by T. M. Clark
He wanted to forget about ivory shipments and rhino horns, and how much money he was making or not making in shipping these commodities at all. Today he wanted to lose himself in the softness of the women willing to service his every wish, no matter how perverted. He wanted to feel the blood run through his fingers, and know that they would remember forever that he had marked them as his.
And know that they would never be able to turn him away.
He owned them.
CHAPTER
13
Surprise Package
The sun had not yet risen when Joss walked into the kitchen. He’d heard Lwazi moving around so he knew he was awake. Joss grabbed his water bottle from the fridge before heading out to begin his warm-up, but as he stepped through the door, he almost fell over something in the way.
The basket was woven in a beautiful manner, and was obviously locally made from Zambezi green reeds. There was a lid covering the contents. In another land, Joss wouldn’t have touched it. He couldn’t have trusted that it wouldn’t blow up.
Bongani came around the corner, carrying a coffee cup in one hand and a plastic carrier bag in the other.
‘You know anything about this?’ Joss asked, pointing.
Bongani shook his head. ‘Give it a prod to make sure there is no snake in it.’
Joss nudged the basket with his foot. It moved a few centimetres, rocked, then toppled down the ramp and, without turning over, landed with a thud.
The basket began to scream. The shrill sound of a child woken from sleep, and now extremely unhappy.
‘Oh my God,’ Joss said.
‘Eish,’ Bongani said at the same time.
Before Joss could yank the lid off, a tiny black fist lifted it slightly. The screaming got louder.
‘What the fuck?’ Joss bent down to remove the top completely, and looked inside. He reached in and tried to pick up the child, but it squirmed away against the wicker, its eyes wide in terror, the crying increasing. ‘It’s okay, I’m not going to hurt you.’
He tried again. The child screamed even more and tried to hide itself under a kaross that was inside the basket with it.
He stepped back a little. ‘You get it; it seems scared of me.’
Bongani stepped up to the basket. ‘Thula thula, umntwana.’
The child looked out from behind the skin, as if recognising the language.
‘Ha, so you speak Ndebele.’ Bongani reached in and picked up the white dummy he saw lying in the basket, shoving it into the child’s mouth. The toddler began suckling while staring at Bongani with huge brown eyes.
‘A few days ago you were lamenting that you didn’t have any children. Guess the stork heard you.’
‘Very funny,’ Bongani said.
The child began to cry again. Bongani reached into the basket and grabbed the dummy once more, putting it into the child’s mouth like a stopper. Carefully he put his hands under its arms and lifted it from the basket. He held it at arm’s length. It was dressed in a little pink jersey top and long tracksuit pants.
‘Hello there,’ Joss said in Ndebele. ‘Guess it’s a girl.’
The baby looked at him. She sucked on her dummy as if her life depended on it.
‘Woza, umntwana,’ Joss said as he took the child gently from Bongani and held her against his shoulder. He bounced her a little, making soothing noises. The smell of the child reminded him of Afghanistan, of carrying children to safety away from IEDs, of wishing he could continue to carry them out of Helmand Province and away from the fighting altogether. The child stilled, hiccupped and moved slightly, then settled her head into his shoulder, as if lulled by his heartbeat.
‘At least she is no longer screaming,’ Bongani said. He took the basket and walked inside with it.
Joss followed.
In the dining room, Bongani took everything out of the basket – there were four cloth nappies neatly folded at the bottom, together with a second set of clothes, a bottle with a teat and a small tin of S26 formula. He turned the basket upside down and shook it as if there might have been a hidden compartment with more goodies in it.
‘No note? Nothing to say who she is?’ Joss asked.
Bongani shook his head.
‘She has to belong to someone. Surely somebody will know something about her?’
Bongani humphed. ‘In the meantime, what are we supposed to do with a child?’
‘I don’t know, and less of the “we” – she’s certainly not mine.’
The child moved back from his shoulder, looking at him. Then she screwed up her face and began crying again. Joss rocked her, tried to give her the dummy, and patted her back.
