Читать книгу Written In The Stars - Mokopi Shale - Страница 5

Chapter 2

2

Pelo Sebata was dreaming of his dead parents. They were sitting under a huge morula tree outside his childhood home. His head was in his mother’s lap and she was laughing, saying how proud she was of him. His father kept telling him to stop crying, sit up and look.

He obeyed and saw a voluptuous figure dressed in a beaded skirt and bra, dancing the traditional dance as people he knew to be his relatives clapped for her. His father told him it was time to wake up and see the gift that was there for him. Then his parents got up, held hands and faded away.

As Pelo turned to look at the woman dancing, he couldn’t see her face, but then gradually their eyes met and he saw it was the beautiful woman from last night. Light flooded around her as she danced and danced, smiling at him.

Pelo’s eyes flew open to stare at the painting on the ceiling of his bedroom as the dream played in his mind. He wondered what it meant, if anything. Dreams were dreams, right?

Yes, that woman was beautiful, and yes, he’d had that strange reaction to her, as if his heart was expanding in his chest and a strange kind of joy was spreading through him.

That was probably the reason for his dream. Had to be.

He jumped up even though it was a Saturday and strolled into his en suite bathroom to take a long, hot shower.

* * *

Masedi strolled through the Gaetsho shopping complex, impressed and with plans already forming of relocating her little jewellery shop from Greenside to here, which to her felt like home with all the acacias, thorn bushes and other indigenous plants sprawled across the centre of the kraal-shaped complex. She had already seen a tiny little shop that would suit her and Delores perfectly.

Masedi was pleasantly surprised when she ran into a friendly acquaintance and client looking fabulous in a white linen princess-styled dress.

“Tshepo?!”

“Masedi, good to see you!” the woman responded as they embraced.

“What are you doing here?” Masedi asked.

“This is where my cooperative slash NGO Lorato-Khumo is located,” Tshepo answered.

“Wow. How come everyone knows about this place except me?”

“Maybe you’ve been hiding under a bush or something.”

“Or something,” Masedi answered sardonically.

“Come have coffee with me. Unless you’re in a hurry?” Tshepo invited.

“I’d love to.”

They walked into an African-styled shop with cowhide carpets and hangers filled with amazing designer clothes filling the racks, display cabinets with beaded jewellery and even a case with some of Masedi’s stuff. The back wall had an archway closed off with wooden beads.

“This is the shop I own with my brother. It’s your first time here, right?” Tshepo enquired.

“Yes . . . Isn’t it weird how all this time I’ve been selling you jewellery, but I’ve never been in your shop?”

“Strange but true,” Tshepo said, leading the way through the shop and the beaded archway into the back space. This was a workshop environment with different sections containing computers, an arts and crafts area and rounded tables off to the side.

They entered Tshepo’s office, which was a shock of colours and African prints with a sturdy leather-clad desk and plush office chairs.

“Whu! Mavis has been here already. That woman’s a godsend.” Tshepo picked up two mugs and poured coffee into them. “No milk, right? But plenty of sugar?”

“You have a good memory.”

They took a seat and Masedi looked out at the sliding doors that opened into a small back garden.

“This is an impressive operation,” she complimented Tshepo.

“Yes, fulfilling too,” Tshepo answered.

“I was actually thinking of moving my little shop here from Greenside. Found the most amazing little corner.”

“Over by the restaurant?” Tshepo asked, and Masedi nodded.

“But that means I won’t be able to stock any of your stuff,” Tshepo complained.

“Don’t worry about that,” Masedi comforted her. “I’m sure there’s a way we can fill the gap.”

“So how did you find this place?”

“I was here last night with some girlfriends. And I met this man who just . . . It was strange, I’ve never felt like that before.”

“Love has a way of doing that.”

“Love! Hell no . . . We just stumbled over our words, making no sense. It couldn’t possibly be love.”

Tshepo smiled and changed the subject. “So if your friends hadn’t dragged you here last night, you wouldn’t be thinking of moving your shop here and robbing me of your stock?”

“Right.”

