The Sunday News
Short Story Oswell Moyo
LAWRENCE thought of the money in his pocket. His head ached. The money was nothing. He had secretly taken $100 from the till. With that $100 addition to his pay, things would be better. The next day, he discovered that was the end of his job. After selling his wardrobe, his bed and cellphone, he managed to pay some of his creditors.
Fearing to be sued by the remaining creditors, he escaped from South Africa hoping that he might find a fortune in Bulawayo where he had left his wife, five children and his mother 10 years ago. The sight of the streets teeming with educated people had disheartened him. If some of those educated people had no jobs, what chance had he, a Grade Seven dropout?
Revival bus was wheezing through a dusty village when Lawrence lit his last cigarette. It was clear to him that in Zimbabwe he would never taste those cigarettes again – the cigarettes he used to smoke with ladies of the night.
From 2003 to 2013, he had dealt with over 20 girls on different occasions; each woman had been warm and sweet. It was those girls who had impelled him to put away the thought of home, wife, five children and his mother for a very long time.
He ran into debts because of those ladies of the night. The bus came to a stop. Two people alighted, a mother and daughter.
“Is my wife as old as that mother?” A cold wave ran through his body.
“What of Rumbidzai, is she not as mature as that daughter?” Another cold wave ran through his body.
Rumbidzai was his daughter. She was still a baby when he left home at the first sight of drought. Nhamo his son, his first child, had been three years old.
The cigarette burned his finger, freeing him from his ruthless thought. Tightly pulling at the stub of his cigarette, savouring each puff of the smoke, he found himself thinking about Julia the last girl who was last to drain him. Julia’s face was bright and her thighs were great pillars of fire and it was the heat of those pillars of fire that had turned Lawrence into a rid region.
Lawrence shrugged off responsibility for his own life, he become devoted to Julia. He paid rent for her, bought clothes for her, she came to him almost every day asking him to go with her to beer halls. Finally, it was inevitable for him to fall into a mire of debts. In an attempt to remedy his financial woes, he stole hundred dollars from his employer and that was the fall of his life. For all 10 years he had spent in South Africa, Julia has been in the waters of his life. Ten years working for nothing! Listening to the din of a bus he noticed that the only thing he had worked for was the suitcase on top of the bus and the realisation pained him. He thought of his father’s wise wisdom.
“Son, when you start working buy cattle. Cattle are the resources of each African family. Cows are wealth son,” his father advised him.
But Lawrence was not listening to his father’s advice. It was meaningless to him at that time. He wished he had bought at least one cow but it was too late. Ten years were so much time wasted. He had utterly failed to take heed of his father’s words.
He reached Makokoba Township. The shops were well built now with strings of electricity sagging. He stared closely at every face he came near. Not a single face revealed a feature he could associate with. A face he had known in the past.
His wife looked in as he was approaching.
“Lawrence we thought you were killed by the crocodiles of Limpopo, are you alive,” said the wife sobbing profusely.
“No, I was not killed,” his voice was sweet seeking an apology.
“Hell such cruelty, why didn’t you call or write a letter or even send us groceries, I waited for you for more than 10 years. A’m now married to a doctor who helped me fend for your children to school,” hilled the wife.
Lawrence could not comment as it was he who was heartless. Neither could he blame her. Ten years was a long time to continue dreaming of something. He could see pieces of love everywhere; nothing could join the pieces into a whole love again.
He uttered the words “JULIA COST MY MARRIAGE”.
