We Kiss Them With Rain

by Futhi Ntshingila

  They realized that their lives had just changed in the blink of an eye. The harder things seemed to get, the more determined they were. After Mbali’s visit, they went baby shopping for everything possible to make the life of their new miracle comfortable. Petra subscribed to baby magazines and found a support group for parents with cross-racially adopted babies.

  Mbali had given them the number of a hotshot lawyer friend of hers who had just got back to town. She said the woman was someone who fought like a bull terrier, never letting go, especially in children’s cases.

  “She only takes cases that are important to her,” Mbali explained. “She’s a bit strange, but don’t be put off. She’ll fight for you until you get the legal right to be parents to this little princess.” Petra held on to the piece of paper as though her life depended on it. “Her name is Nonceba Hlathi,” Mbali said. And added as an afterthought, “It means bush.”

  Johan felt his skin prickle for a moment. But it would be just too much of a coincidence. He sat quietly and thoughtfully while Mbali and Petra talked through the red tape.

  “And what are you thinking about so seriously, Princess’s father?” Petra asked teasingly after Mbali had left.

  All his memories of Zimkitha had come flooding back, and he had to steady himself to make the phone call to the lawyer.

  The phone rang and rang, and then suddenly a voice came on the line. “Hi, this is Nonceba—”

  “Hello, my—”

  “…leave a message and I’ll get back to you.” A long beep followed her recorded voice.

  Johan started again.

  CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

  “Where is the baby?” Cleanman asked when Mvelo returned empty-handed from hospital.

  “It died,” she lied without emotion.

  Cleanman was dumbfounded. He was wondering just how much bad luck one young girl could have, first losing her mother and then her baby. After a long silence, he said, “It’s probably for the best, young one.”

  She nodded in agreement.

  She was too numb to cry and her mind was already on her next plan, to check if Sabekile was safe. The next day was rubbish collection day, when the shack dwellers were out in full force. She went to town as if to rummage through the bins, but only one house was her target. She kept a low profile, but was keenly observing if Sabekile was there. Her heart leaped when she saw them, the old white couple, with her baby. The woman was cradling the baby in her arms as the husband helped her into the passenger seat, and then went round to drive.

  Mvelo waited near the house, and not long afterwards, they returned with the police. They were talking and showing the police where they had found the screaming baby. The police left, but soon after that, a lady in a dull suit and sensible shoes arrived at the house. Her car had the social welfare emblem on it. Mvelo wanted to scream because she thought it meant that her baby was going to be sent to one of those overcrowded institutions where other children and minders abuse the younger ones. She was very relieved when she saw them come out talking amicably, and the social worker lady left without the baby. The smiling couple still had her baby with them. Her faith in her solemn prayer was restored.

  Day in and day out, Mvelo continued to loiter around the house, keeping an eye on who was coming and going. She was careful not to be noticed, but she couldn’t stay away; the pull was too powerful. She still had a strong, imprint-like feeling on her arm from cradling Sabekile when she was in the hospital, and she longed to feel the softness of her baby’s skin again.

  After about a month had passed, one day Mvelo saw the man of the house drive out and the woman, holding Sabekile, waving him goodbye and closing the front door. Mvelo became reckless. Beside herself, she went straight to the door and knocked.

  The woman opened the door again with Sabekile. “Yes, young lady, how can I help you?” She had a practiced smile on her face, acting as though she didn’t notice that Mvelo smelled like hot refuse and hadn’t been in water for a week.

  “Madam, I am hungry. Do you have anything for me to eat?” It was the only thing she could think of saying, and it was the truth, even though it wasn’t the reason she was there.

  “I think we must get you a change of clothes first and get you freshened up. You look like you’re having a hard time,” the woman said, the kindness never leaving her eyes, despite the offensive odor. She gave Mvelo a cake of soap and pointed her to an outside room that had a shower. “Go and get yourself cleaned up, and I’ll bring you a change of clothes.”