Tshepo ruffled through her drawers, pulled out a business card and slid it across the table. “The centre’s manager is Moitiri Molefe. Tell him I sent you, and that he’s to give you a good deal.”

Masedi smiled. “It pays to have friends in high places.”

Tshepo smirked. “So other than partying up a storm, what else have you been up to?”

“Running the rat race, working for directors who don’t really care about their employees,” Masedi replied.

“That’s why my brother and I started Lorato-Khumo. As a legacy for our children. You know our parents passed away?”

“Yes, I remember you telling me about that.”

“Pelo was working as a quantity surveyor for a conglomerate, earning a lot of money and being the heart and face of that department. And I was a marketing exec on my way to the top at a parastatal transport company. But then all of a sudden our parents were killed in a terrible accident, and it all seemed so pointless. We realised that we had no desire to try and help others build their legacy off our hard work and sweat.”

“Oh, God . . . You have no idea how much that speaks to me right now,” Masedi replied. “I work with this buffoon child of these people. He has so little talent or interest in the work, but he’s being shoved down our throats. I’m seriously reconsidering my priorities right now.”

“You’re still young, so you should do it now. Because the older you get, the more reluctant you are to take a risk.”

“Yes, like you would let me be your accountant for a fee so that I can stop working at the accountancy firm.”

“Why not, if you’re qualified? We should help each other out like that.”

Masedi stared at Tshepo, wondering how serious she was. But before she could enquire they heard loud male voices entering the shop.

“It’s my brother with his mentees.”

“I should get going.”

“Hoping to catch a glimpse of the hunk from last night?” Tshepo teased.

“Don’t think I’m in the market for all that. And he looked like the kind of guy who never lacks for a paramour.”

“That’s a big word.”

“Sexy, isn’t it?” Masedi said jokingly. “Rather than girlfriend or lover, you can be a paramour. Illicit and steamy.”

“All these years, and I didn’t know that about you!” Tshepo exclaimed.

“What?”

“That you were a closet romantic.”

“Pshh . . . I save that for my romance novels and the movies.”

Masedi drank the last of her coffee and got up. The two women embraced.

“It was lovely seeing you again. I’m tired of getting brushed off in favour of your other fancy friends,” Tshepo said.

Masedi led the way out of the office. “I’ll make it up to you, I promise.”

They entered the segmented open-plan area.

“Let me introduce you to my brother,” Tshepo said. “He’s been dying to meet the woman who makes this jewellery.”

Masedi’s heart plummeted into her solar plexus as she saw the shoulder-length dreads brushing those muscular shoulders clad in a white linen shirt, and the navy-blue shorts that ended just above the knee, showing off well-shaped, hairy legs. She couldn’t help but suck in her breath as desire flooded her.

She couldn’t believe that it was him, and that she was reacting in this way.

“Pelo, come and meet Masedi, the woman of the crystal jewellery!” Tshepo called out, oblivious of Masedi’s reaction.

He turned around with a smile on his face, which froze when he saw the beauty from last night and from his dream that morning. Pelo was in such shock that he burst out laughing, immediately putting Masedi’s back up and making her frown.

“Excuse my brother,” Tshepo apologised. “He was always the weird one in the family, with very little manners.”

“Wait till I tell you why I’m reacting like this. Then you’ll laugh too.” Pelo walked over to Masedi and was pleased to see her look him up and down.

“This can’t be happening,” she murmured.

“It’s happening all right,” Pelo said, sounding pleased. “Totally serendipitous.”

He took her hand in his and stroked it, looking deeply into her eyes.

Tshepo stared from one to the other, waiting for an explanation.

“We met last night,” Masedi explained, unable to drag her eyes away from Pelo’s.

“This is the guy?” Tshepo asked incredulously.

“Oh, am I the guy?” Pelo said, clearly pleased.

“Don’t be foolish,” Masedi admonished.

“Yes. Tlogela bomatla,” Tshepo added. “This is – uhm . . .”

“Serendipitous,” Pelo said, beaming while hanging on to Masedi’s hand as she tried desperately to pull it away.

