Chapter 1 - Former Things

CHAPTER 1: FORMER THINGS

The viewing was over. Now it was just him. In the quiet passage at the back of the Methodist church in Howick, Themba Zondi stood before his grandmother's casket, looking at her still features for the final time. He tried to imprint them on his memory: her short hair, bright red, because that was his grandmother. No dignified grey for her. Nose with a slight bump at the top. Large mouth with her favourite pink lipstick, pressed into a semblance of a smile. Pale blue dress with brass buttons running down the middle. Hands folded one over the other...missing something.

Oh, right. Her diamond ring, which the undertaker had just reminded him to take off before they closed the casket. It was in his pocket now. He had no idea what he was supposed to do with it. Gogo had told him to sell it, if he couldn't find a use for it, but insisted he not bury her with it.

Once she stopped fighting the fact that she was dying, they'd set up a hospital bed in her bedroom.

"All the important papers are in that bottom drawer," she'd said, pointing to her wardrobe. "Don't bother with them till after I die. I hate to leave you, Themba. Is there anyone...?"

He shook his head. She'd turned her head away, brow crinkled, as if in pain.

"Something hurting you, Gogo?"

"I'm sorry. Maybe I should have told you..."

"Told me what, Gogo?"

He waited for her to finish that sentence, but she just squeezed her eyes shut.

That was the last coherent conversation he'd had with her. Her pain got worse. The doctor increased her morphine. Dying was harder than it looked. Took longer than he expected, too. Five nights of sleeping in a recliner by her hospital bed, waking up every time her breathing changed. And then, she'd slipped off when he'd taken a bathroom break. Didn't want to die in front of him, he guessed. She was always trying to spare him pain.

He wished she'd been able to spare herself some, too.

Special dates always stuck in his mind. The ninth of January would be one of those dates: the day his grandmother died. To add to the second of November, ten years ago, the day his mother had died, of cancer and a broken heart. There was no particular date on which his father had morphed from distant to cheating husband, deadbeat to absent dad, self-centred to negligent son.

The sound of a throat clearing jolted Themba out of his reverie. Reverend Shezi, wearing a long black robe and white stole, emerged from the vestry at the end of the passage and walked towards Themba. He'd come to visit Gogo several times at home. Nice man. When he reached the casket, he stood beside Themba, head bowed. Then he snorted and clapped a hand to his mouth.

Themba glanced at him, unsettled.

"Sorry." The minister tried to wipe the smile off his face. "She just...she just insisted that red was her natural colour. With a straight face. Just daring me to doubt her."

Themba nodded, pressing his lips together. Then he snorted too, and a laugh rose from his belly. He pressed a hand to his forehead. "Sorry, Gogo," he said. "I'm trying to be serious here, but with your minister cracking jokes, it's hard."

Reverend Shezi composed himself. "Do you think your father's going to make it?"

"Why would he make this?" Themba said bitterly. "He missed everything else in her life."

His aimless father had drifted out of their lives on a Mandrax high. Missed Themba's mom's funeral, Themba's matric dance. Left Themba to function as both grandson and son to Gogo. Like now. Taking care of funeral arrangements. Though he was glad to do it. She'd been there for him, when no one else had.

"It's his loss, Themba. You were everything to her and you're here. The church has filled up. You ready?"

Themba bent over, pressed one last kiss on his grandmother's cold forehead, and then turned away. He looked at his hands. There was still green paint around his nails that he hadn't been able to scrape off, from the last house he'd been painting, just a couple of weeks ago.

He followed Gogo's closed casket into the church. Reverend Shezi gestured to the front pew. Themba looked around before he sat. He was the youngest person here by decades. There were more people than he expected. Maybe forty. He recognised a few of them, mostly Gogo's church friends.

Victoria Dube was there, looking regal, perfectly coiffed hair, posture like a queen. Nandi's grandmother. And his own grandmother's nemesis. She'd visited Gogo a couple of times. Brought one of those blankets the Manyano women used to knit together for the sick. Then picked up some old argument they had. He'd made the mistake of leaving them alone. Had to rush back in when he heard their raised voices and ask her to leave. Who picks a fight with a dying woman? The only thing those two women ever agreed on was that each thought her own grandchild was too good for the other's grandchild.

