THE THOUGHT OF NOT SEEING OSWALD UNLESS IT was by accident gave Joanna a tight little pain in her chest. He had made working for Viola bearable. A companion was a rare thing in the delicate mechanism of shared space, its hundred clocks.
Joanna, who had always prided herself on her independence – I am a lone wolf, said Doctor Renfield. Ah-roooo! – had found herself lingering at the cubicle partition, spying on Oswald one day when Viola was overseas.
There was no one else to ask, really. And after he had mocked her about her shoes, she felt that he might at least shed some light on why Viola was so awful. She had loitered by the divider–the Veil of Shame, said Doctor Renfield – until Oswald had lifted his head from his paperwork. He had a forcefield of neatness about his person. She wished some of it would transfer itself to her.
She looked for a way to begin casually, a sputtering biplane on a small country’s runway. Why did he put up with Viola?
“Mr Ncube.”
“Ncube. Not bad. But you were hoping for a name without clicks in it.”
“I was, actually.”
“My apologies. My parents have been most uncooperative.”
Joanna smiled dutifully. She jingled her keys.
“Do you have a moment?”
He waved his hand. Joanna wasn’t sure if the gesture meant Are you blind? Can’t you see how much I have to get through here? or if it was more along the lines of Come on in. This crap can wait.
She took a chance and slipped around the divider. Joanna had always hated the partitions, the staff a colony of meerkats at the mercy of the matriarch. From this rare angle she could see into the matchbox of the bathroom, where, above the toilet, Oswald had hung his Masters degree, framed in gilt. In case of emergency, he had told her. God, it must irk Viola every time she had to pee!
“Nice weather we’re having.” He was prompting her.
“But it’s a flood out there!”
“I was joking.”
Joanna looked around. There was a lot of tea-making paraphernalia. The mug at his elbow read FIFTH PLACE, with a drawing of a white man holding his hands over his head in victory. CAPE TOWN MARATHON 1986. God, how had he ever run a road race?
“I just wanted to ask you,” she said, shifting from foot to foot. “Can I call you Oswald? Imvubu seems a little, I don’t know, disrespectful.”
“To me, or to the hippo?”
“Seriously. Would you mind?”
“Not at all. The youth should respect their elders and betters.” He grinned. “Is that what you wanted to ask me?”
“There’s something else. It’s quite personal.”
“If I am outraged, I’ll let you know.”
“You’ve been at the Museum for a long time, right?”
“Nearly thirty years, for my sins.” Was he ever serious?
“Can I ask you a question?”
“You can.”
“What do you think of Viola?”
Oswald began to laugh, his head back, showing his molars. He didn’t quite hold his hands to his stomach, but it was close.
“I was wondering when you were going to ask.”
“No, really.”
His smile vanished. He looked carefully at Joanna and she thought, This is what he really looks like. She leaned against the desk and tried to look worthy of an answer. Oswald sighed, came to a decision, and pushed his chair away from the desk.
He jerked his head in the direction of the empty La-Z-Boy “I think she needs a lot of help,” he said cautiously.
“How come she gets her own chauffeur?”
“There are perks attached to the job. After all, she didn’t join the Struggle to be poor.”
Joanna laughed, but he was sidestepping her. “Did she really do all of those things? How is it possible?”
“All of which things?”
“Cuba. Exile. Whatever.”
Oswald cocked his shiny head to one side like a parrot. He’s weighing me up, thought Joanna.
“Not all of it, no. But she was in Swaziland and Angola, this I know.”
For the Bible tells me so! sang Doctor Renfield. “As a doctor?”
Again the pause. “As a soldier.”
“Viola was in MK?”
He looked at Joanna severely. “Lots of people were, Joanna. Lots of women. They gave up everything for this country.” The words didn’t sound like cant when they fell from his neat mouth, scattered metallic as jacks on the desk between them.
“What do you mean?”
He had turned back to his paperwork. “There are lots of books. Lots of websites. Go and do your research.”