  Perhaps it was the kindness of the woman and the scent of the Breeze soap, Mvelo’s favorite, that reminded her of her mother, which brought rivers of tears to her eyes. Or perhaps it was the sight of her sore breasts, full of milk, with no child to suckle. But under that warm, soothing shower, she cried out all her tears.

  When Petra walked in after a while, she found Mvelo on her knees, overcome by her private grief. She switched off the taps and wrapped Mvelo’s body in a warm, soft towel, bringing back memories of when she was a child living in Sipho’s house with her mother, before she knew anything of poverty.

  “It will be all right,” Petra said softly. “Come into the house and meet Princess Tholakele.”

  Inside there were pictures of the couple with her Sabekile. Mvelo changed into a jeans skirt and a red, cotton T-shirt with a Coca-Cola logo on the back. Petra looked her over and smiled. “What is your name?” she asked.

  The question jolted Mvelo back to the present, and she said the first thing that passed through her mind. “My name is Dora,” she lied. She was scared now because she felt she had come too close.

  “Nice to meet you, Dora, my name is Petra. And this here,” pointing to Mvelo’s smiling Sabekile, “is my Princess Tholakele.”

  Mvelo stared at the baby, too dumbfounded to say anything. Her cheeks were full, she was dressed in a beautiful, pink jumpsuit, and she looked the picture of contentment. Mvelo thanked God for making sure that she was safe in the house of these kind strangers. Petra gave Mvelo a warm plate of bobotie. She hated raisins, but she gulped it down. She hadn’t had a good square meal for some time.

  While Mvelo ate, Petra told her that it was a big day for them because Johan, her husband, had gone to meet with a lawyer who was helping them legalize the adoption of Princess. Mvelo was relieved, and absorbed the warmth and the kindness of the house as she listened.

  When she stood up to leave, she touched Sabekile. She had to do it. It was a pull as strong as a physical ache. All the while that she was there, she had been fighting herself from grabbing the baby and greedily holding on to her. Instead, now she simply touched her small hand, trying hard to make it look casual. The baby grabbed her hand firmly with both of her own and tried to put it into her mouth. The lady laughed, and said everything went into Princess’s mouth these days. Mvelo thanked Petra for her kindness and said she would be on her way.

  As she was leaving, Petra told Mvelo about the work she did with her husband, and gave her a plastic bag full of clothes. She said she could see that Mvelo had fallen on hard times. It was the first time anyone had ever asked Mvelo not to be offended for being given handouts. It was the strangest feeling. She felt warm inside, not like the dirty, smelly beggar that she was when she had arrived at the house. The lump in her throat returned.

  She couldn’t verbalize a thank you, she simply nodded and her eyes clouded with tears. Petra squeezed her shoulder and repeated that it would be all right.

  Mvelo cried for most of that night and the next day. It wasn’t a sad cry, but a cry from fullness that she felt in her stomach and her chest. It had been a strange day.

  The singing from the tent filtered into Mvelo’s ears like a dream. It was from the other side of the hill and the wind carried the voices to her side of the shacks. She woke up with a start, and her heart was thumping like a drum. She ran to Cleanman’s shack, just to be sure that she wasn’t hearing voices. “Cleanman, can you hear that noise?” she asked him.

  “Young on
e, you surprise me,” he said. “How can you say the preaching of the gospel is noise? You and your mother regularly attended the revivals of Pastor Nhlengethwa.”

  Mvelo froze. Cleanman looked at her quizzically. He had mentioned his name and resurrected him again. How could he do that? Mvelo had killed him in her mind. Now he was back.

  The music quieted and she walked back to her shack. Her head felt heavy, as if she had flu. Her mouth tasted metallic. She drank a glass of water and tried to wash the taste way. “You are all children of God,” the voice came on the wind again. The sound of it weakened her muscles. The only glass she had fell from her hand and smashed into pieces on the floor. Her bladder loosened, warming her thighs. She began to sweat and it felt like the shack was closing in on her.

  “I ask the men in this tent to stand up and say, ‘I will be my sister’s keeper.’” The voice was gaining righteous fervor. Barely nine months after tearing apart Mvelo’s world, Nhlengethwa was back, scouting for more victims.

