[LARONA]
After sleep-deprived nights and meddling pregnancy sickness, I am finally an admitted advocate of The High Court. I have earned my right to appear on behalf of any person in any court of the Republic of South Africa. It has happened and yet it still feels so surreal. Kurhula suffered with me throughout – offering his knowledge while I studied and massages when I couldn’t.
My happiness was short-lived though. He received the terribly humbling news just as we were walking out of court, on our way to the studio for a photo shoot. We all saw how being separated from her new-born destroyed her but we kept the hope that she’d bounce back. It ate away at both her weight and emotional balance, to a point where she one day had to be fetched from the mall by one of the drivers after a panic attack.
Fikani called a therapist to the house and hope was restored after a couple of sessions. I remember a conversation I once had with her in the kitchen where I playfully asked what the cause of her smile was. She responded and said her aunt had sent her pictures of Vukosi. That was before I could watch the joy slowly disappear from her face and gloom grow in her eyes. We did not know each other that well but I feel like I’ve failed her. Maybe I should’ve stayed longer that day; listened a bit deeper.
All of that that no longer matters because after a successful suxcide attempt, her body was laid to rest yesterday. I am trying to keep it together because there’s people at this table but man, I am failing. We are waiting for her husband to come address us but he’s not showing up. We’ve been waiting for a little over twenty minutes. He’s probably intoxicated and asleep. No one here can claim to think that he’s coping. He’s a complete mess and Kurhula is afraid he might follow in her footsteps at the rate that he’s going. This was all so sudden and jolting. All she left is a wrapped box written ‘To my baby boy, Vukosi’, nothing else; no note, no voicemail, no encrypted goodbye.
The elders are also here and there’s already talks of bringing Mokgadi home. I get it, customs and all but I also could never understand the lack of decorum in the way we royals do things sometimes.
‘If he had married her at the time we advised him to, this wouldn’t be so complicated’ Uncle Albert says and they all nod.
The look in Kurhula’s eyes could burn a hole into a concrete wall. I feel like if he’s ever given a choice in the next life, he wouldn’t choose the life of royalty. This might be the place but it’s definitely not the time for all this.
Mhan Singi is dead quiet. She has been this way since her return back home. Most probably trying her best not to step on Fikani’s corns and calluses.
Just when Kurhula’s pushes his chair back to go check on him, Fikani finally appears – looking everything besides himself. He grabs his seat and lets out a laboured sigh.
‘I am not here to say much…’ he eventually speaks after struggling to construct a sentence for a minute. His eyes are bloodshot and swollen.
‘What is in that box is for Vukosi’s eyes and his eyes only. I would like for us all to respect the spirit of—‘ he uncomfortably clears his throat. ‘The spirit of my late wife and all her wishes. She’s no longer one with us because a lot of us here contributed to her deteriorating mental health’
Mhani Masingita’s eyes find the floor. There’s mumbles around the table.
‘That box is locked away and safe. You can stop wondering and gossiping about her. I am saying this in the most respectful spirit I can manage right now. Thank you for lending me an ear’ he gets up and goes back to where he came from. This has everything to do with the kitchen incident this morning. He walked in on his aunts discussing the mysterious box and one of them said ‘We deserve to know what led her to this foolish decision’.
‘Yes. See why I expressed my doubts about that girl? She wasn’t raised to be a queen. That throne is hot. Sitting directly beside it will obviously never be pap n’ vleis. You don’t just dive in and expect to learn how to swim as you go. You’ll obviously drown!’, chipped in another. This was before they could turn around and notice his presence, then eyes began darting around guiltily.
The energy is dark and heavy. It’s also raining heavily outside. I can’t even see beyond the violent grey of the drops as I look at the window. Masedi is asleep in the guestroom. I’ve been checking on her the whole day, so much that I’m even afraid of getting on her nerves now. At some point, she told me that she’s all alone in the world and my heart shattered. I told her she’s not. We don’t stop being family just because her sister is gone. She’s way too young to be carrying the pain of this magnitude. Kuli is not here and I have no idea where she is. She apparently fainted when the coffin was being lowered and I just—
I couldn’t go; I am not allowed to.
I take out another ply from my packet of pocket tissues and dab my cheeks. I feel like I am carrying everyone’s pain in my chest and stomach. There’s also a pulsing ache on my back. It feels like it’s behind my kidney, somewhere there. It’s an oddly painful feeling that is difficult to describe. It’s been there since the morning when I woke up from a very peculiar dream. In it, I kept telling Kuli that I have a surprise for her after finding her doing everyone’s laundry here at home. I know that symbolizes a spiritual cleansing because I used to sit by my grandmother’s hip. That woman is a wizard when it comes to dream interpretations.
