“What’s so funny?” I tried to sound relaxed.
“I think he’s not the only one . . . ha! Look who’s in love.” His laughter rose and floated above us, traveling now to the party behind. I turned to find, as I had expected, curious glances, people stopping mid-conversation, their glasses held mid-air. Sediba looked as if he was expecting me to share the joke. I turned away to face the rising tide.
Rodney said, “So does he know how you feel about him, or are you still keeping secrets?”
I was not so daft that I didn’t realize I had been asked two questions, each as loaded with accusation as the past was weighed down with resentment. I inhaled and wondered if the tide would be too high that evening for us to go for the planned dip. I knew what to say, it was only taking me a moment to wade through the feelings swirling around inside me. I tried to get to where I was going, to what I wanted to say, but I was moving towards my point slowly, my mind fretful.
“I’m so, so sorry Rod. I’m sorry I just . . . just left without getting you away from those guys. And I left Cape Town without saying ‘bye.” He rubbed his forehead and exhaled.
“Ag, man. We were so young. I was never even sober enough to say my own name most of the time.”
We both let out a chuckle. Overcome by a blinding sorrow, I put my hand on Rodney’s shoulder, looked him squarely in the eye and said, “Rod, really, I’m really sorry I just left you. I got so scared. There were serious drugs in the house. I thought of police coming . . . I panicked and ran. I’m really sorry.”
Suddenly Sediba’s voice said behind me, “Sorry to interrupt. I brought some drinks.”
Startled, I stood up and took a martini from him, but when he handed one to Rodney, he declined.
“No thanks. I’m staying away from the booze tonight.”
I frowned in disbelief. “You?”
Rodney let out a short laugh. “You’d be surprised how much has changed Kabz. Anyway, I’m going to find my DJ.” As he went, he said, “Cheers, Sediba.”
“Let’s go and hear the speeches. These guys are funny,” Sediba said to me. I followed him, reaching over to put my hand in his briefly.
We sat listening to the speeches telling us how Scott and Daniel had met, how they were meant to be together. Rodney sat next to a guy with long, wavy hair who talked into his ear and made him giggle. I wished so many years had not passed and that I could tell him more about Sediba and hear about his boyfriend. I felt sad about the loss of our friendship, now more so than I had allowed myself to admit since moving away. But it was all right, I reasoned, because now he was here and we could chat and laugh. I hadn’t expected to ever see him again.
And Rodney, without drinking or smoking zol, seemed a different person. It was he and his boyfriend who were the first to wade into the water that evening. Apparently someone had had the idea of doing something mad like having all the party guests dive into the ocean at sundown with our clothes on. It was good fun. I stood laughing and chatting with people but not going in, just handing people towels as they ran out, their clothes soaked and sticking to their skin.
From across the way, beyond the many wet heads on the beach, Sediba eyed me with an amused smile and started walking towards me.
“These people are mad,” he said in Setswana, holding the front of his shirt between his fingers. “Do you know how much this shirt costs?”
I laughed at this, just as Scott came running behind us. “Sediba, did you just say your clothes are too nice to go in? Did he just—he just said that, didn’t he?” Scott asked me. I nodded and we burst into laughter.
“I didn’t even have to hear you say it, I just knew it,” Scott said.
“No, I will go in. I just have to change!” Sediba said, and grabbed my hand and pulled me away. “We’re changing, and then we’re going in!”
“Maybe Kabelo wants to go in anyway!” Scott called out behind us.
“No, he’s wearing my pants!” Sediba shouted back and my sides were hurting from laughing so much. Everyone was running in and out of the water, splashing each other, throwing each other into the waves. The moon hung low, and so did the stars, which collected just beyond reach, and the sky curved, enclosing us in a sparkling dome. I was tempted to forget that we had not come to stay.
Sediba and I had gone running from the beach but when we reached the top of the stairs leading to the house, we slowed down. It was quieter up here. The lights around the outdoor entertainment area were still on as were the ones at the main house and the cottage. These lit the path for us so we stepped on the large stones and followed them to the cottage. The place had already been cleaned by the helpers and looked as if there had never been a celebration, as if the people running in and out of water had nothing to do with the house above.
I noticed that Sediba and I were becoming pensive at different moments during this trip. We spoke about the usual things, but then we would both drift off, neither of us speaking for a while. There was also a new—or old—kind of tension between us. We would exchange a knowing glance, or our hands would brush against each other; he made gestures like holding my hand or he’d put his hand on my back as we sat with the others. The air between us was charged with a new, younger sort of energy. I felt, in short, like a man newly in love.
And so as we left the beach that evening we were not saying anything, only listening to the clip-clap sound of our sandals on the stones. I thought how happy I was and wondered what he was thinking, but did not want to disturb the peaceful silence.
When we reached the cottage, he turned the key in the lock and pushed the door open, standing aside to let me walk in first. I switched the passage light on as I went in, and we kicked off our sandals. I could feel his eyes on me as I walked down the lit passage to the bedroom, slowing my pace and moving my hand along the wall. At the door I took off my shirt and turned the light on, then back off, remembering that we might be seen from the beach. He slipped his arm around my waist, the inner part of his forearm sliding softly against my bare skin. Then he kissed the space between my shoulder blades. I pulled out of his grasp and went to draw the curtains together.
