If You Want to Make God Laugh

by Bianca Marais

  “By working as a slave for the people who have stolen him?”

  “They didn’t steal him. Leleti took him there. I have to trust my mother’s judgment. She must have had her reasons.” Thembeka snorts and Zodwa stops packing to face her. “They don’t look like bad people,” she says quietly. “He lives in a nice, big house and he has lots of food and things. Can I give him that? No. This is what I can give him.” She gestures at the shack and its meager contents. Zodwa can’t imagine that vital boy in his beautiful clothes living here with her.

  Thembeka sighs. “What did Ace say?”

  “I haven’t told him. He’s in Hammanskraal visiting his mother this weekend. When he comes back, I’ll be gone. Don’t tell him where I went, okay?”

  “And what about the shack? You’re just going to leave it empty?”

  “Mama Beauty is going to rent it out to one of the Zimbabweans or Malawians for me.”

  She’s the only other person who knows where Zodwa is going though she doesn’t know Zodwa’s reasons for taking the job. Zodwa expected Mama Beauty to be judgmental about the maid’s position, but she was supportive, mysteriously saying that she herself had briefly worked as something akin to a maid. She added that living in a cottage on a farm was safer than being in the township, and Zodwa had wondered then if Mama Beauty suspected the truth of her sexuality.

  When Thembeka can think of no further objections, she asks in a defeated whisper, “What about . . . what about how you said you felt . . . about me?”

  Finally, it’s come to this. Finally, they’re having the conversation that Zodwa has dreamed about and played out over and over in her mind. So why does it not feel like she thought it would? Where is the euphoria and vindication?

  Instead, what she feels is a sense of loss, but a muted one that doesn’t even come close to how she felt after losing her son. Romantic heartbreak is terrible but there are things more terrible than that. And though Zodwa is inexperienced when it comes to love, she’s certain that it shouldn’t be such a destructive force. It shouldn’t rip people apart and ruin their lives, or make men want to commit violence and turn the best of friends against each other. Love should be pure and untainted, like the feeling she had for Mandla when he was reaching out for her on the couch, when she knew that she would do anything to stay with him.

  “I’m sorry for everything that’s happened,” Thembeka says. “But I was weak and confused. That day I kissed you . . . I meant it. I wanted to kiss you but it scared me too . . . because of what that made me. And then after what happened with Mongezi, it was easier to just tell myself I hated you than have to deal with those feelings. Do you understand?”

  Zodwa nods. She does. Hasn’t she herself hidden away from who she is, degrading herself by sleeping with Ace to try to prove something to the world? She’s the last person to judge.

  “Please don’t go,” Thembeka says, reaching out for Zodwa. “Stay for us.”

  Zodwa steps out of her reach. “I’m sorry but I can’t.”

  She will wish later that she’d kissed Thembeka goodbye.

  CHAPTER FIFTY-EIGHT

  Delilah

  1 July 1995

  Verdriet, Magaliesburg, South Africa

  I’d finished packing for the next trip to the dig site at Drimolen and went in search of Ruth to say goodbye. I was about to call out for her when I heard tinkling laughter coming from Mandla’s bedroom. The door was open and I peeked inside, not wanting to interrupt whatever they were up to. Ruth was on the floor resting her back against the wall, her legs stretched out in front of her with Mandla sitting on her thighs. She had one of the curtains pulled between them and was hiding behind it.

  “Where’s he? Where’s he? Where’s he?” she called in a singsong voice before pulling the curtain aside. “There he is!”

  Mandla reared back with hysterical laughter as though the skit was the funniest thing he’d ever seen. He responded just as uproariously the next five times Ruth repeated it.

  I wasn’t prepared for the lump that rose up in my throat just then. I couldn’t even name the emotion or pinpoint its cause. Was it sadness because I’d missed out on countless moments like those with Daniel during his childhood? Or was it happiness for Ruth because I’d never seen her that content? Was it possible to feel both sorrow for yourself and joy for someone else at the same time?

