Hunger Eats a Man (4 page)

Nomsa arrives home at exactly half past four in the afternoon and expects to find her husband home as usual. She expects him to welcome her in with a kiss and then ask her if he can make her a cup of coffee. This is almost a habit now. A good one, at that. She braces herself for the love her husband will pour on her and is greatly disappointed when she realises there is nobody home. Her husband has left school and gone to only God knows where. Anywhere but home!

She tries to recall if he told her of any meeting that might cause him to be late, but he told her nothing. A thought says, “Maybe something he had not planned for came up.” Another negates it soon after, reminding her that Bongani knows the number at her office and he also has her mobile phone number.

Thinking of phones, when last did Bongani call her at work and tell her that he loves her so much, he wishes the day was over so he could go home to her, or she could come home to him? The answer to that question, which is “not lately”, makes Nomsa breathe faster. She thinks about her age and decides that, at thirty-nine, she is not getting any younger. How many stories has she heard of teachers, especially principals, having affairs with girls in their schools? She gazes at the dressing-table mirror and does not like what she sees. Is she fat? “Not that much!” is the answer, and it is not too bad. Is she uglier than she used to be? She cannot enunciate a resounding “no” to this question,
and wonders how many times Bongani has asked the same question. She decides she does not want to know the answer.

“The short swine is having an affair!” she announces to the room, and some unknown force makes her look again in the mirror. This time she displays her teeth and shoves her tongue through the gap and makes some odd noise as she forces air through it. That having been accomplished, she says, “Shi!”, which she always says when she is displeased, and then starts to move about in the room. Her mind gallops as she tries to reach the woman who wants to take her man and make her a laughing stock. Perhaps it is someone she knows. Perhaps it is not. It really doesn't matter. What matters is that Bongani has something going on and he has betrayed himself today.

“Son of a bitch!” she yells at his photograph, and suddenly goes to look at the clock on the sideboard and sees with much distress that it is five minutes to five. Bongani could not have left school later than three. Maybe he did not go there at all? The thought of him spending the whole day with a young schoolgirl makes her want to scream. “I will kill him! I will kill him! I will kill him!” she sings.

It is as if she has gone mad. She makes some inaudible noise and breaks open Bongani's wardrobe, although the key is just in front of her. She removes all the things she can in the frenzy of her anger. She descends the stairs at a run, taking them two at a time, as if trying to make sure that nobody can stop her. She uses the back door to the little garden and makes a bonfire out of the items she is carrying. She is not a fool for Bongani to humiliate. What she has done to his clothes is nothing compared to what she is yet to do to the man himself.

It soon becomes clear to Nomsa that burning Bongani's things does not quench her anger as it has always done in the past. If only he would arrive so that she can teach him a lesson. She feels that the anger inside her is too much, and decides to call on her second anger-countering strategy: cleaning! She goes inside and performs what she calls “thorough cleaning”. She works hard and fast so that she can sweat out the anger.

She has turned all the living-room furniture upside down when she hears Bongani's garage door open. She stops her cleaning and watches Bongani touch and caress a young girl in a blue skirt. The sight prompts her to balance the broom on her shoulder and then to hold her hair up with both hands, as if trying to take off and fly.

When Bongani finally comes in, Nomsa has already failed to stop herself from crying. She sees his trousers covered in dust and grass and screams so powerfully that the house seems to vibrate. She charges towards him with the broom and Bongani is taken by surprise. He is still thinking about his vision and his resolution to demand his manly right, so it takes some time for him to make sense of what is going on.

Nomsa is a powerfully built woman and always prides herself on being two inches taller than her husband. Both these qualities count in her favour now. Her anger affords her the power she never thought she possessed and she uses it efficiently. Bongani tries to take it like a man but soon accepts that Nomsa is a strong woman and she has a broomstick while he has nothing. He tries to parry her attacks with his hands, but they soon feel so hurt that he decides to stop protecting himself with them.

“
Awe malo!
” he screams. “I promise I won't do it again!”

It isn't easy to speak and be beaten at the same time, but he does a good job. Nomsa only realises what she is doing when she hears Bongani ask for forgiveness and she thinks she sees blood leaking from his head. Now Nomsa cries, not out of anger, but out of fear for what she has done and out of what feels like love for the man she has just beaten. She throws away the broom, lest she beats him again, and tries to touch him. But then she sees the blood. She isn't afraid of blood, and there is not a large quantity of it, but somehow she feels as if touching him would cause more harm.

“But why, Bongani?” she manages to say. Then, having assured herself that he is not going to break in her hands, she tries to help him up.

Bongani is still confused. He wishes he would wake up from this
nightmare, but he does not. Is this another dream or vision? No! If it was it wouldn't hurt this much. The fact is that his wife has beaten him. The good thing is that, although he certainly knows his wife is strong enough to beat him anyway, it consoles him that she has taken him by surprise.

“Why didn't you warn me that you were on the attack?”

