Such a Lonely, Lovely Road

by Kagiso Lesego Molope

  I was about to say that commitment was just staying together or something like that, something not very well thought out, when Scott and Daniel arrived at our table. They had been going around greeting guests, happily taking pictures and just overall looking like they were having the time of their lives. It brought on a nice feeling, seeing two people so happily showing off their togetherness. I had to fight the creeping realization that I was maybe feeling envious of their carefree manner, watching them being openly loving with each other in the place they both called home. Whenever the thought came up, I had to reach out with another thought and swat it like a fly.

  I was hoping we’d move on to another subject at our table, but Daniel asked, “So, when are you two doing this?”

  I knew as soon as he said it that it was the wrong—or even the worst—question he could have asked us. We had come here—or at least I had—to pretend that Lelo’s wedding hadn’t happened, that we were doing just fine, now Daniel’s question sent a chill down my back because it was like digging up a buried weapon.

  I leaned back in my seat and smiled, trying to look really relaxed.

  I replied, “Well . . . we’re just . . . this is really new.”

  Under the table, I felt Sediba’s hand find mine and our fingers entwine. I held on to him.

  “But look at us,” Scott said with a grin and a dramatic sweep of his hand in the air.

  “We’ve only been together a few months—”

  “Four months!” Daniel interjected.

  “Four months,” said Scott, “and look at us today.”

  His eyes were dancing, excited like a child’s seeing something shiny meant for him, going from Sediba to me and back to Sediba.

  “I remember the way you sounded when you first told me about Kabelo. Come on. I’d say, actually, you guys should have gone first!”

  Sediba leaned back the way he had done earlier when Dominick spoke about commitment, his hand staying with mine under the table. He said, “You’re making Kabelo nervous. Don’t make my boyfriend nervous.”

  I felt a mixture of things. A bit of relief, and then some panic, and then some excitement. I always liked it when Sediba called me his boyfriend and I was relieved that he didn’t take the discussion any further, because he was right, Scott and Daniel were making me nervous, but I was also panicked because I could see from the way Scott was reaching for the bowl of sweets in front of him and the way Daniel leaned his head against Scott’s shoulder that they were only getting started with this.

  It was like the Daniel I had met as Danny that one time had come back into the room. There was something showy about him as one side of his mouth curved up, eyes mock-pensive, as he said, “A township wedding. I’d go to that. It could be a real cultural experience.”

  Before I even looked at him, I knew what Sediba was feeling. He cleared his throat and in a cheery tone said, “Ha! A cultural experience in your own country, bra! That’s the beauty of South Africa, hey?”

  Daniel backed away, but Scott had something to say about this, and I could see why Sediba liked him so much.

  “It does sound odd to think we all know each other, but we don’t know each other, really. It’s appalling that I’ve never been to a township even though I’ve grown up here.”

  What he meant was that it was appalling that you could be White and have Black friends, have lived your whole life in the country and still not know what a township looks like.

  “Has there ever been one?” Daniel was swimming in a different direction, evidently—or going back to where we had left off.

  “One what?” I asked him cautiously.

  “A township wedding. Has there ever been one? Have two Black guys ever gotten married?”

  “I’ve never heard of one.” As soon as I said it, Sediba reached again under the table and clasped his hand to mine. I wondered if I had had too much wine and champagne because I had to shut my eyes and then open them again to refocus, my thoughts like inaudible whispers. I wanted to take off my glasses and clean them but thought it would make me look uneasy.

  Daniel’s eyes were moving back and forth between Sediba and me, as if they were waiting for a story.

  “Well, like I said,” Scott said finally when neither one of us spoke. “Maybe this would be the first one.”

  Daniel snorted. “I’m sure all the ANC supporters would be horrified.” He couldn’t help but hit on the hot buttons—as though his mouth were moving before he could stop himself.

  Sediba’s grip on my hand tightened. He said, “Well, no actually. It was the ANC that brought these laws in. If it weren’t for the ANC, what you just did today wouldn’t be legal right?” His gaze focused on Daniel as though daring him to disagree. Our table mates had already stood up and danced through a song or two while we were having the discussion, but now they were back and settling into their drinks.

  Sediba and I waited uncomfortably for Daniel to respond. Then Scott reached over and kissed Daniel’s cheek. “Ag, my love. You know how I hate politics. Daniel’s the anthropologist here so he’s all about cultural norms and differences and what not. Right?” He put an arm around Daniel’s shoulder.

  “I suppose you’re right,” Daniel said but he was looking at me and not Sediba. “I suppose they’re not entirely rotten. When I think of them, I think of how much violence the country’s had since they took over.”

  “I see what you mean,” Sediba said, letting go of my hand. “But there’s always been violence. Just that some of us were protected by the state and some of us were victims of violence from the state. Violence is nothing new.”

  Daniel looked for a moment as though he did not comprehend, and then, when I thought he was starting to and I was hoping he’d say something, he waved a hand dismissively, like he was shooing away the whole topic.

