WASTED SOBRIETY

THE WEATHERMAN DID not say it would be hot on Monday. He said, "it will be partly cloudy and warm with isolated showers in the escarpment". Mahlomola didn't care much about the weather as he walked out of the living room and faced a cloudy sky with no isolated showers. As long as Wanderers Cricket Oval, 340 kilometres away in Johannesburg's suburb of Birnam, next to expensive Melrose was hot it served him well. He blinked, retreated back into the room and lounged on the sofa. Pakistan was playing India on at Wanderers and on television. The score was still 62/1. Mahlomola pushed off his sandals and relaxed. The electricity went off again, another interruption, the third one that morning. He took to his feet, angry and disappointed and proceeded to the kitchen to fix himself some Kool-Aid.
TWO BLOCKS AWAY the phone rang. Father Nicholas felt that it was disturbing him from watching television. Even though he was not really watching anything but sitting bored infront of the grey television set waiting for the electricity to supply to be fixed. It was soon on as his television signaled for him since he didn't turn it off when the outage occured. India was chasing Pakistan's target of 276. They were struggling at 101/2 on the 25th over. On the same over Pakistan were 123/1. It was his sister calling from Bloemfontein. Nicholas growled, excited, "of course she will be welcome. Been a long while since I last saw my favourite niece. She's now grown up right?" Nicholas's sister was informing him that her daughter, his niece had requested to visit him in Nelspruit where he headed a parish. He laughed and picked a branded pen from a pile of papers on the table, "ah you know what the lord said, 'the kingdom of heavens belongs to suchlike ones" he rattled. He peeped at the obscured TV set as he heard an appeal for a run out. India were 127/2.
"Yes, a bus will take forever, why don't you book her on the first plane flying out of there tomorrow morning?" he asked. He listened attentively then smiled, "Yeah of course, she will be here in say, one and a half hours' time and I will pick her at the airport". He put the handset ontop of a telephone directory and said with finality, "tell her, uncle Nicholas misses her too. Okay Sis, I will see her then. May God bless you"
THE GAME ENDED with Pakistan winning with six wickets. Mahlomola was now standing infront of a large mirror, applying finishing touches to his looks. He was dressed in an expensive pair of jeans, a mercerized T-shirt, a sporty and tekkies. He hung a gold necklace on his neck and a diamond bracelet to match. He stared at his reflection with narcissistic obsession, satisfactorily picked his wallet from the dressing table and made for the door.
THE OLD WOMAN did not understand why television news were suddenly dominated by cricket results. They were the first news item on the main news and even on the sports bulletin. For the first time since she liked TV she had never seen people being so enthusiastic about the outcome of a cricket match. Sitting on the sofa, busy knitting a scarf she only raised her head when Mahlomola appeared from the passage and sat next to her. His maternal grandmother. He picked the TV remote controller. She stared at him as he changed channels. "What now?" she asked.
"I want to watch some wrestling Ma"
"You still want to watch that violence Hlomo, what did I tell you bout God and sinners?" she asked. Mahlomola smiled, went ahead and switched channels regardless.
"I know what you told me Ma, but it's not violence, this is entertainment, these folks are only acting," he reasoned and gestured, "look at them Ma, look".
She was far from amused, she protested, "What has happened to good old entertainment of Mshefane and King Korn?"
"Huh Ma, you don't expect us, the X generation to enjoy Tarzan and The Ninjas. Ma give us some credit," Mahlomola responded, his eyes focused on a wrestling match.
She cautioned, "Now Ninjas are violent as well, including Tarzan, God does not like those things you know".
She paused, after a long silence Mahlomola retorted, "I know Ma, you taught me right okay, always remember that". She turned, looked at him with fondness. He blushed, she stroked his palm lightly. "Now, can I make you some tea Ma? Your favourite Rooibos with a slice of lemon"
"No, thanks Hlomo ngwanake, I've just had one right now. I think I'm coming down with flu, you know," she complained.
Soon, a hooter blurred from outside. She turned to look at Mahlomola suspiciously. He surrendered the remote controller and composed himself. "What is it now?" she enquired. Mahlomola took to his feet and peeped through the curtains. "Some friends Ma, don't worry"
"Don't tell me not to worry, I'm worried Mahlomola, since you came home from varsity you've been acting strangely and I'm worried about that", her concern was showing.