Honestly, he was surprised Mrs Dube had come. Probably wanted gloating rights for having lived longer. Everything was a competition between them. How many conversations had Gogo started by saying, "You wouldn't believe what Queen Victoria said at Manyano today! That woman thinks her shit doesn't stink. And she calls me vulgar."

With no warning, another snort erupted from his nose. He whipped around, plopped down on the pew and dropped his face in his hands. Better that people here think he was crying than laughing.

When he could raise his head with a solemn face, he looked at the minister, who winked at him and then stood, recited some scripture and invited them all to stand for the opening hymn, "Amazing Grace."

Themba pulled a hymn book from the shelf beneath his pew, stood, and glanced behind him one more time.

There was Nandi, standing at the front door, waiting for an usher to hand her a programme.

He hadn't seen her in three years, but she was unmistakably the woman who had broken his heart all those summers ago. Her hair was longer now, a soft twist-out hanging loose about her face. Navy-blue suit hugging her curves, eyes on the carpet. She looked sad. Nervous.

Lovely.

What was she doing here? She'd made absolutely no contact and now she thought she'd just drop in on his grandmother's funeral? She barely knew his grandmother. Well, he guessed that wasn't exactly true. Nandi had come over for Sunday lunch a few times that summer. She and Gogo had got on so well. But Gogo never forgave her for hurting him, for saying she didn't want to settle for a housepainter, that he should be more ambitious.

He had plenty of ambition. He'd aimed to be a top-notch housepainter. Now he was one, with his own company to boot, people working for him.

He stared at her until other people followed his lead, glancing back at her, too. He faced forward again, and flipped open his hymn book, but couldn't sing. His throat constricted.

What was she doing here? Was there any chance she...? He closed his eyes. Don't hope, he warned himself. Don't hope.

The minister motioned them all to sit down, welcomed them, said some funny things about Gogo that made everyone laugh, led them in prayer, and then read the Twenty-third Psalm.

The Lord is my shepherd, I shall not want. He maketh me to lie down in green pastures...

Themba glanced back again. Now Nandi was sitting on the aisle seat beside her grandmother, looking straight ahead. She seemed to feel his eyes on her. The muscles in her face tightened. Was she going to ignore him? She raised her chin slightly, jaw clenched, and looked at him, holding his gaze. Maybe she nodded. It was such a slight gesture he wasn't sure. He could hardly breathe. He couldn't believe she was here. Her lips opened and she mouthed, "Hi." Smile so sweet, just like he remembered.

He smiled back. He couldn't stop himself. Then he forced himself to turn away, face forward. Don't hope, Themba.

How did she even know about Gogo's funeral? Mrs Dube wouldn't have encouraged her to come. Would she? To say that Nandi's grandmother hadn't been a fan of their relationship was putting it mildly. She'd been convinced Themba would turn out to be a replica of his father, to whom he bore such a strong physical resemblance. Just assumed he'd also move from job to job and woman to woman, unlike the stuffy, high-powered advocate her own son had become. That's what Nandi's grandmother and father wanted for her. What Nandi had decided she wanted, too. Last he heard, she'd met some lawyer, and his family were already talking lobola.

"Themba," Reverend Shezi said, in a tone that made it clear he had called his name before.

Themba stood, clenched his hands and released them, and walked to the lectern. He didn't know what he said. He'd thought of a few stories to tell and he guessed he told them because people were laughing. He tried to avoid Nandi's face while he spoke, but he glanced at her once and she was laughing too. And crying. Wiping her fingers across her cheeks. As if Gogo had meant something to her.

Mrs Dube was also crying. He had no idea what to make of that.

Finally, he thanked them all for being there and sat down again.

The minister talked for a while about heaven and God wiping away all the tears from their eyes. About no more death or sorrow or crying or pain, about former things passing away.

Themba wished some former things had never passed away.

