The Nurse at the Zionist funeral had a booming voice. Soon, all ears at all four funerals were directed towards him, and people were no longer paying attention to their own funerals. He made a naughty joke about the deceased, and everyone at the various funerals in the cemetery burst out laughing. This happened at the same moment that the priest at the funeral where Toloki was mourning was engaged in the most serious part of the ritual, that of praying for the soul of the deceased so that it should be happily received into the portals of heaven by none other than St Peter himself. Even the priest couldn’t help laughing. Everybody laughed for a long time, for it was the kind of joke that seemed to grow on you. You would laugh and eventually stop. But after a few minutes you would think of the joke again, and you would burst out laughing all over again. Laughter kept coming in spurts, with some people even rolling on the ground. When the four processions finally marched off in various directions, some people were still laughing. Others had stomach cramps from laughing too much.
‘In our language there is a proverb which says the greatest death is laughter.’
‘You see! I was right, Toloki, when I said that you knew how to live.’
Church ministers have spoken at length about heaven, and the infinite joy experienced by those who are lucky enough to go there. Toloki wonders if their joy is as great as the joy he is feeling now, sitting in front of their shack with Noria. The pleasant smell of cheap perfume envelopes them both. It is Toloki’s perfume, which he shared with her this morning.
Their conversation drifts to the village. They remember their childhood and their youth. Some memories are happy. Others are sad. But there is no bitterness in either of them. Sometimes they do not see things in the same way. For instance, at one stage. Noria says that Jwara was a great man, a great creator who was misunderstood. Toloki chooses not to comment on this. His views on the matter are very different, but why spoil the moment by bringing up contrary opinions about a past that is dead and buried forever?
‘I am sorry that I did not go to his funeral, at least to sing for him for the last time. Even now I feel that I still owe him one last song. Things will never be right for me until I have sung that song. One day, when I go back home I will visit his grave, and sing him his last song. Did you mourn at his funeral?’
‘No. I learnt of his death long after he had finished dying.’
‘I hear his dying was a long process.’
‘I heard from Nefolovhodwe that it took many years.’
‘The same Nefolovhodwe who pretended that he did not know you and your family? How did he come to discuss Jwara’s death with you?’
Toloki tells her that after he became an established Professional Mourner, he remembered his debt to Nefolovhodwe. The woman who was referred to as his wife had given him food. He had vowed that he was going to pay for it once he had the money, as he was not a beggar. He had told both Nefolovhodwe and the woman that he was going to pay back every cent’s worth of food that he ate at their house.
Toloki stood at Nefolovhodwe’s gate and rang the bell, summoning the security men to open for him. A guard came and demanded to know what he wanted. He told him that he had come to pay Nefolovhodwe his money. The guard phoned the great man and told him that there was a strange man called Toloki who wanted to pay him his money. He was led into the house.
He was introduced to a petite girl who was referred to as the great man’s wife. This one looked young enough to be his granddaughter. Toloki wondered what had happened to the leupa lizard, who had had a heart of gold under her painted exterior.
Nefolovhodwe was sitting at his usual desk, playing with his fleas. The room was different though. The walls were made of marble, and there were small onyx tombstones all around the room. The doors of the room were in the shape of gates made from giant pearls. They were obviously imitation pearls, since no oyster of such size could ever exist.
‘Welcome to the Pearly Gates, young man. I thought I was never going to see you again. What do you want this time? A job again?’
Toloki was surprised that the great man remembered him, since on the previous occasion he had proved to have such a short memory. He told him that he did not want a job. He had come to pay for all the food he had eaten in his house. At first Nefolovhodwe felt insulted, but then decided that Toloki must be mad. Perhaps poverty had gone to his head and loosened a few screws.
‘Why are you dressed like that?’
‘I am a Mourner.’
‘Are you mourning for your father?’
‘Is he dead?’
‘You mean you don’t even know that your father is dead?’
Then Nefolovhodwe told him of Jwara’s long process of dying. Toloki told him that he was not mourning for Jwara, as he did not even know that he was dead. He was a Professional Mourner who mourned for the nation, and was paid in return. Nefolovhodwe laughed. Toloki walked to his desk and dumped some bank notes on it. He had already determined how much the food he had eaten in that house had cost. Then he walked out with all the dignity he could muster.
‘Hey, you come back here, you ugly boy! Don’t you see that you have scared my fleas?’
But Toloki did not turn back. He proudly walked straight ahead, until he had left the premises of the man for whom he had lost all respect.
In the afternoon, Noria and Toloki go to Madimbhaza’s house. She says she wants to introduce him to this woman because she is the most important person in her life.
She is an old woman, this Madimbhaza. She lives in a two-roomed shack which is bigger than the usual settlement shack. Many children are playing in the mud outside. Some of the children are on crutches, and some have their legs in callipers. Her home is known by everyone as ‘the dumping ground’, since women who have unwanted babies dump them in front of her door at night. She feeds and clothes the children out of her measly monthly pension.
Madimbhaza used to work as a domestic servant in the city. She stopped working three months ago when her legs gave in as a result of arthritis. While she was working, Noria and one or two other women from the settlement used to look after the children. They were not paid any salary for this, since Madimbhaza could not have afforded it. Now that she is at home most of the time, the women, Noria in particular, still come every day to help her with the children. They bathe them, and help them dress. Then they feed them, and take those who have reached school-going age to the school that is made out of shipping containers.
‘So this is your young man that I hear people talking about so much, Noria.’
‘He is not my young man, Madimbhaza. He is my homeboy.’
Toloki shakes her hand. In his mind he sees the little Noria in a gymdress squeaking, ‘He’s not my brother!’ Madimbhaza says she is very happy to meet him, as she has heard so much about him.
Toloki learns that for the past fifteen years Madimbhaza has been taking care of abandoned children. She has often tried to find their biological parents, but usually without success. She says that some mothers have returned to collect their children because of pressure from God, but others have just forgotten about their babies. Some of the children were abandoned because they were born physically handicapped. Others were crippled by polio or other diseases at a later age, and their parents, unable to cope, also abandoned them at the dumping ground. The twilight mum, as Madimbhaza is called in the settlement and the nearby townships, is very proud of all her children.