The Heart of Redness: A Novel (29 page)

“Why would I do that? I don’t need that demented man in my homestead!”

“You would do it to spite me, wouldn’t you? To make a laughing-stock of the house of Ximiya! Yes, to spite us! In the same way that you influenced the abaThwa to take their dance away!”

While the younger members of the audience find this commotion exciting, the older ones are shocked. Xoliswa Ximiya is clearly ashamed of her father’s outburst. So is NoPetticoat, who stands frozen on the stage, in the midst of her fellow choristers.

The chairman is ringing the bell and shouting, “This is a concert, gentlemen. Money talks. If you have anything to say to anybody, you
come to the table and buy. You don’t just exchange words among your-selves like that!”

“Just tell this Bhonco to leave me alone,” says Zim. “I have nothing to do with what has happened here. I have nothing to do with the abaThwa taking their dance either, although it serves him right!”

“Money talks! Not just your mouth! Not just empty words! It is money that talks at a concert!” shouts the chairman.

At last there is calm. The concert resumes. The choir from the Blue Flamingo Hotel sings another izitibiri song.

The bell rings. The music stops.

“Tat’uZim is buying, ladies and gentlemen,” announces the chairman. “He says this choir from the hotel washes his heart. Its music is like the music of the angels. But there is something missing somewhere there. Ululation! Such beautiful music must be accompanied by ululation. With his ten rand he buys NoPetticoat to ululate from now right up to the end of the concert.”

This would have been great fun if it had not come from Zim. But now no one takes kindly to it. NoPetticoat has no choice but to ululate. At first she enjoys ululating and prancing about. But by the third song she is exhausted. Bhonco goes to the table and buys with eleven rand that his wife should stop ululating. But Zim buys with twelve rand that NoPetticoat should ululate for the rest of the concert. Bhonco has run out of money, but Xoliswa Ximiya gives him some more. She is furious that her mother has been turned into a “bioscope.”

It seems that Zim has come prepared. His rock-rabbit-skin bag is full of money. He keeps on buying NoPetticoat back on the stage whenever Bhonco buys her off the stage. The stakes have now risen to one hundred rand. The Ximiya family has run out of money and cannot buy anymore. People are exclaiming that the vindictive Zim is finishing all his nkamnkam or old-age-pension money on a concert.

NoPetticoat ululates. Choirs come and go. NoPetticoat ululates for all of them. By the end of the concert her voice is gone. It became hoarse and then disappeared. The villagers are angry that Zim has spoiled the concert, but there is nothing they can do about it. It is only money that talks at a concert.

This does not sit well with Bhonco, son of Ximiya. He challenges Zim to a stick fight. “Let’s see if money will buy you out of a duel,” he says. “You have made a fool of my family and you must pay for it.
Uzidla ngemali
—money has made you too proud!”

But Dalton, ever the water that extinguishes wildfires, talks them out of the fight. The law has no mercy on people who engage in such foolish activities. They may find themselves in jail, he warns them.

The following days Bhonco plans a different type of vengeance. He tells the gathering of the elders of the Unbelievers, “Since this Believer loves ululation so much, I am going to engage a group of
abayiyizeli
, the ululants, to ululate for him.”

Abayiyizeli are women who take their ululation seriously. They look forward to those occasions when they are needed to ululate. When Bhonco engages them, they take to their task with gusto. They ululate outside Zim’s homestead during those serious moments when he is resting under his giant wild fig tree, in the company of his amahobohobo weaverbirds. They know that he loves to have a siesta after midday meals. They choose that very moment to pierce his eardrums with the sharpest possible ululation. At first he ignores them. He thinks they will ultimately get tired of it. But they never do. Instead they mobilize more ululants to work in shifts at all hours.

Soon things develop to the extent that the abayiyizeli ululate every time they see Zim. They follow him through the village ululating. Even young girls who were not part of the original group of ululants ululate when they see him. Female passersby stop whatever they are doing to ululate whenever he approaches.

