Life After Death

by Brian Ndingindwayo

  He stepped aside and sighed. He began to sing again, louder. He rubbed the soap into his head, the song still under his breath. He washed it off, and then rubbed soap on the towel.

  As he dried himself, he thought how nice life was here. He had never known all this: his own room, warm baths, completely free days, lots of friends and a parent who didn’t say what should be done and what shouldn’t be done.

  He threw his pyjamas into the laundry basket. Mom had brought him as a worker in the first place. She was now strongly against him doing his own laundry. He felt guilty. Maybe he would do some of the laundry after all. Mom was always busy. And the time she did the household work was in the evening or early morning. She was supposed to be resting then.

  He had said to her, ‘Honestly Mom, I can do all this when you’re at work. I’ve nothing else to do but to eat.’

  ‘There isn’t much work, dear,’ she had said. ‘Thank you so much.’

  She had been silent. But she had asked a bit later, ‘Is it interesting to stay at home?’

  ‘Very interesting,’ he had responded honestly.

  ‘And you have friends now?’ His friends were sometimes rude to him, only sometimes. Otherwise, they were good.

  ‘Yes, I’ve them.’

  ‘I suspect it’s boring here,’ she had said. ‘I was planning to send you to school. Forget about it being boring or not, you should go to school, you know.’

  She had hadn’t said the date. She hadn’t said the school. But the idea had appealed to him slowly. School looked like fun now. All the children of his age were going to school around here. He was a fish out of water.

  He wondered if he should remind her right now. Could it be that there was too much on her mind?

  And it stuck on his mind that he had overheard a row between Daddy and Mom last night.

  He continued to sing, now sorrowfully.

  Natasha was sound asleep. She lay on her stomach. The sun shone into the room through a vent in the curtain. She had lain awake, but at the fall of dawn, she had slept heavily.

  Manata’s voice wafted into the room. She shifted a little in her sleep. She changed sides. Partially awake, she listened to the seething sound. It triggered every sense in her. For a moment, she was lost in the glory of the song, pretending she was a happy woman.

  She opened her eyes. They ached at the sight of sun.

  She was late!

  She flung the blankets away. She swung out of the bed. She pushed her legs into the sandals.

  She stared at the vacant bed that was meant for two people. It has been slept by one person today. Memories flooded back to her.

  She quickly left the room as her eyes misted. She was feeling tired.

  ‘Who’s singing in there?’ she called as she passed the bathroom.

  The water stopped running. ‘An angel Mom,’ came the reply.

  Natasha laughed. That silenced Manata straightaway. He preferred to let his actions pass unnoticed.

  Natasha asked, ‘and what could it be that you’re doing in there?’

  ‘Some laundry,’ was the reply.

  ‘Am I allowed to enter?’

  ‘Indeed.’

  He was leaning against the tub, scrubbing the clothes that had piled in.

  It always broke her heart to see him doing that. He seemed to be doing it so earnestly like he was paying for the love she had for him. He was still too young to go through all that.

  ‘Why don’t you leave that?’ she said persuasively, ‘and prepare some breakfast. I’ll finish off when I return.’

  He didn’t put up a fight.

  She showered. She changed into her workplace outfit. When she finished, breakfast was ready. She had no appetite. Manata loved to see the fruit of his labour appreciated though, so she gobbled it down.

  She was thirty minutes late when she left.

  ‘Manata, I’ll see you when I come back,’ she called out.

  Manata came out racing

  ‘I was just wondering,’ he rasped. ‘When will I go to school?’

  It has been a fortnight since she had promised him school. She had done nothing about it. She was too busy. He wanted uniforms, a place and some company to school. Of course, there was always a force that could have been against this: Sipeyiye. But he was gone now, so what should stop her? Manata wasn’t to stay here idle. He would end up being mischievous.

  ‘I promise,’ she said curtly. ‘Tomorrow, you will go to school.’ Natasha was a woman of action.

