At thirty-six years of age Tshepo Modise was an influential man, and well respected in the business world. He headed the sales and marketing division of SA TeleCom Inc., an information technology start-up he had co-founded with a university friend. Recently, the Midrand-based SA TeleCom Inc. made business headlines when it entered into a multi-million-rand contract with a Fortune 500 software company in America. Overnight it transformed from being just another IT company to the golden child, instantly turning its owners into multi-millionaires.
“It wasn’t always rosy for us,” Tumi often wanted to shout. She wanted to tell the intruders horror stories of the early days, the years when they had to survive on her grade-schoolteacher’s salary, re-mortgaging their town house when the government funding agencies shut the door in their faces one after the other, and of the strains their relationship was put under, to the point where she had wanted her parents to return the lobola to Tshepo’s family and call it quits. But people weren’t interested in that kind of information.
“I know, I saw him leave,” Nomkhosi said. “I came to talk to you about him.”
Tumi stood transfixed in the doorway, observing Nomkhosi. The woman was striking, not pretty – rather a “mooi van ver”. Nomkhosi was what most black men considered attractive: with a fair complexion, slender, with long, silky hair extensions and patterned acrylic nails – something she, Tumi, found tasteless, tacky. It didn’t help that her nose was a tad too flat and her forehead acutely wide. She, Tumi, with her smooth dark skin, a perfectly sized nose, large liquid eyes and a full smile that revealed two reluctant dimples, was without a doubt more beautiful. Near or far.
“What about Tshepo?” Tumi asked.
“I’m sorry we have to meet under these circumstances.” Nomkhosi spoke softly, as though she were talking to herself. Tumi had to lean forward to hear her. “I don’t know where to start.” She started to sob.
“Ausi, perhaps you can come back another time, later today maybe?” Tumi offered, uncertain of what to do with the distraught young woman.
Nomkhosi swept the back of her hand across her face and stood up straighter. “I’m sorry. If I don’t do this today, I may not have the courage to come again. I could have called you, but I thought it best to tell you in person. I promise I won’t take too much of your time.”
“You may come in,” Tumi said and gestured Nomkhosi inside towards the lounge. “I wish I could offer you something to drink, but I must be getting to work. I’m afraid you picked an inappropriate time to visit.”
Nomkhosi took a seat on the edge of the sofa nearest the door. With trembling hands she opened the white envelope she was holding and pulled out a fuzzy-looking black-and-white photograph. She started to hand it to Tumi, then hesitated and placed it on the coffee table instead.
Tumi, seated on a chair opposite, eyed the woman and the photograph on the table with intense suspicion. Was she expected to look at it?
Nomkhosi shifted the photograph towards her. Tumi picked it up warily. At first she couldn’t make head or tail of the hazy image, but after going over it a second time she recognised the foetus – the big head, tiny curled feet, the delicate curved spine. Nomkhosi was showing her an ultrasound.
“Is the baby yours?” Tumi asked, eyeing Nomkhosi’s stomach for signs of a bulge. She didn’t see any; she couldn’t, not under the heavy coat Nomkhosi was wearing.
Nomkhosi nodded.
“Your first?” Tumi tried to guess Nomkhosi’s age; she put the young woman in her early twenties. Some people are lucky, she thought.
“Yes,” Nomkhosi replied.
“Congratulations, children are a precious gift from God.” Tumi smiled at Nomkhosi. “So, ausi Nomkhosi, what is it you wanted to discuss about my husband?” Clearly there was a mix-up, Tumi thought. Why else would someone from her husband’s work feel obliged to come all the way to her home to share her pregnancy? Unless Nomkhosi wanted a favour from him. But what? Longer maternity leave with pay? Or maybe Nomkhosi was still on probation and wanted to secure her job for after she’d had the baby; SA TeleCom Inc. was one of those hip companies that everyone wanted to work for.
For a brief moment Nomkhosi’s eyes met Tumi’s. Tumi could swear she saw fear in them. She couldn’t help feeling compassion for Nomkhosi.
“This is awkward.” Nomkhosi brought her hands together, lacing them tightly into a knot. “Sisi, the baby I’m carrying is Tshepo’s. Our relationship was a huge mistake. He told me you were separated. He said you left him. He said many things that I later found out weren’t true.” She spoke fast, gasping for air here and there. “I believed you were divorcing him. Now I know I was stupid to take his word.”
Nomkhosi swallowed hard, continued, “What I’ve done is inexcusable, coming between what God has created. My parents raised me better than that.”
Tumi watched Nomkhosi, but no longer with sympathy. She shifted in her seat and sized up the woman once more.
“I’m ashamed to even look at myself.” Nomkhosi raised her eyes to Tumi’s. “I wish I could turn back the time. I wish I had a chance to make another decision, a better decision. But it’s too late now. I –” She stopped when Tumi lifted her hand, palm turned outward, signalling a halt.
“Ausi, I’m sorry but I must stop you before you go further,” Tumi said. “You’ve made a mistake. Tshepo couldn’t possibly be the father of your unborn child. I know my husband; I’ve been married to him for nearly seven years.”
“No, I’m not making a mistake,” Nomkhosi said, shaking her head. “Tshepo is the father. The affair with him was a mistake, and I’m deeply sorry it ever happened.” For a moment Nomkhosi looked as if she was about to cry again. She lifted her eyes to the ceiling, trying to keep the collecting tears from spilling over.
The temperature inside the house seemed to have dropped a few degrees. Everything seemed suspended, dangerously, as though a sneeze, the twitch of a finger, the blink of an eye would trigger a crash.
“Like I said, Tshepo is not your baby’s father.” Tumi’s words were sharp and deliberate; she stared at Nomkhosi challengingly. “My husband is a good man who is committed to our marriage. The man you’re referring to isn’t Tshepo, and that’s all I have to say about the issue. Now if you don’t mind, I should be getting to work.” Tumi stood up, walked over to the door and held it open.
Nomkhosi opened her mouth but struggled to form words. She awkwardly collected her bag, hoisted herself up and approached the opened door. She hesitated for a second when she reached Tumi.
“Sisi, please believe me, I’m telling the truth.”
“Ausi, I honestly don’t want to hear any more,” Tumi stated firmly.
“In June we went to Cape Town for a week. He said you had left, moved out and gone back to your parents in Soweto. You called only twice during that time and both conversations were short. I was convinced it was over between you,” Nomkhosi said. “I’m sorry to have bothered you, sisi Tumi. Please forgive me for the trouble I have caused.”
Tumi watched as Nomkhosi got into a white Toyota Yaris parked in the street and drove off. She closed the door behind her and let out a deep breath. There wasn’t time to piece together and make sense of what had just happened; she was already thirty minutes late for work and the principal at Kyalami Preparatory School didn’t take kindly to staff being tardy. She grabbed her handbag, a set of car keys and a pile of unmarked exercise books and headed for the door.
From the corner of her eye something