If You Want to Make God Laugh

by Bianca Marais

  I’d sworn not to marry again after my second divorce, and I’d managed to stick to that resolution for a full ten years before I met Vince and was instantly captivated by his kind eyes and gentle soul. He was a man ruled by his intellect rather than his passions, which was one of the things that attracted me.

  Vince was the only one of my husbands who’d had the foresight to buy a ring before his proposal, so I knew it hadn’t been a spontaneous gesture, a giddy impulse in the spur of the moment. He surprised me by taking me to dinner at an exclusive restaurant in a vineyard in Paarl. I hadn’t expected such a fancy place and stuck out like a sore thumb.

  “You should have told me I wasn’t dressed classy enough,” I whispered to Vince as we made our way through the rows of tables to our own one on the terrace overlooking the vineyards. I tugged my tight dress down as a few women glanced at my hemline. Someone recognized me too, I heard them say my name, and though I’d never been ashamed of my past, I didn’t want it thrown in Vince’s face all the time.

  “Nonsense. You look perfect.”

  And that was enough for me. Suddenly, none of those behind-the-hand comments and knowing smirks mattered. What mattered was Vince and that he thought that I belonged there with him in that beautiful place with its glittering chandeliers and silver cutlery, its crystal glasses and his heart of gold. It was the best gift anyone had ever given me: to see me with such forgiving eyes.

  Just before dessert was served, Vince ran his fingers through his hair and cleared his throat before reaching into his dinner jacket to pull out a small box. Inside its velvety folds sat the most utterly perfect ring I’d ever seen. It was made from rose gold and the metal took on a coppery-pink tint in the candlelight. A clear, round diamond nestled in the middle of a lush rose that was in full bloom, and the exquisitely rendered leaves extending up the side of the band looked like ivy that had grown around it.

  Vince plucked it from the box, his thick fingers dwarfing the ring as he held it out to me. “Ruth, I’m not a young man anymore, so forgive me for not getting down on my knee to do this. But this old heart, scuffed as it is, wants to spend the rest of its days beating next to yours. Will you honor me by becoming my wife?”

  Of course I said yes.

  You promised to love me just the way I am, Vince. You even said it in your vows. Either you broke your promise or you never really knew me because I never changed.

  I pull my shoulder back and then whip my arm forward with all my might, flinging the rings out over the dam. They barely make a splash before disappearing below the water’s surface.

  Dusting my hands off as Da used to when he’d just accomplished a necessary but difficult task, I turn to Jezebel. “It’s time for Mama to have some fun,” I say. Back at the house, Zodwa is waiting outside for me with Mandla in her arms. “Can you look after him for a few hours?” I ask her. “I need to go out.” She looks concerned but nods without asking any questions, which is one of the many things I appreciate about her. “Don’t forget to give him his antibiotics later, okay?”

  I’m long overdue for blowing off some steam.

  CHAPTER SIXTY-EIGHT

  Zodwa

  10 October 1995

  Verdriet, Magaliesburg, South Africa

  Ruth has been away for hours. She didn’t tell Zodwa where she was going but before she left, she styled her hair and reapplied her makeup, changing into a tight dress that showed off her cleavage, which she paired with those towering high heels she liked to wear. Zodwa couldn’t imagine how Ruth could drive in them.

  “Bye, my handsome boy,” she said, cupping Mandla’s face and kissing it.

  There was a crazed air to Ruth, something manic in the way she moved, and Zodwa was tempted to ask her if she was okay. But she was aware that doing so would be crossing a line. She was Ruth’s employee, not her friend. Mandla kicked up a fuss as Ruth was leaving, holding out his arms and calling for her. “Mama!”

  “Mama will be home soon!” Ruth called as she blew a kiss and closed the door behind her.

  And now it’s almost 9:00 p.m. and Ruth still isn’t back. Mandla’s sleeping in his room and Zodwa herself is tired. She’s just considering phoning Riaan to speak to Delilah when Jezebel starts barking frantically at the door. Zodwa peers outside. Ruth’s car is parked just beyond the electric gate. The driver’s door is open and the headlights are on, but no one is inside.

