
“I am Bandile.” He tugged at his brother’s arm. “He is Surprise. He has three years.” The toddler pressed into his big sister, never taking his eyes off Ida. Bandile pointed at Moses. “She has twelve years.”
Twelve? Poor nutrition or family genes had cleverly disguised the girl’s age. Thankfully being mute did not run in the family. Ida reached out for a tissue on the side table and moved toward the youngest child’s nose. He shrank back and buried his face between Moses and the wall. She gave up and crouched down to look into his eyes. “How did you get your name, Surprise?”
Bandile spoke up. “My mother, she did not know he is coming, so she call him Surprise.”
“He’s a surprise alright,” she said in English.
She glanced at her watch. Only a few hours till the sun came up. “Before we go back to sleep, your brothers can have a quick bath. They can sleep at the end of your bed, Moses. We can talk in the morning.”
She watched the children follow Moses to the bathroom. “And don’t forget to take off their clothes. Before they get in,” she called after them, smiling. “I’ll bring some clean shirts.” Their tatters would go in the rubbish tonight and she’d visit Price Mart tomorrow.
Maybe she didn’t need the police’s help. How difficult could it be to find the parents of three children?
Ida woke suddenly to a door in the house bursting open and banging against the wall, followed by an explosion of laughter, then loud whispers. She eyed the large metal alarm clock next to her bed. 7:06 a.m. She’d slept in. She sank back onto her pillow and closed her eyes. As she lay there enjoying the fresh morning breeze laden with the sweet smell of oleander flowers through the window, she could almost hear Tony whistling in the kitchen making tea. Good strong tea with a touch of milk. A rattling of cups and a thump as he kicked the door open with his battered slippers. He filled the doorway, his black hair standing to attention and brushing the top of the doorframe.
“Wake up, my suikerbossie, sugar bush.”
The picture in her mind faded. Even good memories carried a sting in the tail. She swung her legs over the side of the bed. Grabbing her pale blue dressing gown from behind the bedroom door she ambled to the spare room. She ran her fingers through her short thick hair, raising the sleeping curls to their daytime position.
What a racket. Ida peered around the children’s doorway. Moses sat against the wall, pounding out a rhythm on an empty shoe box wedged between her feet. Bandile sat next to her, rubbing the spines of an old plastic comb with a knitting needle, his head and body weaving in four-time while he wailed out a repetitive melody. Surprise, bent at the waist, stomped his pint-sized bare feet in time to the impromptu band, his elbows jabbing at the ceiling while a huge grass lampshade on his head bounced rhythmically.
At Ida’s appearance, the band of two halted suddenly, but the little dancer continued.
“Busi, why do you stop?” came muffled from beneath the lampshade. No reply. The lampshade slowly settled and two brown eyes peered from beneath the shade. “Eeish!”
“Sanibonani, little makers of music.” Ida stepped into the room and plopped onto the edge of the bed. “Did you sleep well?”
For a moment Moses’ eyes crinkled and light flickered behind the smile but faded again into emptiness. Ida studied the child. Why hadn’t she seen it before? It was sadness that followed this child like a hungry dog, not shyness. Ida felt the rough hands of pity twist her insides.
“Surprise kick me off the bed.” Bandile brought Ida back to the present as he tumbled off the bed to demonstrate. Still hugging the lampshade, Surprise hooted with pleasure and collapsed sideways, stamping his feet.
Bandile righted himself, grinning.
Ida smiled, then said, “Bandile, where do you live?”
“Up there,” his hand flapped in the direction of up-river.
That was helpful. She tried again. “How did you get here?”
“We run after Busi.” His chin jutted in Moses’ direction. Ida took in the name.
“She was in the blue box?”
He nodded. “She was hide in the box and the heavy water come quickly, and whsssh.” His hand shot out to show the sudden departure of the box. “She is gone.”
“Were you playing a game?”
He shook his head slowly. “Ah, no.” His smile disappeared. He shuffled closer to Moses who watched him pick at his toenails. Surprise was now holding the burglar bars at the window and gazing outside, his feet thudding against the wall, humming softly to himself.
