by Lily Herne
I couldn’t help but smile, but no one else dared to react. For a second Comrade Xhati seemed to focus his fierce black eyes on me, but then he turned back to the blackboard and began to wipe it furiously.
‘That is correct,’ he eventually said, his back still to the class.
Comrade Xhati seemed to take far longer than was necessary to clean the board. Finally, he cleared his throat, grabbed the black book that Acid Face Pelosi had been carrying and held it up. ‘Who would like to read the introduction out to the class?’
I ducked my head and flipped to the last clean page of my sketchbook as a flurry of hands shot into the air.
‘Lele!’ Comrade Xhati called. ‘We haven’t heard much from you in class. Why don’t you come forward?’
My heart sank. Zit Face and the kids sitting nearest to me all turned around in their chairs and stared at me as I closed my sketchbook and got to my feet. As I clumped my way down to the front of the class, Zyed whispered something to Summer and they both sniggered.
Comrade Xhati handed the book to me. It was way heavier than I was expecting, and I almost dropped it. The fabric that bound it was slippery and padded, as if the book was coated in flesh.
‘Where shall I start?’ I asked.
‘The introduction please, Lele.’
The book’s pages were thicker than normal paper, and the ink looked globular and almost wet.
I flipped through it. On the first page there was a pen and ink sketch of a group of people encircling a sun with jagged rays poking out from it. The caption below the drawing read The Dawning of a New Age. The next page was filled with a grainy photograph of a distraught teenager carrying a blood-caked child wearing a school uniform in his arms. The photo looked familiar, but I couldn’t remember where I’d seen it before. I scanned the print beneath it:
The terrible death of Hector Peterson during the height of apartheid. Sights such as this were a daily occurrence in the ‘bad old days’, when violence, destruction, injustice and cruelty ravaged the land. The aim of this New History is to ensure that we learn from our mistakes.
‘We’re waiting, Lele,’ Comrade Xhati said.
I took a deep breath and started reading: ‘Is there another country in the world with such a shameful History as South Africa? The authors of this book believe that there is not. Before the War, South Africa was a mess of violence, extreme poverty, HIV infection, incest, child abuse, terrorism and murder.’
I scanned the rest of the paragraph, barely believing what I was reading.
‘Lele! Read aloud, please,’ Comrade Xhati snapped.
My arms were beginning to ache from the weight of the book, but that was nothing compared to the unease I was feeling. However, I didn’t have much choice but to continue: ‘Fortunately, salvation was at hand. When the Reanimates rose, and started adding other saved souls to their flock, the Guardians who came among us decreed that the remaining chosen would be taken care of, all the better to look forward to their reward in Heaven on Earth. This is a True History of our glorious new beginning, as we look back at the past injustices rife in a society fragmented and torn, and consider how fortunate we as a United Race have been to be allowed to flourish under the watchful eyes of our Fathers and Mothers, the Guardians. How can we compare Life before our Salvation . . .’ My voice trailed away. I didn’t remember much about the War and its immediate aftermath, but I did know that it wasn’t a great big mash-up of love, happiness and rainbows.
‘Lele?’ Comrade Xhati said. ‘Is there a problem? Please, read on.’
‘I can’t.’
He blinked. ‘What do you mean, you can’t? Do you feel unwell?’
‘No . . . it’s just . . .’ The sniggering had stopped and I could feel the weight of everyone’s eyes on me. ‘Um, Comrade. This is a rewriting of history.’
‘This is your government set book, Lele.’
‘But Comrade Xhati – seriously – even I know this isn’t . . . right.’
‘I see.’ He smiled at me, although his eyes were cold. ‘Would you like to tell us your version of history, then?’
‘Not really,’ I said, and the room erupted into laughter.
‘Silence!’ Comrade Xhati roared. The giggles trailed away. ‘Please, Lele. We’re all waiting.’ The hard edge was back in his voice.
Zyed was staring at me, toying with one of the feathers on his jacket. He looked like he was enjoying himself.