Zim does not know what to do about this. He goes to Chief Xikixa, but the chief is powerless. When the ululants are summoned before him, they claim that they are innocent people who enjoy ululating along village pathways. And this is not against the law in the new and democratic South Africa.

Finally Zim gets his revenge. He sends
ing’ang’ane
birds, the hadedah ibis, to laugh at Bhonco. They are drab gray, stubby-legged birds with metallic green or purple wings. Three or four birds follow
him wherever he goes, emitting their rude laughter. They sit on the roof of his ixande house, and continue laughing.

There is a feeling that things are getting out of hand. There is talk in the village that the war of the Believers and Unbelievers has advanced beyond human prowess. It is rumored that Bhonco is about to enlist the assistance of the
uthekwane
, the brown hammerhead bird. With its lightning it will destroy Zim’s fields, or perhaps his homestead. But some people laugh the whole matter off. They say it is an empty threat. Bhonco does not know how to talk with birds. Only Zim can talk with birds. Yet others feel that it is a shame that these elders have now stooped to the level of sending such innocent creatures as birds to battle on their behalf.

While these battles are going on, Camagu is hiding in his sea cottage. He is ashamed to show his face in public. Days pass. He cannot even venture to Vulindlela Trading Store. He hears about the quarrel that is threatening to swallow the whole community from NoGiant and MamCirha when they come to work. They tell him of the ululation that happened at the concert, and its consequences. They beg him to go and talk with the elders, to convince them to stop destroying each other this way. The women think that the elders will listen to him. But Camagu does not think so. He believes that after his behavior at the concert he has lost their respect.

One day he gets a surprise visit from John Dalton. He says they need to bury their differences because there are greater things at stake. The developers are coming to hold a public meeting with the villagers, to explain their plans to turn Qolorha-by-Sea into a tourist paradise. Dalton will not be able to attend this imbhizo because he is going to Ficksburg in the Free State on an urgent family matter. He has come to ask Camagu to attend the meeting because it is important that someone should be there who will be able to articulate the view of those villagers who are opposed to the tourist paradise as envisaged by the developers.

“It is good that you want us to bury our differences,” says Camagu. “I never had any differences with you in the first place. I merely
expressed a different point of view about the water project. . . after you had solicited my opinion.”

“Okay, maybe it was childish of me to take it personally,” admits Dalton, “but let’s talk about this imbhizo. Will you be able to attend?”

“Who will listen to me after what I did at the concert?”

Dalton laughs.

“I don’t know what came over you,” he says. “But this meeting is important. The whole future of the village depends on it. We cannot let your personal problems—”

“Okay, okay, I will go.”

The developers, two bald white men and a young black man, come early on a Saturday morning and insist that the meeting be held at the lagoon so that they can demonstrate their grand plans for the village. The young black man is introduced as Lefa Leballo, the new chief executive officer of the black empowerment company that is going to develop the village into a tourist heaven. He looks very handsome in his navy-blue suit, blue shirt, and colorful tie. The two elderly white men—both in black suits—are Mr. Smith and Mr. Jones. They were chief executive and chairman of the company before they sold the majority shares to black empowerment consortia. Now they act as consultants for the company.

Most of the villagers have gathered. When Camagu arrives they titter and point fingers him. He walks defiantly to the front, and to his consternation he finds himself standing next to the teachers of Qolorha-by-Sea Secondary School. Xoliswa Ximiya just looks forward and pretends that he does not exist. The history teacher who was the chairman at the concert smiles at him. He smiles back.

His eyes search for Bhonco, the most vocal supporter of the holiday resort project. There he is, surrounded by his supporters. The hadedah ibises have given him some respite and are no longer mocking him with their laughter. The abayiyizeli, the ululants, have also taken a break from slashing Zim’s eardrums with their razor-sharp ululation, and have assumed the role of ordinary citizens. Zim sits with his daughter and a few supporters. Both elders look tired and drained.

After the chief has introduced the visitors, Lefa Leballo makes a brief speech. He tells the villagers how lucky they are to be living in a
new and democratic South Africa where the key word is transparency. In the bad old days such projects would be done without consulting them at all. So, in the same spirit in which the government has respected them by consulting them, they must also show respect to these important visitors, by not voicing the objections that he heard some of the villagers were having about a project of such national importance. He then gives the floor to Mr. Smith.