“Why…?” She never finished. The buzzer sounded at the gate. Her watch said 8:00 a.m.
“That’ll be Simeon.” She dashed to the kitchen, checked the gate then pressed the buzzer to let him in. She unlocked the kitchen door and watched as he bounded through the gate. Recently, each Saturday he’d come, he seemed to have grown. “You know what, Simeon? I think you’ll be six feet before your next birthday.” Ida stared up at him.
The teenager stretched himself to his full height and his guileless black face beamed. “Good morning, Mrs. Morgan.”
“Morning, Simeon. How did your Math test go this week?”
“It’s okay,” he smiled. “It’s easy when you explain to me how to do it.”
“I’m glad. Before you start work in the garden today, I want you to meet someone.” Simeon wiped his feet on the mat and followed her into the spare room. He swung round to Ida, his eyebrows reaching new heights when he saw the children.
“Hawu?” he said inspecting them in turn.
Ida faced Simeon. “I need you to help me find out where these children live.” Simeon listened as she filled him in on what had happened.
“I’ll make breakfast then I’m off to the shops to buy some things for the children. Please stay with them until I get back.”
He nodded and slid down next to Moses and stuck out his hand. “Sawubona, I am Simeon.” Moses, still hugging her knees gave him the tips of her fingers but wouldn’t look at him.
“Busi doesn’t speak,” Ida said. “I call her Moses.” She placed a hand on each of the boys. “This is Bandile and Surprise.” She moved off to get her handbag.
Ida returned an hour later, hauling a collection of plastic bags, weighed down and threatening to burst at the seams. She heaved them onto the kitchen table, then reaching over the faux granite countertop she switched on the kettle. Tea made the world go round and when it didn’t, it made you go round, so it didn’t matter so much the world had stopped. From the kitchen she heard murmuring in the spare room and wondered if Simeon had been more successful than she had.
After putting on a pot of oatmeal to simmer, she sorted the groceries into two piles. One of the piles she tucked into her cupboards, the rest she repacked into the bags. Then slowing down she peered into the bags she hadn’t touched yet.
“Mrs. Morgan?”
Her head snapped up.
“I think I know where the children’s house is.” Simeon stood in the doorway moving his weight from one leg to the other. “They are on the other side of K4. It is between the new graveyard and the stream. Near the old farm house.”
“Will you be able to explain it to the policeman?”
“Why do you want the police?”
“They will take the children home.”
Simeon frowned. “But I think you will take them.”
Ida stared back. “I can’t take them. I don’t know where to go. I’ll get lost.”
“I can show you.”
“But it’s not safe.” She turned away from him and picked up a plate from the drying rack and slammed it on top of the stacked dinner plates in the cupboard.
Simeon backed away.
“I shouldn’t have done that. I’m so sorry.” She extended her hand to him. “It’s not your fault.”
“Mrs. Morgan, it is the day. I will go with you.”
“You don’t understand. I can’t take them.”
“It is not too far.”
“Simeon, I heard two of the men who killed my husband live in Masoyi. They were never caught.” Her shoulders sagged. When would she get rid of this porcupine of fear that dogged her day and night? How could she stop embracing its quills and be free?
“Ah. Sorry. Sorry.” Simeon shook his head.
“Please, Mama.” Bandile’s serious face appeared suddenly from behind Simeon and scooted in front of him. Moses and Surprise followed, squeezing in on either side of Simeon in the doorway.
Moses extended her arm and shook Bandile’s shoulder, pointing to Ida. Bandile looked up at his sister. She nodded. He fixed his gaze on Ida. “No policeman,” he said. Without taking his eyes off hers he sidled up to her and slipped his hand into hers. “Please, Mama.”
“Did you do something wrong?” Ida said softly.
“Ah, no.”
She tightened her grasp on the little hand and felt the familiar buzzing in her head. The tug between fear and responsibility and as usual fear had the stronger grip. She was damned if she did and damned if she didn’t.
“I’ll think about it.” She turned to the bags on the counter afraid the children could read her face. “Come and eat; then I’ll show you what I have here.”