I’d made a terrible mistake, but there was no going back. ‘I don’t know where to start,’ I said.
‘Well, Lele, I think you should start with your version of why the War started in the first place.’
‘But Comrade Xhati, no one really knows why the dead –’
‘Do your best, Lele.’
‘Well . . . something – some kind of parasite or whatever – came from the sky or from an asteroid or whatever –’
Someone in the classroom snorted.
‘Silence!’ Comrade Xhati snapped.
‘– and it wormed its way into the bodies of the dead, bringing them back to life. It happened slowly at first, but the more people died, the more bodies there were, until eventually the dead began to show themselves and started attacking us. Then the Guardians came, and they kept the Rotters away while –’
‘We don’t use that term here, Lele,’ Comrade Xhati said.
‘Huh?’
‘Rotters. We don’t use that pejorative term.’
‘Okay. Sorry. Well, the Guardians came and they kept the . . . Reanimates in check while the enclaves were built.’
‘I see. And why do you think this happened, Lele?’ Comrade Xhati’s voice was soft and he even sounded mildly interested, but his eyes were still cold.
‘No one really knows for sure, do they? I mean, it could be like, aliens, or some sort of virus, or . . . I don’t know. No one knows.’
‘Aliens,’ Comrade Xhati said, shaking his head in disbelief. ‘But surely, Lele, you do agree that life is better for all of us in Cape Town now that the Guardians watch over us? Now that we have been given a fresh start, a clean slate as it were?’
‘No!’
The room erupted again as everyone started whispering to each other at once. This time Comrade Xhati didn’t tell them to keep quiet.
‘Thank you, Lele,’ he said. ‘You can sit down now.’
He didn’t speak again until I reached my seat. No one was sniggering now and no one caught my eye, not even Thabo.
‘So,’ Comrade Xhati said, voice ringing around the classroom. ‘Does anyone else agree with Lele’s interpretation?’
No one spoke up.
Zit Face nudged me and pushed his exercise book towards me. Across it he’d written BAD MOVE in large looping letters.
7
I don’t remember much about the rest of the afternoon. After break, Summer carried on reading from the history book, but I tuned out. I didn’t even feel like sketching, and I passed the time reading and re-reading the slogan scored into my desk.
Everything’s better with zombies – NOT
Everything’s better with zombies – NOT
Everything’s better with zombies – NOT
Everything’s better with zombies – NOT
I’d screwed up big time – and I knew it.
The hours dragged on and on until, finally, the torturous afternoon limped to an end. I gathered my stuff together as fast as possible, but Comrade Xhati wasn’t going to let me off that easily. ‘Lele?’ he called as I swung my bag onto my shoulder. ‘Could you stay behind for a few minutes?’
My heart plummeted.
‘Just agree with him,’ someone whispered in my ear.
I turned around. Thabo was leaning so close to me that I could feel his breath on my cheek. ‘Trust me,’ he said. ‘Just play their game.’ Then he stood up and left the classroom without looking back.
Zyed and Summer stalked past me, smirking, but I ignored them.
‘Lele,’ Comrade Xhati said, approaching my des
k as the classroom emptied out. ‘I don’t think I have to tell you that I’m very disappointed in you.’
I opened my mouth to tell him to stick it, but then I remembered Thabo’s advice. ‘I’m sorry,’ I said.
He wasn’t expecting that, and his expression softened slightly. He sat down on the edge of Zit Face’s desk. ‘I understand that you’ve been to one of those,’ he waved his hand vaguely in the air around his head, ‘rural schools. That you lived your formative years out in the Agriculturals, is that correct?’
I nodded.
‘And no doubt that’s where you formed your . . . views on the Guardians?’
I nodded again.
‘You see, you might not remember much about life before the War. But those of my generation do. Life was hard back then – the poor ravaged by drugs and HIV, the rich living empty worthless lives fuelled by nothing but lust for material possessions. The government riddled with corruption and greed. It was no way to live. The coming of the Reanimates changed all that.’ His spiel had a practised ring to it. ‘Don’t you see that things are so much better now that we have the chance to start over?’