  With that, she walked out.

  Her secretary was already there. She must have arrived late, too. She was logging on the machine at 9:00.

  ‘Morning, Mrs. Mohyi,’ she said. She hasn’t made what was between Sipeyiye and her that public. This woman had a nose though. There were days Sipeyiye had frequented her workplace. The message she had given was: let Mr. Mohyi reach me at anytime he wants, no matter how busy I’m. The tale had gone on, in the right direction then.

  Not that the woman was bad, that’s far from the truth. She was one of the most charming women she had ever known. But Natasha wasn’t used to failures in her life. She wondered how she could get over Mrs. Mohyi without looking small.

  ‘I’m ok, Mrs Rudzi, And you?’

  ‘If you’re ok yourself.’

  Mrs. Rudzi was a late fiftyish-old type of woman. She wore an old type of perm. Her suits were tailored, too upright to look nice. Natasha had a tendency of treating her as her mother in matters that didn’t concern business. She had this habit of treating Natasha as her child, instead.

  There was a mountain of work on the table. She hadn’t come for work yesterday. She flopped into the chair, and she wondered the hell where she was to begin.

  There was a notice on the table: a meeting at ten on the monthly budget. The head accountant wanted his report, which she had only half completed. She would complete the report. The meeting! No she would not go.

  ‘Mrs. Mohyi, can I make you a cup of coffee?’ Mrs. Rudzi popped in.

  ‘No, I’m ok.’

  Mrs Rudzi didn’t move an inch.

  She was looking at her. ‘You look tired,’ she said after a moment.

  So it showed that her life was at terrible mess. ‘Do I?’

  ‘Enough to sue Mr. Mohyi for it. He isn’t keeping you well.’

  Natasha smiled wryly. ‘Hold it there.’ She paused. Then she made a face. ‘Because he’s gone forever. But as you said, if it was he, I’ll soon be all right.’

  ‘Don’t you say that,’ voice dropped.

  At noon, Natasha was out of the office she promised herself that she would go shopping. She was doing just that. She had been less involved with her household work. She would have to learn again now that Sipeyiye was gone. She moved about, the wind on her face.

  She went into one shop after another. She purchased toiletries, foodstuffs, utensils. She bought assorted groceries at Spar and paid her bills around town. She felt better. She had a hearty meal at Wimpy’s.

  Having gone through all that, she thought she should start off with Manata’s business. She had a mental note of the possible schools to look for a place. At the top of the list was St Monica, a school just outside town. It was at some walking distance from home. She would have to buy Manata a bicycle later, but of course the nearer it was, the better.

  She went to the school in person.

  She arrived in time to see the pupils having just dismissed and scattered about the school premises.

  The person she met was a Mr. Scott. He claimed to be the deputy headmaster.

  ‘I’m Natasha, Natasha Chuma,’ she said

  ‘And how can I help you?’

  ‘I’m looking for a place for my child.’

  ‘You mean you have a child?’ He searched her face. She knew her appearance were greatly deceiving. The deputy headmaster was middle-aged. If places were scarce here, she would use the power of her looks to get one.

  ‘No, no. I’m staying with a boy who nee
ds a place.’

  His face glowed. ‘That was a bit startling.’

  Natasha blew a smile. ‘You really think so?’ Did he know that she was HIV positive, she wondered?

  ‘I’m afraid the places are filled.’

  Natasha had expected this.

  ‘But... I can squeeze you one,’ he explained.

  ‘I don’t know how you can best handle him.’ She had already found a place. ‘He’s thirteen and he has only gone up to grade three. If you have a special class that would help him cover up. He might even sit for the grade 7 examinations next year.’

  ‘I understand you, madam, but I think you appreciate that such a service requires a lot of your input as well. I mean, we have quite a number of children here that even if we would put him in special class, we’ll not be able to cover the course completely in only two years.’