After breakfast the children stared blankly at the clothes on the counter. “They’re for you.” Ida said. She picked up a simple cotton dress and pressed it up against Moses. “See,” she said, picking out the clusters of roses like tiny bouquets printed on it, “Flowers for a special little rose.”
Moses’ eyes filled with tears. She picked up the dress and pressed it against her. Then, reaching up, she looped her arms around Ida’s neck and squeezed. Ida’s arms slowly circled the child and squeezed back. Her eyes closed–her first hug in nearly two years. For several seconds they stood there and Ida wondered when last this child had been cuddled. She smiled down at her and stroked the smooth young cheek. “Let’s see how the boys are doing.”
Bandile stood in the centre of the kitchen wearing his new T-shirt and shorts. Ida watched him raise the picture on the shirt. He stretched it away from his eyes, squinting. He twisted it this way and that, frowning, then pulled the shirt over his head. At arms length and still with narrowed eyes he stared at the figure on the shirt. Still he couldn’t see. He placed the shirt carefully on the back of the kitchen chair and moved back a few paces. The frown disappeared as he studied the picture. “What is this?” he said.
“It’s Spiderman.”
“I do not like spiders.”
Ida moved closer to him. How could she explain? “He is a good man who helps people. He’s not…” Too complicated. Maybe another time. She disappeared into the bedroom and returned with a pair of her generic reading glasses. She eased them onto his face and pushed him closer to the shirt.
“Is that better?”
The smile said it all.
“You may keep them. They will help you read or see something close up.”
“I can see.” He snatched up Moses’ hand. “Look, I can see.” Dragging her round the room he stared into the mirror, touched the wall hanging, traced the pattern in the curtain, fingered the lace cloth under the table lamp.
What profound consequences for such a small act. Ida reveled in the pleasure of it.
When Bandile reached Simeon he stopped. “Now I am a man.” He flexed his muscles.
Simeon bent forward and, with his thumb and forefinger, pressed the boy’s arm. “Yes,” he said without smiling. “There are big muscles hiding in there. Feed them and give them some hard work and they will come out big and strong.”
A commotion behind her brought Ida’s attention to Surprise. He was David in Goliath’s clothes. The T-shirt fit but no sooner would he grab one side of the red shorts to hold them up then the other side would droop to his ankles. Where was that sewing kit? This was something a large safety pin could sort out–for now anyway. It wouldn’t be noticeable if she pulled them in at the back. One good thing though was that he could grow into those shorts–if they didn’t wear out before then.
“One more packet.” Ida reached into the last bag feeling like Father Christmas and pulled out three pairs of flip-flops. Guessing shoe sizes had been too risky, plus her budget didn’t stretch that far–so these simple sandals were a good compromise.
As she inspected the children who stood in a row before her she knew she had to take them home. How quickly the heart expanded when a child charmed his way into it. Perhaps that’s what people meant when they talked about what it was like having a child.
It was noon and time to go. Herding them and Simeon into the car with two bags of groceries, Ida reversed her ‘Old Lady,’ a 1992 Mazda 323 out the gate and pressed the small black-and-grey remote in her hand. She waited while the heavy wrought-iron gate rattled closed behind her. Sure that no one was hanging around outside the fence, she flicked the gear stick into first.
She turned into Jacaranda Drive. The tires crunched and spat loose gravel on the unpaved road. The houses stood on one acre plots of land giving Ida a glimpse of the stream that ran parallel to the street on the northern side. She was about to drive past the Van Reenens next door when she made the car squeal to a stop.
“I’m just going to see if the neighbors have seen my cat. Won’t be long.” She jumped out the car and rang the bell at the filigreed iron gate. The voice of Gladys, the maid, answered. She waited a minute while Gladys went to find out if anyone had seen the cat. They hadn’t. Ida thanked her and jumped back into car.
“Simeon, you’ll need to guide me once we’re on the Numbi Gate road.” She eased the car back onto Jacaranda Drive, then hung a right into Springbok Road. In the rearview mirror she could see the children. Moses sat on the driver’s side with her arm resting on Surprise’s shoulders—her face expressionless but her eyes working overtime. Bandile sat forward, holding the door pull with one hand, his right hand gripped the headrest in front of him. He stared at the world whizzing by.
