When Priest arrives home on the first pay day, the look on her husband’s face tells MaDuma that something is wrong.
“Oh God, he did not pay you,” the woman says in a troubled tone.
“He did pay us nothing.” Priest is very tired and seems to hate everything around him. “Here!” he gives his money to his wife. “This is what I have been working for all this time.”
MaDuma cannot help smiling when she sees the closed, brown envelope given to her. Priest has never before given her all his wages, so she is pleased. She does not look at the writing outside that states the name of the payee and the amount paid, so she is greatly surprised and angry when she counts the money and finds that it is only R225.
“Is this all you got?” she asks in disbelief.
Priest does not want to talk. “I’m tired,” he says. “I want to sleep.”
“But you haven’t got your food yet.” MaDuma feels sorry for her husband when she sees how depressed he is. “Let me get your food first,” she pleads.
“If it’s pap and potatoes, don’t bother.”
“Ah! Go to sleep then.”
8
It’s one of those days of fatigue when Priest has been toiling like a slave at Johnson’s. Right now he is sitting on the sofa in the living room – watching without seeing his tiny, black-and-white television – while in his mind he is in bed having a quiet, dreamless sleep. The fact that he is still here is proof enough he has no control over his own body any more. He intended to go to bed thirty minutes ago but his bones and muscles did not comply. They seem to be on strike or something.
Thinking of strikes, why is it that he and his fellow slaves of Johnson do not engage in a strike? Or maybe usurp the farm, like the animals did in one of Sandile’s novels he has read? What was it called? Animal something. Animal Kind perhaps. Or Animal Pride. It doesn’t really matter what the title of the book is. They might call theirs Slave’s Pride or something. But that would be like shitting under a tree that gives you shade when the scorching sun threatens to burn you to death. Not a single one of his fellow slaves would even consider that. Didn’t they agree to being slaves because they preferred that to watching their children die?
As such a dialogue takes place in Priest’s mind, Sandile steals inside the living room and seats himself on the sofa on the right-hand side of his father. Priest can tell from his expression that there is something the boy wants to say. Usually Sandile does not spend time in the living room with his family. He normally stays alone in his room, reading his books. Priest is too tired to say anything, leaving the boy to decide on his own whether to speak or not. After four minutes, Sandile seems to have garnered the required vocabulary and confidence for him to speak. “I regret to inform you, Father, that blood will be spilled in this place of ours.”
Priest hears this as if in a dream or at a distance, and when he has managed to make sense of the disconnected sounds, he suddenly recovers from his half-sleep and the fatigue goes away. He threatens to stand up as he says, “Hhe?” Priest hopes he did not hear his son correctly.
“I say blood is going to be spilled in this area.”
“You are mad,” Priest says with a strange suddenness and then asks, “Why would you think that?” Priest’s body has forgotten about the strike and the tiredness of toiling on the farm. He is now rejuvenated.
“Because I know, Father.” As they continue talking, Sandile is getting more and more confident. The fear of talking to his father diminishes as he speaks.
Priest may have recovered from fatigue, but he has no time for nonsense. “You are young and senseless, what do you know?”
“Did you hear about the woman who materialised at Hlanzeni?” Sandile answers his father’s question with another.
“What woman? Materialised?” Priest asks in utter confusion.
“See? You don’t know everything yourself. Some things pass you by even though you are old,” Sandile says in jest, but Priest is annoyed. This is not a proper way for a son to talk to his father. Not if that father is a priest.
“When last did you read your Bible, Sandile? Hhe?” Priest shouts.
Sandile stammers before answering. “It’s … it’s been a … a while, Father.” Now he gets his strength back. “But I thought we are not talking about the Bible. We are talking about the blood that is going to flow in this land. We are talking about the pain and the tears, Father. Not some old book without meaning.”
Priest sends an annoyed glance at him, his teeth clenched. His eyes have become red. What is this boy saying about the Word of God? His God? Who is this boy in the first place? Isn’t he nothing but a dog who depends on him for everything? Priest contemplates punishment and suddenly changes his mind. No use punishing him now. He has not been aware that this boy is growing up and developing his own mind – a mind that is not only influenced by the good tidings of the Lord and the Holy Ghost. The evil forces of Lucifer also influence him. To Priest, things are always divided in two. Life for him is either black or white, good or evil and sacred or profane. His son seems ready to leave the good that is his home for the evil represented by the secular world outside.
Having decided against corporal punishment, Priest orders his son to reconnect himself with the Word of God. He can’t give him up to the forces of evil without a fight. “Go and read Exodus 20, verses one to seventeen. Read it aloud three times,” Priest roars like a wounded lion. His voice is vibrating with anger, and Sandile need not be told that he will brook no contradiction. “I will be listening and counting.”
“But, Father, I know those verses by heart. You used to make me sing them,” Sandile complains.
“Certainly you have forgotten them. It’s been a while since you last recited them. So do as I tell you!”
