The Water Man's Daughter (14 page)

“Shit.” Nomsulwa gets up and answers. “Hello?”

Mira wanders towards the television. He moves to turn it on, but Nomsulwa violently waves him off.

“Yeah. I’m glad you called, Zembe. I have to talk to you about the Matthews girl … Yeah, I know … What?”

Mira perks up at Nomsulwa’s rising tone.

“She what? … Are you sure? … Can’t you drive her? … No. I don’t want that either. I’ll see you in a few.” Nomsulwa hangs up.

“What happened?”

“Claire is at the Phiri police station. Zembe needs me there. She says I have no choice.”

“Why is she there?”

“I have no bloody idea.”

Nomsulwa stands frozen for a moment. She looks down at her shirt and jeans and walks quickly to the bathroom. She washes herself, ties her hair back from her face. She gets a new shirt and frowns at her pants, emerges a little less fraught, but not nearly ready to see Claire again.

“You look great, sis,” Mira says, and as Nomsulwa rushes out the door, she swears she sees him smile.

C
LAIRE IS SITTING ON A BENCH IN THE SMALL FRONT
room of the Phiri police department building. The heat from the day, bearable in the open air, is constricting on the other side of the wood doors. She is frowning at an old woman sitting next to her. The woman looks over at Claire intermittingly and sucks her teeth in disapproval. The interaction is amusing and Nomsulwa watches for a minute, motioning for the woman at the front desk to keep silent. Finally, Nomsulwa sits down next to the mama. “Sawubona mama, unjani?”

“Ngikhona, kodwa, this silly girl wandered through my front yard. All alone. I had to leave my stove to bring her here.”

“A white girl? Wandering the township alone? Hmm.” Nomsulwa feigns surprise. “Not too smart.”

Claire looks like she might burst into tears, which stops Nomsulwa short. She can see Claire bunched and tense with frustration and decides not to press the joke. What Nomsulwa would have said, had the woman been gone and the girl in front of her half as difficult to deal with, was
that it was both ridiculous and impressive to take a taxi into the township on your own. It was brave to exit the car in the middle of Phiri, let alone wander through the deserted neighbourhoods, away from the foot traffic of the main square. Nomsulwa would probably also have cursed out the hotel employee who let a white girl into a township taxi on her own.

Instead, she leans in and says, “I think she’ll be okay now. You can go back to your cooking.”

The old woman squeezes Nomsulwa’s hand and stands up. She sucks her teeth one more time at Claire and leaves the station.

Claire begins defending herself before Nomsulwa has a chance to say hello. “It was the middle of the day. I don’t get why people are making such a big deal about this.”

“Where were you trying to go?”

“The place where
he was found.” Claire answers directly, as if it were a normal destination.

“Then how did you end up all the way on the other side of town in this lady’s yard?”

“I’m not sure.” Claire crosses her arms. Nomsulwa battles the instinct to put her arms around Claire’s scrunched shoulders until they relax.

“Listen, Claire. It’s dangerous in the township. For everyone, it’s dangerous, but especially for you. White people are targets. They have money. They have connections.”

“You think I don’t know this place is dangerous? Did you forget what happened here? But I wanted to see where
he was found.” Claire’s voice is less sure, quieter. “I needed to see the place he died. And there was no other way.”

“You should have called me.”

“Yeah, well, I didn’t want to put you out.”

Nomsulwa answers without thinking. “Taking you around is my job right now. You need to call me or you’ll get us both in trouble.”

Zembe emerges from the back room and interrupts Nomsulwa’s attempt to explain herself.

“Why weren’t you with her?” she demands of Nomsulwa.

Claire answers for both of them. “I didn’t call her. I’m perfectly capable of finding my way around on my own.”

The policewoman sighs. “Ms. Matthews, the township is no place for a white girl to venture on her own. You must ensure that you have an escort at all times. It is for your own safety.”

“I was interested in seeing the site,” Claire offers, as if it is a defence.

“It is nothing but a sandy yard. We have fully investigated the area and the houses and streets that surround it. What exactly did you think you would find that we missed?”

Claire doesn’t answer.

“You must leave the investigating to the police. You must trust us.”

“Why should I do that when you’ve found out nothing?” Claire snaps back.

“Police investigations take time, they are complicated.”

“But you know who did it.”

“We have ideas. But no confirmed suspects.”

The woman at the front desk motions for Zembe to come over, and Nomsulwa and Claire sit side by side on the hard bench like chastened children while they wait. When Zembe returns she won’t look Nomsulwa in the eye.

“Nomsulwa will take you back to the hotel since the remainder of your money was stolen.”

Nomsulwa turns a surprised face to Claire. She had missed that part of the story.

“I need to speak to you about something before you go.” Claire abandons her seat and stands, slight compared to the policewoman’s girth. “Is there anyway you can clear his personal effects early? Or some of them. My family – my mother and I – would really appreciate getting his ring back.”

“Miss Matthews.” Zembe takes a breath, but Nomsulwa can tell she’s not really considering the request. “The rules are in place for a reason. We need all evidence in our possession until the case is concluded. If even one piece is missing, we might not be able to put the criminal behind bars. And you wouldn’t want that, would you?” She speaks to Claire like she is a child; Nomsulwa can see how angry Claire is behind her polite expression.

“I understand, but surely the ring has no evidence in particular on it.”

“We have yet to determine that for certain.”

“You could, though, determine that for certain today and then let me come pick up the ring before I leave. Please,” Nomsulwa can see Claire trying a new strategy, hoping for
sympathy, “he was going to give me that ring on my first day of law school. He wanted me to have it before I started.”