Onto the main road toward Numbi Gate. The first ten kilometers of well-maintained road was mostly forestry and farm land sprinkled with a few houses. As they approached the outer area of Masoyi, Ida slowed down. How often had she driven past Masoyi to get to the Kruger Game Park and never taken any notice of the enormous community that lived there?
She looked with new eyes. Wave upon wave of two or three-roomed homes, made of large grey concrete bricks, dotted the rolling hills of the countryside. A small patch of compacted earth surrounded each house, swept clean and neat with the occasional tiny garden or a banana tree growing in the yard or some mama hanging her washing on a fence that was strong enough to hold it. She snuck a glance at Simeon. This was his world.
He leaned forward in his seat and pointed to a large unused quarry just off the road on the right.
“I play there when I am small.”
“You live near here?” Ida asked.
“Yes, on the other side of the hill.” He thought for a moment then said, “When I am maybe five years, my friend Sipho and me play in the hole where the men take sand for building houses. One day we find a big tin bath. We take it to the top of the hole and we get in the bath. Me first, then Sipho. Then we ride down to the bottom of the hill.”
“Sounds like fun.”
“Yes, but one day a big mama see us.” His young voice cracked as it ascended to womanly heights. “‘Eeish,’ she say, ‘What you bad boys doing with my bath? I have look everywhere for it.’
“We look at her. We look at the bath and we know there is trouble. We say, ‘Sorry. Sorry. Here is your bath.’ She pick up the bath and hold it in the air. ‘Why I can see the sky through the bottom of my bath?’ She throw down the bath and chase us. She shout, ‘Bad boys. Bad boys.’”
“Did she catch you?” Ida asked.
“No. She make so much noise a dog bark at her. She doesn’t stop. The dog doesn’t stop. She turn right around and run the other way. ‘Bad dog. Bad dog,’ she shout. The dog, he chase her all the way home.”
Ida laughed. For a moment it reminded her of childhood home in KwaZulu-Natal. Happy times of discovery and learning about anything that grew or moved or changed. “When I was a little girl,” she said, “my Uncle Ken showed me a grasshopper that had ears in its knees.” she said.
The children looked sideways at her and said, “Hawu?”
“You don’t believe me? It’s true. Uncle Ken knew every jumper, creeper, crawler, stalker, hopper, stomper, and snorter in the bush.” The children listened. “He showed me so many wonderful things. I made a scrapbook and wrote inside it all the things I learned.”
She still had her Oddities and Weirdities book. It was what brought her and Tony together when they met in the Zoology department on the first day of her first semester at UCT in Cape Town. “Both our dreams eventually came true. He became a teacher. I became his wife.” She suddenly realized she’d spoken aloud and felt a warming in her cheeks. She was spared more embarrassment when Simeon said, “After the chicken man, you turn there.” He directed her left with a flick of his hand.
The chicken man stood next to a makeshift shelter of gum poles and tattered plastic sheets half covering the roof. Under it leaned a wire-mesh cage holding an assortment of hens. The man drank from an old tin cup, apparently unconcerned by the discomfort of so many birds crammed together so feathers and tails protruded through the wire netting.
Ida slowed to a crawl and eased the car over the four-inch drop off at the edge of tarred road and swung onto a rough dirt track sandwiched between two rows of houses. She surveyed the road she was supposed to go on. How was she supposed to take the Old Lady over that obstacle course of dongas and mounds? If she didn’t get a puncture, she’d get stuck in the mud that hadn’t quite dried since the storm and lay in wait to snag unsuspecting vehicles.
Did people actually drive along here? She dropped her head on the steering wheel. “I can’t do this,” she whispered. The chatting in the car stopped. Silence. She raised her head and looked around her. To her right, two men sat in the shade of a stunted acacia tree watching her. On the other side of the road a large woman carrying a bucket on her head glanced their way as she walked past. Even a stray dog, dragging his body of bones around with him, ceased his endless sniffing for food to stare at her.