She continued to scream.
‘Maybe she’s hungry?’ Bongani suggested.
‘Let’s read those instructions and get some formula into her,’ Joss said.
‘You keep holding her; I will do the milk,’ Bongani said, taking the tin and holding it at arm’s length. ‘Did they have to make the writing so small?’
Joss chuckled. ‘You need glasses, old man. You take her for a minute and I’ll make it.’
Bongani reluctantly took the baby. The crying stopped as she studied him.
Joss made the formula as per the instructions then when it was ready, he squirted it on his wrist.
‘That is a small tin. Why are you wasting it?’ Bongani asked.
‘I saw the nurses in Afghanistan test the heat of the milk before they fed the orphans. I’ve had a little to do with babies during my military days – it’s not all about shooting terrorists; it’s also about humanitarian care.’
‘Good. Then you can feed. You do know how to do a nappy when the milk comes out the other end?’
‘Yeah, but I prefer disposables.’
‘Eish. This is a woman’s job. Charmaine would be good; she has a baby on her back most of the time, so she knows about these things.’
Joss took the child and put the teat in her mouth. Her small hands immediately wrapped around the bottle. He turned her and she settled into the crook of his arm.
‘What is that noise?’ Lwazi asked from the doorway. He stared at Joss. ‘Where did the umntwana come from?’
‘She was on the doorstep. Do you recognise her?’
‘No, it does not look like Charmaine’s. Her baby is fat, with big cheeks and rolls on his arms. That child is bigger than hers. Is it sick?’
‘I don’t know,’ Joss said.
Lwazi frowned. ‘You going to keep it?’
‘She’s a human; you can’t pass her around like a parcel. We have to find her family,’ Joss said.
‘Why would someone give you guys a baby?’ Lwazi asked.
‘That is something we are going to have to find out. As soon as she finishes this bottle, we can go see if Charmaine minds if her duties here are changed a little. Actually, Lwazi, if you can go and fetch her from her house and ask her to come here,’ Bongani said.
Lwazi nodded and left.
‘At least she is quiet with that bottle,’ Bongani said.
‘For now,’ Joss said, as the baby drained the last of the formula. ‘But it won’t last long. We’ll need to take her into town to the Binga clinic; they’ll know what to do with her.’
‘You going to give her to someone else if you cannot find her parents?’ Bongani asked.
Joss frowned. ‘What else are we supposed to do with her? She isn’t mine and she isn’t yours. Besides, there must be some legal implications – we can’t take someone’s child. A doctor needs to look her over, make sure she’s okay. Like Lwazi said, she’s thin; she doesn’t look like a healthy child.’
‘She looks like any other child to me,’ Bongani said, but he didn’t touch her.
Joss smiled. ‘Are you sure you want marriage and to have a son, Bongani, because you seem scared of this kid?’
‘Scared is the wrong word for it, Joss. I would rather face a raging buffalo than hold that little girl again.’
Joss laughed. He looked down at the
toddler, her bottle now empty. He put her back to his shoulder. Humanitarian training in the commandos hadn’t all been in vain, he thought, as she rewarded him with a loud burp. He continued to give her reassuring pats on her back.
‘Move my stool so I can sit on it. I don’t want her to scream again if I move her.’
Bongani moved the furniture and Joss carefully manoeuvred himself onto the stool. The child didn’t make a sound. He felt the wind through her padded bottom as she passed it, but nothing could have prepared him for the smell that followed.
He gagged. ‘Oh my God,’ he said, holding her away from him. ‘How can something so small smell so bad?’
Bongani took a step backwards. ‘I have no idea.’
Charmaine and Lwazi came through the door.
‘Thank goodness,’ Bongani said. ‘We have a situation. The child, she has made a poo.’
‘I can smell that, Bongani,’ Charmaine said. He looked at her and she giggled. Despite her own baby strapped to her back, she put her arms out for the little girl. ‘Whose baby is this?’