Later we lay next to each other in bed letting the air cool the sweat off our bodies. I had left the French doors open and only closed the screen, so there was a light ocean breeze coming in. We were silently watching the curtains fly low above the shiny cement floor, the bedside light now on. I could feel his ribs rise and fall at a gentle pace against mine. We had by then lain this way many times, but there was something a lot more exciting about this time that made it feel different. Perhaps it had something to do with this wedding weekend feeling like an escape, a sort of honeymoon away from our real world.
Sediba’s lips came to caress the outer edge of my left ear as we both started drifting off to sleep.
“Should we go back to the beach?” I asked, but his breathing had fallen into a slower rhythm. I wanted to stay there a long time and not ever go back to where we had come from.
When we woke up I could feel something different in the air. There was a thick cloud of fog as we were getting ready, but it gradually cleared and the water was calm. Maybe everyone feels this way on the morning of a wedding because I noted that I had felt the same way when Lelo was getting married, though this time, without the usual early morning buzz of the township, the calm was more intense and there was an unbearable sorrow around me that I could neither shake nor explain. Is this why people cry at weddings? Is there a feeling of letting go of something?
I had been the first to bathe and shave while Sediba was sleeping, so when his turn came I was already dressed but couldn’t bring myself to do my tie. Instead, I stepped barefoot onto the balcony and looked out at the water. That old feeling of standing at the end of the boardwalk looking at ships in the horizon came flooding through me. I realized that I was standing in the position that my mother had always st
ood in, my forearms resting on the railing. The night before, on the boat, someone had mentioned that somewhere to our left—although it was not visible to me from the balcony—was the Breede river. I wished that I had binoculars now so I could see it. What I could spot in the dunes just ahead was the Blue Crane—one of perhaps three birds that I can identify. Apart from the most well known, the owls, peacocks and the seagulls and so on, the ones that didn’t take an avid bird watcher to spot, I know a Blue Crane. I think, of course, this is because it is our national bird. It was the bird’s legs that always fascinated me, long and twig-like, they are delicate and graceful. The one I saw, not far from where I stood, was with a chick, whose body was still so fluffy that I wanted to reach out and touch it as they steadily made their way across the grass.
“Are you ready?” Sediba said, startling me. He came over and quietly fixed my collar, apparently deep in thought himself.
I suppose the birds had led me to think about my mother. I had told her that I was going to an old friend’s wedding and even as I said that I wondered what would happen if she heard that Sediba was also off to Cape Town for a wedding.
I asked him as he tucked the tie under my collar, “Where did you tell your mother you were going? Did you say it was two guys getting married?”
He exhaled and turned to face the water like me, his eyes following the bird and her chick.
“My mother doesn’t ask questions like your mother. She doesn’t probe.” I watched him slip his hands into his pockets and briefly shut his eyes. He said, “She doesn’t know it’s a gay wedding, no. But the thing with my mother . . . like I said before, she knows things without me telling her.”
I didn’t have a chance to ask anything else because now people were gathering near the entertainment area. It was time for the pre-wedding gathering and we had to go down. I hurried to put my sandals on. “I feel funny in a suit and sandals,” I said.
“I know, but it’s what they asked everyone to do.” And he too put on his sandals and followed me out to the gathering.
Along the path down to the beach stairs had been laid pots of red and white roses. The entertainment area had been transformed into an elegant outdoor dining space, with lines of red and white ribbons—punctuated by similar-coloured balloons—hanging above round tables that were covered in white cloth. It was an enchanting scene, with classical music playing through speakers placed on a wall behind the tables. Three men and three women, all black, walked around in black and white uniforms, serving hors d’oeuvres and champagne. I felt uneasy seeing this, but was ashamed to realize that I couldn’t tell if it was more uncomfortable to feel that we were living in a different world from the helpers or to feel that I was being seen with a man by my elders.
Sediba whispered, “Here we go.”
“Yah,” I said. “I know.” But I got the feeling that we meant different things.
We joined the party and accepted drinks while we waited for Scott and Daniel to come out. I couldn’t make myself meet the helpers’ eyes. When one handed me my champagne, I cringed as I took it, barely acknowledging him. Sediba, on the other hand, smiled and greeted him in isiXhosa. I had never met the man before but he was elderly and the same kin tone as my father. I couldn’t face him.
Down the stairs we went and onto the beach. We were chatting and mingling when the music changed to Mendelssohn’s Wedding March. From the big house Daniel and Scott came walking out, hand in hand, in blue and white suits and sandals. As we turned to look at them, Sediba slipped his hand onto mine.
Scott’s mother and father were there, but from Daniel’s side only his mother had come. The day before, on the boat, I had heard Scott tell Sediba something about Daniel’s father “refusing to be part of this.”
We were asked to stand in a semicircle, each of us holding a handful of rose petals while the grooms stood at the edge of the water, being married by a minister who performed the ceremony in a professional yet relaxed manner. Scott and Daniel had written their own vows although they half-cried through them, talking about being each other’s great love.