In the mirror she took in the wide eyes of the children and she knew she had to go on. “You sure it’s not far from here?”
“It will not take long now.” Simeon said. “When we pass those houses at the top of the hill, we will be nearly there.”
Ida set off again, keeping abreast of a young boy navigating his home-made wire car before him, head up and weaving his body in time with the music in his mind. A yelp from the back seat brought her attention to the children being thrown from side to side by violent twists and turns as she negotiated the impossible track. “Hang on, everyone,” she spun the wheel sharply to the left to avoid the undercarriage of the car being impaled on a jagged rock protruding from the ground.
“Some other roads are not as bad as this,” Simeon said, his knuckles white on the dashboard.
“Lucky me.”
The track became steeper but as it neared the brow of the hill, the frequency of houses and people thinned out.
“The graveyard is on the other side of the hill,” Simeon said, leaning forward to keep his watch for potholes.
“Then how far is it?”
“I think it is after the old farm house near the bottom of the hill.”
Cresting the hill, Ida saw the cemetery. The hill flattened out into a plateau the size of a rugby field. She felt some of the tension leave her when she realized there were no visitors to the gravesites. She slid the gears into neutral and pulled the emergency brake. As she rolled down the window to get a better look, a blast of blistering heat rushed in. At the same time a wave of sadness hit her as she scanned the cemetery. Most of the graves were as fresh as her own grief. The mounds of earth had not yet sunk level with the ground.
Some sites were marked with a neat pile of stones, others by two short wooden planks sunk into the ground and a piece of board hammered to them with the name and date of the deceased written on it. Some were marked with a rough rectangle of bricks. Others had a rough wooden cross driven into the earth. Each concealed a story and none had a happy ending.
Enough of that. Ida thrust Old Lady back into gear and eased forward. The track bypassed the cemetery as she drove to the end of the plateau and began the downward journey. Halfway down the hill to the right, she could see the broken shell of the old farm house. The remains of jagged walls, blackened from fire, protruded through overgrown weeds and rubble.
Beyond that, there were no more buildings until the bottom of the hill. There, a cluster of umbrella thorn trees circled three of the same small grey houses she’d passed along the road. Shade from the trees spread a large canopy of shadows under the glare of the burning sun.
The track they were on petered out a short distance beyond where they were parked and became a path meandering through the tall elephant grass. She became aware the children had stopped talking. “Is one of those houses yours?” she asked.
All three children sat upright, craning their necks to see the small group of houses. When no one answered, Ida turned around briefly to face them. Moses pointed to the one on the far right.
“Then you are home.” Ida laughed. There was no response. Strange. Her rear view mirror showed all three children slumped back against the car seat, their faces expressionless.
Right now she needed to back off the sloping mound of rock she had driven the front tires onto. She thrust the lever into reverse. Then, without warning, she felt the left front tire slip on a patch of sand and slide sideways off the slope landing with a bouncing thud into a hole. The car stalled. Ida turned the key and pressed the accelerator. The wheels whined and spun, churning out clouds of dust. Please. Not here.
She jumped out the car. “Help me push the car out,” she said to Simeon. The two of them began to push from the front when the passenger side door opened and Moses, followed by the two boys, scrambled out and lent their weight. The wheel bumped repeatedly against the ledge of rock at both ends of the hole and stayed put.
Bending down, Ida could see the problem. The car had fallen into a deep depression in the surface of the rock. It was circular, like the top edge of a large bucket and deep enough to hem the tire in on all sides. Maybe if they filled the small space behind the wheel with bits of grass and twigs it would provide enough traction to move it out when she accelerated.
The children and Simeon went running off to find what they could. Then, together, they heaved against the front of the car while she sat behind the wheel and flattened the accelerator. But the tire just spewed out the grass and twigs and thumped against the face of the hole.
Ida switched off and climbed out. She leaned against the car shading her eyes against the glare of the sun and wiped the back of her hand across her forehead. It would take more than five lightweights to move the car.
