Ways of Dying (27 page)

‘I cannot spoil things between you two. Yours is a creative partnership.'

Shadrack is wheeled back to his van, parked in the street a few yards away. As the van drives away, Noria smiles at Toloki.

‘He is right, you know, Toloki.'

Toloki does not respond. He does not understand. But of
course if Noria says that Shadrack is right, he must be right. Then she whispers in his ear.

‘And Toloki, don't be ashamed to have dreams about me. It is not dirty to have dreams. It is beautiful. It shows that you are human. We are both human.'

Toloki is embarrassed. How did she know about the dreams? How is she able to read his mind like this? He tries to apologise, and to explain that at least last night he did not have any dreams. But Noria puts her finger on his lips, and tells him that there is no need to say anything.

While these embarrassing exchanges are going on, the children are busy with Toloki's crayons. They are trying to copy the images he has created, and are competing as to whose are better. To escape any further discussion on the merits of dreams, Toloki turns to the children and shows them various techniques of drawing better images.

Late in the afternoon, almost towards dusk, a very long car followed by a truck stops outside Noria's shack. There are many boxes on the truck. A man wearing a black uniform like that of a security guard, or of men whose work is to stand by the entrances of big hotels in the city and open doors for people, alights from the front seat of the limousine and opens the back door. A fat man in a white suit steps out, and pompously waddles towards the shack. Soon all the children are standing around the long white car, admiring it. Other people from the neighbourhood come as well. They have never before seen a car that is as long as a bus.

The fat man is none other than Nefolovhodwe. He greets Toloki and Noria, and laughs in his booming voice.

‘They have never seen a car like this before. It is a limousine that I recently imported from America. It is called a Cadillac. Hey, Toloki, my boy, don't you think it's nice that I have come to light up your little miserable lives with my white Cadillac?'

‘What do you want from us? Who showed you where we live?'

‘Don't be hostile, my boy. When you hear why I came, you will thank me.'

He tells them that he returned from their village that very week. Then he chides them for neglecting their parents.

‘You, Toloki, have neglected your mother, and you, Noria, have neglected your father.'

‘So now all of a sudden you know who we are, and who our parents are? And you have taken it upon yourself to teach us about our duty to our parents? What about your duty to your real wife and your nine children? Do you think we do not know about you?'

‘It is none of your business, ugly boy.'

But Noria is more conciliatory. She wants to know how her father is. Nefolovhodwe relishes being the bearer of news. He tells them that their parents are well, but of course they are much older than he seemed to remember them. Xesibe talks every day of his lost daughter. He still has many cattle, and continues, as before, to be a successful farmer.

‘And my mother? How is she?'

‘So now you want to know?'

‘You can tell me if you like. And then disappear from our lives. You do not impress us at all.'

Noria reprimands Toloki gently, saying that whatever Nefolovhodwe has done to Toloki in the past, he is their visitor at this moment. They must treat him with courtesy.

Toloki, however, is glad to get back at the despicable man, and is rather amazed that a rich and proud man like Nefolovhodwe should just stand there and take all the rudeness being heaped on him. This is not quite the same Nefolovhodwe he remembers, sitting at his huge desk, playing with fleas, and dispensing doses of bad attitude to everyone.

‘Well, ugly boy, you will be glad to hear that your mother
too is well. Actually, I went to the village especially to see her.'

‘Why would you want to see my mother when you don't know the village people anymore now that you are rich?'

Nefolovhodwe ignores this and goes on to say that he went to Toloki's home. But all the houses were in ruins, as no one had lived there for years. Grass and shrubs had grown all over, and it was impossible to tell that a proud homestead had stood there once upon a time. It was essential that he found Toloki's mother, since he had come all the way from the city to see her. But he had no idea where to look. At the same time, he did not want to go around asking people. He had no desire to renew acquaintances with people he had not seen for many years. Nor did he want to be bothered with stories of how his wife and nine children, who would obviously be adults in their own right by now, were doing. He just wanted to meet Toloki's mother, finish his business with her, and drive to town to the hotel where he was staying.