Afterwards we all joyously clapped hands and threw petals at them and they turned to face us and thanked us all for being there.
There would be a little wait before we sat down. People were milling about, exchanging stories about how they knew the grooms, talking about how beautiful the ceremony was. Some tore off from the group, taking walks or going back to sit near the house. Sediba asked that we walk along the beach for a moment. I was happy to walk away, having had my fill of the crowd and wanting some space.
Our feet got sandy, our footsteps sinking as we walked at the edge of the tide. Sediba was pensive again and I was in a bit of a jolly mood, walking in every now and then to let the water wash over my feet and then back out alongside him. He didn’t stop to wait when I branched off, his head to the ground and only occasionally glancing at me. Then finally he pulled me to him and said, “Stay.”
I asked him what was wrong.
He stopped and took my face in one hand, his fingers caressing my cheek. I leaned and rested my head in his hand the way I liked to, and he gave me a peck on the lips.
“It was nice, wasn’t it, lenyalo?” His voice was both solemn and sweet—calm.
I chuckled at his use of the Setswana word.
“It was nice, why?” I asked.
He started walking again, taking my hand in his and squeezing it. He said, “You know, I mean I think you know . . . ” He inhaled sharply and stopped.
“What do I know?” I could feel my heart racing, he was acting so unlike himself. It was so out of character, this sudden starting and stopping, this loss of words.
He started walking again and continued, “I mean I think by now it’s quite obvious, Jo. It’s obvious I’m in love with you.” His eyes flitted from me to somewhere past me, towards the depths of the ocean.
Something heavy and unmovable came and settled on my chest. I was, in my mind, gasping for air although on the outside I must have looked relatively calm.
“Diba, you know I feel the same way.” I told him.
He took one long step forward suddenly and started walking backwards, facing me. Something flew into my eye and I blinked rapidly and reached a finger to the corner of my eye to wipe it off. He stopped, came closer, held me still and blew the dust out of my eye. We stood there, the tip of his nose touching mine, our foreheads together.
I spoke quietly this time, “Diba, what’s wrong?”
He wrapped his arms around me and pulled me in, but said nothing.
“Diba?” I whispered, but he only kissed me—so slowly and passionately, it was as if we were alone in a room with the door shut and we had all night, but then he let go and said, “Come on, let’s go eat.”
We turned around and I followed him at a brisk pace and we said nothing else.
We were seated at our table with two other couples, two women and their male partners, and I tried to start the conversation.
“So what did you think of the ceremony?”
I posed the question to the woman sitting immediately to my right. Her name was Carol and we had been seated next to each other, I think, because we were both medics. One of the guys was a designer so I think that explained the seat next to Sediba. The thing about Kasi weddings is that there are no seating arrangements. You sit next to whomever you choose. This was more formal, requiring more effort. Everyone seemed polite. They were all searching for things to say. We were all strangers, except to our partners.
Carol answered right away, “It was lovely,” without offering more.
The man with the strawberry blonde hair and piercing blue eyes seated to Carol’s right seemed to give it more thought, “I don’t know, I thought it was a bit . . . much, to be honest.”
Carol, his girlfriend, stuck her elbow in his rib and her cheeks went flus
h.
“Dominick! It’s your cousin, you could be nicer.”
“I don’t get this marriage thing, frankly. Gay or straight,” was Dominick’s nonchalant response.
Carol took a deep breath and with her fork, rearranged the peas on her plate.
“This is an issue between us. Going to weddings brings it up, I suppose.”
We all put food in our mouths, hoping to make the awkward moment pass as quickly as possible. But Dominick was not giving up.
“What do you guys think? I mean, you’re lucky you’re guys and there’s no pressure. Girls always want to move into it: ‘when are we getting married?’ ‘I’m getting older,’ ‘I think it’s time.’” He was, thankfully, not imitating a woman’s voice.
“Well,” the woman to Sediba’s left chimed in nervously, her voice cracking. She was not comfortable speaking to strangers. “I think Scott and Daniel were both ready. Daniel’s one of my best friends. There was no pressure.”
Dominick waved his hand. “I wasn’t talking about them . . . the pressure thing, well, listen. I’m just saying that men don’t hassle each other to get married, that’s all I’m saying. Right?”
He was looking at me. I shrugged but Sediba pushed back his seat and folded his arms like he was feeling quite comfortable getting into it with him, like it was actually something he’d given a lot of thought and was glad someone was bringing it up. “I don’t think it’s a girl thing. I think people in general just want more commitment, that’s all. It’s about every couple, the way I see it.”
I think because he felt a bit slighted—because he had counted on support from the guys and was surprised that Sediba appeared to side with his girlfriend, who was now biting her lip and turning her shoulder away from him—Dominick decided to attack.
“Well, then how do you define commitment?”
“What the two of you decide works, I guess,” Sediba told him looking as if he was giving it some thought. But I knew he wasn’t thinking about it, he was just slowing down the conversation. “It’s up to both people.”
Such a Lonely, Lovely Road Page 15