CHAPTER FORTY-NINE

When Lemoni was calm and pretty again, Ricus asked the rest of us: ‘So how has it been going with the self-forgiveness?’

Dirk spat into the ground, Fatima held her hand over her eyes, and Tata poked the tip of his kierie into the sand.

I said, ‘It is not easy. To forgive myself, I must tell Henk what happened. But when the time comes to do it, the words just run away.’

Ricus nodded, and Fatima said, ‘Forgiveness is not just something to give yourself. You must take action first. I have been a coward. I must do an act of courage. That is how I can forgive myself.’

‘Doll,’ said Lemoni, ‘you were brave with those satanists. You hit that devil-woman’s knife to the ground.’

‘Thank you.’ Fatima gave a small smile and shook her head. ‘But it was not enough.’

Tata Radebe cleared his throat and said, ‘What you say is true, Mama. Because I was afraid, a good man lost his life. My umoya will be free when I save a life. A good life.’

‘Fok,’ said Dirk. ‘There is nothing I can do to make up for the bad things I have done.’

Ousies put some wood on the fire, and orange flames jumped up.

‘And I’m not just talking about all those dead okes in Angola,’ said Dirk. ‘I know there is no way to make that right, but that is not the thing that sits on me, here, every day.’ He banged on his chest with hands like the claws of a falcon.

We all looked at Dirk, who was now watching the fire. A rock pigeon cooed gently.

‘Nee, fok,’ he said. ‘I cannot forgive myself for what I did to my wife. And our son. Never.’

Another pigeon replied to the first one. Doo doo doo.

‘Never,’ said Dirk.

Both pigeons cooed together, loudly.

‘How can I?’ He looked at Ricus. ‘I don’t even want to.’

‘Tell us about your son, Dirk,’ said Ricus.

‘My wife is dead. I didn’t kill her. But I may as well have. I treated her like crap. And now she’s gone, and I can’t make it right, no matter what I do.’

‘What is his name?’

‘Jamie, his name is Jamie.’

He looked into the fire again. The rock pigeons were quiet now, like they were listening, but there were other birds making little chirpy sounds. Ousies got up and started that quiet sweeping behind our chairs.

‘I dondered her when she was still pregnant,’ said Dirk. ‘Kicked her. The doctors say there was some genetic what-what, but I know I fucked him up. He came out all fucked up. Cerebral palsy. He’s in a home. In George.’

‘Do you love him?’ asked Ricus.

‘I . . . Fok off. Of course.’

‘When you think of him, is love the biggest feeling in your heart?’

‘Fok, man. What are you saying? Of course I care about him, he’s my boy.’

‘What is bigger in your heart? Love? Anger? Guilt?’

‘Of course I feel fokken guilty, man; I fucked him up. And I’m angry. With myself, not with him. He’s a good boy. A sweet boy. He looks just like his mother. I visit him. When I can. Sometimes I feel too bad to go, so I stay away, you know.’

‘Dirk, your son needs your love. If your heart is full of guilt and anger, you cannot give it to him. For the sake of your son, for the sake of the mother of your son, you need to forgive yourself. Because then your heart is free to love.’

Dirk closed his eyes and his face went all red, as if he had stopped breathing. It started to get full like a balloon. Then something exploded; spit shot from his mouth, and his whole body started shaking, but he was silent. Then came the sound. First a small sound, like a little boy trying to get breath, and then a chugging like a steam train as the tears and snot poured down his face. Ousies gave him a napkin and then another napkin, and he filled them with his sobs.

We sat with him for quite a while. His back curled over, like he was protecting a young animal on his lap. He cried, and then he was quiet. The rock pigeons cooed, and we sat with him. Then he cried some more. In my mind, it was difficult to forgive him, but somehow my heart did it so easily.

After a while, he wiped his forehead and his cheeks, and blew his nose. He looked around him as if he was seeing us for the first time.

‘I love that boy,’ he said.