‘My angel, I will take you to Durban to swim with the dolphins.’
She sighs deeply.
The car bumps into something, making me jump in fear. I quickly stamp my foot on the brake, bringing the Range Rover to a halt. I switch the ignition off and look around for the woman who was in the road earlier. She isn’t anywhere nearby. The only thing I see is a white bucket lying in the middle of the road.
‘Oh no … oh no …’ I gabble as I unbuckle the seatbelt.
‘Daddy, are you there?’ Ciara calls out from the phone speaker. I quickly put it back to my ear and bid her goodbye before hanging up.
What did I do?
My hands are trembling as I open the car door and jump out. I hear someone sobbing. This cannot be happening. It is dark. I dart my eyes to where the sobs are coming from. The lady is on her knees. She has both her hands on her lap as if she is praying and crying.
‘Oh my God, I am so sorry. I am so sorry, I was not watching where I was going.’ I kneel beside her. The air is thin and the sobs are sharp and loud. Is she all right? She lifts her head, her eyes glittering as she stares at me. Without a warning, her sobs become louder. Oh shit, what did I do? ‘I am sorry, ma’am. Please let me take you to the hospital.’
‘I am fine. I am fine.’ She chokes in between heavy sobs. If she is fine, why is she crying? It could be the shock. I dart my eyes around to search for any other object I might have bumped into. Nothing.
‘Why are you crying? Please let me take you to the hospital. It is the least I can do,’ I beg. She shakes her head repeatedly, tears still streaming down her cheeks. She drops her head and cries and cries. What am I supposed to do? I place my trembling hand on her shoulder. My knee is still on the dusty road. I’m praying that I didn’t hurt this poor woman. I am panicking.
‘Today was supposed to be her first birthday.’
‘Excuse me?’
‘My daughter. She was supposed to be a year old today.’
Was? This only means one thing. My chest tightens up when I realise that I am going to have to refer to my son in that way!
Was!
‘Uhm, well … I am so sorry to hear that,’ I try to find the right words. There are no right words to make a parent feel better about their child’s death.
No words.
‘If only her father didn’t leave me heartbroken, she would have been alive. You know what he did?’
She cleans her face with the sleeve of the black jersey she is wearing. She stares at me, her beautiful watery eyes burning me. Beautiful. She is beautiful.
A cramp is starting to creep into my leg, but I don’t shift. She needs someone to talk to; I can at least lend her an ear.
‘What did he do?’
‘He made another woman pregnant. At that time I was also pregnant. I guess I couldn’t take it. I lost my baby girl. She was born without a heartbeat,’ she calmly says like reciting a poem. It is clear she has shared this story countless times. I don’t know how to comfort her. My heart is bleeding for her. In some ways this is more painful than losing a son whom I could nurture for a few years, brother whom I lived with for twenty-six years. She couldn’t even hold her child for just a night. I can never understand what she is feeling.
‘I am so sorry to hear that. I am sorry.’
‘It’s all right. I was made with a very strong heart.’ She attempts a brave smile while wiping her tears away. She raises her eyes once more to meet mine and I see how angelic she really is. She has her natural hair tied up. What seems to have been a neat bun is just a mess now, yet she is striking.
A really beautiful woman!
I am staring at her and when she bores her eyes into me, I quickly ask, ‘Did I hurt you? I bumped something, that’s why I stopped.’
‘No, you didn’t. I lost control and the bucket fell. You hit the bucket.’
Thank goodness.
‘Were you carrying eggs with that?’
She nods before standing up from the ground. She wipes away the rest of the tears that were on her cheeks and dusts her long black skirt. There are broken eggs next to the bucket.
‘Where are you going with a bucket full of eggs?’
‘Home. I sell eggs just to get by, you know? You should come and buy some for your family,’ she says. Her smile is steadier now. A beautiful smile. Beautiful eyes. Beautiful everything.
I was made with a very strong heart.
My chest is tight from the pain I am feeling, but her smile is warm enough to melt it. She really was made with a strong heart for her to weep like that and then smile to hide her pain. I stare down at her as she picks up the lid from where it landed across the road.
‘Oh, let me buy this batch,’ I quickly say, reaching for my wallet while she walks back to where I am standing. I pull out all the two-hundred-rand notes I can find and give them to her.
This is the least I can do.
‘I cannot accept that. It is not your fault that I fell. I was not watching where I was going.’
‘I insist you take it.’ I take her hand and close it around the notes. Her mouth is open, ready to protest, but I turn away quickly and rush to pick up the bucket for her. Just a few of the eggs are not broken.
‘What are you doing walking alone in the dark anyway?’
She stares at me without a word. She mustn’t be walking here all alone.
‘Come, I will drop you home.’
While she hesitates, I go to the passenger side and open the door for her. She walks slowly towards the Range Rover and gets in as I carefully put her bucket in the boot.
We drive in silence for ten minutes. I keep stealing glances at her as I drive.
She is beautiful. Very beautiful.
‘So, when are you going to get more stock?’ I ask, trying to strike up a conversation. The silence is deafening. The more I steal glances at her, the more the atmosphere feels weird in the car.
‘I will go tomorrow,’ she responds without turning to look at me. The money is still stuck in her clenched fist.
‘I could take you there tomorrow.’ Just something, anything, to take my mind off the real reason for my visit to Venda. No parent looks forward to choosing their son’s casket. If there was something I could do to run away from that task, I would. But it needs to be done.
‘No thanks. I will manage.’
My focus is on the road when she asks me to stop at a corner next to an old fig tree. She doesn’t stay far away from my parents but I have never seen her before. She is probably young – very young. She thanks me for the ride while unbuckling the seatbelt.
‘Listen, your angel is watching over you. When you feel lonely, remember that she is watching over you from heaven,’ I say and she smiles sincerely.
She gets out of the Range Rover and waves. I give her a nod. My gaze is on her until she disappears into the darkness. For the first time since I learned about my son’s death, my heart is kind of smiling.
This three-second smile: It is enough!
CHAPTER 2
THANDEKA
Who is that? I ask myself