Concerns Musonda, the path of his longing, and some attentions the letter has wrought, one of which is to have sent to his uncle, Bwaale
That Wednesday afternoon, after the return from the hospital where he had been to see Musonda again, Besa sneaked into the house through the back door with a feeling of dismay, for she who had the colour of ebony, her life a tale of the forest (beautiful and frightful) and her eyes a glowing flame (brown and enchanting), had nonetheless rejected him, and he felt worthless and defeated…
‘I like it better when you’re saying something…anything,’ Musonda reminded him as they left the hospital building, a relief for both of them to be out in the sun, away from the terrible stench of drugs, sickness and death. Leading the way to the kiosk for drinks, she continued, her eyes betraying anxiety, ‘I am freer with you then…but not when you’re brooding about something and paying me little attention. It sort of worries and makes me uneasy.’
He did not reply.
‘I thought you were happy to meet again?’
‘I am but…’
‘But?’
‘I am not just sure if I am in the mood to…to talk over much. I am sorry.’
‘Well,’she sighed. ‘There isn’t much sense in meeting if we can’t talk, is there? Not that we must talk all the time, but when you act grim and absentmindedly I feel helpless and out-of-the-way, if you see what I mean. And yet I’d like to be taken into your confidence – as a friend.’ She tilted her head sideways and hesitantly asked, ‘Are you perhaps upset because of what I said the other day?’
It took some time before he replied. ‘Partly, yes.’
‘We can still discuss – you know. If you wish.’
‘I doubt if we can. Your ego and mine will always clash.’
‘So you think it’s hopeless?’
‘I don’t know. I’ve no idea. I’ve stopped thinking.’
‘What do you want me to do?’
‘Nothing.’
‘That’s not helping much. If there’s anything I can do I’ll do it.’
‘I doubt it. You’re very proud. You don’t take me seriously. You think you’re too good for me. Let’s just forget about everything.’
The girl stiffened and stopped walking. She released his hand and said plaintively:
‘Besa, I don’t know why you should say such terrible things about me. If I were proud or too good for, do you suppose I would be with you now? I would be with someone else! Everyone here knows by now that you’re after me but I don’t mind the gossip because I like you very much and I always look forward to being alone with you. Sometimes I sacrifice a few minutes of work to talk to you each time you pass through! What more can I do that I haven’t done? Doesn’t this say anything to you? Look, we could still talk and come to some understanding. We could make the peace.’
Besa was still not sure. ‘Have you ever heard of the story of Tantallus?’ he asked her suddenly.
‘Never. Can I hear it?’
‘Tantallus is a name of a king in a Greek story. As a punishment for his deeds he was made to stay in the water, which, whenever he wanted to drink it, disappeared from his sight. Each time he wanted to reach for the fruit under, this too disappeared. The verb tantalise draws its connotation from this story. Sometimes I feel the same way.’
Musonda shook her head. She held his hands by the wrists.
‘Besa, you know I like you very much and I want to stay close and see you as often as I can. I always say yes whenever you want us to meet privately. But this is all I can do at the moment, though you seem to expect more than I can give you. Sometimes I have a feeling that you want me to be suddenly in love with you but I am not there yet. No, Besa, I am not proud nor anything. It’s just that I feel we have to wait to see whether we’re going to be serious with each other. But if you feel anything for me, then the feeling must be strong enough to wait. I’ll not rush into a relationship for our own good. Do you understand?’
He nodded. She said reassuringly:
‘Be a little patient with me. It’s going to be all right. We don’t have to rush because we have a lot of time on our hands. Can we now go and have a drink?’
Besa nodded again.
They had their drinks in silence. For some moments his eyes settled on her white lab coat and contemplated the body that filled it. What tender yearnings, what fancies, and what hopes lighted her steps and visited her in her morning dreams? What fears clouded her life, and plucked tears from her eyes? Besa observed her curiously. He was not particularly concerned with a thousand trivial things that they had lived through but, instead, with just that palpable feeling in which his attraction for her subsisted – whether she was there or not – though he was presently confused by what seemed to be beyond him.
She chatted about her work at the hospital, a few friends she missed in Lusaka, and their next outing, which, she confessed with a mysterious smile, was often on her mind and upsetting her concentration at work. She could not wait to see what Mansa looked like.
