Thokozani S.B. Maseko - Like a Lily on a Mountain, Love Grows on Rocky Terrains

“Pick up your stuff, it’s time to go,” a voice said, and Welcome saw Thabani standing on the riverbank, as he waited for the woman to come out.

The sun sparkled on his gold teeth as he stood with arms crossed, waiting intolerantly. If this was Themba’s woman or worse Mandla’s, he was about to get into a heap of trouble.

The woman waded to the clothing; she picked it up and wrapped it around herself in the water. It was the shirt Welcome had seen her take off the previous day. How long was it? Welcome tried to recall. Would it conceal everything? She’d left the blanket too far down the riverbank to simply take it.

“Turn the other way, Thabani,” she said, and her voice echoed up to Welcome’s den. It was a gracious sound, filled with amusement, as if she thought her quandary was funny. “Come on, Thabani, I’m not moving until you look away.” Thabani kept staring at her. Welcome wasn’t sure if he shrugged. “Please,” she begged then, more quietly; the jollity had gone from her voice.

From his hiding place, Welcome saw another rider just seconds before Thabani saw the horse. Thabani turned around, grabbing impulsively for his gun which wasn’t on his hip.

A deep voice roared, incomprehensible to Welcome, but effortlessly recognisable. It was Mandla. Thabani’s hands went down, and he whistled for his horse.

Mandla jumped down from the saddle and went to the edge of the water, grabbing the blanket on the way. He gave it to her, his eyes averted, and she grabbed it and wrapped it around herself. She then collected the napkins and other clothes that had escaped during her attempt at washing and silently put on her shoes. Thabani climbed up onto his horse and headed in her direction, but Mandla slapped the horse’s side and with a lurch, it took Thabani home.

Welcome watched the chat between Mandla and the woman. He cupped her face to look into her eyes and she stared back at him. Apparently, content, Mandla climbed up onto his horse and considered his charge. He then pulled her up and sat her across his lap, allowing her to adjust her blanket, and then he started unhurriedly in the direction he had come.

Welcome remained in his den until the three were long gone. Then he rose at a snail’s pace, clumsily, using his good leg and arms to right himself, and inspected the area. Now that he knew where the Dlaminis and their women were, it was only a matter of time.

Chapter 3

Themba waited on the portico with the baby when they returned from the river. He gaped oddly at Hannah’s outfit but said nothing about it.

“She’s shoddier,” he told Mandla.

Hannah slipped from the horse, and Thabani caught and steadied her as though she were a lump of luggage he was unloading. Mandla gave her the wet bag of laundry and showed her the clothesline around the side of the house. She wished to take the baby with her, but between the soggy laundry bag and the blanket which concealed her nudity, her hands were fully occupied.

The last time she recalled hanging wet laundry on a line was the week before she left Pigg’s Peak, Bulembu, and her family, forever. She’d hung napkins then, too. Her mother was unendingly pregnant. My duty – her mother would say. God’s will – was what her father called it. Children, Hannah thought, what did God have to do with all that?

The laundry hung, Hannah passed Topsy and went into the house. She went straight to Thandi’s room to ask her if she could lend her another skirt and blouse, just until the other set dried. When she entered, the three men had knelt by the bed, their hands clasped in prayer. The sight shocked her. Somehow, she had convinced herself the previous night that Thandi Dlamini wasn’t as sick as she seemed or that somehow, one of them had taken her to a doctor before now.

Mandla glanced at her as she stood in the doorway. She cupped her mouth with her palms, and Mandla shook his head and stood up. His steps were stern as he walked out of the room and gestured for her to follow.

“Is she …?” Hannah started.

He shook his head. “She’s asleep, again. Does that more often than I care to count; that and care for the baby. It’s been twelve months, now. She never really recuperated from having Mashwa.”

“What an appalling name for a child,” Hannah mused. It was an insignificant thought to have in such an awful time, but she couldn’t ignore it.

“Named after Thandi’s father. Hers and Themba’s.”

“Themba is her brother,” Hannah inferred.

“Themba, Thabani, me. We’re all her brothers. Only Thabani and me, we had a different father. But we’re from the same mother. She passed away after giving birth to Themba, sick right through, just like Thandi.”

“Was Thandi ill when she was pregnant?” Hannah asked trying to follow the conversation.

Mandla nodded.

“And she lived here with you? Her man was already dead?”

Mandla nodded again. “That might have been a mistake,” he said. “More I think of it.”

“A mistake?”

“Mandla,” Themba yelled. “Come quick! She’s breathing funny, Mandla hurry!”

Mandla scrambled up from the couch where he and Hannah sat; shivering from the cold, Hannah wrapped the blanket tighter around her, and shuffled behind him at a distance.

She stopped again in the doorway. Thandi’s eyes were wide open, and she looked frantic.

“Hannah! Get Hannah! Where is she? Is she dead, too?”

“I’m here,” Hannah said quietly, stepping forward. “I’m right here. Take it easy, now.” She turned to Mandla, aware that he was the one in charge. “You have to get her to hospital, or she’s going to die. She’s dehydrated, and they can infuse her with some fluids.”

“She can’t swallow anything anymore,” Themba said, showing how the water had just trickled down her chin when he raised the glass to her lips.

“They’ll use an intravenous line,” Hannah said.

“A what?”

She remembered the bloody rags in the bundle of wash.

“Has she been bleeding ever since the baby’s birth?” No one responded. She assumed that to be a yes. “Post-partum haemorrhage and sepsis. Why haven’t you done something before this?” she begged them. “How could you let her get so sick?”

“You heard her yourself,” Mandla said as he took his sister’s hand in his own. “God’s punishing her for the life she led. It’s his will. It’s too bad, though, for the baby.”

Hannah could hear her own father’s voice reciting those very same words. It was the zealot’s explanation for suffering and death, and a way for them to escape the responsibility of doing anything to help.

“Mama!” Thandi yelled, obviously delirious now. “Mama!”

The men backed away from their sister’s bed, and Hannah came forward, sitting at the edge of the mattress and taking her into her arms.

“I’m here,” she crooned. “I’m here. Everything is going to be all right.”

“He’s dead!” Thandi said. “They killed him! I didn’t think they’d kill him. Now what will I do? God will never forgive me for what I’ve done, now that he’s dead.”

“No, no, Thandi. He’s all right. Everything is all right.”

Thandi pulled away from Hannah’s arms to look into her face. Her eyes were clear and bright, and they connected with Hannah’s. She seemed completely lucid again.

“Do you swear?”

Hannah didn’t hesitate. “I swear,” she said.

“I believe you,” Thandi said, and Hannah felt her body go slack against her.

“Thandi?” she whispered.

There was no response. Tears welled up in her eyes and ran down her cheeks. Her arms grew rigid, and Thabani eased Thandi out of them and down onto the bed. Hannah’s blanket had slipped and went unnoticed, exposing her legs, her wet shirt split on her flat stomach.