  ‘I’ll do my best.’

  He slid two sheets of papers across the table. One had the rules and regulations of the school and the fees. The other was the form she was to complete and she did.

  ‘Can I bring the child tomorrow?’ she asked

  ‘We don’t allow pupils without uniforms.’

  But there was a promise she had made to Manata that she could not break. ‘I’ve already prepared for that.’

  ‘How would you be so certain you’d get a place here?’

  She hadn’t expected this. ‘I knew I would meet you.’ She knew she was spreading the wrong message. She noticed he made some mental notes from the paper she had written.

  ‘Is this Miss or Mrs?’ Of course, that was inevitable.

  ‘Miss.’

  He glowed.

  ‘Thank you very much,’ she said as she rose to leave.

  She knew it wasn’t to be a week before her phone rang. She was so used to it. And then what? She also knew she would never attend any of his parties or agree to a lunch. And he will phone, phone and phone. Again for the next two years. He was just a man, and men are all the same.

  She was happy with her day’s progress. She had managed to keep herself occupied, but hadn’t strained herself. That was quite a triumph especially in moments like these. But above all she managed to accomplish something for Manata, too.

  At times she would be surprised with herself for finding love in all the strange places. There were many like Manata back home, but here she was with a stranger. But nothing is as important as the heart, and she really felt she was doing this of her own free will. She had broken all the forces that had bound her.

  And the fact that such a thing had never happened made her love him all the more. It showed that any man can define his own system and live with it. No matter how wrong, until it becomes right.

  She rushed into town to buy the boy the uniform.

  Chapter 50

  School…

  Manata woke up early. It was dark and freezing cold. School. He was happy. He prepared to go to school in a hurry.

  Mom and he had to go out together.

  ‘I’ll hurry up to school before the first bell goes.’

  Mom said. ‘You should see the deputy.’

  Manata wore the immaculate uniform, the full attire from toe to top. He felt elevated in it. They left when it was starting to clear up. It was still very cold when they knocked at the deputy’s office.

  When the deputy arrived, Mom quickly left him alone. Alone for sure because the deputy wasn’t likeable even at first sight. He chained a series of questions all at once, so eager that they should be answered correctly that he rephrased some of his answers and demanded that he say them again.

  When the siren wailed to announce the beginning of the day, all the other children ran off to a place Natasha slowly learnt was the assembly hall. These children were noisy and overzealous which made Manata feel ill at ease. Still, in the middle of the confusion, a teacher came up to him, fury registered on his face, when he saw Manata walking reluctantly down the hall.

  ‘Can’t you hear the siren?’ He banged Manata in the head with a stick, much to Manata’s awe. He ran down the hall in full flight. All the onlookers burst out laughing in applause.

  In the hall the children stood in neat, solid rows. Every row he tried to join, the children in it shoved him aside. ‘Go to your class,’ they spat into his face, the whole row jeering at him.

  He however consented himself with standing in his own row. But as somebody began to speak up front, the teacher who had hit him came up to him again.

  ‘You’re notorious too, aren’t you?’ he cried. ‘Why are you not standing in your own line?’

  ‘Which line?’ Manata asked.

  He stood there, ashen. ‘Your line.’ He jabbed the stick in his head. Manata retreated, very certain that the stick might split his head again. But the teacher was still on him.

  ‘Go to your line. What grade are you doing?’

  Manata’s mind was blank. The deputy had told him his grade, but it wasn’t a number. And phrases are difficult to remember.

  ‘I can’t remember.’ He had picked it on the teacher. And very soon it was cat and mouse. Around the other children, to the back of the hall, flat out across the hall. The teacher charging like a bull. And the children shouting at the game.

  Manata suddenly found himself in the deputy’s arms.

  ‘What’s it?’ the deputy asked

  ‘Bring him here, deputy. Seems like we have ourselves some trouble here.’

  ‘It can’t be. This child had only come into the school?’