Besa offered no comments. He was enwrapped in who this woman was – in her words, gestures, moods and special smiles which, at certain moments, set his heart aglow with a deep longing to seek in her a pure simple rest sustained in the unity of love and understanding.
An elderly man stood in the doorway and peeped into the kiosk. He lingered there for some moments but, upon recognising Musonda, decisively stepped inside and exclaimed in glee:
‘Miss Musonda, long time no see! You’re looking good! See what Samfya has done to you!’ For a few moments he looked her up and down appreciatively, laughing and beaming at her, holding her hand with a possessiveness, which offended Besa. He resented the man immediately.
Smiling shyly Musonda shook hands with him. ‘It’s good to see you, Doctor Katiiwa. How are you?’
‘The same.’
Musonda laughed, and Besa couldn’t help smiling at the ludicrous figure of this man whom it would have been impossible to suspect as a medical doctor. He looked ordinary enough, though his character seemed accentuated by certain traits that removed him from the ordinary. He had that rare stamp of the eccentric – a quality Besa would subsequently observe in the finest lecturers at the University of Zambia.
‘The hospital is shambles,’ remarked Doctor Katiiwa. ‘We have no more drugs, and patients have threads for their blankets! The wards are congested. Lice, bedbugs and mosquitoes are all over the place. We are managing an institution that pretends to provide health but actually does the opposite.’
Besa was speechless. Musonda was embarrassed. She said, ‘Doctor Katiiwa, I want you to meet my boyfriend, Besa.’
The man withdrew his hand and offered it to Besa to shake. For a few moments they scrutinised each other curiously without saying a word. Then the man said: ‘Good to meet you, my friend. I am Doctor Katiiwa.’
‘Doctor Katiiwa is our District Planning Unit Co-ordinator based right here in Samfya.’ She explained to Besa. ‘Apart from his other normal duties, of course.’
‘I am pleased to meet you, too, sir.’
‘Thank you.’ A silence prolonged itself. Then the man asked Besa, ‘Are you working or are you still in school?’
‘I am not working. I am a school leaver. I am considering what to do.’
‘He will be going to university soon,’ Musonda interjected. ‘He’s been awarded a scholarship.’
‘That’s very good news,’ Doctor Katiiwa observed, fixing him with a look of fresh interest. ‘It’s always a great thing for me to meet young people trying to further their education. Nothing can be nobler than that especially in country where over sixty percent of the population is illiterate. What do you intend to read?’
‘I am not very decided.’
‘You should be decided by now.’
‘I have a few ideas but somehow I can’t choose which program would be the best for me. I have conflicting interests.’
‘Have you tried counselling? It’s not everything but sometimes it clears your mind.’
‘I have had some discussions with my former teachers but I am still not very sure. I want to do something that will retain its essential meaning in my life no matter the changes in circumstances. I want to do something that will make me happy. Not something sought after by reason of obligation, compulsion, blind chance or the like. It has to come from myself and has to be larger than life. I don’t see any point in following the beaten track when everyone has been there.’
Doctor Katiiwa fell silent. Later on he said,
‘I have a feeling that you know where you stand. What you perhaps lack is the courage to stand by what you believe in. But don’t worry. Sooner or later you’ll encounter exactly what you must do. Follow your heart and the dictates of your reason with unshaken humility, sincerity and persistence. I wish you the best.’
‘Thank you, sir.’
‘I should be on my way now,’ he said and shook hands with them. After the man had left Besa said to Musonda:
‘He’s a nice man, your Doctor. Is he always like that?’
‘Like what?’
‘Like someone ready to listen to people’s problems?’
‘That’s his job, but I see what you mean. Yes, he is a good man.’
‘What is he specialised in?’
‘He’s a surgeon.’
‘Are you serious?’
‘Yes. What did you take him for the moment you saw him?’
‘I thought he was from the streets.’
‘Most people think like that. They think he’s mad.’
‘If he’s a surgeon he must be very learned. Why is he here at this tiny clinic?’
‘He was working at the University Teaching Hospital until recently when he lost his job.’
‘Why?’
