A SOFT WHITE CLOUD by Phyllis Owen ~ CHAPTER SEVEN
The next morning Nokwazi grudgingly asked Sam
if he would carry his books home from school every afternoon. Sam finally agreed to do so for twenty
cents. Much to Nokwazi’s annoyance he
had at first insisted on being given thirty cents, but Nokwazi called his
bluff, stood firm and told him that either Sam would accept twenty cents or he
would ask Isaac, who lived nearby, to do the job.
Nokwazi, to please his mother, studied every
afternoon when he returned from work.
He knew his teacher was pleased with his progress, for she smiled at him
one morning a few weeks later and said:
‘Keep up the good work, Nokwazi:
You can still pass at the end of the year.’
There were no further problems for the boys
while ‘spotting’ for Beka and Samuel.
They had not seen Abdul again.
One Friday afternoon Samuel told Nokwazi and Impuku that they were being
promoted and must now come to his home every Saturday morning. So early each Saturday morning the boys
called at the home of Samuel and Beka, which was situated in a very long road
of look-alike houses, a mere four roads away from where Nokwazi lived. Large numbers were painted on the front
doors and on the letter boxes at the gates.
At Samuel’s and Beka’s place there was a
wooden shed almost taking up the whole back yard. This shed was used as a store and workroom. Two young boys worked there making ‘zols’.
Nokwazi and Impuku would collect the parcels
at the store and deliver them, mostly to homes in Soweto. Besides the ten rand Samuel paid them they
often received a sizable tip from the people to whom they delivered the
packages.
The first and only time Nokwazi ever saw
Samuel laugh was on Monday afternoon following his and Impuku’s visit to town
to deliver the package to Louis. Louis
had told Samuel how he had chased after them in order to give them each a
two-rand tip but they had run away like frightened rabbits.
‘I’ve never heard of anyone running away
from a tip before,’ Samuel chuckled, shaking his head.
Each Friday morning at break-time John
Novalo visited the school and Nokwazi and Impuku had to keep a look-out for any
teachers who might come into the playground.
Nokwazi felt increasingly uneasy whenever John Novalo turned up at the
school, but since John paid them well, Nokwazi did not even voice his fears to
Impuku. He knew Impuku would simply
laugh at him.
One Friday the boys and girls returned as
usual to their classrooms after break.
About a half an hour later they heard a sudden sound of breaking glass
coming from the classroom immediately above theirs, followed by loud screams
and a sickening thud on the ground outside.
All the children ran to the window and
peered out. There were gasps of
horror. Nokwazi stared numbly at the
still form of a young boy lying face down on the gravel in a pool of blood a
short distance away.
‘It’s Celo Sithole!’ gasped Nonkose, a girl
who sat in front of Nokwazi. ‘He’s in
Standard Seven,’ she added unnecessarily.
‘Go back to your seats,’ ordered the
teacher, her face strained. She added
softly: ‘We’ll hear what happened soon enough.’
The children did as they were told but were
too restless to do much work. They kept
staring out of the windows. From where
Nokwazi and Impuku were sitting they could see the ambulance arrive and drive
away after picking up the body.
They exchanged frightened glances. Some children whispered behind their
hands. Nokwazi sensed somehow that
drugs were behind the gruesome accident.
It was only later that morning, when they
were leaving the school grounds, that Impuku’s sister told them the whole
story. Celo had gone beserk and jumped
through a closed window. It was believed he was ‘high’ on drugs.
That evening Nokwazi couldn’t sleep. There was a tightness in his chest. Visions of Celo Sithole, lying in a pool of
blood, kept floating into his mind. He
angrily tried to brush them away. It
wasn’t his fault that Celo had died. He
didn’t tell him to buy drugs. Finally,
exhaustion took over and he fell into a restless sleep.
The following Monday morning at assembly the
headmaster told them that Celo had indeed died from taking drugs. ‘If you know a dealer or see someone who
could be a dealer near the school, report it to me immediately,’ he
demanded. ‘These people shouldn’t be
allowed to mix with society but should be locked behind bars.’
Nokwazi shifted uneasily from one foot to
the other and stared guiltily at the headmaster. Then, turning his gaze to Impuku, he was surprised to see that he
was grinning at him. Nokwazi tried to
smile but his lips were stiff from fear.
Walking to the shopping centre with Impuku
that afternoon, Nokwazi burst out: ‘What if the headmaster discovers that we
help these people sell their drugs?’
Impuku laughed. ‘Don’t complain. We’re
not doing anything wrong. What we are
doing is harmless. Are we selling the
stuff? Chaps like Celo would have
bought drugs anyway – whether we had a hand in the whole thing or not.’
Even though Nokwazi nodded he swallowed hard
and his uneasiness grew. He walked on in silence.
