Her thoughts sought out Thobela and came back every time to the same conclusion: he was a good man.
Why were they chasing him? He was doing nothing wrong.
This country. Would it never stop banging on your door in the middle of the night? Would the ledger of the past never be closed?
Was he doing a wrong thing?
Was Thobela someone else than the man she knew?
?I was different,? he had said one afternoon, when their relationship was young, when he had to fight to win her trust.
?I had another life. I am not ashamed. I did what I believed in. It is over. Here I am now. Just as you see me.?
That first day in the consultant?s office she had not even noticed him, just another client. She had transferred the tea from the trolley onto the tray and slid the tray onto the desk and nodded when the consultant and his client thanked her, and she had pulled the door closed behind her, little knowing that that mundane service would change her life. He had come right into the kitchen looking for her, apparently telling the consultant?s secretary he wanted to tell her how good the tea was, and had put out his hand to her and said, ?My name is Thobela Mpayipheli.? She thought it was a nice name, an honest name??Thobela? meant ?with respect?? but she wondered what he wanted. ?I saw you in Van der Linde?s office. I want to talk with you.?
?What about??
?Anything.?
?Are you asking me out??
?Yes, I am.?
?No.?
?Am I too ugly?? he asked, with his smile and broad shoulders.
?I have a child.?
?A boy or a girl??
?I haven?t time to talk. I have work to do.?
?Just tell me your name, please.?
?Miriam.?
?Thank you.? He had not used any of the popular slang, none of the quasi-American
of the township rakes; he had left and she had gone on with her work. Two days later there was a phone call for her; no one phoned her at work, so she feared someone had died. He had to remind her who he was, he asked her when she took lunch break, she answered evasively and asked him not to phone her at work? there was no outside line to the kitchen, and reception didn?'t like it if the staff kept the lines busy.
The next day he was waiting outside, not leaning against a wall somewhere but standing right in front of the entrance, his legs planted wide and his arms folded on his chest, and when she sought the sunshine in Thibault Square he was there. ?May I walk with you??
?What do you want??
?I want to talk to you.?
?Why??
?Because you are a lovely woman and I want to know you.?
?I know enough people, thank you.?
?You never told me if you have a son or a daughter.?
?That?s right.? He walked next to her, she sat down on a step and opened the waxed-paper wrapping of her sandwich.
?Can I sit here??
?It?s a public place. You can sit where you like.?
?I am not a
?I can see that.?
?I just want to talk.?
She let him talk. She was in a dilemma? fear on one hand, loneliness on the other. The experiences behind her argued with the possibilities that lay ahead. She had to shield her child and her heart from the big, handsome, gentle, proper man sitting in the spring sunshine alongside her. Her solution was to wait and see, to be passive. Let him talk, and he did, every other day he was outside, sometimes he brought something to eat, never luxuries: bunny rolls, hot chips with the irresistible flavor of salt and vinegar, sometimes a little bowl of curry and rice or his favorite, a chili bite from the Muslim takeout on Adderley Street, fresh and fragrant and sharp, and he let her taste it. He shared his lunch with her, and slowly she began to melt. Relaxing, she told him about Pakamile and her house for which she had worked so long, how hard it had been to pay it off, and one day he brought a gift for the boy, a jigsaw puzzle, and she said no, that?s it, she wouldn'?t see him anymore, she would not expose Pakamile, men always left. Men never stay, he was a good man, but she thought men couldn'?t help it. That is how life is: men are temporary. Unde-pendable. Unnecessary. Unnecessary for Pakamile.
Not all men, he had said, and it was on the tip of her tongue to say, ?That is what you all say,? but there was something in his eyes, in his look, in the set of his mouth and the clenching of his teeth that stopped her, that touched her, and she let it go and then he said, ?I had a wild life. I did things. ??
