Lucky's Dream
The damp earth tickled Lucky's nostrils. Plastic buckets jangled in
wheel-barrows, babies coughed, a car spluttered to life.
Lucky rubbed his eyes, turning stiffly onto his back as pins and needles raced up
and down his arm. His fingers caressed the indentations left behind by the reed
mat.
One day, he thought, when I've saved enough I'll get real beds for me and Gogo.
That's a dream worth having.
Rats scurried across the roof, leaping the few inches between the shacks. The
putrid smell of garbage and open sewers stung his senses.
"Sawubona, my boy."
Lucky grinned and peeped through his eyelids at his grandmother.
"Morning Gogo."
"Breakfast is almost ready. Time to get up."
Gogo was heating food over a paraffin stove.
"Just one more minute. Please." He closed
his eyes and imagined that the movements were those of his parents.
I miss them both so much, he thought. Two years and still the
pain. He swallowed hard. If only I could hug you again.
"Come, indodana." Gogo stroked the
eight-year-old's forehead. It is time to eat."
Lucky slid from beneath the threadbare blanket.
"Is there any milk left?"
"There is a drop - enough for your pap."
"Thanks Gogo."
Lucky finished breakfast in the doorway, watching people go about their
business. He tapped the rusting steel and wooden pallets that made up the walls
of his grandmother's house. Gogo has lived here forever, long before we came
from
Lucky poured water from a plastic barrel into a chipped melamine bowl and
splashed his face.
"Sala kahle Gogo - see
you later."
She waved to the cheery boy who strutted down the street. She loved him as her
own and did not look forward to the day when the questions would start.
Gogo picked up a straw broom and began to sweep the ever intrusive yellow
powder from the shack, thankful that her arthritis was not acting up.
Lucky waited at the gates of the municipal dump with his comrades. At 7:35 a large pork-bellied man lumbered
toward them and turned the key in the padlock with sausage-sized fingers.
"Morning Baas," the group chorused
"Sanibonani ingundane,"
Isaac replied, between mouthfuls of an enormous iced bun. "How are my
aliens today?"
Isaac - known as 'Hippo' behind his back -- was
in charge of the dump site where townsfolk brought their bulky garbage. Gone
were the days when Isaac Mvumbu got his hands dirty
or broke into a demeaning sweat. He was now a man of substance.
"Line-up so I can see you," he barked, after swilling the last of his
tea and wiping dribble from his bloated jowls.
Then he assigned the children to the men, who in turn were allocated waste
disposal skips. Lucky worked with Enos, a fellow Matabele. Enos
energetically directed trailers, bakkies and cars to
his quota of skips, inspecting their contents and diverting anything
recyclable. At the end of each day Isaac recorded the
recouped goods in his little pink book. The following day the men
paid him his cut from five teams, working six days a week. It explained his
luxurious office in the old council shed, and the ageing three-litre Ford Cortina, complete with fluffy dice hanging from the mirror.
Every Friday, Lucky washed that car in return for being teamed-up with Enos.
Enos tapped Lucky on the shoulder. "Build a
fire, Umfana. It is time for tea," he said,
wiping grime from his brow with his shirttails.
Isaac lounged in an armchair on the veranda, surveying all before him like his
colonial predecessors. A transistor radio played Kwaito
music; a rickety fan blew from behind.
"Hey, insect, fetch me another Coke," the tyrant bellowed.
A tiny girl emerged from the throng of expectant children at his feet and
skedaddled to the fridge in the corner of the office. Her sparrow kneecaps
threatened to trip her in her haste.
"Here you are," she offered in a peachy voice, her smile not quite
reaching her woeful eyes.
Drink in hand, he dismissed her. "Now voertsek , Thandi -- and take the other pests with you."
Lucky trembled with rage. What is wrong with people, he thought.
Isaac Mvumbu deserves his nickname 'Hippo'. One day
he'll go too far. Someone will put him in his place. Maybe it should be
me.
He threw two large heaps of tea leaves into the billycan.