‘It was an order from the President,’ Musonda explained patiently. ‘According to the story, Doctor Katiiwa had operated on some political detainees from Kamfinsa Maximum Security Prison
– those who were on death row. He wrote a paper to the authorities on the living conditions of the prisoners. When government failed to act, he passed on his work to international human rights organisations and pleaded for some form of sanctions against the Zambian government for its failure to meet the minimum conditions of human rights requirements for prisoners. Locally, however, his good work and intentions were interpreted by politicians as trying to discredit the image of the Zambian government and getting the international community to interfere in the internal affairs of a sovereign state. Because of this the authorities felt Doctor Katiiwa was a threat to the Party, so he was thrown to a remote place like Samfya where the police and special branch would always monitor him. He’s very lucky to end up this way. At least he has a home, a job and he’s a bit free – though they have confiscated his passport, practitioner’s licence and other documents so that he doesn’t leave the country.’
Besa said nothing. He thought about the doctor and others like him who desperately wanted change. Perhaps they had realised that since their happiness depended upon occasional efforts to clean up the vast, vile surroundings of dirt, then their fates were entombed in the places they sought to change, in the very things they were against. He felt for the learned doctor a terrible pity.
‘I am sorry for him.’ ‘We could pay him a visit if you like.’ ‘Do you know each other very well?’
‘Well enough, I believe. I have met his wife and children. They are a wonderful family.’
‘We could pay him a visit.’
‘When?’
‘I don’t know, but certainly not this week. We have the weekend for a trip to Mansa and I have to spend a day or two at a rest house to be by myself. That’s Thursday and Friday.’
‘Are you still decided to go to the rest house?’
‘Yes, I have to. I have to think.’
‘If you wanted to think home would be as good as any other place.’
‘You still don’t understand. All I want is the feeling to be in a different place, a feeling to help me see things from a distance.’
‘You could also imagine it without having to be at a rest house.’
‘I want to leave my village and home behind. I want to live in a different place for a while to see where I am.’
Musonda shook her head. She still could not understand.
‘Everything changed the moment I received an acceptance letter from the university. Suddenly, everyone started giving me respect. My former classmates are uneasy in my presence, and village girls are flocking to me more than ever before. It appears as if I am elevated to a status of a god, and this frightens me. Why should people adore me as if I am special? They treat me with so much respect and I don’t like it!’
‘I can understand your feelings of anxiety but this is just a passing phase in your new life. I am very sure you’ll come to terms with what’s happened. It’s not something that should worry you.’
Besa assumed a thoughtful expression.
‘You still want me to come with you to this rest house?’
‘Yes. We could be together and talk.’
‘I am sorry I can’t accept. I don’t think it’s right.’
‘What do you suppose is right?’
‘Anything other than that.’
Abruptly he announced his leave. ‘Thanks for the drink. It has been a wonderful day. I have to go home now. I’ll see you on Friday afternoon.’
‘You’re angry with me?’
Besa did not respond. All he wanted was to leave this place and the woman behind. He started towards the door but stopped. Musonda was holding on to his hand.
‘O, come on. Don’t make a fool of yourself. Please let go of my hand.’
‘No. You must first tell me why you’re angry.’
‘Okay. I am angry because you doubt the sincerity of my feelings for you.’
‘It isn’t me you really want.’
‘Fine. You’re not the one I want.’
‘All you wanted was sleep with me and forget.’
Besa fixed her a hard, shocked look. ‘If what you say is true, it would have been easier to ask one of the village girls to sleep with me than go through all this trouble.’
‘What do you want from me, then?’
‘I want to be with you. I want to whisper in your ears and hold you in my arms. I want to share my feelings with someone who understands me – the way I think you do. But I also appreciate your suspicions and will respect your decision. I’ll be fine by myself. Perhaps I don’t really have to be with anyone at all.’
Besa pushed her slightly; she was holding back her tears. For a few moments he had an impulse to shout at her and go. Thus they stood facing each other like complete strangers, neither understanding nor knowing what was exactly happening to them. Musonda made an effort to say something but couldn’t. She was bewildered and crying. The sales woman was speechless. Besa left their presence.