‘We don’t know. She was in a basket on the stoop,’ Joss said.
‘Someone gave you a child?’
‘Not me,’ Joss and Bongani said at the same time.
Charmaine shook her head. ‘You are a couple of sissies. Come, little one,’ she said and made cooing noises. ‘Let us get you cleaned up and show these men that we girls, we stick together.’ She took a nappy from the table. ‘Where can I change her?’
‘Bathroom. She smells like she needs a full bath,’ Joss said.
Charmaine shook her head and muttered something about useless African men as she headed to the bathroom, followed by Joss, Bongani and Lwazi.
‘I need a towel put on that counter,’ she said, and Joss grabbed one out of the cupboard and spread it flat.
‘No, put it in half, or even a quarter, as it is a nice big towel. She needs something soft to lie on.’
Joss did as she asked.
‘I also need a toilet roll and a clean facecloth.’
Joss gave her both.
‘Now please run the water and make the cloth warm, and I need a bucket.’
‘A bucket?’ Joss asked.
‘To put the dirty nappy inside so that it can soak and then get washed.’
‘I will get that,’ Lwazi said as he fled the bathroom.
Charmaine put the baby on the folded towel. Then she pulled the tracksuit pants down so she could change the nappy.
‘Oh Jesus,’ she said, and made the sign of the cross.
Joss and Bongani looked at the baby.
‘I guess now we know that this baby was given to me,’ Joss said, staring at her badly deformed legs.
‘Poor little girl,’ Charmaine said, gathering her composure. ‘It does not change things; she still needs a fresh nappy.’ She undid the big safety pins holding the cloth together.
Joss gagged again.
Bongani turned his back and left.
Joss turned on the tap to get the water warm.
Tears dripped from Charmaine’s eyes as she cleaned the toddler, and she sniffed. ‘This is why this little one is so thin. The mother, she would have hidden this child away. It is an old custom that the Ndebele people do not show weakness. This little girl is not strong. The mother was ashamed of her. If she did not give her to you, this child, she would probably have died. She would never be accepted into their society. She would be better to be dead.’
‘But she’s a child,’ Joss said.
‘Now, but when she grows she will be another mouth to feed who cannot help. She will be useless.’
Joss frowned. ‘Even today, with medicine and everything?’
‘Even more so today, because everyone is broke. A child who can help you plough and reap the harvest, they are welcome. One who cannot, they are shunned.’
Joss shook his head. ‘How can they still be so cruel?’
‘It is the way things are,’ Charmaine said.
Joss sighed. ‘I assumed no one would actually practise such a ritual any more.’
‘That is life here. Perhaps when she is older, she will be used by the men and pay her way, but even then, someone would probably need to help her everywhere, and that would not happen. I can understand her mother giving her to you. She has seen your new legs when you have been here. She knows that you can give this child everything that she cannot, and this is her gift to her daughter: to give her to you, so that she can have a happier life than she could give her.’
‘How can I look after a baby girl?’ Joss asked.
‘It is not my place to tell you what you must do, but as a mother, I know that she did not give her to you to abandon her. She has trusted you with her child, that you will stand by her when she cannot or could not any more. You need to take some time to have a good think about the future of this baby with you and without you.’
‘But there are laws. Even in Zimbabwe there must be child welfare—’
‘No one will care about a crippled child. If you give this little girl to the orphanages, she will die early, or when she is old enough, she will be on the street. No one will save her. No one except someone who understands what it is like to not have legs. Someone who can pay for her to get metal legs like you have.’
Joss stared at the toddler, who lay still on the table.
‘You will need to get her some creams; she has a rash,’ Charmaine said. ‘I will look after her during the day, as her nanny, instead of being a cleaner in the lodge rooms, but please do not ask me to take this child into my home.’
‘Would you be able to come into Binga with me to get her some supplies, and make a list of what else I need to get from Bulawayo?’
