Ways of Dying (21 page)

After Noria had woken up, and put on her polka-dot dress, he was able to wake up too. She poured some water into a basin, took a blanket with which to cover her nakedness, and went behind the shack to wash herself. After she had finished, she came back and poured some water for him. She told him to wash himself outside. ‘Wash yourself thoroughly. And don't forget to wash behind your ears,' she added. He covered himself with his blanket, pulled his pants down to his ankles, and washed his shame away. He thought of the seedy tramp who had mocked him about wet dreams in the waiting room the night before.

As he washed himself, people were passing on all sides of the shack: domestic workers rushing to catch taxis that would take them to the kitchens of their madams in the suburbs, factory workers going to the industrial areas, and pickpockets and muggers going to ply their trade in the central business district. Some of those passing by commented that it was nice that Noria had at last found herself a man. The cynics responded that for sure she had always been hiding men in her shack; no woman could survive like a nun as she pretended to do. A fat washerwoman shouted to Noria, and she responded from within the shack.

‘Hey wena Noria, don't forget that this afternoon we have a meeting.'

‘What would make me forget, 'Malehlohonolo?'

‘Who knows? Now that you have a visitor . . .'

‘You are a madwoman, ‘Malehlohonolo. Of course I'll attend the meeting. But you make sure that you come back from your washing early, because you must also be at the meeting.'

The fat washerwoman gave a naughty giggle, as if to say, ‘Yes, Noria, I know what you were up to last night.'

Toloki was not at all bothered by the passing crowds. He is used to public ablutions. And the passers-by were not gawking at him. They were going about their business. In any case, in the settlement people generally wash themselves outside their shacks. There isn't enough room inside for ablutions.

The dream haunts Toloki as he sits on the mound, listening to the Nurse, and seasoning his oration with goatly laments. It makes something rise in the region of his groin. It is violently kicking inside his pants. Toloki bends forward as if responding to the rhythms of oration and mourning. But what he is really doing is hiding his shame. People must not see that he has disgraced his asceticism by having dirty thoughts running through his mind, and playing havoc with his venerable body.

The Nurse is now talking of how this our brother saw his death. He was a graceful patriarch who loved his family, and was a custodian of his people's customs. He was blessed with three sons. As an afterthought the Nurse adds, ‘Or let me rather say, we thought it was a blessing.' And he waves in a dramatic gesture: ‘But does any one of you see his sons here? No, you cannot see his sons here, my brothers and sisters, and my children. You cannot see his sons here, because none of them are here.'

He then proceeds to relate, in his histrionic manner, how the dead man's elder son died.

‘Those of you who are regular in the attendance of funerals will remember that slightly more than a week ago, we buried him right here in this graveyard where many of our people sleep.' Quite a few of us mumble in agreement. We remember
very well that the eldest son of the deceased was laid to rest a few days before Christmas.

Toloki does not remember that particular funeral. It is possible that he was attending other funerals at the time. With death as plentiful as it is these days, it is impossible for him to attend all funerals. All the more reason why there should be more Professional Mourners in the community.

The Nurse meanwhile continues his sorry tale.

‘The son had died a normal death. Perhaps I should say an abnormal death, because he died peacefully of natural illness in his sleep. Normal deaths are those deaths that we have become accustomed to, deaths that happen everyday. They are deaths of the gun, and the knife, and torture and gore. We don't normally see people who die of illness or of old age.'

The son was buried with proper dignity. Early the next day, as was the custom, all the relatives of the deceased lined up in order to have their hair cut. The cutting of the hair is a very serious matter among some ethnic groups, the Nurse explains for the benefit of those whose customs may be different, and it is essential that it be done in the proper order. First, all the male children must have their hair cut in the order of seniority. The cutting is done by an elder in the family. After the male children, the grandmothers will have their hair cut, also in order of seniority. They are followed by the female children.

‘And remember that when we talk of seniority we are not concerned with the ages of the individual children. We are talking of the seniority of the households, and of the families in relation to one another. And when we talk of children, we are talking of sons and daughters of the homesteads, irrespective of their ages. Some children have long since reached adulthood, and are fathers in their own right, but they are still children when we come to these matters. I am not trying to teach you the custom, my brothers and sisters. I am merely repeating
it here because it is my duty as the Nurse to tell you how this our brother saw his death.'

During the cutting of the hair, a squabble arose. The two younger brothers complained that the children of the deceased were shaved before their children. Under the usual circumstances, it would have been the proper thing to have the children of the deceased shaved before anyone else. After all, it was their father who was dead, and the two brothers were younger than the deceased. Theirs were therefore junior homesteads. But the circumstances of this case were that the deceased had made the children in question with a mistress, and not with a legally married wife. The two younger brothers therefore felt it was a crime that their children should be shaved after the children of a mistress.

‘They blamed their father, my friend the patriarch we are burying today, for allowing the scandal to happen. As an elder, and a custodian of the customs, he should not have allowed the children of a mistress to be shaved before their legitimate children. So, they beat him up with sticks. I was called from my shack by the screams of the women. When I arrived there, one of the boys even had a gun, and was surely going to use it on his father. I told him to shoot me as well, if he was going to shoot my friend. I tell you, my brothers and sisters, and my children, I nearly joined my age-mate in death. But it seems that my ancestors were too strong for these evil boys. They stopped beating up their father, and went into the house to carry on with the cutting of the hair according to how they saw fit.'

The old man ran up and down the whole settlement, trying to find transport to take his friend to hospital. But the cars he saw in the streets all refused to stop for him.