“Masedi was hoping to rent a space here,” Tshepo said, trying to make conversation. “She says she loves this complex.”

“Really. How . . .”

“If you say ‘serendipitous’ one more time I’m going to smack you,” Masedi threatened.

Pelo grinned at her, making her heart plummet again.

“I have to go,” Masedi said anxiously.

“Mhhh, I know. Now. Immediately.” Pelo repeated her words of last night slightly mockingly.

Masedi threw him a threatening look and started marching out without saying goodbye.

“I’ll call you!” he called after her.

Pelo saw her hesitate a second, then shake her head and wave over her shoulder.

Tshepo directed her goodbye at Masedi’s rapidly retreating figure, then demanded from her brother, “So then?”

“You won’t believe it when I tell you,” Pelo replied.

“Try me.”

* * *

Masedi lay on Kagiso’s couch, nursing a margarita, having just filled her in on what had happened the previous night while she and Tsholo were in the restroom.

“Hê! You’re deep, wena man!” Kagiso accused Masedi. “So we drove home and you didn’t even tell us that you had a sex session on the dance floor?”

“We had nothing of the kind!” Masedi exploded.

“Well, you admitted that you were turned on,” Kagiso said.

“You’re not helping at all.”

“What do you want me to say? It was serendipitous. And I must just add that it seems Tsholo and I were right about this guy.”

A myriad of thoughts flew through Masedi’s head as she tried to figure out what was going on, how she was feeling, and what her next step should be, if any.

Would Pelo really call her?

She had to admit that it was serendipitous that the guy who’d made her body hum the previous night was the brother of one of her most loyal customers. But as long as men believed they were dogs and couldn’t love her in the way that she wanted to be loved, why should she bother?

“Oh, my God . . . You’re thinking about Brian, aren’t you?” Kagiso moaned.

“Well, we learn life lessons so that we don’t make the same mistakes over and over again,” Masedi replied.

“Sure. But why see all men as tarred with the same brush as Brian?” Kagiso asked.

“Did I tell you what he said to me when we broke up? He said that he just didn’t have the depth of emotion that I needed from him in order to be happy. I spent three years on the arm of this man, grooming him, helping him get ahead, loving and supporting him with everything in my being, and then he had the gall to say that I wanted too much from him.” Masedi was getting all worked up now. “Why would I give anyone else a chance?”

“You’re just scared,” Kagiso stated.

Masedi scoffed and took a gulp of her margarita.

“Of course you’re scared. But you have to give life a chance and enjoy the gifts that love has to offer,” her friend insisted. “After all, everyone has a right to change their minds. That’s what Brian did. But you can’t live in fear.”

Masedi listened, knowing that Kagiso was right, but still she felt the trembling terror that fills your bones before you decide to take a leap of faith.

“Anyway . . . We don’t know if he’ll call.”

“I guess we don’t. But what if he does?”

“I’ll go on a date and see if there really is anything.”

Kagiso beamed. “I have to tell Tsholo,” she said, picking up her phone.

“You’re such a gossip.”

Kagiso winked. “Caring is sharing, darling.”

Masedi watched the relishing delight flow over her friend’s face as she told Tsholo all about the encounter, and that she and Pelo had practically had sex on the dance floor the previous night. She couldn’t help but laugh.

* * *

Pelo looked over the tidy little work space in the back as the boys packed up.

“Abut’ Pelo, can I take this bracelet for my mom?” Zakes asked. “She hasn’t been feeling well recently, and I think it may cheer her up.”

“Are you sure it’s for your mother, or is it for that girl that you have been making goo-goo eyes at?” Drums teased.

“You’re a fool,” Zakes responded, getting peeved.

The other boys chuckled at him.

“Zakes, I don’t mind if you take it for your mother. You should be proud of the progress you’re making,” Pelo said. “But as for girls, you guys really should focus on getting yourself out of your situations first.”

“A guy can mos look, bra Pelo?” Drums commented.

“Yes, well, at the end of the day it’s your life and your choices. And if you make the wrong choices, you’ll have no one to blame but yourself,” Pelo told them all seriously.

