The Sweetest Dream

Sylvia looked at the priest, who was signalling to her, with a tightening of his lips to say nothing. 'Doctor Lennox has bought exercise books and an atlas with her own money, you need have no concern on that score, and now if you could give me news about your mother – she was my cook for a while, and I can say truly that I envy you with such a cook for a mother. '

‘And what are those lessons you are giving our pupils? Are you a teacher? Do you have a certificate? You are a doctor, not a teacher.'

Again, Father McGuire made it impossible for Sylvia to reply. 'Yes, this is our good doctor, she is a doctor and not a teacher, but there is no need for a teacher's certificate if you are reading to children, if you are teaching them to read. '

' Okay,’ said Mr Phiri. He was eating with the nervous haste of one who uses food as a pacifier. He pulled the bread to him and cut a great slab: no sadza, but enough bread would do almost as well.

Rebecca suddenly chimed in: 'Perhaps the Comrade Inspector wants to come down and see how our people like what the doctor is doing, how she is helping us?'

Father McGuire managed to control severe irritation. ‘Yes, yes, ' he said. ‘Yes, yes, yes. But on a hot day like this I am sure Mr Phiri would prefer to stay here with us in the cool and have a nice good strong cup of tea. Rebecca, please make the Inspector some tea.' Rebecca went out. Sylvia was about to tackle Mr Phiri about the missing exercise books and textbooks and the priest knew it, and he said, ' Sylvia, I am sure the Inspector would like to hear about the library you have made in the village?'

‘Yes,’ said Sylvia. ‘We have about a hundred books now. '

‘And who paid for them, may I ask?'

' The doctor has very kindly paid for them herself. '

' Indeed. And then I suppose we must be grateful to the doctor. ' He sighed, and said, ' Okay, ' and that was like a sigh.

' Sylvia, you haven't eaten anything. '

'I think I'll just have a cup of tea.'

In came Rebecca with the tea tray, set out the cups, the saucers, all very slow and deliberate, arranged the little net fly-shield with its beaded blue edge over the milk jug, and pushed the big teapot towards Sylvia. Normally, Rebecca poured the tea. She returned to the kitchen. The Inspector frowned after her, knowing there had been insolence, but he could not put his finger on it.

Sylvia poured, never lifting her gaze from what her hands were doing. She put a cup near the Inspector, pushed the sugar bowl towards him, and sat making heaps of crumbs with her bread. A silence. Rebecca was humming out in the kitchen, one of the songs from the Liberation War, designed to annoy Mr Phiri, but he didn't seem to recognise it.

And now, luckily, there was the sound of a car, and then it had stopped, sending showers of dust everywhere. Out stepped the mechanic in his smart blue overalls. Mr Phiri got up. 'I see that my car is here, ' he said vaguely, like someone who has lost something, but does not know what or where. He suspected that he had behaved in an improper manner, but surely not, when he had been in the right about everything.

'I do so hope you will tell your father and your mother that we met, and that I pray for them.'

'I will, when I do see them. They live out in the bush beyond the Pambili Growth Point. They are old now. '

He went out to the verandah. There were butterflies all over the hibiscus bushes. A lourie was making itself heard, half a mile away. He walked to his car, got in at the back, and the car drove off in rivers of dust.

Rebecca came in, and unusually for her, sat at the table with them. Sylvia poured her some tea. No one spoke for a while. Then, Sylvia said, ‘I could hear that idiot shouting from the hospital. If I ever saw a candidate for a stroke, it is the Comrade Inspector.'

‘Yes, yes,’ said the priest.

' That was disgraceful,’ said Sylvia. ' Those children, they have been dreaming of the Inspector for weeks. The Inspector will do this, he will do that, he will get us the books. '

Father McGuire said, ' Sylvia, nothing has happened. '

‘What? How can you say...’

Rebecca said, ' Shame. It is a shame. '

‘How can you be so reasonable about it, Kevin?' Sylvia did not often called the priest by his Christian name. ' It's a crime. That man is a criminal. '

'Yes, yes, yes,' said the priest. A pretty long silence. Then, 'Have you not ever thought that that is the story of our history? The powerful take the bread out of the mouths of the povos -the povos just get along somehow. '

‘And the poor are always with us?’ said Sylvia, sarcastic.

‘Have you ever observed anything different?'

‘And there is nothing to be done and it will all go on?'

' Probably,’ said Father McGuire. ‘What interests me is how you see it. You are always surprised when there is injustice. But that is how things always are. '

‘But they were promised so much. At Liberation they were promised – well, everything. '

' So politicians make promises and break them. '

'I believed it all,' said Rebecca. 'I was a real fool, shouting and cheering at Liberation. I thought they meant it. '

‘Of course they meant it,’ said the priest.

‘I think all our leaders went bad because we were cursed. '

‘Oh, may the Lord save us,’ said the priest, snapping at last. ‘I will not sit to listen to such nonsense. ‘But he did not get up from the table.

‘Yes,’ said Rebecca. ' It was the war. It is because we did not bury the dead of the war. Did you know there are skeletons over there in the caves on the hills? Did you know that? Aaron told me. And you know that if we do not bury our dead according to our customs then they will come back and curse us. '

' Rebecca, you are one of the most intelligent women I know and...’

‘And now there is AIDS. And that is a curse on us. What else can it be?'

Sylvia said, ' It's a virus, Rebecca, not a curse. '

‘I had six children and now I have three and soon there will be two. And every day there is a new grave in the cemetery. '

‘Did you ever hear of the Black Death?'

‘How should I hear? I did not get beyond Standard One. '

This meant, that she had heard, knew more than she would let on, and wanted them to tell her.

'There was an epidemic, in Asia and in Europe and in North Africa. A third of the people died,' said Sylvia.

'Rats and fleas,' said the priest. 'They brought the disease.'

‘And who told the rats where to go?'

' Rebecca, it was an epidemic. Like AIDS. Like Slim. '

' God is angry with us,’ said Rebecca.

' May the Lord save us all,’ said the priest. ‘I’m getting too old, I'm going back to Ireland. I am going home. '

He was querulous, like an old man, in fact. And he did not look well either – in his case, at least, it could not be AIDS. He had had malaria again recently. He was tired out.

Sylvia began to cry.

‘I’m going to get my head down for a few minutes,’ said Father McGuire. ‘And I know it is no use telling you to do the same.'

Rebecca went to Sylvia, lifted her, and the two went together to Sylvia's room. Rebecca let Sylvia slide down on her bed where she lay with a hand over her eyes. Rebecca knelt by the bed and slid her arm under Sylvia's head.

' Poor Sylvia,’ said Rebecca, and crooned a child's song, a lullaby. The sleeve of Rebecca's tunic was loose. Just in front of her eyes, through her fingers, Sylvia could see the thin black arm, and on the arm a sore, of the kind she knew only too well. She had been dressing them on a woman down in the hospital that morning. The weeping child that Sylvia had been until that moment departed: the doctor returned. Rebecca had AIDS. Now that Sylvia knew, it was obvious, and she had known, without admitting it, for a long time now. Rebecca had AIDS and there was nothing that Sylvia could do about it. She shut her eyes, pretended to slide into sleep. She felt Rebecca gently withdraw herself and go out of the room.