  “Oh no. Look who it is, Mandla,” Ruth shouted, changing the game. “Look who’s arrived. It’s the tickle monster and he’s coming to get you.” Mandla squealed as Ruth lunged at him while wiggling her fingers around wildly. As he pried free of her grasp and began crawling away, huffing with exertion, Ruth pulled herself up onto her knees and went after him. Her cream linen pants were creased and dirty but if she’d noticed, she didn’t seem to care, probably because she was so relieved that he was finally crawling. She made animal noises, part snorting pig and part snarling lion, which set me off laughing with how ridiculous it was.

  Ruth’s head snapped up and she smiled when she saw me, calling out a breathless greeting. “Sherbet, I really need to stop it with the smokes. I’m getting too old for this kind of thing.”

  “‘Sherbet’? Who are you and what have you done with my sister?”

  She laughed and got up, her knees creaking in protest. “His mind is like a sponge right now. I’d prefer him not to be soaking up all the bad words.” She then sniffed the air theatrically before reaching down and picking Mandla up, planting kisses all over his face. “Someone is a little stinky. I’m not going to mention any names . . . but someone needs his nappy changed.”

  Ruth put Mandla down on the changing table and set about cleaning him up. “I’m getting a few things together for Zodwa’s arrival tomorrow,” she said, nodding at two overflowing garbage bags in the corner of the room. “Do you have anything you’d like to donate since you’re more her size than I am? Oh wait, what am I saying? She probably has more clothes than you do!”

  I rolled my eyes and went over to the bags, peeking inside. “Dear God, please don’t tell me you’re giving her stilettos and lingerie?”

  “What? A girl can’t have enough shoes and nice sleepwear. I’m giving her a few jerseys and blouses and pants as well.”

  “She won’t wear the pants.”

  “How do you know?”

  “It’s a cultural thing. Zulu women don’t wear trousers.”

  “Well, that’s very backward. Maybe she’s a new generation of trailblazing feminist Zulu women who’ll not only wear them but start a new trend.”

  I couldn’t help but smile. “You really like her, don’t you?” It never ceased to amaze me how despite Ruth’s offhand, almost casual, racism, she was able to form such strong attachments with certain black people.

  “What’s not to like? She saved Mandla’s life.”

  And I realized then that that’s what it boiled down to for Ruth. She thought she was blind to Mandla’s blackness, but even the term color-blind implied that color was something, by its very nature, that had to be looked past. It’s what she was doing in her connection to Zodwa: seeing past her color and embracing her in spite of it because of what the girl had done for Mandla.

  There was no use in pointing that out to Ruth, who wouldn’t see the subtlety of it even if I had, so I changed the subject. “Are you going to tell her?”

  “Tell her what?”

  “About Mandla being HIV positive?”

  Ruth sighed, a long exhalation. “No, I don’t think so.”

  “Why not?”

  “There’s so much stigma around the disease and I don’t want her treating him differently because of it. Also, for her to be in any kind of danger, they pretty much both have to have gaping wounds that are bleeding into each other at the same time. I mean, what are the chances?”

  “Minuscule,” I admitted. “Still, doesn’t she have a right to know?”

/>   “I don’t think so. She’s here as a housekeeper primarily, not as a nanny. And I’ll always be here to make sure it’s a safe environment for both of them. Anyway”—Ruth sniffed—“it will be nice having a bit of company around here. Considering someone’s always off gallivanting.”

  “You almost sound jealous.”

  “Please! Loverboy could at least have sprung for a nice hotel or something romantic rather than making you dig around in the dirt or whatever the hell it is you’re going to do.”

  “He had to do a lot of convincing to get me approval on the site, I’ll have you know. This is a much bigger deal than going to some hotel.”

  “You know what also does a lot of convincing to get you into places? Visa and MasterCard.”

  I laughed. “See you in a few days.” And then I leaned forward and kissed Mandla goodbye.

  Ruth beamed. “Have fun. Don’t do anything I wouldn’t do but do lots of things I would.”