  ‘But he can’t stand in the line.’

  The deputy turned to him. ‘Is it true, Manata?’

  ‘No, I only can’t remember the class.’

  ‘He’s in the special class, teacher. Why, I will show him the class.’

  ‘See.’ There was a pause. ‘He should be mentally retarded.’

  ‘Yes indeed, teacher. You shouldn’t have done that.’

  The deputy headmaster took him to a crooked line. The children in it couldn’t stand upright. They kept on giggling over things that weren’t funny. Some of them were so huge, while some of them were so small, perhaps malnourished. By the time they walked out of the hall, Manata knew the meaning of mentally retarded. He was sorry that the term had been applied to him.

  The special class had three teachers who all kept a stick ready in their hands. They made sure you didn’t over scratch your head. They also made sure you didn’t play kick on the other side of the desk below. Manata learnt they could make life as miserable as was possible.

  He was given a number of books. One of the teachers demonstrated how they were supposed to be covered. On doing it, Manata did it so badly that he was told to do it again. Then again and again. He was completely tired when he finished, which was nearly time to dismiss. He couldn’t believe, dare say, for the first day, the only thing he did was to cover books.

  He dismissed at noon. As he walked out of the gate, Mom was waiting to pick him.

  ‘And how was your day?’ she asked, so keen to hear that he enjoyed it.

  ‘Nice, very nice,’ he answered with all the glamour he could put into his voice, but it was still flat.

  ‘Don’t worry. You’ll soon enjoy it. And the deputy, was he nice to you?’

  ‘Very, he saved me in time from a teacher, who had a stick, who didn’t know I was new in the school.’ He didn’t come to the finer details of it. He said it all in a warm spirit. And God, it was awful irritating.

  The following day didn’t bring about much difference. The teacher in charge of him read him a note that he said he had received from the Deputy. He did it all businesslike and without affection.

  ‘We should cover as much as we can in a year, because you’re writing next year. And you’re thirteen; most of your ages are already married. That means I’ll have to deal with you harder that the rest.’

  He meant every word of his. As they changed subjects, Manata could feel the pressure mounting on him. The teacher tolerated no mistakes. He
simply meant business. During the fifth lesson, Manata was fingering his back battered with bruises. The teacher was working on him. He wondered what would happen if this continued. A year of the torture would transform him into a wreck!

  He made his decision. He hated school!

  That evening he said his position clear to Mom. He didn’t seem to like it. If it was heading for anything, it was going to be the worse. Mom maintained that it would get better with time. He would look back someday with a smile on his face. He didn’t press his views.

  And on the third day, the tempo had increased still. He couldn’t even breathe when he returned home. The teacher had sent him with a note for Mom.

  ‘It says here that I should give you some extra lessons in Mathematics. He’s saying your Mathematics is quite bad. ‘

  So the mathematics lessons started. No matter how much comfortable Mom tried to make them, Mathematics is Mathematics. Some three hours of serious thinking every day, and he realized he couldn’t even go out to play. Everything around him said school. Even in his dreams, he had hallucinations about school. He breathed, bred and bore school.

  Not that there was much that came out of him. He was labelled dull right from the start, not only in Mathematics, but also in other subjects, although of course Mathematics was the worst. He found it increasingly difficult to excel, as was expected of him because he was older than the other children.

  He lived with it for a month. Nobody understood his position. Nobody, not even Mom. The only time he would ever loosen up was during music lessons.

  Then something more sinister happened.

  They had finished school, and were now sweeping the floor with the other boys who were on duty. The teacher was there as usual to see that the duty was done diligently. They swept from the back to the front like a charging Zulu battalion until they could sweep the dirt through the door.

  The boy next to Manata was leaving too much space between Manata and himself. Of course that was meant for Manata to sweep up. Manata was adamant. He didn’t sweep up.

  ‘Manata, why are you leaving all this space unswept?’ the teacher asked.