Finally Impuku touched him on the shoulder
and looked intently at him. ‘Why do you
look so down? We’re making plenty of
money. Don’t you want the money? There are many others who would take your
place.’
Nokwazi smiled as suddenly the fear left
him. Impuku was always so practical and
down to earth and made him feel good.
Indeed, Impuku was like a brother to him.
He playfully hit Impuku on the back. ‘You’re right as always,’ he agreed. ‘Just as long as we don’t sell the dope
ourselves.’
‘Didn’t you say it was Phinda’s birthday
tomorrow?’ Impuku asked.
‘Yes,’ replied Nokwazi, his face
beaming. ‘Today I’m going to buy her
that doll in the shop window. You
remember, the one I showed you last week?’
Impuku nodded and smiled.
When Nokwazi arrived home later that
afternoon he quickly hid the doll behind the box in the corner. He would give it to Phinda before leaving
for school the next day.
He had just finished his studies and was chatting
to Makhulu and Phinda when his mother arrived home. He could see by her smiling face that she was happy.
‘I’ve some very good news,’ she burst out.
Nokwazi waited expectantly.
‘Our luck has changed!’ she informed them
excitedly. ‘You know my friend Sarah?’
They all nodded.
‘She works at a large company down the road
from where I work. We catch the bus
together each morning. She told me
there was a vacancy there and that she would tell the manager that I was a good
worker. The manager asked to see me
today and gave me the job! And that’s
not all. They’re paying me double the
salary I’m getting now and after I’ve been there a year the company will help
me to buy a house!’
Makhulu gasped. ‘A house!’ A look of
disbelief came into her eyes.
‘Yes, Makhulu, a house with a kitchen and
our own yard!’ exclaimed Mama, bursting into tears.
Phinda started to cry too. She ran to Mama and put her arms around
her. Nokwazi stared wide-eyed, not
knowing what to do or say.
Suddenly from behind him came a high-pitched
cackle. It was Makhulu. She was laughing. ‘Don’t be worried, my child,’she chuckled. ‘Tears don’t only mean sorrow, they can also
mean joy.’
Nokwazi stared confusedly at Makhulu and
then at Mama’s tearful face.
Mama nodded and wiped her eyes. ‘I’m so happy, so very very, happy,’ she
laughed.
Nokwazi shook his head in despair. He would never understand grown-ups.
‘You can give up your job now, Nokwazi,’
Mama continued. ‘You’ve helped us
enough.’
‘But Mama!’ he protested.
Mama held up her hand for silence. ‘Because of your help I’ve saved over fifty
rand in the building society, and with my double salary, we can manage without
your money. You’ll be able to
concentrate on your studies which will become more difficult as you go from
standard to standard.’
Nokwazi didn’t reply, for he knew it would
be senseless to argue with his mother.
‘To have our own yard and lavatory!’
exclaimed Makhulu. ‘Never again to
stand in a queue to use that wet filthy communal lavatory down the road!’
Mama laughed. ‘Not only will we have our own yard and kitchen but two bedrooms
and a lounge!’ She clapped her hands
and shook her head slowly, as if not being able to comprehend her good fortune.
Nokwazi wondered what it would be like to
live in one of those houses. In spite
of the dust he was quite happy where he was.
He couldn’t understand why his mother wanted to leave their shanty when,
apart from a toilet, they had everything they needed.
He slept fitfully that night and awoke
unrefreshed the next morning. ‘Why must
I give up my work just because my mother is going to get more money?’ he muttered crossly. ‘I want money too. We can be rich!’
His attention was distracted by Phinda
touching his arm. ‘It’s my birthday,’ she
reminded him.
Nokwazi laughed and took out the doll from
behind the box and handed it to her.
She stared at the doll, her mouth open in
amazement. Then her eyes lit up and her
face broke into a smile. ‘Oh, thank
you, Nokwazi, it’s the best present in the world!’
‘You’ll be late for school, Nokwazi,’ broke
in Makhulu.
Nokwazi saw tears in her eyes as she watched
Phinda admiring her doll.
Impuku was waiting for him at the school
gate. Nokwazi was shocked when he saw
him. His eyes were mere slits and his
lips were swollen to twice their size.
‘What happened to you?’ Nokwazi gasped.
Impuku sighed. ‘Last night my father beat me because I wouldn’t tell him where
I’d hidden my money.’ He tried to smile
but instead winced from the pain.
Nokwazi nodded understandingly. He knew that Impuku’s father would want the
money to buy alcohol.
‘I didn’t tell him,’ Impuku added, obviously
pleased with himself.
Nokwazi was glad that his friend’s spirit
had not been broken by the dreadful beating, but what was going to happen to
him now? He felt sure Impuku’s father,
knowing he had money, would try again and again to take it from him.
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