by Haden, Ros;
“He followed me home,” he said. “He wants to be my friend, Mama.”
“Some friend,” I muttered. I knew it wasn’t dangerous. I knew that it couldn’t infect us or anything like that, but just looking at it made me feel sick. And it smelled vile. Like rotten apricots. It just stood there, by the gate, weaving on its stick legs, making a strange moaning sound.
Mama grabbed the broom and poked at it. “Get away!”
“Mama! Don’t do that!” Levi said, his voice thick with tears.
It turned its head in Levi’s direction as if it was begging my brother to help it. But I knew that was just my imagination playing tricks.
I mean, you can’t ask someone to help you if you’re dead, can you?
People have different names for them: zombies, moegoes, dead-heads, jujus and bennies, but ‘morts’ is the most popular name in KwaZulu and Gauteng.
Mr Cele, my favourite teacher, says it’s the French word for ‘death’. He says this name caught on because when the Sarili Virus first spread, loads of people believed Congolese refugees, many of whom speak that language, were responsible for spreading it. Blaming it on the refugees was a dumbass thing to do of course. The virus didn’t care which country you were from. It didn’t care if you were rich or poor, black or white, if you were a politician who drove a big black Mercedes or a Somalian refugee living in an informal settlement. The Sarili Virus didn’t discriminate.
And now we had our very own mort standing in our yard.
Levi wasn’t going to give up. “I’ll look after him, Mama,” he begged. “I’ll train him, just like I trained Zizu.” At the sound of her name, Zizu looked up at him and whined.
Mama sighed. “You cannot train it, Levi. It is not a dog. It cannot stay here.”
“Why not? He’s very thin, Mama. He will not cost much to feed. I will give him half of my food.”
“Duh, Levi,” I said. “Morts don’t need to eat, everyone knows that.”
Mama glared at me, and I jumped back to avoid another one of her smacks.
“It is not that,” she said to Levi, softening her voice. “Our neighbours, they will not understand.” She glanced at our gate as if she was expecting an angry mob to appear.
I was glad night was falling – we were lucky no one had seen Levi’s gross new friend following him home. Mama knows everyone in Gamalakhe – she’s a nurse at the clinic – and the last thing she wanted was a scandal.
Before the government started showing those adverts on SABC to convince everyone that the morts couldn’t hurt or infect us, many people believed they were possessed by evil spirits. Mr Cele says this is just superstition. He says that the morts are simply the unlucky ones, who can no longer feel pain, speak, age, eat or even breathe properly any more. But this didn’t stop people believing what they wanted to believe.
Mama scowled and picked up the broom again. “Nyameka,” she said to me. “Open the gate, I will push it out onto the street.”
“Please, Mama,” Levi sobbed. “He’s lonely. He’s scared.”
Before Mama could stop him, he threw his arms around the thing’s legs, almost sending it toppling.
“Sies! Don’t touch it, Levi!” Mama yelled. “It’s filthy!”
“But … but … he’s my friend!”
Despite my disgust, I felt a stab of pity for him. Levi didn’t have any friends at school. The other children avoided him as if his strange behaviour was catching. And he was only four when the Sarili Virus spread through the country two years ago. He just didn’t understand what morts were.
Mama sighed and shook her head. “Nyameka, do you have airtime on your phone?”
“Uh-uh,” I lied. I had a twenty-rand top-up but I was saving it. My best friend Zanele was staying with her grandmother in Umlazi over the July holidays and if I didn’t SMS her everyday I’d go crazy with boredom.
She pulled a fifty-rand note out of her purse. “Go get some airtime for me. I need to phone the Collectors.”
Levi used his sleeve to wipe his nose. “Who’re the Collectors?”
“They are people whose job it is to take … things like your friend here to a place where they will be safe.”
“But he’s safe here, Mama.”
“It needs to go where it belongs, Levi,” Mama said. “It does not belong here.”