‘Shadrack is the person who usually helps us with transport at times like these. But he was away ranking in the city. You know that he does the ranking himself now, as they killed all his drivers. They killed his son too. And this very day, my
brothers and sisters, he is lying in hospital because the upholders of the law tried to finish him. They do not want to see anyone helping his own people. I am told that the day before yesterday he miraculously escaped death. I have not been to see him yet. After this funeral I intend to go to the hospital to visit him. Anyway, I am still telling you how this our brother saw his death.

‘I waited outside Shadrack's spaza shop, until it was late in the evening. He arrived at dusk, coming home only to bring some groceries to be sold at the shop, and to eat, before going back again to rank in the city. He is a hard worker, that Shadrack. He has no time to rest. That is why he is successful. This is a lesson to you young pipsqueaks who think that things will just fall into your laps like manna from heaven. I told Shadrack about my friend, and after advising me that a car does not move by water but by petrol, I gave him some money to pour petrol into his car. It was fortunate, my brothers and sisters, that I had some money in my shoe where I hide it from my grandchildren. Oops, now they know where I hide my money. But don't worry, I'll find another place. All my pension money went into petrol, my dear brothers and sisters, in order to save the life of my dear friend.

‘I am sure that when we took my friend from his house, he was still breathing. But by the time we arrived at the hospital, he was dead. There was nothing that the doctors could do. So we took him to the mortuary instead.'

We are very angry at the needless death of the patriarch, and we condemn his sons for this abomination. Those who come from his ethnic group say that although they don't condone the action of the sons, it was wrong for the deceased to allow the children of the mistress to shave ahead of the proper children. The custom of shaving is crucial, and must be strictly observed. It is almost as important as the custom of filling the grave with soil after the coffin has been lowered into
it and all the prayers and orations have been made. The first people to be given the spade to throw soil into the grave are the male relatives. And these must throw the soil in order of their seniority, as with the cutting of hair. Only then can the general public be allowed to fill the grave with soil, and to shape the mound where flowers and wreaths will be laid. Squabbles have often arisen when the names of the male relatives have been called in the incorrect order. But it is unheard of for an elder to be killed by his own children for failing to properly observe the custom. We all agree that the two sons, who are now in prison awaiting trial, deserve to be in jail for the rest of their lives, or to be hanged.

This sad tale confirms what Toloki has long observed. Funerals acquire a life of their own, and give birth to other funerals. The old man's funeral has come about as a direct result of his son's funeral. This was also the case back in the village many years ago, when the choir girl was shot dead at a school-mate's funeral. Indeed, every day we hear of car accidents in which people on their way to or from the funerals of friends or relatives are killed.

After the funeral we solemnly march to the home of the deceased. There we wash our hands in water that has been mixed with the juice of aloes. After this, we wait for the food.

As usual, samp and beef is served in three large basins – almost the size of small bathtubs. One is for the men, the second one for the women, and the third for children. We dip our hands into the samp and, with gravy dripping down our forearms to the elbows, we stuff the food into our mouths.

Toloki is impressed by the care taken with the food. The meat is so soft that even old grandmothers and grandfathers can chew it with their gums. It is well salted, but it is not spiced. Funeral meat is never spiced. It is just boiled in water and seasoned with salt. The samp also is soft and tender. Often the samp at funerals is hard and undercooked.

He looks around, and sees Noria enjoying her food at the basin that is reserved for women. Poor Noria, she only gets to eat meat when there is a funeral. Toloki, on the other hand, does not usually eat at funerals. At first, it was not his choice not to eat. However, when he used to join the men's basin they would make snide remarks about him, and about his odour. Blunt ones would even tell him rudely that he was not welcome at their dish. He could have refused to move, and continued to eat. After all, the food was meant for everyone who was at the funeral, and the louts did not have any special rights over it. But he decided not to lower the dignity of his profession by engaging in quarrels about food. People have been known to fight and injure one another over food at funerals.

At some funerals, especially in the townships where there are better-off people, the system of dispensing food is different. The most important people – usually the relatives and close friends of the family, and those who are pillars of the community – are served food inside the house at the table. The food that is served there will include not only the usual funeral fare of samp and beef, but rice, and some salads, and jelly and custard. The second stratum is made up of those people who are fairly important, but not well-known enough to sit inside at the table. They form a line outside, and women at a table dish samp, beef, and sometimes cabbage onto their individual paper or plastic plates. They eat standing and gossiping about how great and impressive the funeral was, and what inspiring speeches were made, and who has been secretly sleeping with whose wife. The final stratum is that of the rabble. They are fed samp and beef in communal basins, as is done at this funeral in the settlement. The difference in the settlement is that everyone eats like this. The ranked strata do not exist.

At township funerals, Toloki belongs to the second stratum. He usually collects his food, and drifts to some spot where there are no people, and quietly eats from his plate.

No one ever has to stand there and separate people according to their strata. People know who they are and where they belong. These things always work themselves out.

Toloki dips his hand into the samp over and over again. No one complains about him, since the only odour emanating from him is that of perfume. He needs to eat and fill his stomach, especially since he does not know where his next meal will come from. He has some money, but he is far away from the places where he used to buy his luxury food of cakes and green onions. Of course he can buy the normal food of mealie-meal and some relish from a spaza shop, and they can cook it together on the primus stove in the shack. But will Noria agree to that? Won't she say that she doesn't take things from men? He needs to tread lightly, until he has a better understanding of this woman. Or at least until he knows exactly which are the right things to do, and which are the wrong ones.

After the meal, Toloki and Noria go back to their shack. They have some time to kill before she goes to help Madimbhaza, and then to attend her meeting. Toloki has promised to go with her, so as to see what kind of work she does. But first he must change into his civilian clothes. Noria has suggested that he wear his mourning clothes only when he goes to funerals. At home, he must look like other men. It is not a bad idea, really, since it will help to preserve his costume for further years of mourning.