Instead of contradicting his father again, Sandile stands up and starts reciting the verses like he did when he was younger: “God spoke and these were his words.” Somehow his voice trembles in fear. This act reminds him of his days in junior primary where they were made to recite verses and were punished if they got them wrong. This is what his father did to him too. “I am your God who brought you out of Egypt, out of the land of slavery.”
As Sandile utters these verses, Priest’s mind is taken back to his thoughts about his own slavery and that of his fellow workers. God really has liberated them from the slavery of apartheid and white domination and oppression. But something has gone wrong along the way. Perhaps Moses and his brother Aaron decided to join forces with the Canaanites and the Philistines. It is amazing that the Bible was written so long ago and so far away but it speaks directly to them. Priest and other poor people of Ndlalidlindoda are the Israelites on their way from Egypt.
Priest’s mind comes back when his son recites, “You shall not make wrong use of the name of the Lord your God; the Lord will not leave unpunished the man who misuses His name …”
“Hear that?” Priest intervenes gladly. It is as if God has suddenly appeared to support him. “The Lord will not leave unpunished the man who misuses his name. You should get that into your head.”
Fatigue has completely vanished from Priest’s system. His son’s blasphemous talk has really boosted his energy. But now, as he continues talking, his voice is calmer, “It is a bad thing, son, to talk badly about the Bible, as if you are talking about your friend. The Bible is God’s own words. It is the manifestation of God’s words and if you defy it, you defy God Himself and you will not win. You can never win.”
As he talks now, there is no longer anger in his voice. Perhaps the fact that his son has kept the good words inside him all this time is what pacifies him. This calls forth the book of Deuteronomy to his mind: “These commandments which I give you this day are to be kept in your heart; you shall repeat them to your sons, and speak them indoors and out of doors. When you lie down and when you rise.” Yes. This is exactly what he has done. He is glad his son has kept the good words in his heart. But does he understand and believe them? Well, that is anot
her question. God will have to see to what happens inside his son’s head. He cannot.
“Except …” Sandile says after a while, making sense of his father’s words.
“Except what?”
“Except, if I am as powerful and cunning as Jacob, I may be able to beat God.”
The anger in Priest returns tenfold. He looks at his son with trepidation, wondering if Satan has not taken over his son’s thinking. All the words he knows seem unable to convey what is inside him, so he decides to remain quiet.
It is his son who speaks again after a while. “Do you entirely believe in the Bible, Father?”
That Priest can answer, even in deep sleep. “Yes. Body and soul.” Saying the words provides him with a tinge of happiness. Lucifer may have got his son, but he certainly hasn’t got him.
“So you will agree with me,” Sandile continues. “You will agree with me that if God were visible and in human form it would be possible for a strong person to beat him?” Sandile cannot help smiling.
His father darkens with rage. “Would you tell me what kinds of books you have been reading lately? Because you seem to me to be heading straight to the dark side with those heretic thoughts and questions.” Priest feels hot now. Being in the same room with Lucifer is no easy matter. Sandile seems to be blind to his father’s anger. Or doesn’t he care?
“No, Father. I haven’t turned to the dark side. As for the books I read, the Bible is still the first among them.” He pauses again, lest he begins to laugh. He then continues, “I am pleased to tell you that I enjoy its poeticality. Whoever wrote it is a genius. They had great knowledge of literature at its best.”
“Oh God, what have I done?”
“But why do you lament like that, Father? Don’t you know that the character who is Jacob in the Bible fought with the other who is God and won?” Another laugh disturbs him. “Well, he did not actually win. It was some kind of a draw,” Sandile says, and watches in wonder the transformation in his father.
Priest’s face looks as if he is going to explode. “You know what?” he says, when his breathing has slowed. “Let’s stop this conversation because you certainly are someone I do not know.” His voice is full of sadness as he stands up, getting ready to leave. “If you want to go to Gehena you are free to do so, but please don’t take me with you. I do my best to be able to get to heaven when my time is over. So, as they say, ‘Stay away from me, Lucifer!’” He rushes out of the living room. Mentioning Satan’s name makes Priest believe that he may indeed be with them.
Sandile laughs when his father has disappeared down the passage. I wonder why people like Father claim the Bible is God’s Word but when you mention some verses they act as if you have become a follower of Satan, he thinks.
After a while Sandile leaves the living room. He goes to his bedroom, but this is no time for him to sleep. Instead, he decides to read his poetry. Reading his own work completes him somehow. He may not be published, but that doesn’t matter. He will always write, because for him the act of writing and reading what he has written is therapeutic. He often wonders how people who do not write fiction manage to deal with the complexities of life and their suffering.
Although today I’m like this;
Clad but in tattered sacks
My butt’s laughing behind my back
Torches telling everyone I’m a hobo.
Don’t look down upon me.
I was not born like this.
Although now I am like this
Have no education, no civilisation
The languages of power
I do not speak.
Do not laugh at me.
I too am of blood.
The fact that he is the one who wrote what he is reading makes it even more of a diverting read. Even hunger shies away if he is reading his work. Perhaps one day he will be published, but for now his writings are for his own amusement and healing.