  That’s when Zodwa thinks she hears a splash.

  She checks on Mandla, who’s still asleep despite the dog’s barking, and draws his door closed before calling Jezebel and going outside. She locks the door behind her and sets off at a run for the fence, shielding her eyes against the glare of the headlights. Once through the gate, she double-checks the car to make sure Ruth isn’t in it. She’s not.

  Has she been hijacked?

  Zodwa has heard about the tactics used to steal cars and knows that people are prime targets when stopped at gates while waiting for them to open. She’s just wondering if she should go inside and press the panic button on the remote control when she hears Ruth’s voice coming from the dam, the water amplifying the sound. Zodwa heads toward the windmill, its blades glinting in the dark, and hears another splash as she rounds the bend.

  Ruth is in the water and Jezebel paces along the water’s edge, whining next to the heap of Ruth’s clothes.

  “Madam Ruth?” Zodwa calls, uncertain what to do.

  “Oh, hello, Zodwa. Don’t mind me. I’m just looking for my rings,” she calls, and laughs, though it doesn’t sound like amusement at all. Instead, it sounds unhinged, as though the laugh is coming from a far-off place.

  “Rings? What rings are you talking about, madam?”

  “My engagement and wedding rings,” Ruth slurs before ducking beneath the surface.

  Zodwa holds her breath, terrified that Ruth won’t come back up again. Zodwa can’t swim and so she won’t be able to save Ruth if it comes to that. She’s just about to scream for help when Ruth’s head pops out again, her hair flattened onto her skull.

  “Why would your rings be in there, Madam Ruth?”

  “Because that’s where I threw them away after getting the divorce papers.”

  The divorce papers. So that’s what was delivered to Ruth earlier, sending her stomping off to the dam.

  “We can find them another time. Please get out so we can warm you up.”

  When Ruth doesn’t reply, just continues treading water, Zodwa takes off her shoes. Her toes sink into the mud. Ruth begins humming something but it isn’t a tune that Zodwa recognizes.

  “Madam Ruth? We need to go inside. Mandla is by himself in his room and I don’t want to leave him alone for too long.”

  Ruth doesn’t even react to the boy’s name. Instead, she sinks a bit lower into the water. She’s no longer singing and the water is now up to her nose. Ruth seems to have retreated into some dark corner of her mind. Again, Zodwa considers pressing the panic button but doesn’t want men from the security company arriving and seeing Ruth like this: naked, drunk, and acting crazy.

  “I can’t swim but I’m going to walk in now,” Zodwa says as she hitches her housedress up. Her knees are trembling but she tries to ignore how unsteady they feel as she takes a few steps in. The water is up to her thighs and she has to concentrate not to slip on the slimy base of the dam. “I’m coming to get you. Just reach out and take my hand.”

  Zodwa stretches it toward Ruth but she’s nowhere near deep enough. She can hear Ruth’s breath against the surface of the water. Zodwa steps in deeper and fights against the rising panic as the water now slips over her waist. It doesn’t matter that she can’t swim. She doesn’t need to. As long as she can stand, the water can’t hurt her.

  “Madam Ruth?” Zodwa takes another step and then another until the water laps at her breasts. She’s now in grabbing distance of Ruth and is about to stretch her arm out o
nce more when Ruth sinks below the surface again. One minute she’s there and the next, she’s gone.

  A bubble suddenly rises up and Zodwa lunges for it, losing her footing in the process. And then she’s under the surface too, water rushing into her screaming mouth. The world turns black and there is no above or below, nothing except liquid in Zodwa’s mouth and ears and eyes. She screams again and swallows water, which she immediately tries to cough back out. That’s when her feet connect with the bottom of the dam and Zodwa knows to push down with all her might while reaching up, up, up.