Mr. Smith talks of the wonders that will happen at Qolorha-by-Sea. There will be boats and waterskiing and jetskiing. People from across the seas will ride the waves in a sport called surfing. This place will be particularly good for that because the sea is rough most of the time. Surfing will be a challenge. There will be merry-go-rounds for the children, and rides that go up to the sky. Rides that twist and turn while the riders scream in ecstatic fright.

“Right here,” says Mr. Smith, “we shall see the biggest and most daring rides of all roller coasters in the world . . . over the rough sea. This will be the place for roller coaster enthusiasts who spend their lives traveling the world in search of the biggest and most daring rides.”

Bhonco and his supporters applaud. Except for people like Xoliswa Ximiya, none of them have seen a roller coaster before. But it does not matter. If it is something that brings civilization, then it is good for Qolorha.

“That is not all, my dear friends,” says Mr. Smith excitedly. “We are going to have cable cars too. Cable cars shall move across the water from one end of the lagoon to the other.”

“These are wonderful things,” says Bhonco. “But I am suspicious of this matter of riding the waves. The new people that were prophesied by the false prophet, Nongqawuse, were supposed to come riding on the waves too.”

Lefa Leballo explains that this has nothing to do with old superstitions. This riding of the waves is a sport that civilized people do in advanced countries and even here in South Africa, in cities like Durban and Cape Town. But the waves here are more suited to the sport than the waves of other big cities in South Africa. The waves here are big and wild.

Lefa Leballo then interprets Bhonco’s concerns to the consultants. They find this rather funny and laugh for a long time. The villagers join in the laughter too.

But Camagu is not impressed.

“You talk of all these rides and all these wonderful things,” he says, “but for whose benefit are they? What will these villagers who are sitting here get from all these things? Will their children ride on those merry-go-rounds and roller coasters? On those cable cars and boats? Of course not! They will not have any money to pay for these things. These things will be enjoyed only by rich people who will come here and pollute our rivers and our ocean.”

“Who are you to talk for the people of Qolorha?” asks Bhonco. “You talk of our rivers and our ocean. Since when do you belong here? Or do you think just because you run after daughters of Believers, that gives you the right to think you belong here?”

“Hey you, Bhonco! If you know what is good for you, you will leave my child out of this!” shouts Zim. “She did not invite that stupid man to follow her. Today this son of Cesane is talking a lot of sense. This son of Cesane is right. They will destroy our trees and the plants of our forefathers for nothing. We, the people of Qolorha, will not gain anything from this.”

“You will get jobs,” says Lefa Leballo desperately. Then he looks at Camagu pleadingly. “Please don’t talk these people against a project of such national importance.”

“It is of national importance only to your company and shareholders, not to these people!” yells Camagu. “Jobs? Bah! They will lose more than they will gain from jobs. I tell you, people of Qolorha, these visitors arc interested only in profits for their company. This sea will no longer belong to you. You will have to pay to use it.”

“He has been put up to this by that white man, Dalton,” says Bhonco. “He is Dalton’s stooge. Dalton is hiding himself and has sent this man here because he has a black face. Dalton wants us to remain in the darkness of our fathers so that he can grab our land as his fathers did before him.”

“You are a liar, Bhonco!” cries Zim. “You lie even in the middle of
the night. This young man is talking common sense from his own brain. It has nothing to do with Dalton.”

“You have nothing to offer these people,” says Mr. Jones to Camagu. “If you fight against these wonderful developments, what do you have to offer in their place?”

“The promotion of the kind of tourism that will benefit the people, that will not destroy indigenous forests, that will not bring hordes of people who will pollute the rivers and drive away the birds.”

“That is just a dream,” shouts Lefa Leballo. “There is no such tourism.”

“We can work it out, people of Qolorha,” appeals Camagu. “We can sit down and plan it. There are many people out there who enjoy communing with unspoiled nature.”