He had no choice but to go to Xesibe's homestead. Here his quest ended, for he found Toloki's mother living with Xesibe.

‘Your parents are cohabiting! In their old age, they have caused a scandal by moving in together.'

Noria and Toloki look at each other, and burst out laughing. They cannot imagine how it came about that Xesibe inherited Jwara's wife, or Toloki's mother inherited That Mountain Woman's husband, depending on how you want to look at it. Nefolovhodwe is unable to understand what is so funny about the whole thing. He waits for them to finish laughing, and tells them that both parents seem to live very well in their rustic simplicity and ignorance of the world, and do not seem to want for anything. Of course, he adds, their tastes are simple rustic tastes. They therefore have no idea of how to spend the wealth that Xesibe has accumulated through his cattle. They are, as a result, misguidedly happy. Their only complaint is that their
children have neglected them, and do not even go to the village to see them.

Toloki says that he does not believe that Nefolovhodwe has come all the way from his castle in the suburbs simply to tell them that their parents are missing them. Anyway, how did he know where to find them?

‘It was easy. I had people follow you home from a funeral.'

Since he knew from their last confrontation that Toloki was a Professional Mourner, he sent spies to funerals all over the settlements and townships. They went to many funerals, but there was no Professional Mourner there. Toloki is apologetic when he hears this. He says that unfortunately at the moment he is still the only Professional Mourner, and being only one person, he cannot divide himself to attend all the funerals. Nefolovhodwe says he is not concerned with whether funerals have Professional Mourners or not. He is merely telling them of the trouble he went through to find Toloki.

The breakthrough finally came at the last funeral that Toloki and Noria attended. This was the funeral of the patriarch who was killed by his own sons for failing to observe the hair-shaving custom in its proper order. His spies saw the strange figure of a stocky man sitting on a mound, and producing atrocious goatly sounds. From the descriptions that Nefolovhodwe had given them, they knew immediately that this was the man they were looking for. They waited until the funeral was over, and followed Toloki and Noria, first to the funeral meal, and then to their shack. Nefolovhodwe gives a sly smile.

‘My spies told me they saw you holding hands with a woman. At the time, I did not know it was this Xesibe's daughter who used to make people happy in the village. Are you two married, or are you copying your parents?'

‘Are you married to the young girls you live with? Anyway, what do you want from us?'

‘I am in such a good mood that I will ignore your impudence
in calling my wife a young girl. And of course I am married to my wife. I married her in church before a minister. Unlike the old hag in the village for whom I only paid cattle and was deemed to have married by custom. I am a civilized man, my poor ragged children. I do things in a civilized manner. I am refined, and I am cultured.'

‘What do you want from us, sir?'

‘I brought you your father's things, Toloki.'

‘What things?'

‘The figurines that he used to make in his workshop.'

‘I don't want them. I refuse to accept them.'

Nefolovhodwe signals to the labourers sitting in the back of the truck, and they start unloading the boxes.

‘Hey, you can't just dump those things here. What am I going to do with them?'

‘You have got to take them, Toloki. Your father wants you to have them.'

‘And how do you figure that out? You don't even remember my father.'

Nefolovhodwe, however, reveals that for the past two weeks or so, Jwara has been visiting him in his dreams. At first he was happy, for he thought that this meant he was acquiring the skills and art of necromancy. From his communication with the dead, he expected to learn what the future held for him, and how much more wealth he was going to accumulate. He thought that Jwara would be well-placed to give him advice on such matters, since it was he who advised him to come to the city and make his fortune through the manufacture of coffins in the first place.

But Jwara had other ideas. He had not come to advance Nefolovhodwe's necromantic ambitions. He said that his figurines were suffering. Nefolovhodwe was the only person who could help, by taking them to their rightful owner, namely, Toloki. After all, he had bequeathed them to his only son, and
he could not rest in peace in his grave, or join the world of the ancestors, unless the figurines were given to Toloki.