"Come on Ma, don't evoke your hypertension now, I'll be back in an hour or less, before you even notice that I'm gone. We're going to meet this guy who promised me some bursary from Eskom", he lied.
"Hlomo, do I look stupid to you? Bursary arrangement at half past eight. Why can't these friends of yours come in the house like everyone else?" The hooter intensified. Mahlomola made for the door. She stared at him with lots of concern. "Wait, where is it today?"
"What?" he enquired, thought hard and laughed. He reached into his T-shirt and pulled out a Rosary. "Ah, how can I forget my angel Ma. The Lord is my shepherd and I always carry him in my heart"
She was amused, "okay, take care Hlomo"
"I will, goodnight Ma". He disappeared into the darkness.
THE OLD MISSION house that Nicholas lived in stood proudly that morning. The only new thing around was the charcoal brown BMW sedan. In the kitchen Nicholas was preparing breakfast, pacing between the microoven and the stove, not saving ESKOM's electricity. The dietician advised him to follow a low fat diet with lots of fruits and gallons of mineral water.
WRESTLERS, BODYBUILDERS AND athletes made lots of money preaching the benefits of a balanced diet, coupled with an exercise regimen. They forgot to mention protein supplements and testestorone shots in the unholy trinity of diet and exercise. Mahlomola was not bothered. His exercise regimen of press-ups and stomach crunches worked well - with a balanced diet. No supplements, what with his natural testestorone. He was working out in his celebrity-poster-infested room when grandmother entered. He yielded, "morning Ma, how's the flu?" Silence.
"So, three o'clock in the morning was your one hour. You lied to me Hlomo", she spoke emphatically. He took to his feet, breathing heavily. He sat on the bed, "I'm sorry Ma, it took quite longer than I expected". She sensed an alien smell in his breath.
"Come here Hlomo, look me in the eyes", she demanded.
"Why Ma?"
"You even smoke dagga these days you. Look at your eyes, bloodshot and weary. Come, let me smell your palms", she said, approaching him.
"Me dagga, no Ma, it's not true"
MAHLOMOLA SUDDENLY REMEMBERED the night before. He was leaning with a red BMW at a street bash. Mathata, with whom he was bingeing, had suddenly passed him a zol. He took it, inhaled hard until he coughed. His friends laughed. Hard.
"AAGH HLOMO, I thought as much. Why do you have to destroy your life like this", grandmother enquired while throwing up after picking the smell of marijuana on Mahlomola's fingers.
"I don't know Ma, it's just that when they took away my student grant…", he paused, stared at her, "mama I'm sorry". She stared at the Rosary that was dangling on his well-developed chest.
"Agghh Hlomo, you disappointed me. Bring that cross, you'll get it back when you decide to be a child of God. I can't believe you smoked while the son was painfully crucified on your chest", she demanded. Mahlomola held on to it for dear life, he was reluctant to surrender his angel to her. "Mama please, don't take it away from me, the Lord is my shepherd ma"
"You broke my heart Hlomo, come, give it to me". He protested. He really regarded it as his guardian angel. "Mama it's just that I put all my trust in this degree," he pointed to scores of books lying open on his bed. "I think it's unfair that education should only be for children of the rich. I planned to make this work Ma, finally take you out of here and settle you in town. Mama you didn't have to still be here. We didn't have to live like this Ma. I'm not a criminal, I don't need to hustle, I didn't need to be a drop out Ma, just because rich people saw the potential in me and decided to sabotage me. This is not how to stand in the way of a man's destiny. Tell me Ma, why did they give me the student grant in the first place?" She was touched.
"I can't answer that but you should learn to leave these things to God my son". He interjected.
"No Ma, I've been leaving things to God since I was six and what happened? I'm still your Hlomo. You are a pensioner Ma. Do you think I feel good expecting you to feed me, clothe and give me pocket money all the time?"
"Don't talk like you mother Hlomo"
"I guess my mother was right, she got tired of asking from you and God who I doubt He listens to our prayers, she took things into her own hands…"
"Got AIDS and died?" grandmother interjected. Mahlomola slowly removed the Rosary and handed it to grandmother. He took to his feet, put on a T-shirt and frowned, "yes, got AIDS and died. She died for something right? If I die now what will I be dying for? Faith. Well, it's not worth dying for Ma", he whispered, made for the door and exited. "I'll see you later Ma," he shouted.