Then her eyes brightened as she had a thought. Of course. The jack. “We’re okay,” she said and opened the boot. “We’ll hoist the car up and…” She scratched around. Where was it? It had to be there. She let the lid slam shut. It came rushing back to her. Cindy from next door had borrowed it and hadn’t returned it.
Simeon stepped over to her. “Mrs. Morgan, I will go and find someone to help us.”
She glanced at her watch. The thudding of her heart eased a little when she saw that it was still only one thirty. She nodded. “I’ll walk the kids home then meet you back here.” Once more she opened the boot of the car and pulled out the grocery bags. From the top of a pile of old newspapers she pulled a newspaper plus a two-liter bottle of water which she handed to Moses to carry and then locked the car behind her. “Let’s go kids.”
From this height she could see where the narrow trail led but once they’d left the track and were on the path, their vision was obscured by grass on either side, six feet high. It became a maze, taking away the security of seeing where they were going. Without a doubt she wouldn’t be doing this if she hadn’t seen where the path led from up there.
She fell into the rhythm of walking, the bags bumping the sides of her legs. In the stillness, she could hear the swish of the children walking behind her. First Surprise, then Bandile, with Moses bringing up the rear. She was grateful they were descending the hill rather than climbing it on such a hot day. Her mind wandered to the children. Why no enthusiasm for being home? Perhaps the parents worked and wouldn’t be home to greet them.
Her thoughts were interrupted by an overpowering stench. After moving around a kink in the path they came upon a dog lying across it a short distance in front of them. Flies in their hundreds settled around the exposed areas of the lifeless body while a myriad of ants moved in and out of decaying openings. Ida slapped her hand to her nose in an attempt to reduce the nauseating smell that made her eyes smart.
“Let’s get out of here.” She lowered the bags, rubbed her red flattened fingers and stood aside to let the children pass. Bandile put his glasses on and bent over the carcass. “Ahh!” He jerked his head back, pinched his nose and hurried on. Moses turned her head away and walked quickly past. There was no further comment. Ida guessed this was probably not new to them.
She grabbed the groceries, beginning to wish she’d left them in the car and picked up the pace. It was a few minutes before they moved out of range of the smell. The encounter with the dog brought back the realization that she needed to watch more carefully where she was going. Along almost the entire stretch of the path, discarded papers and bags of all kinds littered the path. Shredded plastic caught in the grass and flapped in the breeze. They needed to step around shriveled orange and banana peels that spilled out of ripped black bags and mingled with rusty cans.
They passed the farmhouse on the right as they followed the path on its meandering way downwards. Quite suddenly the path forked ahead of them. Moses hurried past her brothers to Ida and tapped her on the shoulder. Moses dipped her head, indicating they should take the path that turned right. Ida realized with shock she hadn’t seen the fork from the car. What else had she missed from up there?
The difference between this path and the one they’d just been on was marked. She observed very little litter and noticed the path floor had not been trampled down to sand. These three families did not have many visitors.
As the soil was becoming shallower and stonier, the grass grew shorter, making it easier to see where they were going. Ida stopped and lowered the bags once more. She rummaged in the pocket of her skirt for a tissue to wipe her face. She would sometimes joke she should never have been born in Africa. She hated being in the fierce sun. This feeling of stickiness and the fine grey dust that produced rashes on her fair skin were too irritating to ignore. Give her winter anytime.
As they neared the group of houses at the bottom of the hill, the path all but disappeared and the party picked its way through scrubby thorn trees and straggly bushes. Ida stepped aside. “Moses, you lead the way.” Moses drew abreast of Ida and stopped, lowering the bottle of water. She stretched upward, peering through foliage and listened. The boys stood silently behind her. No welcome home.
“So where is everyone?”
Then Moses was running into the clearing. To the first house she charged, banging on the door with a grubby hole where the door handle was meant to be. No answer. She ran across the dirt courtyard, past the open fire pit to the next house identical to the first. Again she hammered on the door, and pulled the handle down but it didn’t budge. Lastly, she ran to the house she had pointed out as being theirs. The door was ajar. She stopped to listen. Slowly she approached and disappeared inside. When she didn’t reappear immediately, Ida turned to Bandile.