“I’m sorry. I really am. But it’s not possible. I wouldn’t be able to, even if I thought it was a good idea. This is a high-profile case and the evidence protocols must be followed.” Zembe raises her voice, exasperated. Nomsulwa moves to protect Claire from the lashing she is sure she is about to receive. “Nomsulwa is your guide for a reason. If you attempt to venture out alone again you will only slow me down and make the work I need to do for the investigation take longer. As you can imagine, the longer it takes to find the culprit the less likely it is that he will be found. And I am sure you don’t want to be responsible for any delay.”

Zembe dismisses them both with nothing but a wave and a glare at Nomsulwa. They walk out the double doors and over the noisy wooden front porch. White paint peels from the signposts that demarcate the parking area, where Nomsulwa’s car sits alone in the far corner.

“What happened to your taxi money?” Nomsulwa asks.

“It’s stupid. I gave the driver a big bill when I paid and he kept the change.”

“What do you mean?”

“He just sat there, refused to give it back, and when I got out, he took off.”

Now Nomsulwa is chortling like a boy in a schoolyard. “You must have been shocked!”

“Well, it wasn’t ideal.” Claire smiles for the first time.

They both get into the car.

“I’ll take you to the township tomorrow, if you want. On a proper tour.”

“And you’ll take me to the site, the place they found him?”

“Yeah, that too.”

“Thanks, Nomsulwa.” Claire’s relieved expression relaxes her face, softens her eyes so she doesn’t look quite as heartbroken as usual.

T
HAT NIGHT
, N
OMSULWA GOES TO BED WITH THE SUN
. After dropping Claire off at the hotel, she returned home and spent the afternoon in her garden. Mira came by for dinner and quizzed her on what she had found out from her station visit. She ignored his inquiries. He left soon after eating to visit his girlfriend and Nomsulwa was alone in the house at last.

The next morning, she wakes up to the phone buzzing against the uneven surface of her bedside table. She ignores it. When the phone rings again she thinks it must be her mother or Mira. No one else would call twice in a row.

“Yes?” Nomsulwa forgoes any formal greeting.

“Miss Sithu?”

“Er … hello.”

“This is Mr. Dadoo, from the water company. Captain Afrika tells me that you are Ms. Matthews’s driver.”

Nomsulwa sits up in bed. Her T-shirt falls off her left shoulder and hangs on her elbow. She tugs her hair with her hand, trying to wake up by pulling on it. “I’m taking care of her now and then, yes.”

“I am going to show her the township where her father was working. I want to show her the work we’ve done.
What he was establishing there. I’m sure it will make her feel better, proud, of her father and the company.”

“Okay.”
She works fast
, Nomsulwa thinks. Claire must have arranged an entire day of township tours between Nomsulwa and this man. It will be easier this way, with the distraction of the water official. She just prays he doesn’t bring up the pipe theft or the recent unrest. It will not be easy explaining any of that to the water man’s daughter.

Nomsulwa follows Dadoo’s instructions, pulls into the driveway of the hotel, and waits for Claire to come out. When she does, her face looks as delicate as ever, but puffy, a little creased. When she finally settles into the car, Nomsulwa has the urge to smooth the skin with her thumb. Instead, she flips the valet boy the finger as the two girls drive out to the street.

“You okay?” Nomsulwa asks.

“Yeah, just overslept. Do I look awful?”

“No.” She swallows.
Turn around and face the road
. “You look good, cool.”

“Thanks. I’m nervous.”

They enter Phiri proper directly from the highway, drive past nothing but desert and a large rundown boarding house, and then, suddenly, they are in the middle of a busy town. There are women with large baskets filled with clothes ambling down the edge of the road. Men weave between them, ankles exposed under short overalls. Children are milling around in the front yards and alleys between the houses and shacks in their crinkled school uniforms.

Farther inside Phiri, women huddle on corners chatting, shifting baskets from one hip to the other. Nomsulwa and Claire pass a small, two-storey apartment building painted a fading pink. Underneath the outdoor stairway is a small store with a large Coca-Cola ad pasted above the door. Across the street is a church with a concrete yard surrounding the circular building. A quote from the Bible is written in big black letters on its wall:

“What does that mean?” Claire asks Nomsulwa.

“Umm, well it roughly means, uh, God loves the world and he gave the gift of his only son so that people who believe in him, those people would have life forever.”

“Oh.” Claire tries to make sense of the broken translation in her head as they drive past the church building. Nomsulwa feels embarrassed about her inability to sound off the smooth words of the Bible that everyone else knows by heart.

Claire waits a moment, then blurts out, “We had my dad’s funeral in a church. My mother organized it … He would have hated that. Dad took me to church once. Said I had to see for myself what I was missing. When I told
him it was a bunch of boring junk he just smiled and we walked out.”

“Boring junk, eh? Hah.” Nomsulwa hasn’t heard anyone go that far before. Not that she hasn’t thought it herself. She tries to imagine the funeral. In her head it is an open casket, a priest bent over the wood box, greeting family members as they lean in to examine the dead man. The dead father, Nomsulwa corrects herself.

“When did you have it, the funeral, I mean?”

“A week ago.” Claire becomes very quiet.

“That is fast.”

Claire answers, but her voice sounds shaky. Nomsulwa knows she should just shut up and drive, but she lets Claire explain anyway. “It
was
quick. I didn’t have time to get ready for it. My mother could do nothing else. The moment we found out, she started planning … It was horrible.”

“Were there a lot of people there?”

“A lot? I don’t know, maybe a hundred.” Claire trails off. She is really about to cry now and Nomsulwa realizes that she has gone too far. Instead of staying soft and fragile, Claire’s voice gets an edge to it. “Look, could we talk about something else?”

“Sorry, I was just making conversation.” Nomsulwa sounds defensive despite herself. She grips the steering wheel tighter.