“But–”
“Listen to Mama, Levi,” I snapped.
He slumped.
I hurried out into the street. I always feel guilty when I snap at Levi. But, sheesh, who could blame me? A mort was hardly the same as a stray dog, was it?
Zizu padded at my heels as I made my way to the spaza, the night air heady with the scent of braaing meat. I bought the airtime and turned for home, pausing when I heard the sound of raised voices.
A crowd was gathering outside the clinic, which was strange for this late in the day. I moved closer to it. A few people shifted their position and when I caught a glimpse of what they were looking at, I almost screamed.
My brother was curled up in a ball in the centre of the crowd, the mort lying in the dirt next to him.
I’ll admit that part of me wanted to pretend it wasn’t happening and just walk away. But I quickly came to my senses. Levi was my brother. I had to protect him. Mama would kill me if anything happened to him.
I ran towards the crowd as fast I could, Zizu racing alongside me.
A large woman I recognised from church was waggling her finger at Levi. “What are you doing with this monster? Get away from it!”
I heard someone else saying, “What do you expect? That one has always been a strange boy.”
Another man called out, “We must drive it away.”
Most of the others looked frightened rather than angry. Somehow I knew this could make them more dangerous.
I shoved the large woman out of the way, dropped to my knees and threw my arms around my brother. He was shaking, his face streaked with tears. The mort was still cowering on the ground. It was inches away from me, moaning and writhing. The people around us shouted abuse at it. Zizu darted forward, snapping at their ankles, and most of them drew back.
“What are you doing out here, Levi?” I asked, trying to keep the anger out of my voice. “Where’s Mama?”
Levi drew in a shuddering breath. “Mama is cooking supper. Beyoncé wanted to come with me to find you.”
“Who? Did you just say, Beyoncé?”
“Yes. I called my friend Beyoncé. He likes it.”
“You can’t name it that!”
My brother stopped crying and looked up at me, honestly confused. “Why not?”
“Because it’s a boy, that’s why.” I shuddered. I didn’t say what I was thinking, which was that it wasn’t a boy, at least not any more. It wasn’t even human, just a thing.
“Hey!” A man’s voice cut through the voices around us and I saw my teacher, Mr Cele, hurrying towards us. “You people get away from those children!”
The large woman from church stared back at him defiantly, but he waved her away, and one by one, everyone else started to drift off.
“What is going on here, Nyameka?” Mr Cele said to me. I told him. He sighed. “Well, we cannot leave it out here. Come, I will see you safely home.”
I helped Levi to his feet. The remaining onlookers gasped and stepped back as the mort staggered up unsteadily and lurched towards my brother.
“Come on, Beyoncé,” Levi said, holding out his hand.
A couple of men hooted with nervous laughter.
“Don’t touch it, Levi!” I hissed. He ignored me.
No one tried to stop us as we crossed the street. I prayed that the mort would just wander off, go bother someone else. But it stayed glued to Levi’s side.
“Yo, Meka!” I heard someone shout. I saw with horror that a couple of girls from school had j
oined the remaining onlookers on the side of the road. “That your new boyfriend?”
My face burned with shame. For an instant, I really hated Levi. Why did he have to bring it home? Now everyone would know.
Mr Cele touched my shoulder. “Ignore what they are saying, Nyameka. They cannot help it.”
He gestured at the mort shambling next to my brother. “Seeing ones like this reminds them that they sent their family members who were infected away. They were only too glad when the Collectors came to take them.”
“You mean they feel guilty?”
“Yes.”
I wondered if Mr Cele was also feeling guilty. He’d had a wife once, but I didn’t know what had happened to her.
My family was lucky. None of my relatives had caught the S Virus, but as a nurse, Mama had had to deal with the first signs of the infection. She was on the frontline, at the heart of the panic and the horror when it first spread.
As we neared our gate, I saw Mama bustling towards us. She looked sick with worry. She grabbed Levi by the arm and shook him. “Why do you make me worry like this?”
