Pages: 1 2 3 4 5 6 7

“Don’t bathe like back home where you just put water on your body. Concentrate here and here,” he had said pointing at his groin and armpits. Moreover, Jackson had told him that the white Master’s dogs did not like dirty black people. At first he had not believed him, but he remembered dogs chasing him each time he missed a bath for some days. Or was it just a coincidence. From time to time the Johnsons sent him to deliver letters in the neighbourhood. Some whites would set dogs on him until someone from the house recognized and identified him. And there would be the usual apology: “Oh, it is Mr Johnson’s kaffir. Basopo boy – be careful, boy. You natives are thieves.”

He found Mrs Johnson already awake, reading the Salisbury Times, which was delivered to her door every morning. She had eye bags and looked tired. She looked up from her newspaper.

“You are late again John! But that is typical of you people!” She looked at her watch and pulled a face that would have made the Medusa look pretty.

“Sorry Madam.”

She kept quiet. Shingi felt her blue eyes boring through him. There was hate and contempt in those eyes. It was like a cat eyeing a mouse that was out of its reach. He went to the kitchen and started cleaning the plates. After finishing, he swept the house carefully, dusting all the nooks and corners. He saw Jackson cutting the hedge. Jackson lived on location like Beatrice, the laundry woman.

Tarzan came out of the bedroom wagging his tail. He rushed into the kitchen sniffing at Shingi’s legs. Mrs Johnson, who had gone into the bedroom, came out and called out to the dog. She went out to walk him along the Jacaranda trees. Shingi could not understand why the mistress was so angry. Beatrice came in carrying a giant bag full of washed clothes. Her face was bathed in sweat. She was almost the same age as Mrs Johnson yet she was called, “girl.”

“Masikati,”She called out to Shingi, putting down the load with a sigh.
“Masikati,” Shingi replied, wiping the book shelf.
“How is our queen?”
“Grumpy as ever. Gone out to walk the dog.”
“Ha. These varungu and their dogs.”
“I heard her talking to the dog last night.”
“Is that news to you?”
“No this time she was talking to it so emotionally.”
“How is your wife, Shingi?”
“I haven’t been to the location yet. I hope she is fine.”
“Don’t stay away too long now that she is expecting. She needs a man,” Beatrice said winking roguishly at Shingi.

She always joked with Shingi about him staying away from his wife. The servant’s quarters were only for single people. Shingi was given time off to see his wife regularly when Mr Johnson was alive. Shingi was afraid to ask the mistress for time off.

Shingi was about to go back to his room when he remembered that he had not cleaned Tarzan’s basket. Mrs Johnson had put it outside her bedroom. He quickly started cleaning it, working furiously. Jackson joined Beatrice who was washing some clothes in the yard, partially hidden by a mountain of dirty clothes.  Her head leaned into her left shoulder. Her large gnarled hands worked like pistons scrubbing stubborn stains. She worked diligently and hummed a soft tune in Ndebele. She had worked for the Johnsons for many years. She boasted of sending all her four children to school single-handedly since her husband left for South Africa and never returned. She now had one daughter in school.

After he finished cleaning the dog’s basket, Shingi joined the two in the yard. Jackson had been courting Beatrice for many years with no success. She kept teasing him, tantalizing him.

“Heh Shingi. Tell this Nyasa how expensive Ndebele women are. He has no cattle to pay lobola – bride price – and yet he thinks because he has a thing dangling in his trousers he can get me the way you buy matches from Nagarji or CT Stores.”

Jackson looked at Shingi, a mischievous smile playing across his mouth, expecting a favourable comment from his friend.

“Give him a chance.” Shingi said, waving dramatically at Jackson.
“You heard that. You heard that Beatrice,” Jackson shouted and jumped up with a loud triumphant shout. He went down on his knees and looked into Beatrice’s eyes. “Please Beatrice give me a chance,” he pleaded tearfully.
“Voetsek – get lost!”

Beatrice laughed, splashing Jackson with soapsuds. His blue overalls were wet. Shingi grabbed his stomach and let out a deep baritone laugh, his lanky body shaking.

Oblivious to them, Mrs Johnson was standing arms akimbo, a contemptuous smile on her face. Tarzan was wagging his tail, his tongue hanging out. Shingi was the first one to see her when he opened his eyes. The others saw him freeze and looked up just to see the mistress.

“Is this what you are paid for – clowning like some wooden headed kaffir, which you are?”
“Finished cutting the hedge madam,” Jackson said getting up, more frightened than ashamed.
“And you boy. Is this the kitchen?”

Shingi kept quiet.

“I will cut both of your pays” she said, walking away.

Shingi was petrified. He needed money to buy napkins for the baby. A cut from his already paltry salary would be suicidal. He ran into the kitchen and started cleaning plates that he had already cleaned. Jackson moved a ladder behind the house. Shingi heard Mrs Johnson come into the kitchen muttering. She got all the cutlery and spread them on the floor creating a cacophony of clinking sound. She separated the spoons, forks and knives, counting them in tens. Shingi looked on knowing she had something on her mind. She continued muttering to herself. “What do they need cutlery for. They use their dirty hands to eat.”

“Girl!” She called out.

These whites are strange people. Their dogs have names but blacks are just called “boy” or “girl”, Shingi thought indignantly. Beatrice who had just finished hanging clothes on the drying line came into the house rubbing her hands against her cotton dress. Mrs Johnson pointed at the cutlery on the floor. Beatrice looked at the utensils saucer-eyed. Mrs Johnson remained transfixed deep in thought, her eyes boring into the black woman. There was an awkward silence.

“Some cutlery is missing.”
“I don’t know anything about any cutlery.”
“Of course you do.”
“I am not lying. I swear!” Beatrice said passing her right forefinger over her neck.
“And since I can’t keep a thief here, leave right now!”
“Please Madam, don’t fire me. I have a daughter who is still in school. If you fire me…”
“If you knew that, you shouldn’t have been stealing.”
“Oh mai-we”
“Here.” Mrs Johnson threw a 5-pound note on the ground.
“You owe me more than that this Mrs Johnson.”

Beatrice was now crying. Her big body shook with tears. She wiped her tears with the back of her hand. Shingi felt a lump of anger stick in his throat.

“That is it. Go,” Mrs Johnson said, pointing at the door.

Pages: 1 2 3 4 5 6 7