  When she breaks the surface, she’s coughing and spluttering but blessed air rushes back into her lungs. Ruth is floating facedown right next to her and Zodwa reaches out, grabbing her blouse and yanking Ruth toward her.

  Zodwa’s first reaction is one of overwhelming relief as she pulls Ruth to safety. Her second is blazing fury. This is who Leleti entrusted Mandla’s care to? An alcoholic who’s so pampered and spoiled by life that the mere delivery of divorce papers is enough to make her act deranged. A woman who binge drinks and almost drowns herself. This is who Leleti thought would be a better caregiver for her grandson than her own daughter?

  I don’t think so.

  It’s the same thought that plays in a loop in Zodwa’s mind long after she’s dragged an incoherent Ruth inside, bathed her to warm her up, and then put her to bed. It’s the same thought that plays over and over as she lifts Mandla from his crib and takes him back to her cottage with her, putting him in her bed even as she wonders if she should rather be strapping him to her back and running.

  CHAPTER SIXTY-NINE

  Ruth

  11 October 1995

  Verdriet, Magaliesburg, South Africa

  The curtains are open and light streams in with a vengeance, boring through my retinas straight into my skull. No matter how shitty life gets, you can always count on the sun to shine like a heartless bitch.

  I’m just reaching for the glass of water on the nightstand when I remember Mandla.

  Fighting back nausea, I stumble to my feet and rush from the room calling to him. His bedroom door is open but as I step inside I can immediately see that he isn’t in his crib. Neither is his blanket.

  “Mandla! Where are you?” My breath comes in rasping gasps and it feels like I’m about to begin hyperventilating. “Dee?”

  She has Mandla. Of course she does. But when I get to her room, her bed is still made. I remember then that she’s away with Riaan, and the realization just makes me feel more panicked.

  How did I get to bed? Where was Mandla then? I don’t remember. The last thing I remember is drinking my sixth or seventh martini at the Tusk Bar & Lounge at the Palace of the Lost City. I don’t remember leaving the Sun City resort or getting home, but I’m in my nightie, so at least there’s that.

  And then it occurs to me: Zodwa. She was looking after Mandla while I was out. I have no idea what time I arrived home, but she would have stayed with him until I got back. Where is she?

  That’s when I notice that the front door is wide open. Oh, Jesus, no. What comes to me then is all those voices on the phone threatening me and my boy. I see Klein Maynard Coetzee’s face in the rearview mirror after he’s just swerved to miss hitting me, hate reflected in his gaze. I see the dominee as he says, The baby won’t be safe here. Who knows what might happen to him.

  Have they taken my boy?

  I have to check if Zodwa is here or if she’s missing too. I wish now that I’d installed a phone in her cottage but since I didn’t, I have no option but to go down there. I can’t find my keys but I find the spare remote control and when I run outside, I see Vince’s car parked outside the gate. I have no idea what it’s doing there, why I didn’t drive it inside, but that’s where I head. Stones bite into the soft soles of my feet and I wish that I’d thought to put slippers on before rushing out.

  The car’s unlocked and my keys are still in the ignition. Thank God.

  It’s a short drive to the cottage but it takes an eternity.

  CHAPTER SEVENTY

  Zodwa

  11–12 October 1995

  Verdriet, Magaliesburg, South Africa

  Zodwa reads to Mandla under the shade of the wild fig tree. It’s become her favorite place to study since there’s usually a breeze and it’s cooler than the cottage. The tree itself is beautiful, with its enormous roof of leaves and snaking strangler roots that are so big she’s able to lean back against them for support.

  She’s reading Are You My Mother?, which makes her both indescribably sad and hopeful at the same time, and she points up at the tree above them when the baby bird in the story tumbles down, down, down from its nest. “This is a tree, Mandla.”

  “Tree,” he repeats, and then coughs, phlegm rattling in his chest.

  “Yes! Tree.”

  She holds her hand to his forehead. He feels hot, but then he’s had a higher-than-normal temperature for a while. Zodwa forgot to give him his medication last night and didn’t bring it to the cottage to give to him this morning. Ruth can do that. Why must Zodwa always be the one forcing Mandla to drink something that he hates?