Kuli kept asking what it is while wiping the foam on her skirt – with pegs vertically arranged on the midline of her cotton t-shirt. We were both excited during this silly back and forth. I then handed her a baby carrier, which she snatched from me in absolute disbelief then ran off, screaming that she has to tell Kurhula. The next thing, we’re inside the house and Kurhula is holding a seed on his palm, a seed that has been split into two. He looked at the both of us and instructed that we should go fetch fertile soil from our respective gardens so he can plant his important kernel, then I woke up. At first, I thought maybe it means they’ll ask me to be their surrogate but after putting on my cape and praying hard for the meaning to be shown to me in an explicit manner, all that I got was that I was interpreting it wrong and that all shall be revealed in due time. When I called my grandmother, she said Kurhula would’ve probably specified that the seed is meant for his other wife and asked to plant the seed specifically in my garden if that was the case; she said I would’ve woken up with the knowledge that the fruit would not be mine to keep. I want to discuss it with our husband but the timing is way off.
People stand up one after the other until there’s only Kurhula and I left.
He’s sitting in a very awkward position on the chair – with his hands pocketed and his neck against the top of the back-rest, staring at the roof.
‘Baby?’ I call unto deaf ears. I touch his shoulder and only then does he turn to look at me.
‘Hm?’
‘Where’s Kuli?’
‘With the father-in-law’
‘I think you should go check on him’ I suggest. I know that he can equally feel the pain but his brother needs him right now. He gently nods before visibly gathering the strength to get up. He eventually gets on his feet, drops a kiss on my forehead and goes up the stairs. I need some air…
…
[NARRATED]
Kurhula picks up the decanter next to the couch Fikani is seated on, in the study.
‘What are you doing?’ Fikani asks – the vexation thick in his voice. Kurhula silently caps it and goes to put it back on the corner stand. He comes back to sit next to him. Fikani finishes off the beverage that’s left in his whiskey glass and checks for time on his phone.
16h38.
It rings before he can lock and put it away. He looks at the screen displaying Nqobile’s name and contemplates not answering it. Kurhula continues sitting there in silence. He eventually decides otherwise.
‘Love?’ he answers.
‘Hey. Uhm… can you talk?’ she asks. He takes a single glance at Kurhula and goes back to studying rhombus relief patterns on his empty glass; one that belongs to a set of six from one of his strange father’s collections.
‘Sure. What’s up?’
‘I just wanted to pass my condolences and to apologize for taking this long to call. I didn’t know what’s appropriate and what’s not’
‘Thank you’
‘Sure. We’ll talk?’
‘You were right’ he randomly states.
‘A-bout?’
‘Bontle did not deserve to be with a man like me’
‘No man. I did not mean that. I was angry and trying to hurt your feelings. Please forget I ever said that’
Kurhula takes the phone from him. Fikani gets up to go fetch his drink – with his shirt crinkled around the parts that were once tucked in.
‘Hi Nqobile. Can you try to reach him later? I don’t think he’s in the right state to be having a conversation with you right now?’
‘I understand. Goodbye’
Kurhula cuts the call and stares at him, waiting for him to come take a seat after pouring himself a double. He takes it from him and gulps it down then puts the glass down.
‘You were certainly sent to come wreck the little peace I have left, if there’s any’ Fikani complains.
‘I am tired of listening to you blame yourself for Bontle’s death. Another thing I won’t tolerate is you turning yourself into an alcoholic. You have every right to cry and break down even though the elders say otherwise but you’re with me now. You can even scream out her name if you want but what I know is that if she’s watching right now, she disapproves of this behaviour. You can’t numb the pain with booze unless if you’re planning to be drunk 24/7’ Kurhula preaches.
Fikani huffs sardonically.
‘That’s not such a bad idea, Instead of disapproving, how about she comes back? How about we go back in time so I can right my wrongs? How about I wake up from this fvcking nightmare, Kurhula?!’
His brother finally sees the reaction he was searching for; Fikani violently cracks and all the emotions gush out with a vehemence only propelled by a broken heart.
‘There’s nothing I want more than to be yelled at right now, by a sweet yet powerful voice when it needed to be’
Kurhula tightly holds the back of his brother’s neck in an attempt to stabilize and comfort him, with tears also racing down his cheeks.
‘I want to walk into a room that’s filled with the scent of her expensive candles. I never understood why she’d spend a thousand bucks on stupid wax and diffusers but I get it now. How she’d want to discuss the Madagascar what not, marshmallow and nutmeg thingamajigs. I thought she was just a naturally romantic human being by preferring candle lights over bright bulbs. I totally get it’
Kurhula simply nods.
