With just
one glance, one could tell immediately that there had been a struggle in the
room. An old and worn out coffee table stood askew, one of its legs missing.
Equally worn out chairs lay sideways on the floor, their seats, having come
undone during the struggle, lay somewhere in the dusty shadows of the room. The
only thing that seemed undisturbed was a small red radio that stood on the mantle,
oblivious to the mess around it. It continued to play its soft jazzy harmonies,
as if it didn’t care much for what had just occurred in the room. Distant
sounds drifted in through the window. Somewhere, some children were playing
pada, their squeals of laughter mingling with the voices of passing vendors
trying to sell the last of their wares before the end of the day. Soon the
sounds would fade with the setting of the Zimbabwean sun. Mothers would call
out to their children that it was time to come inside now and the vendors would
begin the walk back home, their bag of wares just as heavy as they had been when
they had begun the day. But none of this mattered much to Nyasha as he sat
cowering in one dark corner of the room. One might have missed him were it not
for his loud shivering as he took in rapid gulps of air, looking first at his
shaking hands, and then at his mother who lay a few meters away from him. Her
eyes seemed to stare at him accusingly, but there was no life in them. You
could just make out the faint bruises on her neck, indicating that she had been
strangled. Nyasha continued to take in huge gulps of air, as he looked into his
mother’s eyes. Subconsciously, he began to think back on how it had all begun.
It had been this very afternoon. He had been his way back home from school with
some of his friends, and they had taken their usual shortcut through the maize
fields. Itai had suggested they stop at the little kopje they had dubbed
Mandigumbura. They had named it so, because they got up to all kinds of
mischievous activities on it. Activities they knew their parents would never
condone. The four of them, Itai, Simba, Bonzo and himself, would usually meet
up on a lazy Sunday afternoon and head out to Mandigumbura. Itai’s father owned
a beer hall by the shops, and itai would steal a few pints of Castle for them
to drink. Bonzo’s uncle was a drug dealer of sorts, and sometimes, Bonzo
managed to grab a packet or two of mbanje if he was lucky. They would spend
their Sunday drinking beer and smoking weed, flipping through an old crude
magazine, sniggering at the lewd images. Then they would return home when the
effects of their afternoon had more or less worn off. When itai had suggested
they stop at Mandigumbura, they had immediately known that he must have some
beer on him, and they were only too pleased to comply. They scrambled up the
kopje, and dropped their tattered satchels under the shade of the mopane tree
that had grown between the rocks.
“Maboys,
you’ll never believe what I managed to steal from the beer hall this time!” Itai
said vivaciously. As he spoke, he dug his arm into his bag and pulled out a
bottle of Zed. Simba gave an excited shout of laughter and tried to grab the
little bottle of illegal alcohol, but Itai pulled it out of his reach.
“Aiwa ka, I
brought the alcohol. I should have the honor of taking the first swig.” Itai
said with a laugh. Sitting down in their usual positions on the rock, they had
passed the bottle around. Bonzo had fished the old magazine from its hiding place
and immediately turned to his favorite page and threw it in the midst of their
semi-circle for them all to see the brunette woman glistening with body oils, a
python wrapped intricately around her body.
As the
afternoon wore on, and they got more and more intoxicated, their conversation
had turned to the special school visit from the AIDS Council the previous week.
Nyasha had missed it because he and his father had been out looking for his
mother who hadn’t come home for three days. It wasn’t the first time she had
disappeared, but she was usually only gone for a day. He didn’t know where she
went, but they would eventually find her hobbling down some street or the
other, one of her shoes missing. She always claimed to have forgotten what had happened,
and Nyasha never questioned her. His father didn’t care much either. If it
wasn’t for Nyasha who insisted they go looking for his mother, his father would
have been indifferent to his wife’s whereabouts.
“They said
there’s no cure for AIDS.” Bonzo said taking a long gulp from the bottle before
passing it to Simba.
“Shame.
That means Mukoma Zvi is gonna die pretty soon!” Itai sniggered, referring to
the beggar who lived in the drain pipes. He was horribly thin and often had
sores on his arms, but they didn’t know for sure if he had AIDS.