Lucky stole a second glance at Isaac and Enos and
emptied his pockets of the loot liberated from the vehicles while the adults
weren't looking. He thumbed a couple of small coinsand
slipped them into his underpants. Lucky handed over the billycan and squatted
next to Enos who looked at him from behind his cup.
"You are a good boy. A credit to our people - Ngiyabonga."
Lucky dropped his eyes. "There's is no need to thank
"That is where you are wrong. It is important we remember who we are and
where we come from. Otherwise, how can know where we are going?"
"Where are we are going? Lucky asked
"Home. To the land of our
ancestors."
"Yebo baba."
Lucky mumbled agreement, not wanting others to overhear. He had seen his share
of tribal quarrels. "I must go back to work."
Enos nodded and threw the dregs of his cup over the
embers.
When the dump closed at six o'clock the men paid their helpers. Enos paid five Rand a day - enough to buy Gogo a loaf of
bread or a pint of milk. Hungry, dirty and tired, Lucky thanked Enos and prepared to leave.
I must hurry to make the last payment on mother's headstone, he thought.
He scampered home, eager to complete his chores. On the way, he wondered about
his father. Why did he leave and never come home? Is he still alive? The mines
killed grandfather; perhaps they killed him as well, he thought.
"Hi, Gogo. How's your day?"
"Better now you are home safe, young man." They hugged, drawing
strength from one another. "Now go and fetch water before it gets too dark."
"Okay. When I get back I have a surprise."
"Surprises are not good for old women. Now get a move on.."
She whacked his backside, teasing a puff of dust from his shorts.
Lucky loaded the gallon bottles onto the same corroded wheelbarrow that doubled
as their dining-table. He skipped over the frothy streams of sewage, thankful
that the washing detergent masked the usual stench of human excrement.
Barefoot, he wobbled toward the communal tap and joined the water queue. After
a short wait he turned to the girl behind him.
"Will you look after my things while I pick something up over there?"
He pointed to the camp's only multi-shack establishment, a ramshackle row of
buildings with the ironically misspelled words 'funeral dictator' whitewashed
across them.
He ran across and disappeared inside. When he came out again he went to a
secluded corner before un-wrapping the tiny slab of black marble. It bore the
inscription:
|
R.I.P Mamma Ndlovu |
Lucky couldn't read the words, but he knew what they meant. He caressed
the chiselled inscription and whispered "Mamma Ndlovu",
and thought, “We are the elephant of our name, Ndlovu.
Gentle giants that never forget.” He clasped the stone
to his chest before rejoining the water line.
"Thank you, sissy."
The girl smiled. She looked a bit like Thandi
from the dump. He filled his containers by the glow of the street-lights and pushed his barrow home.
"I'm not saying what you did was bad, but you must look ahead. Your mother
wouldn't want you spending money on her in such a way."
"But Gogo...."
"I know, son. I know. I am only giving you my thoughts. You did ask."
Her shaking hand lit a candle stub.
Lucky desisted, seeing that the incident was upsetting her. He re-wrapped the
small slab and tucked it under his pillow.
That night he cuddled the stone as a rainstorm threatened to burst through
the crude walls of the hut. He slept to the sounds of rising torrents rushing
through the village, and the sound of coughing - always the coughing.
The rain left a fresh dawn. Lucky sucked in the untainted air and hurried to
work. Cars honked, birds sang and people chattered, revitalised after the dry
months of winter.
"Morning," he greeted Enos.
"Yebo. It is a good
morning. At least the air is clean."
"Where's Isaac?"
Enos shrugged. "Patrick is in charge,
today."
I think it will be a good day. Patrick is a gentleman, Lucky thought, and
grinned.
The vehicles arrived early and didn't let up until lunchtime, thanks to the
rains. Lucky lit the fire then went to fetch a loaf of bread from the office,
where he came across the children. They were singing.
"What's all the excitement?" he asked.
"It's Thandi's birthday!" They rubbed
her head, laughing and clapping.
"Happy birthday, Thandi!
How many years?"