‘There it is on top of the table. It’s burning but it just doesn’t smell the same!’
‘I know…’
‘I kxlled my wife, bro. I kxlled the love of my life’
‘Fikani…’
‘No, honestly. She was living a simple life before I walked in and turned it upside down with my kingship shxt and toxic ways! All because of what? The adrenaline rush when she lost her mind over the crap I did? Wanting to see how far I can take it with her? I did almost the same thing with Nqobile. Why the fvck am I this way?’
‘You’re fvcked up. That’s why’ Kurhula responds as his usual honest self. Fikani nods, with his tongue pushing on his inner cheek. ‘But punishing yourself is not going to do you any good. Bontle had mental health struggles which we were all oblivious to. If you want to put the blame on anyone, let it be all of us then including yourself’
‘I saw her lying unconscious on the floor with thick blood oozing out of her nostrils, I did not believe that she no longer had a pulse. I saw her face cushioned in a casket, I still did not believe that she’s gone. Now, I am trying to imagine her two metres below the ground and the image is not making sense. Are you trying to tell me that she’s just lying in that warm darkness, motionless and waiting to rot?’
‘She’s not in there; she’s now surrounded by the warmth of her forefathers. I won’t tell you to let go because I’d lose it if you said that to me however, allow yourself to feel. If yimpela wanuna anga rili, then he should sit and marinate in his pain’ Kurhula says and gets up – walking to the safe. He takes out the first pistol and puts in behind him, supported by his belt. He carries the second one by the barrel.
‘Suku yima hifamba phela. Let’s go’
Fikani just looks at him, knowing exactly what’s on his brother’s mind. Every time they got to a camp spot, Fikani would shoot into the trees just to hear the sound of all the birds flying away in panicked unison.
‘I want you to feel alive again. This…’ he holds the gun up. ‘This is the life you refuse to entirely let go of. For some reason, danger awakens something in you and this is closest I can offer you right now; the mere sound of it’
He hands Fikani the other gun and goes to retrieve an unopened cognac bottle.
‘Thought you said you didn’t want me drinking no more’ he chuckles with defeat. Kurhula shrugs and smirks.
‘Unsupervised. For now, I got you’ he offers him his hand so Fikani can get up. They head to the door once they’re both on their feet.
‘Open it, then’ Fikani urges.
‘I’m the supervisor here, I call the shots. I’ll tell you when it’s time to start drinking again. You are nothing but a widower here. Act accordingly’
Fikani laughs with great incredulity.
‘Too dark? It genuinely slipped out’ Kurhula says with fake remorse. They continue to laugh.
‘You’re dumb as fvck. I should’ve allowed that donkey Sylvester to finish you off’
‘Then you would’ve failed as a big brother. If I die, I’ll be your closest ancestor. Talk to me nice because I could easily turn into a relentless demon’
‘You only acknowledge that I’m the eldest when it suits you, you fvcking moron!’ he hits him on the back of the head and Kurhula runs off, laughing. The mirth is quick to dissipate as they continue walking the corridor. Fikani stops and looks at his brother. Kurhula shrugs.
‘Although this family might be a curse on its own, I’m glad we found our way back to each’
‘Now you want me the one to start drinking? Why the hell are you making me emotional? Go through your things alone, don’t try and hotspot me’ Kurhula continues to tease.
‘Fool…’
Kurhula pulls him without warning and hugs him. Multiple firm fists land on both their back, from each other – solidifying the moment.
‘Love you, bro. You know this’ Kurhula says and Fikani fails to respond, already in his feelings.
…
[KULANI]
What hurts the most is that there’s no chance at closure. She could’ve at least written a letter or something. Maybe it’s in Vukosi’s box, meaning we’ll only find out the day he’s emotionally smart to comprehend this whole situation and able to read. I don’t want to lie, Bontle broke my heart. I am lying on my dad’s shoulder while we’re seated on the couch and he keeps rubbing my upper arm. I was inconsolable when I first arrived here. I came because I felt like no one else would understand better than he would. He hasn’t said a word about this but I can see that it’s eating away at his insides. Mhani Basani says he had to be stopped by the door – sleepwalking and repeating that he needed to go fetch his daughter, his butterfly. I don’t think we’ll ever understand or even accept this.
I sit upright and look at him. He looks at me back, with curiosity.
‘I know’ I let out. He pulls his brows together.
‘What do you know, my angel?’
‘Mom’s death? I know it was you’
He starts stuttering and I interrupt him before he can go further.
