Читать книгу Into the Sun - Takalani M - Страница 4

GUNDO

I haven’t slept a wink since I received the news: My son is dead. He died with my younger brother, Ronnie.

The accident happened on Punda Maria Road when Ronnie was driving back from a trip with his friends. Khuthi shouldn’t have been with them. He was too young. But I know how close my son got to his uncle Ronnie during the times I sent him to stay with my family in Venda when Diana wanted him out of the house. If only my relationship with Khuthi had been better! If it hadn’t been so challenging, even after I divorced Diana, Khuthi might not have insisted on still spending long periods with my parents and his uncles. Then he might not have been in that car. If only I could have had more time! I know I would have mended things between us. After all, I loved my son very much. He was just wary of accepting that – afraid to get hurt again after his mother abandoned him. And I wanted to give him space. I thought we’d have more time …

Why the hell was Ronnie driving drunk? I guess he was always known for his bad behaviour … But he wasn’t a bad person. He loved my son. I loved my brother. That Golf 7 GTI that he bought for his twenty-sixth birthday was nothing but trouble from the start. I remember our father was not pleased with him for buying such a sports car. But now my father has been shocked into silence by this tragedy. It was my mother who had to give me the news after eleven o’clock last night: Ronnie lost control on the curves, just outside Louis Trichardt and hit the trees. Both Ronnie and Khuthi died instantly.

My heart is aching and I am finding it hard to believe they are gone. I am failing to imagine how the family, back at home, is doing right now. I cannot fathom how my mother is doing; she loved her son and her grandson dearly.

I look at the clock on the nightstand. It is 03:17 am. There is no use in lying on this cold bed, tossing and turning. Let me get up and prepare some emails to send out to my team before I go spend a few weeks in Venda with my parents.

I can’t mourn fully yet. It feels like I am letting go of my only son if I do.

Where do I even begin?

I should have been driving to Venda already but there are some documents I need to send off to my life insurance company. And I need to get Ciara ready to go to her mother.

I drag myself to the kitchen to make a cup of coffee before heading to my home office to do some work.

Right now, I would do anything, anything, to numb the pain that I am feeling. My chest is tight. My palms are sweating.

I open my laptop and start drafting emails and sending them off to the relevant recipients. I will be away from my empire but things should still be running smoothly in my absence.

‘Daddy, is that you?’ I hear my sweet daughter’s voice coming from the staircase.

‘Hey, my angel, why are you up?’ I rush to her.

‘I can’t sleep. I keep dreaming of Uncle Ronnie,’ she sobs. I scoop her from the floor and stride to the living room and sit on the couch with her on my lap. She overheard me on the phone with my mother earlier, and the worst part is that I cried with her watching me. I yelled on the phone a few times while pacing the room and ended up breaking into a loud cry.

Ronnie can’t die! No, Ronnie cannot be dead. My baby can’t be dead, I had repeatedly said before noticing her sitting on the floor, sobbing. She only heard me mention her uncle’s name and not her brother’s.

I have no strength to tell her about her brother’s death too. Not now.

‘Sweetie, Uncle Ronnie is in a good place now.’

‘But we are never going to see him again.’

‘That’s why we took many pictures with him. Whenever we miss him, we will always look at all the pictures we took with him.’

‘Is that why you take a lot of pictures of me? So that when I am gone you can remember me?’ she asks with her eyes so wide and twinkling with tears.

‘No, no, no, sweetie! You are going nowhere,’ I say and squeeze her in a tight hug. How do I explain death to a seven-year-old? I know she is hurting. I rock her back and forth until she falls asleep again.

I have no choice but to go to bed again, so that she can sleep in my arms. Diana will only come get her later this morning. Thank goodness Diana and I have negotiated the co-parenting quite well, following the divorce. When I called her about Ronnie and Khuthi’s death, she immediately offered to come fetch Ciara.

I lie in bed until I see the sun beaming through my bedroom curtains. I roll from the bed and take a quick shower before going down to my home office to finish some work.

‘Good morning, papa Ciara,’ Rosie, the housekeeper and nanny, greets as I pass the kitchen. I stop in my tracks and turn towards her. ‘Did you sleep well?’ she asks.

‘Morning and yes I slept well, thank you,’ I lie. Our eyes don’t meet. For some reason I don’t want her to see how broken I am. She saw enough of it last night when I had to call her to help calm Ciara down.