  What she’d like to do is something fun, like taking him to the township barber for a proper haircut. Ruth has no idea how to treat black hair and she washes Mandla’s daily using white people’s shampoo. His hair is dry and brittle as a result and needs proper styling as well as regular treatment with coconut oil. A boy’s first haircut is an important milestone; Zodwa wants to be the one who shares that with Mandla.

  She’s about to start reading again when they hear pounding on the door and her name being called. It’s Ruth, finally come to look for him.

  “Madam Ruth, we’re here,” Zodwa calls.

  They almost crash into each other at the side of the cottage as Ruth rounds the bend. She looks wild, with her hair having dried in disarray and her makeup streaked down her face. Her eyes burn with a crazed fear.

  Good, Zodwa thinks. I’m glad she was scared.

  “I brought him here to stay with me last night,” Zodwa says, handing Mandla across.

  She expects apologies and self-recrimination from Ruth. What she isn’t expecting is for Ruth to slap her. As the palm of Ruth’s hand connects with Zodwa’s cheek, she reels back in surprise.

  “Who gave you permission to bring Mandla here?” Ruth seethes. “How dare you?”

  Zodwa is so taken aback that she’s rendered speechless. All she can do is clutch the side of her face and stare at Ruth in shock.

  “I’ve been out of my mind with worry. I woke up and he wasn’t there. No one was there. You didn’t leave a note or anything.” She’s shouting now and flecks of spittle land on Zodwa’s face. “I thought something terrible had happened.”

  Zodwa blinks and steps back from both Ruth’s rage and the stink of stale alcohol. It isn’t just Ruth’s breath. It seeps from her pores and the smell is nauseating.

  Mandla starts crying as he looks between Ruth and Zodwa, and what Zodwa recalls then in that fractured moment, as her frightened son is being held by the screaming white woman, are the words from the book she was reading to Mandla just minutes before.

  He did not know what his mother looked like. He did not see her.

  Ruth starts walking away but calls over her shoulder, “I’m too pissed off to deal with you right now. We’ll talk about this later.”

  Something in Zodwa snaps. “No, we’ll talk about this now.”

  “What?” Ruth spins around.

  Zodwa stands firm, trying to stop her quivering legs from buckling under her.

  “What did you say?”

  “I said we’ll talk about this now. You’re the one who has no right,” Zodwa says. “You have no right to speak to me like that.”

  Ruth gapes at her.

  “You could have died last night driving home as drunk as you were. An
d then you could have died again in the dam. You could have drowned but I saved you. I almost drowned saving you.” Zodwa’s voice is pitched dangerously low. If she raises it, she may raise her fist along with it. “I bathed you, warmed you up, put you in your pajamas, and carried you to bed, and then I brought Mandla here because you were too drunk to even stand, never mind take care of him.”

  “Who do you think you are?” Ruth asks, staring at Zodwa as though she’s never seen her before.

  “Who do I think I am?” Zodwa repeats, feeling the world spin. I’m his mother, Zodwa wants to roar. I’m his mother, that’s who I am.

  “Yes, who the bloody hell do you think you are talking to me like that?”

  “I’m someone who cares for that little boy,” Zodwa says. “I’m someone who believes he deserves better than a drunkard for a mother. And I’m someone who will report you to social services if you ever, ever get into a state like that again when you’re supposed to be looking after him. Do you understand me?”

  Ruth flushes and Zodwa prepares for an onslaught. Instead, Ruth puts Mandla down and then turns to vomit in the dust.

  * * *

  • • •

  Zodwa spends a sleepless night replaying everything that happened. Of course, you can’t speak to a white person that way and get away with it. It doesn’t matter that it’s the new South Africa; whites still hold all the power, which Ruth will prove just as soon as she fires Zodwa. And what then? Once she’s not only out of a job but banished from seeing Mandla, what will she do then?