‘I am not mad at you. I am just struggling to understand the kind of love you have for me. You guys fought a lot but that would never erase the fact that she was your wife and you loved her. But you still chose me over her? Why?’
He sighs. He’s really not in any mood to talk. I just had to get this off my chest. My head goes back to resting on his shoulder, with my arm around him.
‘Blood. That’s why’ he finally speaks.
I’ve been vomiting my guts out ever since I found out about my sister’s passing. The pain in my heart has manifested into a physical illness. There’s also a pain on my back, towards the side. It’s not dull, it’s pulsing – like a heartbeat.
No, I am lying. It started a few hours after a heated lovemaking session with Kurhula. It just kept coming and going, unlike how consistent it is now. That night gives me butterflies just thinking about it. I’ve slept with that man before and it was satisfying but what happened the last time he was on top of me? Art in active form. Aunty Basani walks, holding a new and colourful calabash that she probably bought from the woman who sells them by the side of the mall. She has enough of these but she keeps collecting more, along with reed mats with different designs on them.
‘My child, you’re still here?’ she asks before putting it down. It almost takes her head wrap down with it but it stops moving halfway. Look at all the grey hair drawing a bold statement around that scalp. My beloved aunty is getting old and for some reason, this scares me.
‘You almost fell into the grave. You scared me’ she says. I don’t want to think about that incident, it is embarrassing to recall.
‘I’m okay now, aunty’
She was about to walk away before she stopped and took two steps back – looking at me. Her fingers go under my chin and she gently raises my face up, looking at me directly in the eye.
‘What?’ my dad asks. She shakes her head after coming out of whatever thoughts that had swallowed her concentration whole.
‘This child is...’ she stops and bite her upper lip thoughtfully.
‘Nothing. Maybe I am simply seeing things’ she says and picks up her moulded clay. What was that all about? Anyway, I need to go home. I haven’t slept in days. If I continue this way, my brain might just give up on me. And it’s about to get dark. Kurhula and I will fight if I continue sitting on this couch.
I was hoping to find Larona still here but I don’t see her car on the pavement. I walk inside the house and go straight to my room. A sharp pain ripples down my spine and I stop, with my door on the handle. What the hell was that? I continue walking just to make sure my legs aren’t paralyzed. After sitting on the bed in order to listen to my body, I decide on a nap where reality and the mystical merge into one. I see the door open and Gogo Mandilakhe walks in, barefoot. She’s all smiles and that’s a good sign. I’ve had enough of bad news to last me the whole of next year.
She silently opens my hand and puts two pieces of a broken seed on my palm then carefully closes it. She wraps both her hands around my closed fist throughout our eye contact. She’s really prepared not to say a word today.
‘When a farmer is struggling with the fertility of her grounds, she asks for good soil from her neighbour then adds manure’
I abruptly get up after she leaves me with this riddle. Manure? I was always wake super thirsty from this kind of dreams. On my way to the kitchen, Mhani Lulama tells me there’s a guest in the living room. I do not mean to be rude but couldn’t they come at another time? I got get my water and go see them. It’s a lady elegantly dressed in Sepedi attire and heels. They call this dress Mothuhlwane, if I am not mistaken. She also has a matching blue velvet doek around her head. I’m only looking forward to this conversation because I can see we have the same taste in shoes. She’s with a guard, so she’s obviously royalty. She’s sitting with her knees kissing and her feet offset to one-side. Reminds me a lot of Princess Diana. She’s one of those who take this status seriously and to heart, unlike some of us. She walks, breathes and talks it. Her mannerisms announce her title ahead of her speech. She’s even placed her metal bag hook on the table and her leather purse is hanging from there. We greet each other and I call for a cold beverage for her. She says she prefers tea. So this is the Mokgadi they were talking about? Mmakgotso III.
‘Uhm… I had to come in person for this’ she starts. I open my eyes and ears. She relieves her bag and takes out a white envelope from it.
‘The late queen requested a meeting with me about a week ago, asking me if I am prepared to marry her husband. After giving her an affirmative, she handed me this and told me that I shouldn’t dare open it until my wedding day. I just thought it was somehow part of your tradition, I don’t know. I never put much thought into until now. I feel the contents of this are linked to the motive of her death. I haven’t read it but I have reason to believe it’s a suxcide note’
I swallow as I receive it. Should I open it? I’m opening it.
‘To my dearest Fikani, My King, My Hubstar…’ I immediately fold it again after reading the opening line. Mokgadi offers me some tissue when my heart starts sinking. Bontle really did pull a bad number on us.