‘And Ciara … is she all right?’

‘I hope she feels better. Please prepare her luggage for two weeks. I will be going to Venda in an hour and her mom will come to pick her up after breakfast. Please don’t wake her up, she didn’t sleep well. I will call her teacher to excuse her from school.’

‘Would you like something to eat?’

‘No, thank you,’ I respond and thereafter disappear to my office.

I shut the door and start sending off more emails. I don’t want to talk about Khuthi’s death.

Not yet.

The more I think about driving to Limpopo, the more I feel like I am accepting his death! I wish I could stay here and pretend that everything is fine and the only time I will be going to Venda is to pick him up.

I try very hard to concentrate on what I am doing. When I hear a soft knock at the door, I glance at the time on the screen and realise I have been sitting in the office for hours.

‘Hey Gundo, I am here to pick up Ciara,’ Diana says, walking into my office slowly. She is looking gorgeous, as always, in her black pencil dress and red stilettos.

‘Thank you.’

‘How are you doing? Come here.’ She walks towards me with her arms wide open, ready to comfort me. I stand up from my chair and allow her to embrace me. I needed this. She caresses my back as I rest my head on her shoulder.

‘You will be all right. It will be fine. You just need to be strong.’

‘Thank you,’ I mumble, pulling myself out of her hug.

‘Just remember that I am here for you, all right?’

‘Yes … thank you.’ I clear my throat.

‘Don’t stress yourself about the office, I will make sure that everything is in order,’ she says. I know she will take good care of everything. As the corporate services manager in my company, she is more than capable of bossing everyone around. And Diana always gets what she wants.

‘I will ask one of my cousins to pick up Ciara on Thursday. She needs to attend the funeral,’ I say.

‘I will drive with her on Friday,’ she offers.

‘You are coming to the funeral?’

‘Yes. Ronnie was my favourite and even though my relationship with Khuthi was rocky, it is only appropriate that I attend their send-off. He was my son too.’

She never loved my son as hers but if she wants to pay her last respects, why not?

‘I don’t know how to tell Ciara about her brother. She is struggling to deal with her uncle’s death already.’

‘I will tell her when I see that she is fine.’

We walk out of the office to the dining room. Ciara is finishing her breakfast, so I sit on the chair opposite hers.

‘Are you all right, my angel?’ I ask and she nods. ‘Daddy is going to see you on Friday, okay?’

‘Can I go with you today?’

‘No, baby. I want you to go to school tomorrow …’ I say and she nods. She is sad.

We wait for her to finish eating. When she’s done, I help carry her luggage to the car while she follows with her mother. I watch them drive away before walking back to the house.

* * *

I have been driving for about five hours and I feel extremely tired – actually numb. I did not manage to sleep during the day and now I can feel my eyes shutting.

Earlier on I couldn’t face driving to my parents’ home. I parked the Range Rover at the filling station and sat there for hours, trying to imagine how life will be without Ronnie and Khuthi.

How am I going to survive this one?

Now I am driving on a bumpy gravel road to get to the village where my family lives. It is already dark, with no streetlights. I need my brights to see. I drive slowly as I bury myself in the memories I shared with my little brother on this road. We used to play soccer on this exact road with the kids from the other villages. He used to be the best goalkeeper; we all thought he was going to be just that when he grew up. Instead, he grew up to run my father’s lodges and restaurants in Thohoyandou and Louis Trichardt after the old man retired two years ago.

There is a woman carrying a bucket on her head far ahead in the road. I wonder why she is walking alone in such darkness. All alone.

My phone rings from the passenger seat. I glance at it and see Ciara flashing on the screen. I reach for it and urgently swipe to answer.

‘Daddy, are you there yet? Have you seen granny?’ she asks just when I answer my phone. I clear my throat and reach for the strongest voice from deep down my belly. She must not know how broken I am. Watching me weep was traumatic enough for her. I wish to erase that memory from her mind.

‘I am almost there. Are you all right?’

‘I am just thinking of Uncle Ronnie. He promised to take me to Durban to swim with the dolphins. You know he also loved dolphins like me?’ she asks and I close my eyes tightly, praying that I don’t let out a grunt. I am running out of things to tell her to make her feel better about her uncle’s death. How am I going to tell her about Khuthi?

‘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!