  She trembled and cried out from the hot anger she felt inside.

  “Be men who can be counted on,” the voice came again. “You were born to be protectors, my brothers. Come to God and give your pledge to protect His angels. Remember what He said, ‘Let the children come unto me.’” His fervor was reaching fever pitch, leaving Mvelo with no doubt that the lion had spotted his next prey.

  His sermon convinced Mvelo that she needed to do something. He had to be stopped.

  The following night, she walked the long way to the other side of the hill. She waited and watched as the tent filled up with people. The music began, and there he was, her violator. Mvelo’s curses hadn’t done anything to him. He stood there on the podium, tall and strong, well fed by the money of those desperate for salvation. The sight of him made her feel small and unsure of what to do next.

  It was when he began to preach that she remembered her mother’s funeral; how women started a song each time they wanted to discourage a eulogy that was inappropriate. “Amahlathi, amahlathi aphelile. Akusekho ukucasha. The forest is done, there is nowhere to hide,” Mvelo began to sing with a conviction she didn’t feel. From the dark of the tent he couldn’t see her, but the spotlight was on him so she could see him. The congregation joined with her song.

  Mvelo walked slowly into the light. The elders eyed her with uncertainty; they didn’t know what to do, so she walked freely to the front without being stopped.

  By this time, she could see the recognition in his eyes.

  She took off her dress and her panties and stood in front of him and the congregation, naked as the day she was born.

  Before anyone could do anything, Nhlengethwa fell like a log. His shocked, ugly heart had failed. The men ran to his side and the women threw a blanket to Mvelo, which she took and covered herself.

  No one got close to her. Even in church, the fears of witchcraft were strong. Some threw salt, which they kept nearby, towards her, and others called the name of Jesus to remove the evil spirits in her. She simply wrapped the blanket around her, picked up her dress and panties, and walked out into a beautiful, balmy Durban night.

  She walked towards the sea, and when she reached the beach, she sat and listened to the waves whispering their secrets to her.

  CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

  The news of Sipho’s death finally reached Nonceba. It was not long after Zola died. The many voices that usually disturbed her were quieting down; being back on the continent of her birth connected her again, and the troubling dreams began lessening too.

  In her preoccupation with healing herself, she had to completely shut down thoughts of others to concentrate on finding her center again, which had become lost along the way. She hadn’t lost hope of finding her father, but she no longer obsessed about it. She had stopped looking actively, after she consulted with a charlatan of a seer who said that the only way he could connect with the spirit of her father was by sleeping with her. She spat in his face and left without a word.

  Eventually all roads led back to Durban, the place where she had found love with Sipho, and her motherly instinct through caring for Mvelo.

  Her thoughts of Mvelo pricked her like a thorn. She felt guilty about breaking her promise to Mvelo, but a part of her knew that it had to be done. To separate from Sipho, she’d had to let go of everything connected to him.

  Part of her reason for coming back to Durban was that she wanted to do a course in homeopathy at the Durban University of Technology. Finally she began to visit her old haunts again, and was shocked and heartbroken when she arrived at her old legal firm downtown and heard about Sipho.

  Johan’s message on her voicemail drew her back into legal work, even though she had hoped not to go back to the law. Something about the case pulled her in. He spoke of their legal battle with social welfare, who were threatening to take the child away, and she thought of her grandmother who was brought up in an orphanage before she was adopted.

  “Yes, Mbali told me. I’m glad that you’re dealing with her,” she said when she returned his call. “If she trusts you, as you say she does, she’ll buy us some time while I take a few weeks to settle in. I’m sure my former colleagues will accommodate me, and we’ll fight this together.” She was trying to convince herself as much as to convince him.

  She felt the old rush coming back to her. The excitement of a good legal fight coming her way left her feeling flushed. She was back, working with people who really needed her help.

  As she sat on the futon in the beachfront flat she had rented, she went through the notes she had been taking while talking to Johan. What a sad story of desperation, leaving a child on the doorstep of strangers. She wondered about the mother who had abandoned the child. It left her feeling sad.

