Hum If You Don't Know the Words
Page 38
I didn’t know then what the future would hold. I didn’t know that the story Beauty and I shared was far from over, nor did I know that the winding paths our lives would take—mine and Beauty’s and Nomsa’s—would go on to become so entangled that all these years later, I’m finding it impossible to pick apart the knots to separate them. But that’s another story for another time.
So I left them there like that, fingers entwined, and I turned and headed for where King George had parked. The sun had risen by then, setting the horizon alight and making the Johannesburg mine dumps glow in the distance. The morning was hushed; all I could hear was the chirping of crickets and the whoosh of cars on the highway. A sleepy moon still lingered, as reluctant to let go of the night as I was.
“Robin!” The cry cut through the stillness.
For a wild moment, I pretended it might be Beauty risen from her bed to keep me from leaving; hope can make you believe crazy things like that. But I recognized that voice, there was no mistaking it, and I turned and shielded my eyes from the glare. Even backlit, I knew the figure running across the parking lot was Edith. Trailing behind her was the rest of the rescue party: Morrie and the Goldmans.
Edith swooped down on me, laughing and crying at the same time, and I ran with arms outstretched to meet her. She swept me up, spinning me around so that the sun and the hospital and the landscape all blurred into one.
“Robin, baby. You’re okay. Oh, thank God you’re okay.”
And I was because Edith had come after all. She’d come to take me home.
Acknowledgments
There’s an African proverb that says it takes a village to raise a child, and in much the same way, I believe it took a village to bring this book to life. I would never have been able to write it without the encouragement and support of the many wonderful people in my life.
The first big thank-you goes to the amazing instructors and staff at the University of Toronto’s School of Continuing Studies Creative Writing Department, especially Lee Gowan, Jen Cooper, Michel Basilieres, Susan Glickman, Glenda MacFarlane, Mark Brownell, Catherine Graham, Ken Murray, Terry Fallis, Dennis Bock and Don Gillmor. I wrote the entire first draft of the manuscript while attending their classes for my Certificate in Creative Writing, and I’m extremely grateful for the opportunity to have studied with such talented writers. An extra big thank-you goes to Rabindranath Maharaj who was my mentor on my final project submission. I would have given up on the manuscript early on if it weren’t for him; I am hugely indebted to him for teaching me so much and for encouraging me to keep going.
I have been incredibly lucky throughout my entire life to have the best teachers anyone could ever wish for; there are too many to thank them all individually, but I’d like to thank Lyn Voigt who was my high school English teacher and who mentored me from when I was sixteen years old. She always pushed me to do better and had such faith in my abilities that it ignited a lifelong passion for writing. Thank you to her for that, as well as the editing she did on the early drafts of the manuscript.
It was during my studies at U of T’s SCS that I met the most fabulous group of fellow aspiring writers. Thank you to all of them for reading and rereading every new draft of the book; for their unfailingly kind words; for providing a safe space and supportive community; as well as for their honesty and insight. I’d especially like to thank Lisa Rivers, Jenny Prior, Kath Jonathan, Emily Murray, Caroline Gill, Susie Whelehan, Andie Duncan, Cristina Austin, Ben Brown, Gillian May and Brenda Proulx. Their fingerprints are all over the final draft, and none of them will truly know how much their support, encouragement and friendship sustained me through the toughest days.
I’m also very appreciative of the wonderful writing community, in Toronto and farther afield, which has been so supportive. Thank you to them for welcoming me, inviting me to readings, being so generous with their praise and advice, and making me believe I could do it. There are too many of them to thank individually; hopefully they all know who they are.
For assistance with translations and research, I’d like to thank everyone who shared their memories and expertise, especially Bongani Kona, Professor Russel Kaschula (Rhodes University), Dr. Jadezweni (Rhodes University), Phokeng Mohatlane, Thabani Sibiya, Simpiwe Balfour, Bridget Thomas, Peter Barnard, Chris and Lynda de Vries, Wayne Bailey, Joppie Nieman (the South African Airways Museum Society) and Rachel Townsend.
A great big thank-you goes to the world’s best literary agent, Cassandra Rodgers, who picked my manuscript up out of the slush pile and was kind enough to fall in love with it even when it needed a lot of work. I could never thank her enough for making all my dreams come true. Thanks as well to Sam Hiyate, Olga Filina (who rocks), Diane Terrana (who helped in ways she can’t imagine) and the rest of the agents, editors and interns who make up The Rights Factory team.
I am enormously grateful to my amazing editor, Kerri Kolen, for giving the book such a spectacular home, and for making the manuscript so much better than I ever could’ve imagined. Her insight and guidance have been invaluable, and she has been an absolute joy to work with. I’d also like to thank Anabel Pasarow, as well as the rest of the fabulous Putnam and Penguin Random House team. I still have to pinch myself every day because I can’t believe I have such a brilliant publisher.
To the people of South Africa—the wacky and wonderful; the white, the black and everyone else in between; those who speak one of the eleven official languages and those who speak a language all of their own; the children of the rainbow nation; the born-frees and those who paved the way before; the ones who live in mansions and the ones who live in shacks—I thank each and every one of them for inspiring this book and being a part of the rhythm that flows through my veins. You can take a South African out of South Africa, but you cannot take South Africa out of a South African.
I don’t know what I did to deserve such wonderful friends and family, but I am blessed beyond measure to have so many special people in my life. In fact, too many to mention them all. I’d like to collectively thank my friends—near and far, old and new—and my family—immediate and extended—for their enthusiasm and kindness; for reading all my early attempts at writing and still telling me I was talented; for their unwavering support and blind faith; and for being the best cheerleaders anyone could ever ask for. I’d especially like to thank my sister-in-law, Mandy Marais, for believing in me so much that she submitted my previous manuscripts to every publishing contact she had. I’d also like to thank my amazing parents, Chris and Lynda, for buying me my first typewriter; for encouraging my creativity from when I was knee-high to a grasshopper; and for always believing in me and telling me I could be anything I wanted to be. Thank you as well to my incredibly special friend, Charmaine Shepherd, who has read every draft of this book (and every draft of every book that came before), who cheered me on tirelessly and would not let me give up. There are no words to express how grateful I am to her for everything she has done and for her steadfast presence in my life.
My final thanks goes to my rock of a husband, Stephen, who in making me laugh every day has made the world an infinitely better place. I am so thankful for all the many sacrifices he has made so that I could pursue my dreams. I will never deserve him but that won’t ever stop me from trying.
About the Author
Bianca Marais holds a certificate in creative writing from the University of Toronto’s SCS, and her work has been published in World Enough and Crime. Before turning to writing, she started a corporate training company and volunteered with Cotlands, where she assisted care workers in Soweto with providing aid for HIV/AIDS orphans. Originally from South Africa, she now resides in Toronto with her husband.
biancamarais.com
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