“Couldn’t you get someone in to help us with this craft?” Drums asked. “I mean, we can sukkel through it and eventually become good. But maybe if there was someone else to help, it’ll be a bit easier?”

“I think I may just know the right person.” Pelo beamed as he thought of the beautiful Masedi. “Come now, it’s time I went home and enjoyed my Saturday,” he said, showing the guys out of the shop.

* * *

Masedi had got up early that Sunday and driven to her parents’ homestead on the hills of the Magalies. As it was at most a 45-minute drive to her parents’ house, she was prone to just dropping everything and going to see them. Especially after her encounter yesterday. She had just felt the need to go and see her mother. Actually, she was hoping her mom could tell her what to do, look into the future and see how all this would turn out.

“I’ve been expecting you,” MmaMotsumi said, pulling her daughter into a hug.

“Of course you have,” Masedi replied, amused. “Lo tsogile?”

“Ah, we’re well, my girl. But you are troubled. Come.”

They entered the huge kitchen, where her mother had tea brewing.

“Papa o kae?”

“He went to the farm. He’ll be back sometime tomorrow. Which means you’ll miss him, because I can see you just came for the day; no bags, no nothing. Pour us some tea.”

MmaMotsumi sat down in the breakfast nook and watched her daughter potter around the kitchen. Masedi looked up and smiled happily, glad to be performing this little daughterly ritual and to get back a semblance of normality after the past two days.

“What is normal anyway, my girl?” MmaMotsumi asked.

Startled but resigned about her mom reading her mind, Masedi answered, “Well, I don’t know. Getting up, going to work, seeing my friends, making my jewellery . . .”

Masedi placed her mother’s cup of tea in front of her and took a seat opposite her so they could look at each other.

“Heartbreak, darkness, loneliness?” her mom asked, looking deep into her soul.

Masedi had no response to that as she sat drinking her tea. Her mother hiccupped, burped and then made a deep humming noise in her throat. Masedi knew those were the signs of the spirit moving through her.

“To answer your question – it’s up to you, my girl. Whether he’s right for you or not, whether he’s the one or not, whether this is real love or not, it’s all up to you. That’s what people have forgotten, that you create what you most want or fear.”

“Eish, Mama . . .” Masedi felt tears well up and tried to swallow them as fear of being hurt filled her. She didn’t know whether she could go through that pain again.

“All the ingredients are there – the attraction, the emotional, spiritual and physical compatibility,” MmaMotsumi said. “But you have to choose to make it right for you.”

Masedi nodded, not sure if this was what she wanted to hear, or whether she had hoped her mother would warn her off.

“Show me your feet,” her mom said.

Masedi slipped off her flops and placed her feet in her mother’s lap. MmaMotsumi started to massage them, feeling for knots.

“You see these?” she asked while rubbing her fingers across the calluses on the bottom of Masedi’s feet. “This is all the anger and hurt that you carry. It’s the heartbreak that you harbour and use as a shield not to let love into your heart. These are the scars of your heartbreak. You have to let that boy go. He did his job, he fulfilled his role in your life, and then he left. He is no longer yours to keep and yearn after. Let him go, so that you can find true love.”

“I just don’t want to be stupid,” Masedi blurted out to her mother.

“There’s a song that says love makes fools of all of us,” MmaMotsumi answered.

Masedi looked off into the distance, thinking deeply. “But what about the lessons that we learn? Are we to discard them?”

“That’s just fear talking. No one has ever died of a broken heart, my girl. You didn’t die before, did you? And you won’t again – if it happens. But you will be richer for having allowed love into your life and a man into it, to share it with you, akere?”

Masedi nodded pensively.

They sat in silence for a long time and then Masedi changed the subject. “So what’s news in this part of the world?”

Her mother launched into village gossip mode, telling her about what had been happening since the last kgotla, where a decree was made that villagers had to take care of their cattle, otherwise they would be fined, and how Rre Meleke refused point-blank to obey.

Masedi enjoyed this chance to escape the fluttering mixture of fear and excitement in her heart at the prospect of possibly meeting up with Pelo Sebata again.