Nomsa hears but cannot answer. She hurriedly goes to the bathroom, leaving Bongani on the misplaced sofa. She pours water in the basin and, as it is still pouring, she shakily searches the cabinet for Dettol or anything that she might use. As things fall from the cabinet, she suddenly recalls that there is a clinic nearby and stops the tap at once and runs for the living room.

“Let me take you to the clinic,” she offers, and it feels pleasant that she can still think of something so helpful under such pressure.

Nomsa's words sound to Bongani as if she wants to display to the whole clinic community that she has beaten her husband. “No ways! I'm not going there. I'm fine.”

“No, Bongani, you are not! Let me take you to the clinic so that they will stitch your head.”

“Let me take you to the clinic so that everybody will see that I beat you up!” is what Bongani hears. “Hell, no!” he shouts. “I said I'm fine. I'm okay, okay?”

“All right.” Nomsa is calmer now. “Please don't shout. I was just trying to help.” She begins to cry again. Only now does she consider her reason for beating her husband. “Where were you, Bongani?” She wipes her tears with her left hand and looks closely at him.

“You should have asked that before you did this to me,” Bongani contemplates his hands as he speaks and is frightened when he sees how swollen they are. “What difference will it make now? Hhe?”

“I said I'm sorry, Bongani. But I need to know why you did not come home to me. Why, Bongani?”

Nomsa seats herself next to him and it angers her that she is begging a man. She again sees blood on his head and she feels that she really
loves him. Now she thinks about losing him and it makes her mind and body weak. Life would be sour without him. Where in this crazy patriarchal world would she find a husband as understanding as Bongani, who is able to bear with her unwillingness to have children?

“I'm serious, Bongani. Where were you all the time after you left school?” Nomsa is softer now, but she still speaks in a worried tone. Bongani is touched, but he does not want to answer her. Where was he anyway?

“Do you have a girlfriend, Bongani?”

Bongani tries without success to stop himself from laughing. “What do you say? Is that a joke?”

Before they go to bed, Nomsa has long forgotten about the “little incident”, as she now thinks of her beating of Bongani. He pretends that it is all over for him too. But, as Nomsa relates to him how her meeting that afternoon went, he keeps reliving the pain and confusion he felt when she beat him. Thanks to his role-playing ability, she is honestly convinced and gratified that her husband has not only forgiven her, but has completely forgotten about the beating.

“Remember that we African women were doubly oppressed,” she says about the meeting. “We were oppressed as black people and also oppressed as women. Now we have attained our freedom as blacks, but our struggle as women continues.” She takes a heavy, long breath. “And we intend to win!”

Suddenly she leaves the room as if she fears something deadly is lurking. Bongani thinks about the days when he was growing up. His mother told him that if he was in the room with the cat and there was thunder and lightning, if the cat dashes out of the room he should follow it. It means there is danger. Now he smiles as he decides that if there was lightning and Nomsa was the cat, he would not follow her. He is not young any more. But he knows that his wife left because she is on the verge of crying. It amazes him how Nomsa is so touched
by the cause of women. Every time they speak about the plight of women, she changes dramatically, getting more fearsome to Bongani.

“I wonder why she hates men so much?” he asks himself.

Priest knows that his wife is not absolutely wrong to consider the possibility of seeking work at the farm. It has become clear that he is unlikely to get a job anywhere else. Many people disapprove of farm work because of meagre wages and bad conditions there. “But things have changed now,” he thinks. “Apartheid is gone and workers, including farm workers, have rights.” But new laws or old ones, this is not the kind of work for a man as respectable as he is. Hasn't he been degraded enough? Even his priest's garb, the only suit he has left, is now threadbare. His shoes? He might as well have none, so worn are they.

His wife keeps pestering him about making a smart decision. Though the only smart decision to her mind is for Priest to decide to go to work at the farm.

“How much do you think Mr Johnson is going to pay us, or let me say, those who will work for him?” Priest asks her. He is beginning to give in to her persuasion. There is nothing very bright about farm work, but he tries to think positively about the money and the prospect of earning something, anything.

MaDuma realises she is winning him over. She is smart enough to understand that if she tells him the truth, he may be discouraged. So she almost doubles the money that she heard will be paid to tree workers: “It's not that bad. R30 per day.”

Having received the answer, Priest looks fixedly at one spot, not
winking or blinking. Then he says, “It's about six hundred a month. It's indeed worth a try. It's better than having to go begging.”

“I'm glad you see that, Father. We and our children will not starve like this if you work there,” MaDuma says with a sense of satisfaction. She has won her womanly battle of convincing the man to do the right thing.

Priest finally agrees that he will try his luck at the farm on Monday. During the weekend he spends a lot of time considering the decision he has made. He thinks that, despite everything, he has taken the right path. He thinks about the things he can do with R600 and realises how limited they are. But he will be staying at home, not having to pay for transport like he had to do when he was working at the bacon factory.

