“What?”
“I always believed that Mandla ending up on our doorstep was a sign from the universe that I was meant not only to be a mother but his mother specifically. But then, after what Zodwa said, I realized that it was because of you that Mandla came to us. Because Precious saw you and wanted you to have him.” Dee looks skeptical and so I continue. “Think about it, Dee. You gave up a son and regretted it every day of your life. You don’t think that what I thought was my sign was actually yours?”
She smiles sadly and shakes her head. “It may have been my chance encounter with Precious that got her to bring him here, but it was you pissing me off that day that got me out of the house at that exact time so that I’d run into her. What were the chances of that? And you forget the most important thing. That I didn’t want him, Ruth. I didn’t want to keep him. That was all you.”
Her words are salve to a wound that I’ve been picking open over and over again. “Perhaps he was meant to be both of ours,” I say.
She nods. “Not just ours but Zodwa’s too. He was hers from the beginning and he should never have been taken away from her. Can you imagine what that must have been like for her?”
I nod. Someone is trying to take my son from me now. It’s excruciating.
“You’re the one who believes in signs, Ruth,” Dee continues. “Read the signs now. All of them point to us all being in this together.”
I nod again and the pain in my chest suddenly flares up, radiating outward. I must wince because Dee stands. “I’ll let you get some rest.”
I don’t know why but I suddenly don’t want her to go, which is just silly. I want to ask her to stay but instead I say, “There’s something I never told you. About Da.”
“About Da?”
“Yes. Before he died, he made me promise never to sell the farm.”
“Really? How strange. He hated the farm and the whole farming life. I’m surprised that what Ma wanted even factored in to his thinking.”
“He didn’t want it kept for her. She actually wanted to sell it and retire to the coast.”
“So, why then? Just to torment her and force her to stay somewhere she didn’t want to be?”
“No, because of you.”
“Me?”
“He promised you on the day you left that the key would always be waiting for you if you decided to come back. He wanted to keep that promise.”
“Huh.”
“I’m sorry that I almost broke it. I’m glad you forced us to keep the farm and that we’re here together.”
“Me too. Now, try and get a good night’s rest.”
“I will.” She just gets to the door when I call her back. “Dee?”
“Yes?”
“I love you, you know. I’m not sure when I last told you but it’s true. It’s important that you know that.”
She comes back to the bed and grasps my hand. “You’re not dying, you silly goose. You just have pneumonia. And you’re going to be very embarrassed when you’re feeling better and remember this moment.”
“Probably, so don’t remind me.”
“I won’t.” She smiles and kisses my knuckles. “Call me if you need anything.”
“I will.”
Dee doesn’t say she loves me back but she doesn’t need to. That’s the thing about family: the truest things we say to each other are never in words.
CHAPTER EIGHTY-NINE
Zodwa
3 August 1996
KwaZulu-Natal, South Africa
Zodwa stands next to the graves, one freshly filled and the other properly settled with a gravestone at its head.
Mother and son finally rest together, and Zodwa is overcome with emotion that this is something she’s been able to do for Leleti. In a life of wrong choices and wrong turns, it feels good to have achieved something that would bring her mother peace. For despite whatever the truth of Dumisa’s life is, Zodwa knows her mother’s love would transcend the mistakes her child made. She can’t imagine Mandla ever doing anything that could make her stop loving him.
“Come, my child,” Zodwa’s gogo says to her. “Let us go now.”
The news about Dumisa has aged her gogo dramatically. When Zodwa sat her down and gently broke it to her, she’d clutched her chest as though the truth were an arrow through her heart. She’d broken down then, rocking back and forth as she wept, mourning not only her grandson but the death of the myth that had surrounded him. Zodwa’s gogo no longer speaks of Dumisa in awed tones. She no longer speaks of him at all.
As they walk to the village, her grandmother squeezes her arm. “You are getting too thin, my child. Is everything all right?”
“It’s just been a stressful few months since finding out about Dumisa.”
Her gogo nods but won’t be drawn into commenting about him. “But you’re okay otherwise?”
“Yes, gogo. Everything is fine.”
These lies have become second nature to Zodwa. She hasn’t told her gogo about Mandla’s existence or the disease they share. While she tells herself it’s better this way, to let the old woman live in ignorance rather than having her worry about things she can do nothing about—especially after the news of Dumisa’s betrayal devastated her so much—the deception eats away at her.
Perhaps her reluctance is as much from self-preservation as it is from altruism. For Zodwa, truth is a gift that should be bestowed generously and wholeheartedly, not dished out grudgingly in a piecemeal fashion, and so there can be no confession about Zodwa’s son that does not include an admission of her own sexuality. And once her gogo sees Zodwa for who she is, she’ll surely turn against her just as she turned against Dumisa.
Her grandmother and the greater community will see Zodwa’s sexual orientation as even more reason for shame than Dumisa’s behavior. They’ll believe that what came afterward—the rape and infection—are fitting punishments for her crime of loving another woman, and how could Zodwa bear living with that? Knowing that the way she was born, which she has absolutely no control over, is considered far worse than treacherous decisions her brother willingly made for self gain?
