She bought her son new clothes, and school uniform. She enrolled him at a private school that catered for children of his age in town. She employed a woman whose only job was to look after Vutha. In the mornings, the woman bathed him, and dressed him in his new school uniform. Then she took him to the taxi rank where he caught a mini-bus taxi to town. Our tongues began to wag about this whole suspicious affair. Did Noria think that her child was too good for the village school, where all the children of the village, including Noria herself, had gone? Anyway, whoever heard of such a young baby going to school? Where did she get all the money to spoil the brat, and to buy herself such wonderful clothes that looked like those worn by women in magazines? What kind of work was she doing? We saw her come back from town in the mornings, and leave in the late afternoons. Sometimes she only met with Vutha at the bus stop when he was coming back from school, and she was leaving for her night work. Xesibe added to the mystery when he assured us in the drinking places that none of Noria’s new-found wealth came from him.
Sometimes Noria went to see her mother in hospital, accompanied by one or other of the white men she entertained. They bought fat cakes and fish and chips from a cafe and took these delicacies to That Mountain Woman. Oh, yes, the town had grown so big that it even had a cafe that sold fish and chips. That Mountain Woman would become very excited, and would address Noria in our own language so that the white men would not understand her: ‘You hold tight, my child. Your father thought he could destroy you. But you are strong like your mother. I am going to get well, and when I am out of this damn hospital I am going to teach that scoundrel a bitter lesson.’
Vutha was in his second year at the private school in town, and things seemed to be working out well for everyone, until one morning Noria found the woman who looked after Vutha crying.
‘It is your father, Noria.’
‘What has happened? Is he dead?’
‘I wish he were dead.’
The woman explained that at night, when Vutha was asleep, Xesibe tried to creep between her blankets. He wanted to take advantage of her, but she refused. He had tried it before, and when she had refused him the first time and the second time, she thought that he was going to give up. But he began to threaten her with violence, and wanted to take her valuables by force. She said she was going to pack her things and go, since she was not prepared to stay in a home where the man of the house could not control his raging lust. She was a church woman, and a married woman with a husband and children. The fact that she was in need of a job did not mean that her body was for sale.
Noria begged her not to go, and immediately went to confront her father. She found him near one of his many kraals tanning some hide with which he was going to make straps for harnessing oxen to the yoke.
‘What do you think you are doing, father?’
‘I am tanning leather, that’s what.’
‘Don’t pretend you don’t know what I am talking about. You tried to rape the woman who looks after Vutha.’
‘Did you inherit your manners from your mother? Where did you learn to speak to your own father like that?’
‘Mother was right about you all along. You have the morals of a dog. What am I going to do with Vutha if this woman leaves because of you? Are you going to look after him?’
‘Now that you have a lot of money, you think you can talk to me any way you like? You have taken after your mother. Leave my house at once! Take everything of yours and leave my house!’
Noria waited for Vutha to come back from school. Once more she found herself unceremoniously packing her things, this time not into a pillow case, but into three large suitcases. When Vutha came back from school, they said good-bye to the woman who looked after him, and loaded the suitcases on a wheelbarrow. Noria pushed the heavy wheelbarrow to the bus stop, followed by a puzzled Vutha. When the bus arrived, the conductors loaded the suitcases and the wheelbarrow onto the carrier on top of the bus. The two banished passengers boarded.
Although it had been more than two years since Noria was kicked out of her marital home by her husband, she went straight back to the brickyard shack, pushing her overloaded wheelbarrow, and followed by Vutha. She kicked the door open, and found a woman cooking the evening meal on a primus stove. She could not tell whether it was the same woman for whom she was expelled from her home, or a different one. To her this was not important.
‘Woman, I am back in my house. You collect your rags and go!’
‘Hey, Noria, you can’t just barge in. .’
‘You, Napu, if you value your life, you will shut up!’
The woman waited for Napu to come to her defence, but he seemed confused. He did not know what to do. There was fear in his eyes. He did not know what gave Noria the courage to act the way she was acting. Who knew what she was capable of, coming home with all that confidence and kicking up a row? She was behaving like a raving lunatic, and no one argues with a lunatic.
‘I say to you, woman, this little piece of human waste is my husband. And I have come back to my house. I say if you value your life you will leave immediately.’
The woman rushed for the door, but Noria pulled her back.
‘No, you don’t just leave like that. Take everything of yours.’
The poor woman packed her belongings into a pillow case and left. Napu tried to follow her, calling her name. But Noria stood at the door, and told him that he was not going anywhere.
‘Let the bitch go. Your loving and loyal wife is back, Napu.’
She said these words with so much venom that Napu froze in his tracks. That night Noria did not go to work at the hotel, but slept with Vutha. In the morning she supervised her son while he washed himself, and put on his uniform. Then she showed him the road to his school, and went back to the shack. Napu sullenly left for work, and Noria remained brooding over her life. In the afternoon she went to see her mother in the hospital. That Mountain Woman had wasted away to a shadow, and was in continual agony. Still, she had faith that she was going to get well and go back home to practise her medicine, and to take her vengeance on Xesibe. Specialists had been coming from the city at least once every six months for the past two years to take a look at her. Noria decided not to tell her about Xesibe’s attempted escapade with the woman who looked after Vutha.
‘You have gone back to that good-for-nothing Napu? Are you out of your mind?’
‘I want to give my marriage a second chance, mother.’
‘A second chance? It’s more like the hundredth chance. And is Napu going to allow you to continue with your work at the hotel?’
‘I will take a break from my work at the hotel, and see if my marriage will work. If it does not work, I can always go back to the hotel.’
‘What has come over you, Noria? How will Napu manage to support Jealous Down at an expensive school like that?’
‘Vutha will have to go to an ordinary school, mother.’
‘Do you call him by that terrible name of those uncultured people?’
Noria was hardened by now, and she fought back every time Napu tried to be rude or cruel to her. The bravado that he used to muster when he dealt with That Mountain Woman had fizzled out. On the days when he came home drunk, he would try to assert his manhood. But she would put him in his place. Sobriety brought sullenness. Noria told Vutha that his father was a sour-faced koata. At night she slept with her son, and Napu slept alone.
There was no direct communication between husband and wife. Noria said whatever she wanted to say through the medium of Vutha. For instance, when she was particularly fed up with Napu she would say, ‘Vutha, my child, even though you have lived in this town for so many years, you are still a koata!’ Or when Napu came home late, she would say, ‘Vutha, my child, why do you come home drunk and so late?’ And Vutha would laugh and say, ‘Am I drunk, mama? Or is it Napu who is drunk?’ Napu would snarl, ‘I am not Napu to you. I am your father, damn it!’ Sometimes the variation would go thus, ‘Oh, Vutha my child, you smell like a toilet. What have you been drinking, and how many women did you sleep with?’ Vutha enjoyed these little games of indirect communication. He would laugh and say, ‘But, mama, it is Napu who smells like a toilet.’