It occurred to him he wasn't the youngest one here any more. Nandi was two years younger. Twenty-four, that would be. Her birthday was last month. The seventh of December. He'd seen her for the first time on the sixteenth of December, three years ago. The details of those two summer months were etched on his memory.

She'd been wearing a bright red, spaghetti strap dress, at dinner with a group of snooty girls at the Midmar Country Club. He'd waited on her table. They'd noticed the paint staining his hands from his work painting houses earlier that day, before he started the evening shift at the club. Her friends had made obnoxious remarks about their waiter not having clean hands, though he'd scrubbed his hands raw and still couldn't get the paint off. She'd come back to the kitchen to apologise for their behaviour.

Then she waited around until his shift ended. They took a walk on the golf course under a full moon. First side by side. Then holding hands and talking. Found they had so much in common. Both had lost their mothers when they were teenagers. Both were close to their grandmothers and staying with them for the summer. Both had already seen Wakanda Forever four times. She said he looked like Michael B. Jordan. He didn't think so, but he was flattered. They were surprised they hadn't met before, but then again, he and Gogo weren't in the country club crowd and he'd never worked there before, so it wasn't so surprising, really.

When they got to the seventeenth hole, they stopped talking. At the eighteenth hole they stopped walking.

By morning, he was in love.

Reverend Shezi cleared his throat. Themba shook himself. As the Manyano women began to sing, he stood, and walked beside the minister down the centre aisle behind Gogo's casket. They reached Nandi's pew. The procession paused. One of the bier's front wheels had snagged on a slight ridge in the carpet. He had to stand right there, centimetres from her. For a moment, he faced forward, thinking, Come on, God. Really? Is this amusing to you?

Then, he glanced at her. She was looking at him, tenderly, her light brown eyes watering. That sweet beauty spot still high on her cheekbone. Those full lips, half-smiling.

And then, her hand clasped his. And, oh, God, it was like an electric shock, a jolt of energy through his whole body, making him long for things he thought he'd given up longing for. He closed his eyes. Squeezed her fingers. Didn't want to let go—wasn't sure he even could. He never thought he'd hold her hand again. Her hand with no ring. She wasn't engaged.

But they were moving again. The minister nudged him. He let her fingers slide away and followed the casket out of the church. The January day was warm, sunny, cheery. He put a hand over his eyes to block the glare. Watched the pallbearers lift the casket off the bier, load it into the hearse, shut the door. Then he got in his car and followed the hearse to the cemetery. Soon, Gogo's casket lay on planks above an open pit.

He wondered who would come to this part, the burial. Wondered if she would come.

Don't hope, Themba.

But there she was, her arm linked through her grandmother's, walking slowly in his direction.

Reverend Shezi spoke a few more words, prayed again, and nodded to Themba. Themba felt a pang of guilt at being more focused on Nandi than his grandmother. He laid a hand on her casket, and then they lowered her on the straps.

When it touched the bottom, the men took off their jackets and picked up the spades, and one of them held the first spade out to Themba. He was the only family there was. He drove it into the pile and tipped the first soil onto the lid. Hamba kahle, Gogo. Love you. He kept digging with the others while the Manyano women sang, until the grave was full and his shirt was stuck to his back.

Then he looked around for Nandi. She stood with her back towards him, talking with some of her grandmother's friends. She'd taken off her jacket, revealing a sleeveless white top, her delectable shoulders and arms smooth and brown. Suddenly, he smelled coconut and strawberries. Like the coconut body butter he used to rub into those shoulders. And the scent of her shampoo, when he kissed her ears. She used to love that.

"Themba?" Reverend Shezi said.

"Sorry. Could you repeat that?"

"I said I understand people have been dropping off quite a bit of food at your grandmother's house."

Themba nodded. "Yep. Not sure how much they think one guy can eat."

Reverend Shezi smiled. "Perhaps you want to invite everyone over to help you eat it."

Themba gave a short laugh. "Oh. That's what it's for? Sure. The place is a bit of a mess though."

"I believe the Manyano women are getting everything sorted out. I wouldn't worry."