Also, even if Zodwa were able to divulge just the morsels of truth that her gogo would find palatable, how could she separate the meat from the gristle? What purpose could be served by delighting her grandmother with news of a grandson only to add that he could die any day from the dreaded virus that Zodwa herself passed on to him? She couldn’t bear to admit that she gave her son a death sentence before she ever gave him love.
This isn’t where she’s meant to be. Zodwa knows that now. Her place is back at the farm with Mandla and the sisters.
Despite everything that’s happened, Zodwa can’t help but think how lucky Mandla is to be loved so much that two women are prepared to fight over who keeps him. It brings to mind the Bible story of King Solomon and the judgment he’d made between two mothers who both claimed the same baby to be theirs. She wonders if there’s a way to stop her son from being torn in two during their struggle, and if there isn’t, will she be the one to make the sacrifice to keep him whole? Or does Ruth love him enough to do the same?
Mandla is the planet around which they all orbit. They are his satellites. They couldn’t wrench themselves free of the gravity he exerts even if they wanted to.
CHAPTER NINETY
Ruth
5 August 1996
Verdriet, Magaliesburg, South Africa
I didn’t want Zodwa and me to be squaring off like this: me in bed like an invalid and her standing over me.
I imagined myself feeling strong and better able to deal with the power imbalance because, make no mistake, I may be the one with the money but Zodwa is holding all the cards. She’s Mandla’s biological mother and has every legal right to him. I’m just a woman who loves another woman’s son to distraction; someone who stupidly thought she co
uld lay claim to something that wasn’t hers just because she wanted it.
When I said as much to Dee earlier, she wryly quipped, “You’re not the first white person to do so and you certainly won’t be the last.” Then she sighed and said, “Cut yourself some slack. You’ve come a long way in the past two years, Ruth. I’m proud of you.”
“Please, take a seat,” I say, and Zodwa sits in the chair Dee put there for her. “Thanks for coming to see me.”
As Zodwa fidgets with her watch, I’m grateful for her preoccupation because it gives me the opportunity to look at her unabashedly. She’s so young, just a little over twenty, and yet she still looks like a girl. I can’t help but think back to myself at the same age, knowing nothing and thinking I knew everything, but so much more carefree than she could ever possibly be.
I’m surprised to find how protective I am of Zodwa, how much grief and anger I feel on her behalf. When did I grow to love the girl? When did she begin to feel almost like a daughter to me? Was it when she saved Mandla’s life the first time? Was it the second? Was it when she saved me from drowning or was it when she stood her ground raging at me to be a better a mother? I don’t know, but in that analogy Mandla becomes like my grandson and that could surely work, couldn’t it? If Zodwa allowed it? Without his having a grandmother, surely there’s an opening there for me, somewhere I can slot myself into.
“How did the burial go?” I ask, and Zodwa looks up.
“It was fine.”
“I’m sure it was incredibly difficult. I couldn’t imagine having to bury Delilah and then . . . under those circumstances too . . .” I’m purposefully vague, not wanting to be insensitive.
She nods. “Yes, it was hard.”
We’re both quiet and I’m wondering how to break the ice and approach the discussion of Mandla when I decide to hell with tact and diplomacy. “Please don’t go, Zodwa. Please, I’m begging you to stay.” And then I’m crying, which is annoying because it hurts and makes it difficult to speak, but still I struggle on, trying to get it all out. “Please don’t take him away. You can both live in the cottage, which we’ll have fixed up for you, or we can add on to the house . . . we can do some renovations so we can all stay here together. Whatever you want. Please just say you’ll stay.”
Zodwa surprises me by getting up and coming to sit next to me on the bed. She reaches for my hand and holds it, probably feeling just as overwhelmed as I do. “I don’t want my son growing up seeing me as the maid. That’s not how I want him to remember me.”
“You won’t be the maid. Stay as our guest . . . more than our guest . . . our friend.” I want to say family but just because she feels like a daughter and Mandla feels like my son doesn’t make us a family. That’s something that has to be earned. “We want so much for you to be a part of our lives and for us to be a part of yours.”
“It’s Mandla you want. Not me.”
“That’s not true.” But I flush as I say it. “Look, I’m not going to lie. I was devastated when I found out you were Mandla’s mother. I not only felt betrayed, but also like your being here undermined the relationship Mandla and I had. It was as if I’d just been playacting at being his mother because you’d been there as a safety net all along. Does that make sense?”
Zodwa nods and I’m encouraged to go on.
“But then, when I thought about it afterward, I realized how desperately I’d needed that safety net. I’d hoped that Dee would be that for me, but she didn’t want Mandla here at first and so she wasn’t any help at all. I needed you, Zodwa, but I didn’t realize it. You were good for me and held me to a higher standard.”
“I needed you to be a better mother to him.”
“And I became a better mother, didn’t I?”
She nods.
“Well, that was thanks to you.”
“But we can’t both be his mother.”
And just like that we’re at the crux of it. “No.”
“Mandla cannot call you Mama anymore, Ruth.” It’s the first time she’s called me by my name without prefacing it with madam and she looks at me with a challenge in her eyes. “I’m his mother.”