Nyasha said
as much in reply to Itai’s callous remark and got a cold look from Itai. It was
supposed to be Nyasha’s turn with the bottle but Itai passed it to Bonzo
instead.
“Why are
you defending Mukoma Zvi? He’s the poster boy for AIDS. No one would deny it.”
Itai drawled with another frigid look at Nyasha before continuing. “Mukoma Zvi
is dying soon. Won’t that be a relief? My mother always gives him a big plate
of sadza whenever he comes begging at our doorstep, which is very often now
that he knows my mother is too generous. I could be taking that extra sadza to
school for my lunch.”
Simba gave
a snort and said, “Itai, you’re so selfish! You can hardly finish the sadza
that you already bring to school. If you had any more sadza, you’d be even
fatter than you are now.” Itai ignored Simba’s remark, even though he hated
being called fat.
“I wouldn’t
be surprised if your mother died soon as well.” Itai said quietly. He had an
inebriated grin on his face, which reminded Nyasha of a picture of an evil cow
he had seen as a child. Everyone looked at Nyasha expectantly and it took him a
while to realize Itai was not only talking about someone’s mother, but about his
mother at that. Nyasha gave his head a shake, trying to clear it and replied.
“Are you
saying my mother has AIDS?”
“That’s
exactly what I’m saying!” he slurred back in response. Simba and Bonzo gave
loud snorts of laughter, pleased that they were the only two sharing the
bottle.
“My mother
doesn’t have AIDS!” Nyasha shouted in angry response and Itai gave a derisive
laugh.
“Have you seen the way your mother acts at the
beer hall. I’m there every Thursday night to help my father and she’s always
there. She’s the communal whore. Every time I see her leaving with a different
man. She’s been with every Tom, Dick and Harry.” Nyasha gave another angry
bellow and tried to stand. He immediately regretted the quick movement as his
stomach moaned in protest, and his vision blurred. He sat back down, and tried
to grab Itai's collar instead. He missed. Itai didn’t even flinch. His grin
grew wider as he slurred, “You probably have AIDS too!”
Simba’s
mouth gaped open at this last remark. “He’s right. Those tablets you’re always
taking. For all you know, they could be… what are they called…”
“…ARV’s.” Itai
finished for him with smug look on his face.
“They’re
not ARV’s! They’re vitamin tablets!” Nyasha replied defensively.
“Ha-ha, of
course. You’re family can hardly afford to pay your school fees, and yet they
have the money to buy vitamins. Tell me, how long you have been taking your
‘vitamins’?” They all waited expectantly for Nyasha’s answer and Itai was only
too pleased to carry on when Nyasha remained silent.
“You’ve
been blind this whole time. It’s time to open your eyes.”
Nyasha
wasn’t going to sit there and be insulted by his friends. But he wasn’t going
to try and fight Itai either. He rose unsteadily to his feet and grabbed his
bag. There was complete silence now, as the other three boys watched him precariously
climb down the kopje. Nyasha felt the anger boil inside him as he walked home.
He kept thinking of the self-satisfied look on Itai’s face when Nyasha had
looked back one last time at his friends. Both his parents were home when he
arrived, and without thinking he stood in the doorway of their bedroom. His
mother was grasping his father’s arm, smiling at him seductively.
“Please
Josiah, you never touch me any more…”
Josiah
violently shook his arm from her grasp and looked at her in disgust. He had
been about to say something when he had noticed his son silhouetted in the
doorway.
“Nyasha?”
“What are
those tablets I’m always taking for?” Nyasha slurred, looking first at his
mother, then at his father, and then back again to his mother.
Josiah
folded his arms and looked expectantly at his wife to answer.
His mother
gave an irritated sigh, and come up to her son with an ingratiating smile. “Nyasha,
do you have any money, I want to go out tonight…”
Josiah took
two purposeful strides towards his wife and gave her a good shake. “Today
you’re going to answer this boy’s question!” he bellowed into her face. “I’m going out tonight. You’ve left it
too late, the boy is nearly sixteen.”