“Mama! Let go!” Levi screamed, and the mort threw back its head and moaned.
Mr Cele cleared his throat. “All is fine now, Mrs Nsele,” he said. “But I would keep this one out of sight for now.”
Waving away Mama’s thanks, he left us.
“Mama,” I said, “what are we going to do? We can’t keep it here.”
“I will phone the Collectors, insist they come and get it tomorrow and take it to the camps.”
“But what about tonight?”
She glanced at Levi who was still holding the thing’s hand. “It can stay in the yard with Zizu.”
“Aw, what?”
“Nyameka, what else would you have me do? Just look at your brother. He doesn’t understand what is happening.”
“It’s always about him, isn’t it? What about how I feel?” Turning my back on her, I stormed through the gate, my face still burning with anger and shame.
~•~
I woke up feeling worse than I had the night before. I re-read the SMS Zanele had sent me late last night:
u seriously got a zombi livin with u meka?
The news had spread faster than I expected. I still hadn’t replied to it.
I heard the sound of a car engine, the slamming of doors, followed by Mama’s voice. The Collectors must be here.
I pulled on my jeans and wandered outside to find Mama standing in the yard, hands on her hips. She was glaring at two guys dressed in filthy blue uniforms. One of them was weaving on his feet as if he was drunk. The other was so fat his bulging stomach peeked through the buttons of his shirt.
“I am telling you, sisi,” the fat one was saying, “five hundred rand.”
Mama waved her hand at our small house. “Do I look like I have five hundred rand to spare?”
The fat one shrugged. “Give us five hundred rand and we will take it away for you.”
“But it is your job!”
The drunk guy shrugged. “Pay up or we will just leave.”
“So what am I to do with it?”
“Not my problem.”
Mama reached for her broom. They got the message and ran for their van.
“Mama?” I asked. “What’s going on?”
“What does it look like?” she snapped. “The Collectors are corrupt, they want me to pay them to do their job!” She shook her head. “I must go and sort this out. You stay here and look after your brother.”
My mind was reeling. If the Collectors weren’t going to take the mort to the camps, what did that mean? I couldn’t stand the thought of it staying here any longer. What would people say?
I could hear the mort moaning at the back of the house where Mama grew the vegetables. Now seriously irritated, I stalked through the yard to find my brother.
I stopped dead, unable to believe what I was seeing.
I hardly recognised the mort. If I scrunched up my eyes, it almost looked human. It was wearing a pair of baggy shorts and a clean blue T-shirt. A baseball cap covered its bald scabby head. Mama must have let Levi raid the spare clothes bag at the clinic. I realised that it no longer smelled bad. Levi must have given it a bath.
“Look, Meka,” Levi said. “Beyoncé’s been helping me with my chores.”
As if it knew what Levi was saying, the mort moaned, lifting up the watering can my brother slung over its arm.
I sighed. “Levi, seriously, it can’t help you with anything.”
“Yes, he can,” Levi said. “And we’ve been playing all morning. He says he likes it here.”
My phone beeped. I pulled it out of my jeans. Another message from Zanele:
hey grl y the silence?
I texted back:
tell u ltr. seriusly i wnt 2 DIE
~•~
I looked up. The mort was standing a couple of metres in front of me. It was holding a mielie up to its ear. Its mouth moved as if it was talking into it, like a child pretending to make a phone call.
I shuddered, backed away from it. How could it remember what to do with a phone?
“Nyameka?” I turned to see Mr Cele making his way towards me across the yard. He was watching the mort, a strange expression on his face. “Is everything all right? I came to see if there is anything I can do to help.”
Keeping my voice low so that Levi wouldn’t overhear, I told him about the Collectors.
Mr Cele nodded as if he had expected this. “If the Collectors won’t do their job then we will do it for them. My brother has a bakkie I am sure we can use.”