I wanted to say: Sure. Trapped in a muddy, stinking prison, surrounded by a sea of dead people and ruled by a bunch of hysterical nutters, that’s so much better than before. Not. But of course I didn’t say that. ‘You’re right, Comrade Xhati,’ I lied. ‘It does make much more sense.’
But he wasn’t that stupid. ‘You’re not just spinning me a line, are you, Lele?’
Time to backtrack. ‘It’s just . . . the way you’ve explained it. It does make sense. I probably feel – felt – the way I do about the Guardians because of my brother.’
‘Your brother?’
‘He was one of the children taken by the Guardians during the War. And when he returned . . . What they did to him . . . Well, he wasn’t the same. He’d changed.’ I considered trying to cry, but decided against it. I didn’t want to overdo it.
‘Ah. I see.’ Comrade Xhati stood up, and I breathed a secret sigh of relief. He leaned towards me and put a hand on my shoulder. ‘I didn’t know.’
I nodded, wanting nothing more than to shrug his hand away. I bit the inside of my cheek to stop myself from saying anything stupid.
‘Your parents are Resurrectionists, of course.’
I nodded, still not trusting myself to speak.
‘You must honour them, Lele. Follow their lead. Leave your old beliefs behind and embrace the new. It’s easier this way. More fulfilling.’ He finally took his hand from my shoulder. ‘Are we clear on this?’ he asked.
‘Oh, yes,’ I said. ‘Crystal clear.’
‘Good.’ He nodded, turned, and then hesitated. He held my gaze for several seconds, his stare so intense that I started to sweat. ‘Look, Lele. You must understand, I am not a stupid man. Much as I am grateful to be part of our new beginning, sometimes I find myself missing things from before.’
So he was human after all. ‘What things?’ I asked.
He smiled sadly and shrugged. ‘It doesn’t matter.’
I’d really like to know.’
‘Books, mostly. You know that before the War I was a professor of literature?’
‘No. I didn’t know.’
‘Yes. Poetry was my specialty.’ He shook his head and straightened his back. ‘But that is not important. You will try to honour your parents’ beliefs?’
I nodded.
‘Good! Then, you may go.’
I was almost out of there before he spoke again. ‘Oh, and Lele!’ he called. ‘Choose your friends wisely.’
Of course, later on, I found out exactly what he meant by that.
8
When I arrived home, brain buzzing with the day’s events, Dad was on his way out of the house. It was strange to see him without the Mantis hovering behind him.
‘Lele.’ He nodded at me as if we were just acquaintances instead of father and daughter. ‘School okay?’
I shrugged. ‘Dad, can I ask you a question?’
‘Sure.’
‘Do you really believe life is better now?’
‘What do you mean?’
‘Was life really so bad before the Rotters came?’
He shrugged. ‘There were problems, yes. Violence, of course. HIV. Unemployment. Drugs. Poverty.’
He sounded like one of the crap pamphlets the Resurrectionists handed out at their rallies. ‘So you’re saying that you really believe we’re better off? I mean, even though we can’t leave the enclave, and with the Lottery and everything?’
He plucked at the empty arm of his jacket. ‘In some ways, yes.’
‘But how can you say that after Mom . . . And after what the Guardians did to Jobe!’
He sighed. ‘There is always a price to pay, Lele.’
‘What kind of answer is that?’
‘I have to go,’ he said.
‘Where to?’
‘I’m on fence patrol tonight.’
I shivered. News of the city’s Rotter break-in four years earlier had reached the Agriculturals, and the thought of it had given me nightmares ever since. A pack of Rotters had slipped through a hole in the fence at the far reaches of the city and gone on a killing spree before the Guardians finally showed up and stopped them.
‘Checking to see the Rotters don’t break in?’ I said.
Dad sighed. ‘Don’t let your mother hear you calling them that, Lele.’
‘She’s not my mother.’
He sighed again. ‘I must go. I’m going to be late.’
I watched him walk away, shoulders hunched like a far older man, before heading for my room.