It is ten minutes to eleven when he finally retreats to his bed. The worries of the day are now out of his system. He can have a nice, peaceful sleep. But before he falls asleep, his father’s knock disturbs him. “Sandile! Wake up! Open the door.”
Sandile can tell by the sound of his voice that his father has been in a deep sleep. Whatever has woken him up? An unpleasant dream perhaps? But his father has never come to him for comfort before. He hurries and opens the door for his father, whose eyes are reddened by sleep.
“Tell me about the blood,” Priest says, still groping to find Sandile’s bed. The words come as a great surprise to the boy.
“Father, are you sure you have woken up?”
“Yes, Sandile,” Priest answers. “I’m here in your room. Just tell me about the blood you said is going to be spilled in the area.” Priest is now seated on his son’s single bed.
“I don’t think it’s a good idea, Father …”
“Just tell me!” Priest snaps, and Sandile realises that this man who is half asleep means business.
“I don’t know where to start,” he begins, and then stops again, his mouth showing that he is trying. “Is it okay if I start by asking about the woman of Hlanzeni? Have you heard anything about her?”
“No,” Priest says proudly, “I know nothing about her and I want you to tell me everything you know. Everything.”
“They say that last week Sunday the people at Hlanzeni woke up to find there was a new house where there had been none the previous day.” He stops and steals a furtive glance at his father. Priest’s mouth is agape with wonder and intrigue. “It is said that the chief then sent a delegation of men to find out what was going on. When they got there, the men found an old woman who was busy sweeping the floor. She was doing nothing except sweeping the floor and it looked to those men as if that was all she did. Isn’t that strange, Father?”
“Not as strange as the house suddenly appearing where there has been none the previous day,” Priest claps his hands. “But it is strange indeed.”
“The men asked her who she was and where she came from. She told them she was sent from above to ‘sweep away’ the youth because they have lost the way. Or, should I say, we have lost the way? She said the youth no longer have respect for God and the elders and therefore they have been condemned to death. She was sent to sweep them off the face of the earth.”
Sandile pauses and Priest says, “How does the blood come in? I’m more interested in what you said about the blood. Just tell me about blood!”
“Hmn,” Sandile feels tired now, “this is a bit complicated, Father, and you came when I was about to fall asleep.”
“Just tell me what you were going to tell me.” Priest does not budge.
“The thing is that I have just written a short story.”
“And?” Priest’s impatience is almost visible.
“I wrote a short story that tells a story exactly like the one of the woman I have just told you about. Only it was our neighbours, the people of Canaan, who were swept away. All those who get fat out of the blood of the poor.” Sandile pauses and looks at his father. He notices that his eyes seem as though they are going to pop out.
“I still remember that when I wrote that story it was about half past three in the morning. I just woke up and started writing. I do not know where such great inspiration came from but it was like I had to write or else … I just had to write, and I was not sure what I was writing. At times I want to believe that I dreamed the story, but if you dream you have to wake up and remember. I did not remember anything when I wrote. I was sort of possessed.”
Priest gazes at his son accusingly and says, “What-about-the-blood?”
Sandile continues as if his father has said nothing. “Now the same thing happened the day before yesterday. I woke up in the middle of the night and wrote a story. I did not know what I was writing until I had finished and read it.” There is a sense of sadness in his voice now. “I can feel that the story is a representation of what is really going to happen, Father. The title of the story is ‘River
of Blood’. I did not name it. It named itself!”
Priest passes a distrusting eye over his son.
Sandile continues, “In the story so much blood is spilled that people end up having to drink it instead of water. All the wells and taps ooze blood. It’s blood everywhere. Blood! Blood! Blood!” Sandile sings the last words.
“Shut up!” The image of gulping a glass full of blood his son has managed to conjure up makes Priest want to vomit. “Don’t say that! I don’t want to hear it!”
“But, Father, I thought you craved blood.”
“What?” Priest shouts and stands up, as if wanting to thrust his fist at Sandile. “What did you say?”
“I don’t mean like drinking it, Father. I thought you wanted to hear the word.”
Sandile looks at his father and pities him. He still doesn’t know what brought him to his room, but he can see that something is worrying him.
“I regret I came here in the first place,” Priest says grudgingly as he makes to leave. “I shouldn’t have come to you. You’ve made me feel worse.”
He bangs the door behind him, leaving Sandile still wondering what he should have done for his father. Maybe he wanted me to ask him if he had had a bad dream and then soothe him? Just like a father does to his son.
9
It is a Monday morning at Bambanani High School and Bongani is alone in his office. His fragile mind is not only troubled by the hangover – which he suffers every Monday anyway – but there is something particular on his mind as he paces up and down in the office. Some inaudible sound issues from his mouth that is rarely completely shut.
At some point in his life Bongani came across an expression that “cleanliness is next to godliness” and made it his personal motto. Now, every day before he starts work, he spends time making sure that his office is one hundred per cent neat. Everything has to be kept in its correct place. But today Bongani has forgotten about the filing and is concentrating on something that has caused him much worry.
Hunger Eats a Man Page 6