"There's a Thursday prayer today, come with me Hlomo and share your problems with Him." she responded.
"Pray for me Ma", he shouted. She gazed at the repossessed Rosary with interest.
NICHOLAS LIKED TO hang a Rosary on his BMW's rearview mirror. He was prejudiced and only played gospel music on his car stereo. He despised how young men in his township of Kanyamazane drove their cars like maniacs. As he had come to expect, an old red BMW drove past his at high speed just as he negotiated a speed hump. Drunken young men were hanging from its windows, playing a kwaito CD at high volume. He reminisced about how he came to have Kanyamazane as part of his parish. All the priests were reluctant to relocate to Kanyamazane, a crime hot spot, a Presidential node. He surprised everybody at the crisis meeting where they had to elect when he offered to go without coercion or a mandate from the majority. He had said, "God's flock is being held hostage by the organs of the devil at our parish. With the very same vigor that Apostles Peter and Paul preached to the Gentiles, I today declare, 'here am I Lord, send me". The other priests had clapped their hands and gave him a standing ovation. He smiled when he reminisced about that time.
THE NEWSPAPER VENDOR at the airport who was shouting 'Daily Sun!' even though he did not have it held another newspaper up high, "INDIA STUMPED", a headline which fascinated Nicholas. He bought it, drove slowly, found a spot and parked his car next to the parking meter.
AT THE CARWASH Mahlomola and friends downed 750 milliliters of beer while Sol's old red BMW was receiving attention from two young boys. The group was also passing zol around each other. Three girls in mini skirts, who seemed to love red ghetto-synonymous BMWs came through. They also received attention and cellphone numbers. Mahlomola was unlucky.
"Hlomza, tell them you are a varsity drop out. That you belong to a very exclusive elite class of guys like Phat Joe and…" Thapelo was stuck.
"And who?" Mahlomola asked angrily. "My tragedy is not something to joke about. I'm still trying to get money, go back there and learn".
Sol put down the bottle, "what were you studying for Hlomza, lawyer, gynecologist, pharmacist?"
"Must be gynecologist, he loves nudity, my friend", Thapelo spoke. Mahlomola looked at him angrily. "Don't talk about shit you don't know. When I was little I wanted to be a gynecologist. But looking at it now, I would have dropped out after my first practical", he responded, out of context. Sol repeated the question.
"I don't remember, this beer is playing tricks on me. My brain is swimming in alcohol these days", he fumbled. He then saw a group of women walking along the street. "Thaps, hide the joint, adults are coming this way"
"Ah fuck, none of them is my mother, they won't do shit"
"Okay, bring it here", Mahlomola demanded the zol, Thapelo gave him, he stubbed it out.
"You, you can't always charm these fat ladies by behaving in some goody-goody way", Thapelo paused, "I tell you, that fat one who looks like a frog, she got more sins than all of us"
"Shut up, I'm telling you for the last time now, don' talk shit you don't know".
THE BOYS WASHING Sol's BMW suddenly complained to him that the hoover machine was off because the electricity supply had been interrupted. "It's your uncles, izinyoka, always stealing the wires. I'm not going to pay you if it's not cleaned", Sol shouted.
"But my uncle is a policeman"
"Yeah he should have arrested these izinyoka a long time ago, he's taking bribes that's why"
Mahlomola took to his feet and volunteered to check what the problem was. He switched it off and on. Still no power supply. He went back and sat down. Soon the power supply was back and the boys continued hoovering the car, smiling broadly.
TWO MINUTES LATER, Thapelo picked up his argument with Mahlomola. "But Hlomza Joe, that old lady is the chief of backstreet abortions."
Sol interfered, "come on gents, let's not playerhate now. Respect adults and your days will multiply"
"Hallelujah!" Thapelo yawned. "What? Playerhating? Who's a player amongst those bible-cradling haters? Okay, that granny there is one hell of a gossipmonger. You see, her goggles are magnifying glasses. I tell you, she sees bigger than us. Radio Gogo. She's a scorpion".
Mahlomola angrily took to his feet, holding the beer bottle, "now that's my granny and nobody talks shit about her, hear me?"
"I'm sorry Joe, hard luck bra", Thapelo said, rubbing his palms together. Mahlomola sat down and took a sip.