In the sermon on Sunday, he preaches about the importance of taking responsibility. This means doing all people can in order to fulfil their duties, no matter how much sacrifice is involved. He makes an example of the present situation where many people are without jobs, thus rendered unable to support their families and themselves.

“But if you wait and listen, if you keep quiet and think deeply, you will see that there is so much we can do. We should stop thinking too much about our grandeur and power, and consider what options we've got.” He pauses for a moment and then continues, “Who can tell me that they have tried to seek work at the farms and were unsuccessful?”

When he poses this question, everybody nods their understanding. Everybody in the church today is moved by Priest's sermon. Many people reconsider their opinions about farm work and their present situations. Many listen and are touched, though some already have jobs. They feel the truth of what Priest says. It is not him who is talking to them, but it is God Himself. No mortal man can utter such words of wisdom without intervention from God. Some can even refer to the Bible: “At the beginning there was the Word. The Word was with God. The Word was God.” Priest knows his way around words. This has contributed to his promotion from a mere churchgoer to his present position of priesthood.

Before dawn on Monday, MaDuma wakes up and prepares food for her husband to eat before going to the farm. She also packs lunch for him to eat if he is lucky to be employed. Priest, like everybody who knows farms and farm work, knows that he has to leave his household as early as possible. So by six o'clock he leaves and heads for Manhlanzini Stop where Johnson's truck is going to fetch them.

As he walks, he thinks he may be the first to arrive at the stop, but he is amazed to see that there are many people already waiting. Four hundred people at least, ranging from youngsters of thirteen to men and women of his age.

“Dear Son of God! Where are all these people coming from? Why aren't they seeking employment somewhere else?”

Priest considers the possibility of trying to hide the fact that he is going to the farm and realises that he cannot. His physical appearance – the old boots and a tattered creamy-white overall – testifies to his being prepared for farm work. His lunch box, carried in a Shoprite-Checkers plastic bag, tells everyone that Priest has food to eat at the farm.

Recognising the position he is in, Priest starts to blame himself for giving in to his wife's selfish demands. Almost all the people already waiting here at Manhlanzini Stop know Priest. He is a renowned man. They direct their gazes at him as he drags himself towards them. The sudden silence of those staring at Priest makes the others do the same. They want to find out what is going on.

The people standing at Manhlanzini Stop look so much alike that Priest cannot recognise any particular person, yet he knows that he is familiar with many of them. This makes it hard for him to choose his sitting position. He simply remains standing and gazes at the people with a confused and worried face. Some are whispering:

“The Priest!”

“Father Gumede!”

Some even go so far as to state the reason for their encounter with such an eminent personage: “Father Gumede is going to work on the trees with us.”

Priest hears these words and sees the expectant looks of others. He does not know whether to greet everybody and sit down, or to sit down and greet only those who are seated next to him. But, somehow, he feels as if these people expect more than just a greeting from him. He wishes the truck would arrive right now and save him the humiliation.

“For how long must we suffer like this?” The words slip out of Priest's mouth as he puts his lunch box down next to him. There is something about Priest that makes people feel secure as they listen to him. The whispers that occurred earlier have ceased. All want to hear as Priest wrestles the Word from God. He has won it. It now belongs to him.

“Why is it that we should come here, as miserable as we are, to offer ourselves to work as slaves for the white man? Is this what we voted for?” Priest stops for a while, turns his head to observe his audience. He can tell by their serious countenances that his words have a profound influence on them. “What is R30 for the whole day of hard work and sweating?”

A certain woman from the seated group feels obliged to intervene when she hears Priest almost double their prospective earnings. “I think you are mistaken, Father. The money is R16. I heard from someone who heard from someone who heard from the white man himself.”

Priest stops to listen to the woman who is offering her information. This greatly influences his temper and makes him run out of words. God has reclaimed His possession.

As Priest stands there, speechless and breathless, an argument commences regarding whom the people must believe. Priest has furnished them with good news, or better news, and the woman who negated his information is offering nothing but bad news. Those who are seated next to her look at her closely, trying to ascertain if her appearance qualifies her to contradict such a powerful person under any circumstances. The viewers decide that she is unattractive, notwithstanding her being prepared for farm work.

“She is ugly.”

“No sane person can believe a woman who is ugly.”

“An ugly woman is a foolish woman.”

“She needs to be beaten.”

A number of people are not angry at the woman because she has told them something they themselves have known. Many think that, no matter what they have known earlier, if Priest says they will earn R30, then it must be true. Somebody else might have made a mistake, but not Priest.

Priest is still speechless while people reorganise their thoughts. He looks awkwardly at them as his mind moves back and forth. In a few moments he counts how much they will get per month if they earn R16 per day. His finding troubles him so much that he pronounces it in a loud and worried tone, “R320 per month?”

Many people are confused when they hear Priest utter his finding. They do not know whether it refers to R30 or R16. But then the truck arrives and saves Priest from having to address them further.