Jobe and Chinwag were already snoozing on my bed, curled up together, Jobe’s hand lightly clasping the kitten’s front paw. Carefully, so as not to wake them, I got down on my hands and knees and rummaged under the bed for Gran’s old leather suitcase. It was filled with the stuff she’d managed to salvage during the War. Unzipping it, I lifted out the dress that was folded on top – the one Mom had worn when she and Dad had gone to their Matric dance a million years earlier. It was made of shiny emerald green material that caught the light and seemed to shimmer like a reflection on water. It was no longer wearable, the fabric had given way to time in places, but it still smelled very faintly of perfume and smoke – my mother’s scent. That was all I had of her. No memories; I couldn’t remember her at all, not even a little bit. I didn’t even have a photograph of her as they’d all been destroyed in the fire that had ravaged the city.
I dug out my old history book, and climbed onto the bed next to Jobe. He muttered something in his sleep, but I couldn’t make out the words clearly. Then he snuggled closer to Chinwag, and his eyelids flickered as if he was dreaming.
I paged through to my favourite section – the first-person anecdotes. The first one was the story of Jacob White, the guy who had worked in the city morgue. He’d been one of the first to discover the reanimated corpses. No one had believed Jacob at first, thought he was on drugs and seeing things, and he’d only managed to get away at the last minute, climbing through the narrow window in the morgue toilets after being trapped in a stall for hours. Next there was the account of a rich businesswoman who’d evaded the dead for two weeks, sealed in the living room of her Camps Bay mansion, living off tins of asparagus and packets of cashew nuts, the reanimated corpses of her chauffeur and housekeeper moaning at her from outside the locked door. Some were too awful to read again, like the eyewitness account of someone who had seen a group of religious fanatics rushing out to greet the dead, convinced that this was the coming of the Rapture, only to be turned into more walking corpses. Or the stories of the mass suicides that had taken place in the wealthy suburbs and the unstoppable fires that had raged through Langa and Gugulethu, destroying the dead and living alike.
I flipped through to my favourite story.
Name: Levi Sole
Occupation: Schoolchild
Age: 14
Nationality: Malawian
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br /> NOTE: Levi was questioned three months after he and his father were relocated to the Cape Town city enclave. His story begins after they were rescued from the informal settlement fires that raged through the city two days after the dead started rising. After the fire started, we escaped to the big soccer stadium. All around us the city burned; even the mountain was on fire. The smoke was so thick in the air that many of us were struggling to breathe. And the air was hot, like it was the middle of summer. But the heavy smoke meant that we did not have to see the horrible things on the roads. I mean, I was trying to be brave. I was too old to be scared, but I was glad for the smoke. Already I had seen my neighbour struck down, her stomach spilling from between her fingers, and then, as she stood up again, her eyes rolled back in her head as if she was mad. And with her guts outside her body, she walked away. Impossible things were happening.
When we arrived at the stadium my father and I spent many hours looking around for my brother, but he had been taken away on one of the other buses, and we could not find him.
We never found him.
There were so many of us! Most, like me, came from Khayelitsha; others from all over Cape Town. There were white people, black people, coloured people, refugees like us from Zimbabwe, the DRC and Malawi, rich tourists who had come out here for the World Cup soccer, old people, children, babies (some without mothers), sick people and the dying. We stayed there for three weeks, fighting off the Dead Ones who managed to break in. Many of us died. But the Dead Ones weren’t our only problem. We had very little food and water, and the smell of the toilets was terrible. It was bad, and many got sick. And then, just when we thought we would starve to death, just when some were saying that they would kill themselves, the first of the Guardians came to us. We didn’t know what to think of them at first. Whether to trust them or not. We knew, in our hearts, that they were not people like us, but they did not try to kill us like the Dead Ones. They wore robes like priests and did not speak to us. But they brought us food. There were many fights at first over the food, but those who caused trouble were taken away quickly. At first people called them the Shepherds, as they would guard us from the Dead Ones, as if we were sheep. But then people started to call them the Guardians.