At first, Nefolovhodwe ignored Jwara's demands. He was a busy man, who had to look after his business interests which had expanded far beyond the mere manufacture of coffins. He had now branched out into the creation and marketing of marble and onyx tombstones, of plastic and silk wreaths, and of funeral haute couture for women, especially the widows of millionaires. How could he be expected to spare the time, to go looking for some stupid figurines in some faraway village he never wanted to have anything to do with ever again?

Jwara continued to haunt him. Nefolovhodwe thought that he would resist and win. How could he be defeated by a poor man like Jwara? With all the other people he dealt with in his day-to-day life, his word was final. He was idolised and almost worshipped by people who were in awe of his millions. He was even invited to dinners by white people who held the reins of government. How could he then be expected to obey a mere village blacksmith?

Then his fleas began to die. In his nightly visits, Jwara laughed and danced, and warned that more fleas would die if Nefolovhodwe did not do what he, Jwara, was ordering him to do. He stressed that this was no longer a request, but an order. They were going to duel to the end, until one of them gave up or gave in.

Toloki, hearing this, thinks it serves Nefolovhodwe right if his fleas have died. Whoever heard of a grown man rearing fleas, and playing with them? He had had lice back at the docklands, but they were not there because he was cultivating them. They had just been one of his misfortunes in life. He will admit, however, that he had found it quite entertaining to crush them with his thumbnails. Perhaps there is something in our deriving joy and entertainment from creatures that feed on our blood after all. Maybe he should not judge Nefolovhodwe
too harshly on this score, since he had also found joy in his lice. But still the differences cannot be ignored. His joy was in the dying of his lice, whereas Nefolovhodwe's is in the living of his fleas.

Nefolovhodwe had to give in when he lost some of the champion performers in his flea circus. He drove one of his more durable luxury cars to the village, and saw the ruins that were Toloki's home. When he finally found Toloki's mother, she said that she did not know what had happened to the figurines, and did not care. Those figurines had destroyed her family life, she said, so she had never been interested in knowing their fate. The last she remembered, they were in the workshop. The workshop was now just a pile of stones. Since all the blacksmith equipment was sold to other blacksmiths, no one ever bothered to go there.

Nefolovhodwe rounded up a few labourers, and proceeded to excavate the site of the workshop. To his surprise, among the rocks and debris, they dug up many figurines. Some were buried in the soil. And all of them were glittering as if they had been freshly polished. Yet no one had disturbed them for all those years.

Toloki is not in the least surprised to hear that the figurines had remained untouched for so many years, without people trying to help themselves to them. He remembers that many years ago, when Jwara was still strong, and Noria was a regular singer at their creative sessions, thieves once broke into the workshop. They stole everything they could carry, including his sets of bellows, but did not touch any of the figurines. At first, Jwara was happy that the figurines had not been stolen.

‘The spirits that made me create these wonderful works are too strong for thieves. No one can touch these figurines.'

But Toloki's mother dampened his spirits by suggesting that the thieves had ignored the figurines because they were wise enough to see that they were useless.

‘What would any self-respecting thief do with the worthless iron monsters that you spend your precious time making, instead of making things that will support your family?'

Those critical comments started some sobering self-doubt in Jwara. What if the woman was right? Were the thieves making a critical statement about the value of his art when they stole everything else, but neglected his works which were conspicuously displayed on the shelves for everyone to see? He became very angry with the thieves for not stealing his figurines.

When Jwara invaded Nefolovhodwe's dreams and ordered him to fetch the figurines from the village and deliver them to Toloki, he forgot to mention just how many there were. Nefolovhodwe had thought that they would fit into just one or two boxes. But after they had dug out everything, he found that they were so many that they would not fit in his car. He wondered how Jwara had managed to create all these works, and where he had got the iron and sometimes brass to make so many figurines. Or did they perhaps multiply on their own, giving birth to more metal monsters?