She showed five fingers from behind her friends.
"Hope you have a great day." He flashed a smile.
"Join me for tea?" Enos asked Patrick,
showing him a place alongside the fire.
Patrick clapped his hands and took a seat. Lucky
jumped up and prepared another mug.
"Young man," said Patrick , "Go and
fetch my cigarettes on the table, then leave us to smoke."
Lucky rested under the trees where Isaac's car normally stood and listened to
the children making a fuss of the birthday girl.
"I would love a party with enough sweets and cake to make me
sick," said one.
The girls giggled.
"How about pretty clothes," another said.
"And fizzy cool drink?"
"Lots of dancing?"
"What's your dream, Thandi?"
The circle quietened. Thandi looked skyward and
closed her eyes, holding her hands under her chin. "A
doll to love."
The words haunted Lucky until it was time to leave.
Enos paid him his full wage of five Rand, even though
he was leaving early, and asked. "Who are you are looking for?"
"No-one," Lucky answered absently, searching the area.
"She has gone."
"Who?"
"Your little friend."
"Thandi?"
"Yebo, Thandi. They
must all be back before three."
"Back? Back where?"
"The safe-house across the road." Enos pointed to a couple of red brick colonial buildings.
Lucky sighed, taking some solace from the knowledge that the orphans were well
looked after. He collected his parcel from the office and bid farewell to the
workers.
I'm coming mama, I will be there soon.
The trip to the cemetery took over an hour, yet the eight year old trotted the
entire way, clutching his parcel, seeming ever heavier by the mile. Lucky
pushed through a hole in the fence to avoid the long trip to the entrance and
scurried to his mother, taking some time to pinpoint her exact location. A
faded white, ant-eaten cross marked the mound of his mother's resting place. He
sank to his knees and cleared it of the winter debris, combing a pattern in the
red earth with his fingers. Then he scoured the area for stones to mark the
border; he placed the headstone with a mixture of pride and sorrow.
"What are you doing?"
Lucky swung around to see Thandi holding a posy of
wild flowers.
"Is this your mother?"
He nodded, dumbstruck.
Thandi laid the flowers at his mother's feet.
"Should we sit?" She took his hand and sat on a burnt tuft of grass,
its green shoots just beginning to reappear after the ravages of the winter
fires.
He sat and listened to her sing in an unfamiliar language. Soft sweet tunes
carried him to a place of warm memories.
A rumble of distant thunder brought Lucky back. He looked at his new friend and
croaked. "It's time to go. The clouds are chasing the sun away."
The two sauntered in silence, comfortable in one another's company. At the
final intersection before the orphanage a street hawker displayed her wares on
upturned milk crates: sweets, cigarettes and over-ripe fruit.
"Push the button, I will be with you now," Lucky suggested to Thandi who ran up to the traffic lights and pressed the
green man of the pedestrian crossing. Lucky faced the wall and fumbled in his
pants, then approached the hawker holding out his money. He caught up with Thandi and handed her a four-inch doll still wrapped in
cellophane.
"Happy Birthday."
Gogo and I can wait a few weeks longer for our bed, he thought.
James Tobias
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|
Name |
Comment |
Date |
|
Erna |
I enjoyed getting to know Lucky a
little better. It is the same Lucky who went to the mall? He’s a dear little
chap! I wish he’d had some qualms about stealing, though, although I suppose
it is not a realistic expectation to have. I’d hate him to grow up to be a “gangsta”. There is a place where I got
confused: Lucky trembled with rage. What is wrong with
people, he thought. Isaac Mvumbu
deserves his nickname 'Hippo'. One day he'll go too far. Someone will put him
in his place. Maybe it should be me.
I need a clearer “scene change”
between the first & second paragraph above… how come he is now making
tea? And when/where did Lucky thieve the coins? It was tantalizing to imagine that
Hippo’s absence next day meant he’d had his come-uppance. Did he? Points 3 |
2007-12-15 |
|
James Tobias |
It is the same Lucky. |
2007-12-30 |