With that,
his father wasted no time putting on his old blazer, and leaving the house. His
mother rolled her eyes and started rummaging around on the pile of clothes
strewn on the floor. She muttered under her breath as she struggled to find her
favorite red dress. She suddenly remembered that Nyasha was still standing
there, and asked again if he had any money.
“What are
those tablets for?” he demanded. His mother gave another irritated sigh and
said unfeelingly, “Stop asking me stupid questions Nyasha and give me some
money.”
“Do I have
AIDS?” He asked quietly.
His mother
looked at him in surprise. “So you’re not as stupid as I thought!” She gave a
laugh as if it was the funniest thing in the world. She walked out into the
lounge and switched on the little red radio. She was in the mood for dancing
tonight. She shimmied her way back into the bedroom, a smile on her face.
“I have
AIDS?” Nyasha whispered in disbelief.
“Don’t
stand there gaping at me like a fish out of water. You have HIV, not AIDS.
Don’t they teach you anything at your school. And anyway, it’s not like your
life was worth much anyway. You’re stuck here. You’ll be poor until you die.”
His mother finally found the red dress, and she began smoothing it out with her
hands.
Nyasha
slowly sank to the ground. His mother was always telling him he would never be
anything in life, but he always forgave her because she was drunk. Now she was
saying it and she was sober. She hadn’t looked in the least bit sympathetic as
she had told him he had HIV.
“How?” he
asked hoarsely.
“Oh,” she
said, with a non-affected flick of the hand, “When I was pregnant with you, I
couldn’t help myself. Your father could be so boring sometimes, so I found
someone to amuse myself with. Too bad he had the virus. Your father found us
here together, and hasn’t touched me ever since. He may as well have left me,
but he’s too traditional. He said he wanted to look after you.” She gave
another amused laugh and stood up. “So what did you say about that money?”
With the
combination of the alcohol, and the callous way in which his mother had
revealed the horrible truth, Nyasha had felt the anger well up inside him. He
gave a tortured scream and rushed at his mother. Her eyes widened in shock and
she managed to dodge him and run into the adjoining room. Nyasha had stumbled
after her, knocking down some chairs in the process. He grabbed his mother by
the throat and threw her against the wall. He kicked at a chair that was in his
way and its seat went flying into the air and landed with a thud somewhere in
the room. As he struck the first blow to his mothers face, he thought of the
look on Itai's face and how he would laugh when he found out that everything he
had said had been true. He became blinded with fury, pummeling his mother’s
face and imagining it was Itai’s. His mother tried to struggle, screaming
incessantly and pummeling weakly with her own fists. Nyasha’s eyes had widened,
and he began frothing at the mouth with the sheer intensity of his hurt and
anger. He grabbed his mother by the throat again and squeezed. Her feet lifted
off the ground and she gurgled while her head thrashed from side to side.
Nyasha shook her hard when her movements became weaker and weaker until they
stopped altogether. With one simple move, he turned and threw his mother into
the air. She landed with a loud thud onto the coffee table, which gave a groan
of protest and toppled sideways as one of its legs gave way. His mother body
rolled onto the floor and Nyasha stood over it, breathing hard. He stood like
that for a long time, until finally, his breathing had returned to normal, and
his mind had slowly cleared. Then his shoulders began to shake as he stared in
shock at what he had done. He took a shaky step back as if to run away from the
truth. He shook his head in disbelief, and took another step back. When he was
backed against the wall he had moved to the corner and slid down to the floor.
As the
sounds of the outside world drifted in through the window, Nyasha began to cry.
Through a veil of tears, he looked down at his trembling hands and then at his
mother. His mind tormented him with the sounds of her gurgled screams and her
words as she had told him that he’d never be anything in this life. He got
shakily to his feet, and got a knife from the kitchen. With burdened steps, he
returned to his corner and sliced his arms the way he had seen it done on the
television. Then he rocked back and forth, all the while whispering “I’m sorry”
over and over again, while the little red radio continued to play its unaffected
tune.
-By Wilhelmine
Wachter
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