  A relative came over and scooped the couple away and then it was Dominick’s turn to gloat, saying, “See? Marriage is a hot button for all of us. Regardless of sexual orientation.” He was drunk by then, so he pronounced the words sexual orientation like they were a phrase he was reading for the first time in a book—like he was finding them odd and wanted to make sure he was saying them correctly. We all laughed lightly at this, finding it refreshing to move away from the tension the topic had brought.

  Later, while we were driving back, after a somewhat tense goodbye from Scott and Daniel, I joked, “Shit, I hope this doesn’t mean we’re not invited to their next big thing. They do throw a good party.”

  Sediba chuckled. I put my hand on his neck, rubbed my fingers on his bald head and my thumb on his chiseled beard.

  “Like that Dominick guy said, it’s a hot button for everyone, hey?”

  Sediba glanced at me and then at the rear-view mirror, before showing his indicator, slowing down, and pulling into a lookout spot. I felt my chest tighten.

  “What are you doing?”

  He didn’t answer but parked the car near some picnic benches. We could see the ocean and a deserted beach from up there, and there was no one else around. As I sat watching him, he turned to face me, looking as though he were examining me. I felt the heavy weight on my chest again, and then, oddly, I remembered Andrew telling me, “You have such kind eyes. I think people think they can tell you anything.” I tried now to imagine that that was what Sediba was seeing.

  “Is it stupid? The whole marriage thing. Do you think it’s stupid?”

  “No. I don’t think so. I don’t think it’s stupid.”

  I was nervous and he could tell. That’s why his hand reached for mine.

  “I used to think it was dumb, you know? For us? For gay people . . . I thought it was just dumb. But now . . . Lelo’s wedding . . . ” He shut his eyes as if pushing away the memory. “Then Scott’s.”

  “I think . . . I think I’m beginning to think it’s possible. Not
so dumb.” I took off my sunglasses and put them on the dashboard with my free hand.

  “It’s not dumb. But is it possible? For us? I don’t know. I mean, we don’t come from the same world as Scott and Daniel. You know that.”

  I tried to smile, to lighten the meaning of what we were discussing. Sediba let go of my hand and opened his door, pausing with his hand on the steering wheel before stepping out. He left the keys in the ignition and the door open and walked over to the nearest table. The car was making that ding-ding signal, which drove me mad, so I took the keys out and followed him to the table, not closing my door either but the wind had become stronger and it blew one door shut. I sat next to him and we looked out over the dunes, momentarily lulled by the ebb and flow and the sound of the tide. After a while, I reached over and touched his hand lightly.

  “It used to seem impossible but not anymore,” he said, continuing as if we had never stopped talking. “I used to think it was even ridiculous, the thought of two women or two men getting married. But now . . . ”

  “Diba . . . ” I lowered my voice, tried to sound as calm as I possibly could, given that my head was throbbing and my heart was racing. “I understand. I do, really. I mean being there was beautiful. The ocean, the food, and the little cottage . . . I know. It was romantic. I felt it. But it’s like being on holiday and then you have to get back to your real life. Scott and Daniel are from a different world. Same country but different world—”

  Sediba had shut his eyes shut and his head was shaking.

  “I loved being free too,” I said. “I liked us being together openly. It was—”

  He hopped off the picnic table. He put his hands to on his head, looking away.

  “Kabz—”

  “It’s not that I don’t understand. Don’t think I didn’t—”

  He turned around suddenly, an urgent look on his face. “Kabelo! I’m in love with you. I mean, really, really . . . Every morning I wake up and I’m surprised that you’re not lying next to me. Something happens at work and I think: I have to phone you. I mean it’s ridiculous. Now I sleep badly when I’m not sleeping next to you. What is that? I don’t know when that started happening, but I know—” He stopped and took a breath. His eyes were upon me, pleading. The heavy feeling again rose within my chest, so forceful that I had to sit up straight, put my hand on my chest to press and calm it. I looked at him and as all his words slowly came in and settled in different parts of me. For the first time I understood that perhaps this was the only reason he had brought me to the wedding. I could have met Scott before, and if we had really wanted to, we could have taken a similar trip together. We both had the means. But now I could see that this weekend had been about more than going to a friend’s wedding. It had been about me seeing that it was possible—possible for us to imagine a more open future; for us to be out in front of everyone, openly affectionate and maybe even to get married. In all my life I had never contemplated marriage. I never imagined what came after being with someone. I was not even sure being gay could mean being in love. These things that Sediba was saying were big and new and frightening. I was in love with him—I probably had been in love with him longer than I realized—but I had never thought that I could do anything more about it.

  I stood up and walked to him, took his hand.

  “Diba, I feel the same way. You know I feel the same way. But that doesn’t mean anything out there, to other people. Think about Maimela. Think about Kasi people and the things they would call us. Our families and friends would be horrified! If I move back, who would come to a gay doctor? Remember that guy, that hairdresser who lost his business because of the rumour that he was gay? Then the gay rumour turned into the AIDS rumour and no one would go to him? We couldn’t . . . it’s not possible.”

  “Even with me?”

  “What do you mean?”

