Fictitious Friday: When The Blind See

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