  CHAPTER FIFTY-NINE

  Zodwa

  2 July 1995

  Verdriet, Magaliesburg, South Africa

  Here we go. This is where you’ll stay,” the white woman says as she opens the door.

  Zodwa trails her into the maid’s quarters and stops at the threshold. “Here?”

  “Yes.”

  “By myself?”

  “I should hope so, unless you have a boyfriend or a circus troupe stashed away in that kit bag?”

  Zodwa flinches at the mention of a boyfriend. She hopes that Thembeka will keep her whereabouts secret from Ace.

  “I was joking about the circus troupe,” the woman, Ruth, says. “Sorry about the paint smell. We just had it done yesterday, which is why it’s so cold in here. I’ve had the windows and doors open to get rid of the fumes. There’s a heater over there, so it should warm up quickly enough.” She looks at Zodwa’s bag again. “Is that all you have?”

  “Yes.”

  “It looks pretty heavy. What did you pack in there? Rocks?”

  “Textbooks,” Zodwa replies quickly.

  “I’ve always loved books and reading but I never much cared for studying, so good for you! Okay, I’ll leave you to get settled then. I’ll come back a bit later with some bedding and towels and a few other necessities.”

  The woman sometimes lapses into speaking to Zodwa in the overly loud and slow way that you’d speak to old people or those who don’t speak your language, using exaggerated gestures for emphasis. Still, she smiles a lot. Zodwa doesn’t know her well enough yet to know if that’s a good or a bad thing.

  Without thinking, Zodwa asks what’s been on her mind since she arrived. “Where’s Mandla?”

  “Oh, he’s napping and I didn’t want to wake him, which is why I have to dash back.”

  The woman walks out the door and down the sandy path in her high-heeled boots. Alone, Zodwa sets her bag down and turns in a circle, taking in her new home. While it has a tin roof like her shack, its walls are built from cement and bricks and there are many windows instead of just one. It’s large and rectangular, almost as big as the Good Times Drinking Establishment. The floor is made of concrete with linoleum tile covering it. Two light fittings hang from the ceilings. In addition to the heater the woman indicated, there’s a wood-burning stove in the corner.

  Curtains hang off a cord, separating the bedroom from the rest of the space. When Zodwa pulls the curtain aside, she sees there’s a proper bed and a large wardrobe in the makeshift room. She flicks the switch against the wall and the light comes on overhead. A small kitchen stands off to the side; it’s made up of three cabinets as well as a table with two chairs. There’s a little fridge that looks as though it was made for children and Zodwa goes to open it. It’s completely empty but it’s working. It’s the first one she’s ever had and she wishes she had something to put inside.

  The only closed door beckons. When Zodwa opens it, it reveals a small bathroom with a shower, toilet, and basin. Zodwa lifts the toilet seat to check that there’s water in the bowl. She presses the handle and the water flushes. It does the same thing again when she repeats the action. She turns the shower tap on and the water’s hot; she stands for a few minutes with her hand in the spray, amazed at the luxury of running water and plumbing.

  Zodwa can’t believe this is all hers.

  On the quick drive over, the woman said a whole family of farmworkers lived in it at one time, but the children all moved away and the husband and wife just retired. Zodwa doesn’t know much about her mother’s youth, just that she was orphaned young and fell under the care of another black woman who trained her as a housemaid on a farm. Considering the timeline of her mother’s life, these quarters must be the exact place where Leleti stayed all those years ago. The knowledge makes Zodwa feel less alone.

  She unpacks what little she brought with her, hanging up her four dresses and a nightgown in the wardrobe while folding her two pairs of underwear and socks into the drawers. Zodwa puts all of her books on the kitchen table and then picks out the rock from the bottom of the bag, the one she was scared the woman, Ruth, had guessed at when she commented on the weight of it.

  Since she couldn’t bring the whole shrine that Leleti built to Dumisa’s disappearance, Zodwa brought the biggest rock from the stack. She goes outside and, under the shade of a thorn tree, lays the rock down as a base that she can add to every day, thinking how time begins anew even as we drag our past into the future.

