Читать книгу Cherry Marbles - Shukie Nkosana - Страница 5

3

“I’m homeless again,” Nandi nonchalantly announced while Langa attempted to unpack her groceries. Her sister chewed noisily on a piece of gum as she moved into the lounge to fling her bag on the couch.

Langa cringed. “I was wondering to what I owed the pleasure of this visit.”

Nandi appeared again, helping herself to an apple from Langa’s groceries and then flopped down at the kitchen table. Langa stared at her sister, exasperation already building up inside her.

Nandi was the prettier of the two, with a cocoa complexion and high cheekbones. Her strikingly enormous eyes had a defiant fire about them that made older, perceptive women shake their heads.

“What happened to the place in Observatory?” Langa dared to ask, drawing an unsteady breath. She suddenly regretted not buying the Black Forest cake she’d carried around in her trolley at Woolies, only to guiltily forsake it at the till.

Nandi rolled her eyes. “The girls I was sharing the pozzie with got another roommate to replace me, and guess who was the last person to know? They fed me some kak about how I shouldn’t take it personally. Some friends!”

Langa watched Nandi in silence before uttering, “And work?”

“Well, I have this poetry gig I’m taking part in at Baseline for the next six weeks. Seeing as that’s so close to you, I thought I could maybe crash here until I make enough money to get my own place,” Nandi said in one breath, talking through a mouthful of apple.

“I guess it’s the usual case of you only making contact when you need something from me,” replied Langa.

“That’s not true!” Nandi exclaimed. “I do communicate!”

“When was the last time you called me just to find out how I’m doing?” countered Langa.

“Well, a few weeks back,” Nandi stammered. “Sure, I needed some money, but I did ask if you were cool.”

Langa had to smile. “And before that?”

“The time I didn’t have a job, I think. Yeah, okay, I was homeless then . . .” Nandi smirked.

“Obviously the only time I ever see you is when you need something from me,” said Langa and sighed. “But you’re welcome to the spare room.”

“Thank you, thank you, thank you!” Nandi sang, doing a little jiggle.

“Well, you can start showing your gratitude by making supper. I’ve had a hectic day. I’m going to take a long shower, then maybe you can tell me what’s been going on in your colourful life.”

A dreadful rendition of Stimela thudded from the kitchen when Langa stepped out of the shower. She could hear Nandi singing along blissfully as if she didn’t have a care in the world. Langa admired her carefree nature, even though the thought of her sister living from hand to mouth unsettled her. She thought suddenly of Richard and realised with a touch of self-reproach that she was actually thankful he was away. Reaching for a framed photograph of the two of them from the dresser, she traced her fingers over his face and frowned.

The picture had been taken at a Christmas party they’d hosted at Richard’s apartment. He wore a Christmas hat that almost covered his eyes and had a protective arm placed around her shoulders. Langa put back the picture, reaching instead for her engagement ring that sparkled in the light.

Richard had proposed later at the same party where the picture had been taken. Langa had been as surprised as everyone else when he suddenly went down on one knee and presented the ring but she accepted the proposal without a second thought. Though not for the first time, she now wondered if marrying him was actually what she wanted or simply what everyone expected of her. If their constant bickering was anything to go by, she knew they were heading for trouble.

“Something smells good,” Langa offered as she entered the kitchen.

Nandi turned down the music and smiled. “I guess Mama rubbed off on one of us.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Langa retorted, yet noting the chicken and mushroom slices her sister was expertly adding fresh cream to. The chicken sizzled in the pan, the distinct aroma of cardamom and butter rising in the wake of the cream.

“I guess you’re right,” Langa sighed. “At least Richard appreciates my just nje cooking.”

“Well, he’s marrying you, isn’t he; he has no choice! How is he, anyway? I haven’t seen him in ages,” Nandi asked as she drained water from a pot of rice. “Do you two still fight about everything?”

“We do not fight about everything! Besides, even if our relationship is a little neurotic, that’s how we like it,” Langa protested. “He’s alright. Shooting in Namibia this week though; he’ll be back early next week.”

Her sister did not reply.

“So how’s Mangi? Or have we moved on from all of that?” Langa inquired, eager to change the subject.

“Well, he ditched me,” Nandi said, rolling her eyes as she took out two plates from the cupboard and placed them on the marble counter. “Said something about me being all over the place. Can you believe it? He thinks I lack ambition and I’m fickle . . . That’s the word he used!”

“Well, maybe he has a point,” Langa answered with a straight face. “It’s about time you got your act together, went to university or came to work for me.”

“Great,” Nandi declared, vigorously ladling the chicken and mushroom broth into both plates. “I should’ve guessed you’d take his side.”

“This isn’t about taking sides; it’s just that . . .” began Langa.

“That by now I should have my life planned down to every small detail, right?” Nandi cut in. “Dammit, I’m twenty-four! Why can’t everyone leave me alone?”

“Maybe everyone is simply concerned,” Langa told her impatiently. It was typical of her little sister to play the wounded card; Langa had grown accustomed to her tantrums.

“Well, I wish you’d all just get on with your lives and let me live mine!” Nandi snapped, placing one plate in front of Langa. Nandi sat down with hers and picked at her food for a while before shoving it away.

“I’m not hungry any more,” she stated, then got up and put the plate in the microwave. “I’m turning in. Sweet dreams.” Nandi headed for the spare room.

Two thoughts simultaneously came into Langa’s head as she watched her sister’s retreating figure in disbelief: the first that her microwave wasn’t storage for uneaten suppers and the second renewed regret about abandoning the Black Forest cake earlier. Langa ate her supper alone, mentally going over her hectic schedule for the next day. She resisted the temptation to phone Zandile to ensure the success of her company’s two upcoming events.

When she went to bed, Langa ignored the melancholic voice bleating from Nandi’s iPod as she went past the spare room to her own room; she needed strength for the challenges that lay ahead with her sister.

The next day both events flopped.

At one venue the mobile toilet company Buthelezi Events had contracted didn’t turn up and at the other the caterers had stored coleslaw in aluminium dishes overnight, so that everyone who scoffed down the salad in question got food poisoning!

Later at home, Langa’s prayer group turned up faithfully, each member with at least two eager conquests, resulting in a gathering of saints whom Langa hadn’t prepared for and after her day was too flustered to have fellowship with. That evening she crawled into bed with a pounding head, hesitant to check her emails though fully aware that she couldn’t put it off eternally. Her phone hadn’t stopped ringing since the afternoon; each time she picked it up, more humiliation descended on her as she apologised to her enraged clients.

Seeing an email from Andre Zanier, junior MD of Sasol Wax, Langa recoiled and felt her stomach turn. The last thing she needed was more bad news. She clicked the email open, unable to breath.

“Yay!” she suddenly screamed, jumping out of bed to do a victory dance in her nighty as soon as she’d read the first line. Had they been present, the visitors from earlier would have been shocked at her sudden rebound of energy; she’d barely been awake as they’d welcomed Jesus into her house!

Langa called Zandile and Naledi, and only then she sat down on her bed, panting while scrutinising the contract that Mr Zanier had attached. She needed to be at Sasol Wax the next morning to officially sign it and then start the rigorous process of planning this year’s In-Cosmetics Exhibition. Langa knelt down and said a prayer of thanksgiving. She asked for God’s continued guidance and praised Him for His presence in her life.

Afterwards she went over the contract for what felt like hours before snapping her laptop shut with a bemused expression at the sudden realisation that she would see Regile again. What should she wear?