Zakes Mda - The Madonna of Excelsior

“Enjoy my beautiful soul while it lasts,” said the Seller of Songs with a naughty twinkle in her big round eyes. “Soon Maria will come and fetch me. Or perhaps Uncle Sekatle.”

Viliki laughed. He knew that Sekatle had more important things to worry about than delinquent mixed-breed relatives. One of the issues that occupied his mind was the plight of two schoolboys and one schoolgirl who had each been sentenced to a one-year term of imprisonment for petrol-bombing Viliki’s house. Sekatle had managed to keep his hands clean. Nothing could be found to link him to the bombers. He claimed that he had never even set his eyes on them before. But for some strange reason, he was concerned that the bombers should get legal representation, to appeal against their sentences. After all, he argued, they were minors. And they were first offenders. It would have been more just to give them a suspended sentence. Or community service. The poor children were not criminals. Theirs was a political offence. A jail term would turn them into hardened criminals.

The Pule Siblings also occupied Sekatle’s mind. Especially Viliki. He wanted to see Viliki expelled or, at the very least, suspended from the Movement for bringing it into disrepute. Firstly by removing the squatters by force. And secondly, and more seriously, by falsely accusing the branch chairperson of the Movement, a disciplined and loyal member of the Movement in good standing, namely Sekatle himself, of being party to nefarious activities such as throwing petrol bombs into other people’s houses.

Sekatle’s word carried weight. Viliki was indeed suspended from the Movement while his case was being investigated. Popi decided to suspend herself by no longer playing any active role in the affairs of the Movement. Once more the Pule Siblings spoke with one voice. Same tone. Same timbre. Niki was happy that the wall that had been built between her children seemed to be crumbling.

The Pule Siblings remained on the council. They had been elected by the people and would remain town councillors until the next elections in eighteen months’ time. But Viliki had to resign from the mayoral office as he had been elected to that position by the town councillors, the majority of whom were members of the Movement.

There was tension in the chamber when the elections for Viliki’s replacement were held. The Movement would have nominated Sekatle as a candidate if he had been a member of the council, as he was now the branch chairperson. But they had to nominate one of their own council members instead. The National Party nominated Lizette de Vries. The three National Party council members voted for her. Tjaart Cronje of the Freedom Front did not abstain this time. He voted for her as well. Viliki and Popi voted for Lizette de Vries. The Movement’s candidate got only four votes from its council members. Lizette de Vries, with her six votes, became the new mayor of Excelsior.

The unthinkable had happened. A Movement-run town council had elected a National Party member as mayor. In Excelsior, erstwhile rulers and creators of the apartheid system were back in power, courtesy of the former oppressed who had overthrown them in the first place.

We had thought that the Pule Siblings would not be able to walk the streets of Mahlatswetsa Location without the people spitting at them. Or even throwing stones at them. But we were wrong. No one bothered them. Perhaps the people were tired of the squabbles of the town council. They were nonchalant about the whole matter. Some of us even commented, privately lest we be called sellouts, that maybe now that the Boers were back in power, we were going to see a better delivery of services in Excelsior. We had, of course, forgotten that when they were in power during the days of apartheid, there was no electricity in our houses. No street lights in Mahlatswetsa Location. No library.

Popi continued to debate vigorously in the council chamber — since Lizette de Vries had helped her regain some of her confidence after the incident of the hairy legs — and to needle and be needled by Tjaart Cronje. But Viliki seemed to have lost all interest in the affairs of the council. He attended its sittings fairly regularly, for he was paid a stipend to do so. He cast his vote without really participating in the debates. It was as though he was in a daze. He just watched how Popi voted and then voted the same. When the new mayor reshuffled her “cabinet”—as the councillors called the management committee that comprised all ten councillors — he was given the least taxing portfolio. He was put in charge of the parks. There was really nothing to do concerning the two parks of Excelsior. They were just there. Big tracts of land with grass and bluegum trees and nothing else. No one bothered to use the parks for anything. So Viliki’s work was really cut out for him.

His daze disappeared as soon as he got to his RDP house, where he made love and music with the Seller of Songs.

Popi, on the other hand, attacked the duties of her new portfolio with great enthusiasm. They included the new library of Mahlatswetsa Location. It had finally been built, furnished and equipped. It was an imposing brick structure with a green corrugated-iron roof. Its neat grounds were paved with bricks and concrete. Inside, the floors were of shining tiles, made slippery by the polish that the cleaner applied every morning. There were many shelves lined with books bought with council funds and donated by the provincial government and by overseas countries. Popi took her work as the town councillor in charge of the library very seriously. She spent all her days paging through the books, smelling them and just fondling them. We even thought she was the librarian, for sometimes she stood behind the counter and assisted students who were looking for books. The real librarian took advantage of her enthusiasm, and often sneaked out to do her washing at home. Or to go shopping for groceries. She knew that Popi would take care of the patrons. And they were many, these patrons. Mostly students from the various primary and high schools in Mahlatswetsa Location. Some adults had library cards as well. Others used the library for reading newspapers and magazines.

Popi’s favourite corner was the one that had oversized glossy books on art. She paged through the colourful paintings, and read more about the European artists called Flemish expressionists who had influenced the trinity’s early work. She gained a clearer understanding of what the trinity was trying to do with his distorted figures, and was no longer bothered by the fact that they were distorted. In fact, when she came across books with figures that were not distorted, that captured life as people saw it with their eyes, she was not moved. Such works, she felt, were lacking in emotion.

The library became the new thief that stole Popi from cow-dung collecting expeditions. Niki missed her. She saw her only in the evenings when she came home to sleep. Sometimes she returned only after Niki was already asleep and left early before Niki woke up. They saw very little of each other. Yet Niki continued to loom large in Popi’s life. She felt Niki’s presence all the time. Whether she was debating in the council chamber, fondling books in the library, or singing for the dead at funerals, Niki’s aura was always with her. She could smell it. Sometimes she even felt that she was seeing everything through Niki’s eyes.

Serenity had now descended upon Niki. She spent her mornings collecting cow-dung. And her afternoons sitting on a grass mat, watching worker bees fly in and out of the two hives that she had constructed in her backyard. Her face was scarred and cracked like a dried-up swamp experiencing a prolonged drought. Her cheeks had become very hard and discoloured even as serenity set upon her. Black and blue chubaba patches blotched the rough terrain. The hair that peeked from under her doek was grey and spiky. The whites of her eyes had lost their whiteness and turned yellowish-brown.