  * * *

  • • •

  When Ruth comes back later, Zodwa rushes to the door at the sound of the car’s engine. This time Mandla is with her and Zodwa’s spirits soar at the sight of her son. She didn’t imagine his resemblance to Dumisa. His smile is an echo of her brother’s and she wishes so much that Leleti could see it.

  “We brought you some stuff,” the woman calls. “Help us offload.”

  The back of the luxury car is filled with bulging garbage bags. Ruth carries a bag in one hand and Mandla in the other. The boy is wearing Nike takkies that match his Nike tracksuit and sweatshirt, as well as a woolen Nike beanie pulled low over his forehead. Just that outfit alone cost more than all of Zodwa’s clothes combined. She watches as Ruth puts Mandla down on the floor of the cottage. He stares at the bare furnishings, his fingers in his mouth.

  Even though Zodwa’s new dwelling is so vastly superior to her old one that she may as well have moved to another planet, the boy still looks out of place there. He’s the little master slumming it in the servant’s quarters.

  “There are sheets and duvets and linens, as well as towels and curtains and stuff for the kitchen. I also brought you some clothes.” Ruth starts pulling things from a bag and Zodwa wonders if it’s a joke, if the woman is making fun of her.

  There are five pairs of shoes with heels that look like daggers. “I think we’re the same size,” the woman says. She isn’t laughing, or even smiling, and so Zodwa thinks she’s serious. The woman must think that Zodwa would wear prostitute shoes. “And here are some blouses and pants. This one’s Versace and this one’s Calvin Klein. Now, I know what you’re thinking, that I’m curvier than you are, but these ones are too small for me, which is why I never even wore them. They should fit.”

  Labels are still attached to them and when Zodwa catches sight of the prices, she feels faint. That the woman would buy clothes that cost this much but that don’t fit is ridiculous enough, but the fact that she then wouldn’t return them for a refund is mind-blowing.

  “There’s some other stuff in there as well. Sleepwear and such.”

  Zodwa doesn’t know what to say and so she just says, “Thank you, madam.”

  “You’ll wear a uniform in the house and I got you two of those as well. The local Spar doesn’t have the best selection but they’ll do for now so long as you aren’t allergic to polyester.” She laughs and then stands up. “Okay, I’ll see you in the kitchen
at eight a.m. sharp.” With that, she reaches out to pick up Mandla and carries him back to the car.

  As the woman puts him inside, Mandla turns back to Zodwa, smiling and waving at her. Looking at his face is like looking at the sun but Zodwa forces herself not to lower her eyes. She smiles and waves back. They’re standing only a few meters apart and yet with her child in that woman’s hands, it feels as if they’re looking at each other from different worlds.

  Zodwa’s heart breaks a little then and she realizes she needs to prepare to have it broken a little more each day.

  CHAPTER SIXTY

  Ruth

  3 July 1995

  Verdriet, Magaliesburg, South Africa

  It’s been a long morning. Zodwa is so wet behind the ears she may as well have just arrived from the homelands, though she assures me she’s been out of the boondocks for a few years. If it wasn’t for the fact that she saved my son’s life, I would have sent her packing and tried to find a maid with proper experience. The thing is, despite how clueless she is, I have a good feeling about her.

  When I get impatient with her, I remind myself that skills are something you can teach, whereas good chemistry is rare. It’s not just me who feels it, Mandla feels it too. He was throwing a gigantic hissy fit this morning because Jezebel ate a biscuit out of his hand, but as soon as Zodwa came through the door, he calmed down and gave her a huge smile. Maybe it’s because she’s the only other black person in the house. He may feel some kind of kinship with her.

  So far, I’ve had to show Zodwa how to use the vacuum cleaner and the microwave. Well, actually, I gave her the instruction booklet for the vacuum because how the hell should I know how to use it? When I show her the mop, she looks at it as if it’s from outer space.