A minute later silence died, "Hlomza Joe, all of a sudden you behaving like some pussy, you become deep and caring just to charm these mamas. You aren't deep Joe, you are as shallow as us. You can act deep like a whore but as long as you don't grip and sweet you ain't shit. You ain't shit"
The testestorone in him responded and Mahlomola turned aggressively, violently landing a full bottle of beer on Thapelo's head, breaking and lacerating him in the process. Sol and Mathata struggled to break the fight. Thapelo, seeing blood flowing down his face reached for an empty beer bottle and threw it to Mahlomola who ducked just in time for the bottle to land on the red BMW. Silence. Sol went to inspect his car. The boys who were washing it stood by with their buckets. Sol ran his palm on the surface and felt a dent. He turned to Thapelo. "You didn't just inflict my car its first dent mfana, no you didn’t"
"Agghh, don't act like you bought it or something", he reasoned.
"I'm not the one who said your family must be poor", Sol retorted.
STARTERS WERE SUDDENLY served, boiled chicken livers with hot peri-peri sauce. Nicholas and his niece Lesego loved everything hot. "Look at you, you've grown. By the way how are you mchana?"
"I'm fine Malome, you look a little older from the last time you visited us"
"Ah, are you saying I should apply for pension now?" Nicholas joked, she nodded. "I'm older than your mom you know. By the way, how is my sister doing?"
"Ah, she's as mean as ever, since Papa was transferred to Dar es Salaam, she's been whinging"
"Ah my poor Sis, is she okay anyway?" he asked. Lesego nodded while dipping her fork in the hot sauce.
ONE-HOUR LATER Nicholas and Lesego were driving towards the township. Lesego, reading a magazine while Nicholas hummed a song. Five minutes away from Kanyamazane at Tekwane South Lesego saw a bleeding man hiking for a lift. She requested Nicholas to help. He stopped, settled the man in the back seat of his charcoal brown BMW and took a U-turn to the hospital in Nelspruit. "What's your name son?" Nicholas enquired.
"Thapelo Moloto"
"What happened Thapelo?"
"I fell from a coal truck, the driver sped off"
"Maybe he did not see you", Nicholas said. Thapelo was grimacing in pain.
Lesego spoke, "Malome is right, he did not see you". Silence.
"Do you know what your name means Thapelo?"
"Yes, prayer"
AT 21HO6 THAT night Nicholas' BMW parked infront of a house in the township. He killed the engine. Thapelo was sitting in the back seat, his head heavily bandaged. Nicholas turned to look at him. "Be good Thapelo, and thank this young girl. She's the one who saw you after I had passed you in obvious rush". Thapelo shook Lesego's hand. "Thank you. And your name is?"
"Lesego, he is my uncle"
"Thank you again Malome, thank you" he said, took some advice from Nicholas then exited the car.
"God bless you son," Nicholas said.
MAHLOMOLA WAS HELPING his grandmother prepare dinner. She commended him. He was taken aback. "I saw you working at that car wash today, who owns it?"
"I was just helping out Ma. So you saw me?"
"Yes, and MaKhumalo was impressed with you. You are not like these other boys who spend their days smoking and drinking. At least you learnt something from your mishap of last night. It will be soon before you earn your cross back Hlomo", she proudly echoed. He apologised for his earlier behaviour, she said it was understood. He reasoned that there was no excuse for it. She sat down and held his free hand.
"We learn from our mistakes Hlomo, don’t be too hard on yourself. Plus some mail came for you today", she said. Mahlomola hurriedly took to his feet, wiped his hands with his T-shirt. "Where is it, where did it come from, Eskom?" The power supply went off.
"Another outage?"
"No, must be izinyoka. I think they cut the copper wire"
"Could it be, it can't be hear since we bought topped up on Tuesday". Suddenly the power was back again. He looked for the mail, it was ontop of the fridge. He reached for them. Timid.
NICHOLAS AND LESEGO were up early to prepare breakfast. He had confessions to take later on the day. "You know Lesego ngwanake, when me and your mom were still little she used to say I can't cook but now you are my witness"
"Who taught you to cook Malome?"