“You mean take the mort to the camps ourselves?” I asked.
“Yes,” Mr Cele said grimly.
~•~
I sat in the cab of the bakkie, squeezed between Mama and Mr Cele. The mort, Levi and Zizu were in the back, all of them peering over the side.
I was feeling sick to my stomach. All of us had tried to explain to Levi where we were going, but he still thought that this trip to Durban was just a family outing. I knew there was going to be a horrible scene when we got to the camp.
Levi tapped on the cab’s small window. I turned around and opened it.
“Mama?” he said. “I told Beyoncé we were going to the beach. He says he’s never been to the sea.”
“We are not going to the beach, Levi,” Mama said. I’d never seen her looking so exhausted and sad.
“Oh please, Mama. I will look after him.”
Mr Cele shrugged. “How could it hurt? It is on our way.”
Mama sighed. “You are sure?”
“Of course.”
I couldn’t believe what I was hearing. “You serious? We can’t take a mort to the beach! What will people say?”
No one answered me.
As soon as we reached the beachfront and Mr Cele parked the bakkie, Zizu jumped off the back and raced towards the sea. Levi and the mort hurried after her. The mort was finding it difficult to walk on the sand, and Levi reached out to take its hand.
I hung back in case anyone was watching. I didn’t want to be part of this. Thankfully, there were only a few people scattered on the beach, and most of them were ducking their heads to protect their faces from the wind.
I slumped down onto the sand and watched as Levi pretended to splash the mort. Zizu danced around their legs barking joyfully.
Mama was shouting and waving at Levi, begging him to be careful. But he was having too much fun to take any notice of her. Levi said something to the mort, and it threw back its head and moaned.
Mr Cele sat down next to me. “It is almost as if it understands what your brother is saying.”
I glanced at him in disbelief. “Seriously?” I was trying not to think about the way the mort had held up the mielie to its ear, like a child
pretending to make a phone call.
He shrugged. “Why not? Maybe your brother is doing the right thing. Maybe all morts need is someone to show them some kindness instead of disgust and hatred. Maybe they need us to show them we still think of them as human. We were all very quick to send them away. We were all very quick to call them monsters.”
I was about to answer when I heard Mama screaming.
I stood up. I couldn’t see my brother. Zizu was going crazy, racing up and down the water’s edge. The mort was flailing in the water, waves crashing against its chest. My heart froze – was it trying to drown my brother?
I started running, only able to breathe again when I saw the mort hauling Levi out of the ocean and onto the sand.
Mama gathered Levi into her arms, sobbing with relief. My brother was coughing and shivering, but he was fine.
“The mort saved him,” she said to me. “It saved his life. How can we send it to the camps now?”
“Mama,” I said. “We have no choice.”
“Don’t we?”
All I could think about was the crap I’d have to take at school if we took it home with us. Not even my best friend Zanele would understand. I couldn’t forget the fearful, angry faces of the mob that had surrounded Levi outside the clinic.
“It is up to you, Nyameka,” Mama said, for once looking unsure; for once putting me first. “If you want to take the mort to the camp then this is what we will do.”
We heard the camp way before we saw it. A chorus of mort moans floated eerily towards us as Mr Cele turned off the N2. Signs pointed us towards a neglected and weed-choked side road. Mr Cele slowed down as the bakkie bumped over cracked tarmac.
The bored guard barely glanced at the bakkie as he waved us through. None of us spoke as we drove around the edge of the camp. It was enormous, its high mesh fences topped with razor-wire. Behind the fence, I could see thousands and thousands of morts packed like sardines in a bare courtyard. The air was heavy with their rotten fruit stench, but I was too shocked to feel sick.
Mr Cele pulled into the empty parking lot, choosing a ‘visitors only’ space. As he turned off the engine, the moans filled the air. I no longer thought they were creepy; they now sounded sad and lost. Mr Cele climbed out of the car, turned his back on us and lit a cigarette.