‘Yes,’ she said as she put the clean nappy on, and then carefully put the girl’s deformed legs back inside the pink fabric and pulled up the pants. The baby sucked her fist.
Charmaine held her out, giving her back to Joss. ‘Take her so I can clean up here. You need to name her; you cannot keep calling her “the child”.’
Joss nodded.
‘You should call her Nosipho; it means “gift”,’ Lwazi said, smiling from the doorway as he stood next to Bongani with the bucket.
‘I’ll think about it,’ Joss said. ‘How long till the next nappy change? It’s thirty kilometres into Binga.’
‘You can wait a long time at the clinic,’ Charmaine said. ‘It is better to get her more clothes, some waterproofs, a proper baby blanket before we go to the clinic. Not take her skins in there.’
‘Can I come?’ Lwazi asked.
Joss nodded. ‘Check with your granddad that it’s okay.’
Bongani still stood by the door, shaking his head.
‘What?’ Joss asked.
‘Are you sure that you want to be involved with this child? I can take her to the clinic.’
Joss shook his head. ‘I’ll do it. It’s the least I can do.’
His thoughts drifted to Peta, and he wanted nothing more than to share the news of the child needing a home with her. She was coming to visit him tonight, but it felt like years away instead of a couple of hours.
She was not going to believe that he had been given a baby girl.
* * *
‘Sophia Leslie Yingwe,’ the nurse called, and Joss stood up.
‘Come on, Charmaine,’ he said, and she leapt up and followed him. Lwazi stayed seated.
The nurse looked at him. ‘Hello, Joss, long time no see.’
‘Hey, Maggie,’ he said. ‘You’re still here?’
‘I am. I heard you’d come home. I’m so sorry to hear about what happened to you.’
‘Thanks. I’d forgotten how fast the bush telegraph travels,’ Joss said. ‘This is Sophia’s nanny, Charmaine, and her baby, Samson.’
Maggie nodded. ‘I know Charmaine, and little Samson. What brings Sophia in today?’
He explained the situation, all the time holding Sophia on his shoulder. ‘Do you happen to know this child, or anything a
bout her mother?’
Maggie shook her head and put her arms out. ‘Let’s take a look at this little one.’
Sophia went to Maggie without any fussing, but her eyes were huge.
‘Hello, Miss Sophia, nice to meet you.’ Maggie moved to the changing table that was set up near the scale. She took Sophia out of her clothes and examined her.
‘She has feelings in these legs,’ Maggie said as she ran her fingers lightly over them, ‘but I doubt she’ll ever walk on them as they are. I would have said talipes equinovarus, club foot, but this seems to be worse than that – not only are her feet in the incorrect position, but she seems to have defects in the formation of her limbs too. She’ll need a full examination, X-rays, an MRI to see what’s going on in there before any proper diagnosis can be made. You’ll need to take her into Bulawayo, maybe South Africa. See a paediatrician, preferably one who specialises in birth defects and skeletal corrections. This is interesting – she has thick calluses on her knuckles and on her legs. Have you seen her crawl? Move at all?’
‘We’ve been carrying her the whole time.’
Maggie placed Sophia gently on the floor. Her legs folded at their own strange angle, forty-five degrees to her body and side-on to the floor instead of knees upwards, and she rested on her bottom. She sat very upright.
Maggie stepped back about a metre and knelt down. ‘Woza, woza,’ she said and smiled, putting her arms out in a welcoming position.
Sophia looked at her uncertainly.
Charmaine took Samson and put him down next to Maggie.
Sophia put her little fists on the floor and used her arms to help steady herself as she hopped like a springhare on her bottom towards Samson and Charmaine.
‘She can move,’ Joss said.
‘Kids are resilient and inventive. She’s worked this out herself. Clever girl.’ Maggie picked Sophia up and cuddled her, giving her a kiss on the forehead.
Joss nodded.
‘I do need to do an HIV test. If she shows a positive indicator, will it make any difference to you?’