The minister made a general announcement, and everyone headed back to their cars. Themba sat in the driver's seat, waiting for Nandi and Mrs Dube to walk past his car. When they did, he rolled down his window.

"Nandi?" First time he'd spoken her name aloud in three years.

She turned, her arm linked through her grandmother's. Her grandmother was patting her hand, as if Nandi needed some kind of reassurance.

"Yes?"

"You coming over to the house?" He tried not to look too hopeful, but he did smile, silently urging her to say yes.

She smiled back. "Yes."

His heart thudded. "See you there."

"Yes," she said again.

He waited till they moved further down the road, then started his car and headed out of the cemetery, leading a procession of cars past horse farms and rolling green hills to his grandmother's house in the woods. At the gate, one of the Manyano women stood over a basin of water, and he washed his hands like everyone coming back from the grave. The green paint around his nails didn't budge for that either. Inside, the place looked resplendent, with pots of rice and beef stew, trays of chicken and bowls of salad in every colour spread out all over the dining room table. Two-litre cold drinks and jugs of Oros and juice lined one kitchen counter. Cakes, scones and milk tart filled another.

His stomach growled. He couldn't remember the last time he'd eaten. The smells and colourful culinary displays were making him hungry.

One of his grandmother's Manyano friends handed him a plate overflowing with food and a large glass of Oros. He took a sip and almost choked, it was so sweet. He was used to Gogo's, mixed so weak it was barely orange.

His grandmother's house—well, his house now—filled with people who made themselves at home in the kitchen, lounge, dining room, and on the stoep, too. Conversation buzzed, quiet at first, then getting noisier. People laughing. Telling Gogo stories.

He stood on the stoep, waiting for Nandi. Here they came, walking up the long driveway. He felt bad they had to park so far away. Mrs Dube looked like she was having trouble keeping her balance, but she still held that erect posture that used to annoy Gogo so much. Thinks she's queen of the Manyano. Themba smiled. Gogo thought she was queen of the Manyano.

"Themba," one of his grandmother's friends said. "Sit. Eat something." The woman took the glass from his hand, set it on a table, pushed him down onto a wicker two-seater, and handed him a fork wrapped in a paper serviette.

"Yebo, Ma," Themba said, embarrassed to be sitting down the moment that Nandi walked up the stoep steps.

Her grandmother released her arm and followed the other woman inside, leaving him and Nandi alone on the stoep. To his surprise, Nandi sat down beside him. The two-seater was small enough to make this a tight squeeze. The whole left side of his body pressed against hers. She didn't try to edge away. Neither did he.

"Hi." She kept her voice low. "Is this okay? For me to sit here?"

He nodded. "I didn't expect you." He kept his voice low too.

"Oh." She lowered her eyes. "I thought maybe you did."

"Why would I?"

Her brow crinkled. "I can leave, if you want." She made an attempt to rise.

"No!" He jerked, almost losing control of his plate. She caught one side of it and balanced it on both their knees. "I don't want you to leave. I'm glad you're here." When she didn't say anything, he added, "Hungry? Help me out?"

"Happy to." She took a piece of chicken off his plate. "Apparently, your grandmother told my grandmother she hoped I would come."

"To her funeral?" Themba tried not to gape. "Sorry, I almost don't believe that. She wasn't your biggest fan."

"I know. She thought I was hoity-toity. She told me so. She thought you could do better." She paused, then continued, "My grandmother is impressed by how well you took care of your grandmother when she got sick. She said she was wrong about you."

Themba was so shocked to hear this, he couldn't think how to respond.

After a moment of heavy silence, Nandi said, "Is there someone special in your life?"

He could see the beauty spot on her cheekbone up close now, her full lips, her gentle brown eyes with mascara smeared underneath, from crying. Felt the warmth of her thigh pressing against his. "Maybe." He held her gaze. "You?"

She didn't take her eyes off his. "I don't know." She swallowed, looking down. "You're still painting houses?"

He saw her noticing the paint remnants on his hands. "Yeah. Still hard to get the paint off."

She smiled, as if she were also remembering the night they met. "Do you still like it?"