Back in his room, he riffled through their meeting and wagged his head. In after-thought it seemed Besa had been unfair, childish and irresponsible, whereas the girl had been calmer and wiser. She hadn’t rejected him as he had imagined. All she had pleaded was patience and understanding. Nor had Musonda said (now he remembered) that he meant nothing to her. She reminded him she always said yes whenever he wanted them to meet, sincerely confessed that she needed to talk and stay close to him and, what was more, had introduced him to Doctor Katiiwa as “my boyfriend”, though Besa didn’t know what this term exactly signified. And why had he forgotten? Musonda sometimes permitted him to take her in his arms
– but only when they were sheltered away from the eyes of everyone: He fondled her hair, slid his fingers between her cloths, and touched her breasts as she made room for him to caress her thighs and what was between them. She once said, “I enjoy being in your arms like this”, yet would not allow him to go beyond caresses and kisses. That would have been a crime, and yet she surrendered herself to him as if she would have wanted to. But why had he behaved that way?
Although self-criticism wasn’t easy for him, it now occurred to Besa that quite contrary to what he had believed in himself, he was immature and needed so much to learn. His early loves were sweet but trivial. They were incapable of arousing in him feelings so rich as to be immortal. When he came face to face with a girl who could decide for herself and fight him, Besa blamed her for what she was, excusing his impatience, intolerance, lack of understanding and his feelings of inadequacy. He had perhaps hoped to recreate her in the image of something he could do things with – like the girls who did exactly as he asked – forgetting she was different and had to remain so since this was her worth and the ultimate thing she had to be. Besa was alarmed by his blindness.
Leaving his room, after having finally and sincerely resolved to apologise or risk the loss of a sweet woman through impatience and ineffectual arrogance, Besa strode across to where his mother sat peeling cassava in a mango shade. The moment she saw him she pulled her face in an expression of contempt and waved a knife at him.
‘You’re rarely staying at home these days,’ she said. ‘Very soon you will bring trouble into this house. Where have you been?’
‘To see friends.’
‘Which friends?’
‘New friends.’
Besa sat down on bare ground and leaned against the mango tree. His mother asked him to take a stool to sit on rather than lie on the ground like a duck, making his trousers dirty. He had to think of the cost of washing paste! He went into the house and returned with a stool.
‘Are you unwell?’ she asked. ‘Long breaths like yours are a sign of ill health.’
‘I am very well, mother.’
‘Have you eaten your nsima?’
‘No. I am not hungry.’
‘What have you eaten?’
‘Nothing. Why are you asking me such questions?’
She stopped peeling cassava and stared at him. ‘If you don’t like being asked questions, then you should at least say to us, “I am not eating anything today,” so that no food is wasted. But if you say nothing then you should eat your food. Throwing away nsima is bad because there are many hungry people who need it. This you should never forget, even when your stomach is full. Just wait until you’re married. Your wife will hit you with a cooking stick to teach you that refusing food is bad. It hurts those who took care to prepare it.’
Besa regretted what he had done and apologised to her. Afterward he asked her, ‘Where is father? Is he on the lake?’
‘I don’t know where he is. Men have dogs’ feet that carry them very far. It is unwise to follow the path of wind. You might lose your way.’
Besa laughed with her. He watched his mother work with that peculiar concentration in her eyes that pushed her forward, often against barriers and obstacles until what she had to do was realised. He admired her forbearance, persistence and her uncompromising nature and the faith she had in herself. In spite of what people told him Besa tended to suspect that he inherited most qualities from his mother. He favoured her presence and confessed everything to her. Musunga was often aloof and preferred to be alone, though he offered him some very useful instructions on various livelihood skills such as net making, fishing, hunting and herbal medicine.
‘Are you listening?’ his mother asked him presently.
‘Yes.’
‘I am saying that mother of Mweni came to see us this morning. What she said also agrees with other whisperings I have been hearing lately about you. I do not know what has come upon your head, but you have started doing things that will not take you anywhere. What if your father was to hear of this? He would blame me for bearing bad children.’
She gazed at him with feeling. Besa was now uneasy in her presence. For a hundredth time her voice vibrated in his ears as she admonished him, repeating to him the necessity of always acting in the way that was praise worthy and guided by the counsel of elders since fire surrounded by elders does not burn. Did he perhaps want to disgrace his parents by doing outrageous things? Was it not his wish to bring joy to their family by doing good works? Wasn’t a good child the envy of everyone?