  “It was OK to hide and not tell my mother anything. I was OK being a gay man and being quiet about it, thinking I was at least sparing people the part of me they couldn’t look at. But I can’t with you. It’s different with you. It feels screwed up to hide this. I hated Lelo’s wedding. Everyone got to walk around with their girlfriends and boyfriends and you and I couldn’t even look at each other! Why? Because we’re not a man and a woman? Fuck! It’s legal. It’s as legal as Lelo’s marriage.”

  I was caught between wanting to run and wanting to comfort him. I reached for his other hand.

  “We’ve talked about this, Diba. We know what we can and can’t do and how people are, what they expect. I’m not saying I can’t be out with you but . . . I am saying it’s just not possible. It’s not up to me.”

  He sighed and put his arms around me, resting his chest on my shoulder.

  “We’ve talked about not being seen. OK. But this has changed. We’re not boys anymore and we’re not just . . . it’s not simple. I can’t hide with you. Anyone else . . . I can’t with you.”

  We stood there with our arms around each other and me feeling that something very fundamental to who we were had gone and shifted whether we admitted it or not, and I had no way of turning back time and putting it back in the right place. Over the weekend I had thought we were as sure of things as ever—but as always, whenever people started to talk about their feelings, I felt lost and unsettled. Since leaving Durban I had refused to think about us breaking up, but I just couldn’t see any other way. I couldn’t come out in Kasi, It would break my parents’ hearts. I couldn’t even begin to imagine doing it.

  I thought of my mother and her reaction. I’d always seen my attraction to men as nothing less than a betrayal of my parents, and when Sediba said that we should be out, that we should be together openly, I was terrified of what that would do to them. I believed that I owed them some sort of compensation for not fully being what they expected of me, I thought working hard to make them proud was the only thing I could do to make it alright. And so I didn’t think I could give Sediba what he was asking for.

  That conversation was the moment when I decided finally that I had to end this. It wasn’t fair to keep him thinking that I could be what he needed.

  I already resented Lelo for being able to do what was right, what was expected of him, and now I had this growing, unreasonable resentment towards Scott and Daniel. I kept thinking: wouldn’t it be nice, just to be able to put the two worlds together?

  Every now and then, for some time now, Sediba would ask me what I was planning to do after my year of community service. “Do you think you’ll live with your parents for a while?” He’d say, attempting an air of nonchalance, but not quite mastering it. We’d be doing the dishes and he’d say, his back to me, “Don’t you think it’ll be weird living with your parents again, next year? I mean if that’s where you’re planning to live.”

  I’d skirt around the subject the way I’d learned to do all my life, pausing to pretend I was really giving it some thought, when all I was doing was trying to find a way out. The day after we returned from Cape Town he sat up straight on the sofa, propped his back against a pillow and made it hard for me to escape without a clear answer.

  “You know that I love you because I tell you.”

  I nodded, stroked his arm and said nothing.

  “I’m really looking forward to us living closer, because I know what’s going on with you, how you’re feeling, that you love me when I’m with you. I don’t know it from you saying, I know it from being close to you.”

  His manner indicated that he had no intention of letting me escape this time. I turned off the TV and sat down so that we were facing the same direction and he could no longer see my eyes. He moved to caress my neck with his lips.

  “I don’t know where I’ll be living. I mean, it’s so busy . . . ”

  “You have three months. It’s getting to be time. Wherever you go, it won’t be this far though, right?”

  He reache
d down and held my hand.

  The windows were letting in cooler air at this time, but I was feeling hotter. It’s not that I didn’t like hearing him say he wanted me to live close to him, I just felt uneasy at the thought of being so close to a time when I would have to make this life-changing decision.

  “I think so,” was all I could manage to say.

  Sediba swung both feet onto the floor and got up. He paced back and forth and I watched him nervously.

  “After all this time, I still don’t know what you want.”

  “That’s ridiculous, Diba. Come on.”

  “No, I don’t. What do you want?”

  “I want you!” I yelled at him. “Obviously.”

  He stood still, arms folded, feet planted firmly on the floor and looked me in the eye. “You have me. What do you want, from here on, with me?”

  “Diba . . . come on. Stop. So I haven’t made firm plans. It won’t be so hard. I’ll find something.”

  “Where? That’s the only thing I’m asking. Where?”

  “Can you please just come back and sit next to me? I don’t like the way you’re talking. I told you, I want you, that’s all.”

  He furiously put his shoes back on and then he was marching out, before he changed his mind and came back to stand in front of me. “Well,” he said and then took a deep breath. “I’ll tell you what I want. I want a life with you.”

  “A life?”

  “Marriage, a house, maybe even a child.”

  I gulped. “Diba . . . come, on!”

  “Look, it’s what my parents had and I’ve always assumed . . . Listen: it’s what I want. I can’t change that.”

  “Diba . . . ”

  For a while we just stared at each other before he left the room to cool off.

  It had been a good opportunity to be honest but I had been a coward. I couldn’t think of the best way to tell him that I was sorry, but I was never going back to Kasi.