He nodded again. "Love it. Got more work than I can handle."

"That's great. Where?"

"About an hour from here. What about you? How'd you like law school?"

"I didn't love it. I finished, and I've got a job, but..."

"Did you fall in love with Cape Town like you thought you would?"

She seemed surprised, as if she expected him to know the answer to this, then turned away, shrugging. "Not really."

After a moment, he handed her his glass. "Thirsty? It's sweet."

She took a sip and almost choked. "Very sweet." She stood up, cradling her elbows. "I wasn't sure you would even talk to me. Or want me to be here."

He put down the plate and stood too. "Why?"

She shrugged. "Your grandmother said you'd moved on."

He stared at her. "When did she tell you that?"

She looked confused. "When I visited her, to give her the letters. I came twice. Since I didn't have your new number. Or your address." Her voice trembled. "Did you even bother to read them?"

The front door opened. Mrs Dube came out and handed Nandi a plate of food.

"Granny, can we please have some privacy?" Nandi said.

At the same time Themba said, "Nandi. What letters?"

Mrs Dube glared at Themba and shook her head. "She didn't give them to you, did she? I asked her again the last time I saw her if she just threw them away and she said 'of course not' but she wouldn't confirm that she gave them to you. Did she even tell you Nandi visited her?"

Themba stared at her, a sour taste rising to his mouth.

"Why wouldn't she?" Nandi pressed a hand to her heart, looking horrified. "I didn't think she hated me."

Themba closed his eyes. He'd told Gogo not to talk to him about Nandi. Ever. It was too painful. But he didn't know Nandi had tried to reach out to him. Had visited Gogo. Had written to him. Surely, Gogo would have realised he'd want to know that.

"She didn't hate you, dear, or she wouldn't have specifically asked me to invite you to come to her funeral," Mrs Dube said. "She loved Themba, and she probably was afraid of you hurting him again. I think she was also a selfish woman who didn't want to share him either, at least not while she was alive. Sorry to speak ill of the dead, Themba, but that's just my personal opinion."

Themba was too bewildered to feel anything more than passing irritation at Nandi's grandmother's "personal opinion."

"She said she didn't throw them away, Themba," Mrs Dube repeated.

All the important papers are in that bottom drawer, Gogo had said.

Without answering, Themba went inside, weaving his way through the crowd till he reached his grandmother's room, knelt by her wardrobe and opened the bottom drawer. On top of a stack of papers labelled "Important Documents" were two sealed envelopes with his name in Nandi's handwriting. He stood and looked at Nandi, who had followed him into the room. Her mouth hung open, her eyes wide with hurt.

"I can't believe this," he whispered.

"Why would she...?"

"I told her not to talk to me about you. But I didn't know..."

Turning away from her, he looked out of the window at the thick woods and thrust his hands in his pockets. His fingers jammed against something sharp. He pulled out his hand, holding his grandmother's diamond ring, which he stared at, as if he'd never seen it before. He looked at Nandi, whose eyes flashed wide at the sight of the ring.

"She told me to sell it if I couldn't find a use for it," Themba said.

"Sell it! You're not going to sell it, are you?"

He studied the ring. "No." He slid it back in his pocket.

She exhaled in relief. "Good."

He looked up and held her gaze. "I think I'd rather find a use for it." He knew there was a question in his eyes.

Her gaze grew shy. She turned to look out of the window. They stood side by side, quiet, hearing the gentle murmur of voices from the front of the house.

"Nandi?"

"Yes?"

"What did they say? The letters?"

In a husky voice, she said, "That I was sorry. That I loved you. That I thought we could work things out. That I hoped it wasn't too late."

He nodded. "I would have read them. I would have written back."

"Really?"

He nodded again, then turned to face her. "Is it too late?"

She looked up at him, her eyes shining. A tear trickled down. He brushed his thumb across her cheek. Former things, passing away. Her arms encircled his waist. She buried her face in his neck and shook her head. Wrapping his arms around her, he pulled her close, kissing her temple. He smelled strawberries.

"God, I've missed you, Nandi."