‘Perhaps you have forgotten. I am the woman who conceived you and believed in the treasure I carried in my womb. We raised you well, but you have now started spitting in our faces by doing things that are not well. I have heard many things, some of which darken my heart with sadness. For how could you fall into the paths of fools by drinking beer at your age? Are you of age to start smoking and sleeping with women? If you feel you are now a man, why don’t you say it so that we choose a respectable woman for you? There are many good girls in this village to choose from. Do not bring shame upon us by walking about with these women. You know your father, you know who he is. Do not let his anger fall like a roof over our heads. Your father loves you and has a lot of faith in you. Please, Besa, do not kill this or you will kill it for everyone in this house. Do not cause us to weep.’
‘I don’t drink beer,’ he said in self-defence. ‘I don’t smoke cigarettes either. What you heard is not true.’
‘What about women? I hear you have befriended two women who are working at the hospital.’
‘That is true, but what’s wrong with having friends?’
‘They are female.’
‘O come on, mother. I have always had female friends. What about my classmates? Look, my new friends are very good people. I learn a lot from them and I love them. What use do I have for people who are treating me as if I am a chief? I need people who can build me up.’
‘I don’t want you to befriend women,’ she insisted. ‘Your father would also not advise it.’
‘What’s wrong with having female friends?’
His mother did not reply. Besa was silent. He would not drink beer nor touch a cigarette, of course, yet when he remembered Musonda and her life enhancing presence (and to hear her name rejected merely because only parents could rightly decide what was good for their children) his heart tumbled in terror. It was unjust to lose her forever and deny them something that might have been, yet Besa would do nothing against his family. He would do nothing to disappoint them. He would have to give his first and only love neither thought nor care… she who (dear God!) had pressed her tender lips upon his feet. With her whims she coiled her precious arms around his neck and held him tight, whispering intimate things though she would not let them commit the crime. She would not let him live the beauty of her nakedness.
‘There is something more,’ his mother pursued in another tone. ‘It’s about your uncle, Bwaale. He is also worried about you. Not just about your behaviour but also about what some people in this village have started saying about your going to the place of higher learning. Do you now father of Nkoma?’
‘Yes. His daughter is Maliya’s friend.’
‘Do you also know that he’s a dangerous witch?’
‘I’ve heard him spoken of as a witch.’
‘He’s a witch, and it is he who has started whispering things against you and our family. Father of Nkoma is not happy that you are going to university. He and others like him are saying it was the teachers and your father’s powerful charms that made you pass your examinations.’
‘Is this what is worrying you?’
‘It is what is worrying me every day.’
‘You need not be worried by what isn’t true. Whatever people are saying about me is not the truth.’
His mother shook her head. ‘It doesn’t matter whether what is being said about you is true or false. What matters is what people feel about your going. You see, my child, people are difficult to understand. Yet I have come to learn that they may be as treacherous as a lion. And so a child must always understand the earth in which people live. What preserves their land and peace is also what destroys it. Now since everyone’s death is in the surroundings, a child’s eyes must always look outside for things that can threaten or protect the peace. This is the wisdom by which people live.’
Besa was restless. Although he did not believe his going to university could upset anybody, he at least understood what his mother meant. It was stupid to suppose that charms or the help of his former teachers had made him be where he was. Parents had to urge their children to study with constancy until they had mastered concepts and their applications and, changed by what they had truly learned, the learners would be able to reorganise their experience and bring the world to their command. He doubted whether there could possibly be any lucky charms or shortcuts towards knowledge. One had just to study with ceaseless patience in order to bring oneself closer and closer to what reality was.
‘So you see, you have to be protected. Your uncle has agreed.’
‘What do you mean?’
‘You should be protected from such people who could do you harm through their hatred. You must be protected.’
‘I don’t need any protection. If you and uncle Bwaale are afraid that people will bewitch me, let them. What have I done?’
‘You haven’t done anything, but to others you have done something they cannot bear.’
‘I am not to blame for the failure of others. People are responsible for who they are. I did not prevent anybody from passing examinations. They did not just study hard enough. But if I should succeed at doing anything at all, why must I be hated when everyone had the same chances?’
He got up on his feet.
‘Where are you going?’
‘To my room. I can’t hear more.’
‘You’re behaving like a child.’
‘I really don’t need any protection. Tell that to your brother.’