“I know.” Jesus, this is going to be tough. Tougher than I thought.
“He can call you Granny,” she says, as though reading my thoughts from earlier. I swear there’s an evil glint in her eye as she says it.
“God, no!” I gasp. “Do I really look that old to you?” She laughs, which is what I was hoping for. “Look, we’ll figure it all out, okay? I promise you that we’ll find a means to make it work in a way that you’re happy with. Just let me recover and get my strength back and we can take it from there. Will you do that for me? Please just stay for now?”
She thinks for a minute and then nods. “How are you feeling?”
“Like shit, but thanks for asking.”
“Delilah wants to take you back to the doctor. She says the medicine isn’t working.”
“I know. I said we could go tomorrow.”
“Okay, I’ll let you sleep.” She stands and turns to go.
“Zodwa?”
“Yes?”
“Thank you.”
And I mean it. I’ve never been more grateful for anything in my life.
CHAPTER NINETY-ONE
Delilah
6 August 1996
Verdriet, Magaliesburg, South Africa
I’d just made Ruth a cup of herbal tea when the phone rang. It was Vince, calling to check on how she was doing.
“Not much better, I’m afraid. These antibiotics don’t seem to be having any effect. I’m taking her to see a specialist this afternoon.”
“Good. I don’t trust small-town doctors, no offense. How’s Mandla doing?”
“He’s fine. I’m having to keep him away from her, so he’s a bit crabby.” I didn’t add that Mandla had spent the night with Zodwa at the cottage. It was too unusual an arrangement for Vince not to comment on. Zodwa being Mandla’s biological mother wasn’t my news to share. “I’m about to give Ruth her pills. I’ll let you know what the doctor says.”
“Thanks, I appreciate it. Please tell her that I send my . . . regards.”
“I will. Bye, Vince.”
He said regards but it was clear he meant love. Considering how animated Ruth had been after returning from their lunch at Sun City a few months before, and how her voice softened whenever she spoke about him, it was obvious that she still loved him. His concern for her while she was ill, as well as the fact that he’d rushed to her side as soon as I’d told him about Mandla’s illness, made me think he hadn’t gotten over her either. I was hopeful for a reconciliation and thought about planting a few seeds to get her thinking about it. Sometimes people needed a gentle nudge to get them going in the right direction.
Jezebel was at Ruth’s door, whining to be let in. She was more agitated than usual and I told her to settle down as I picked up Ruth’s mug of tea and her antibiotics, carrying them to her door. “Ruth?” Hearing no reply, I knocked. When she still didn’t answer, I opened the door, careful not to make too much noise in case she was still sleeping.
But she wasn’t sleeping.
Jezebel rushed inside and stood over Ruth, who lay facedown on the carpet, one arm stretched out toward the door. I dropped the mug then, hot liquid splashing against my shins as it shattered, and I ran through the debris to get to her.
“Ruth!”
For a second, I thought that Ruth was passed out. She’d had one bad night when she’d fallen off the wagon just after Zodwa told us the news, getting hideously drunk while Mandla slept. I’d prepared a speech and been ready to lay down the law the next morning, but she’d come through to the kitchen contrite, promising it would never happen again.
Please let it have happened again.
But even as I bent over her, gently shaking her to try to wake her, I k
new that wasn’t it.
My sister was cold to the touch and didn’t flinch or react at all when Jezebel licked her ear. As I rolled Ruth over, she gazed vacantly up at the ceiling, her eyes having lost all their light.
CHAPTER NINETY-TWO
Zodwa
6 August 1996
Verdriet, Magaliesburg, South Africa
Zodwa is exhausted but exhilarated. Sunday’s long commute back from Ulundi and yesterday’s emotionally draining talk with Ruth were tiring enough, but then Mandla had also kept her up most of last night, tossing and turning in their shared bed in the cottage. Still, having him there with her is the first step in the right direction and more than she dared hope for so soon after arriving back.
She gets dressed and puts Mandla’s gown and slippers on before they begin walking hand in hand to the farmhouse. The dirt road stretches out before them and the August winds whip the dust into Mandla’s face. Zodwa bends to pick him up, cradling him to her breast so as to shield him.
“Mama,” Mandla says, and Zodwa smiles before realizing that he’s squirming away, stretching his arms out toward the house and Ruth. “Where’s Mama, Dwa?”
“Ruth is sick in bed, my boy.”
“I want Mama.” He wriggles away from Zodwa and she puts him down again.
She has to swallow past the lump in her throat to reassure him. “We’re almost there. You’ll see Ruth now.”
Still, he runs ahead and she watches as he disappears through the door, which Delilah must have left open for Jezebel. When Zodwa steps inside, Mandla is standing at the threshold to Ruth’s room. He has two fingers inside his mouth, and sucks on them.
“Lilah?” he asks around his hand.
“Stay back, Mandla. Don’t come in here.” Delilah speaks from inside the room. They’re trying to keep Mandla away from Ruth so he doesn’t get sick.
If You Want to Make God Laugh Page 33