  Three weeks after Johan’s call, she managed to convince Sipho’s former partners to take her back to deal with pro bono cases and start a legal clinic as part of their social responsibility program. When Johan called again as arranged, she was in high spirits, because she was going back on her own terms.

  Johan agreed to meet her mid-morning at Tribeca on Florida Road.

  CHAPTER NINETEEN

  Despite his better judgment, after Mbali had mentioned Nonceba’s name, Johan had allowed himself a tiny seed of hope. Perhaps this woman could be related to Zimkitha and she could help them find his daughter. He set up the meeting with her, and then he became a bundle of nerves. Petra couldn’t understand it, and he felt he had to finally come clean with her and tell her what he thought.

  “Why didn’t you tell me!” she said, appearing excited.

  “I didn’t want to get our hopes up, in case nothing came of it,” he said simply.

  “Well, we will soon know one way or the other, so you had better get there and find out. We need this woman to help us with Princess.”

  As he was picking up his keys and heading for the car, he had to turn around and dash to the bathroom, where he heaved out the contents of his stomach.

  Petra silently handed him a towel and stared at him for a minute. Then she said, “I’ll do it. I will go and meet her, and I’ll tell her you had a case of the jitters about the adoption.”

  “Would you?” He looked at her gratefully. “I am sorry, Petra. I thought I was ready but now I just can’t.”

  “The other thing we could do,” said Petra, always the practical one, “is that we could all go, and you could sit somewhere else and join us later, if you feel up to it.”

  They were early. He sat opposite the table that Petra chose, and ordered some tea to calm his nerves.

  Nonceba arrived in her red Golf. As she crossed the street, in her jeans and cotton top, she was the image of Zimkitha all those years ago. Johan jolted and burned his tongue on his tea. There was no doubt in his mind that the woman with the big afro, walking towards the restaurant, was Zimkitha’s daughter. His hands began to shake. It was all too much, so he stood up, left some money for the tea, and hurried out.

  Petra looked at her husband and she knew.
She stood up and waved Nonceba over to her table.

  Nonceba saw Petra with Princess Tholakele, and walked over to them. “Mrs. Steyn?” she said, extending her hand. “I thought I was meeting with your husband.”

  “He woke up with an upset stomach this morning,” she said, “and we didn’t want to cancel, so I thought that I should come over with Princess to meet you.” All the while she was taking in the facial features in front of her. She had Johan’s forehead, the slight curl in her lips, and a distinct dimple in her chin. When Petra turned to take a casual look at Johan’s table, he was nowhere to be seen.

  “So, Mrs. Steyn, it seems we are in for a tough fight.” Nonceba was gearing herself up and playing with the chubby cheeks of the baby.

  Petra had to camouflage the shock she felt at seeing her husband’s daughter looking back at her. As their conversation progressed, she began to relax, and they focused on the baby and the case. They parted with a promise to fight to the end for Princess Tholakele.

  When Petra got home, she filled Johan in on the meeting. She also confirmed to him that there was no doubt in her mind that Nonceba was his daughter. She understood his predicament, but she also knew that something had to be done. “What if we keep quiet about what we know until after the case is concluded?” she suggested. They agreed that it would probably be the best way to proceed.

  After the meeting with Petra was concluded, Nonceba headed for the shacks. Spending time with the baby made her think of her own maternal responsibilities, and she had started to feel increasingly guilty about abandoning Mvelo. She had to look for her and find out how she was doing.

  Mvelo had managed to dodge most of the visitors who had tried to come to her shack after the birth of her baby, and now she was distracted by the death of Reverend Nhlengethwa. A part of her felt uneasy; it wasn’t her intention for him to die like that. She wanted to tell her side of the story to the congregation, to expose his hypocrisy and lies. She was angry that she didn’t have a chance to do that. As far as the congregation was concerned, he had died a saint. She wasn’t sad that he had died, but she did wonder if she was evil, as the congregants were saying.