"Your grandfather. Now I'm a three star chef"
"If yesterday's dinner was anything to go by, I'm schooling here next year." Silence. Nicholas was concerned. "Not in this township, kind of rough here. Somewhere in town, yes", he paused. "And your mom will crucify me for making you fat with my high cholesterol meals"
"I can never be too fat Malome, I inherited your figure". They laughed hard until Nicholas coughed. "Which reminds me, I bought you something. Stay here". He disappeared down the passage. In his absence Lesego gazed at their photo, shot some time ago, pasted on the refrigerator door. He was soon back with a parcel. A gold Rosary which he took the pleasure of putting around her neck. Lesego blushed. "Thank you Malome"
"God bless you ngwanake."
MAHLOMOLA WAS ON his way to the library when the red BMW stopped next to him. Sol jerked the window, "Hlomza, did you see Thaps today?"
"I've seen a lot of whores mzala, but none with that name"
"Maybe he bled and died you know. And you might be up for murder", Mathata joked.
"Bitches bleed every month and don't die, why should he?" Sol stared at Mahlomola's books suspiciously. "And what about those books? What's the scam, 419?"
"Nothing, see you later gents", Mahlomola teased and retreated.
"Us, it's Black Labour 'til we die, let the Whites feel the Guilt", Mathata shouted, raising a beer bottle. They drove off.
TOPLESS THAPELO GENTLY navigated his facecloth through his face's twelve stitches. After successfully wiping it dry he went to the mirror, looked at them, touched them, grimacing. Paining.
FATHER NICHOLAS SAT in the confession box, waiting for a voice from the other side. He yawned. Suddenly, "Bless me Father for I have sinned"
"When was your last confession my child?"
"Long long ago, I can't quite remember"
"Have you been making prayers since your last one?"
"Yeah, I talk to Him sometimes"
"In the name of the Father, the Son and the Holy Ghost you will be forgiven. You should understand that your confession must not be a cosmetic exercise to cleanse you of guilt. You also know that it does not cleanse sins. It must be preceded by repentence if it is going to be received with grace. Now what did you do?"
"A sin of the flesh Father"
"Adultery?"
"Yes"
"Okay, let's hear it. Confess to the Lord your trespasses my son", he said.

"TODAY ON RICKY Lake," greeted thirteen-year-old Lesego as she turned on the TV to watch boring midday soaps. She wasn't watching though but busy perusing her uncle's photo album. What fascinated her most were portraits he took with her, at her first birthday, christening and her first day at school. She gazed at them and smiled alone. She loved him.
A FEW BLOCKS away Mahlomola's bespectacled grandmother was studying the Bible. Like Lesego, she also had a framed portrait of innocent-six-year-old Mahlomola on the coffee table.
THAPELO'S MENTALLY DISTURBED and paraplegic mother received a disability grant, which his unemployed-alcoholic father spent with friends at the shebeen. He exhausted his wife's money, that is if he was not recycling stolen copper-wire at Recycle To Live run by a fat round Afrikaner from Ventersdorp, otherwise called 'Vito Terreblanche' or 'Boer Mafia'. Thapelo strolled in to find her passively watching Ricky Lake. He told her that he went to church and confessed and that he was leaving for Kwazulu-Natal.
"Tell your aunt I said hi", she retorted with sarcasm.
"Ma, I'm not coming back," he shouted. She stared at him then continued watching TV. Soon his drunken father staggered in and stared at him with annoyance. Drunk. "Tell you father what you told me," she mused. Thapelo knew him well. The father waited. She waited in anticipation too. "Tell him, say it and get whacked", she shouted. Thapelo painfully looked at both of them and left the living room.
THE FOLLOWING MORNING Thapelo, cradling his beloved baseball bat and a suitcase walked down the street. At a corner, next to a collapsed but working ESKOM line the red BMW was stationary, with Mahlomola and friends gulping beer and smoking zol. Thapelo noticed them and slowed down, stared and filed past. Silence. A taxi came and whisked him away.
***************
TWENTY-ONE DAYS since Pakistan humiliated India a tearful Father Nicholas paced restlessly inside his office. He was sobbing. A day earlier the saints at his church gave evidence in a criminal investigation. The suspect-congregation was summoned to give clarity in a child kidnapping and raping case. What happened was that the victim was Lesego.
"My beloved niece Lord", he passionately echoed, clutching a framed photo of Lesego and himself. He smiled, a painful smile, an old man's sarcastic smile, "for Mary, mother of God's sake she's only thirteen, thirteen Lord". He cried hard, sounding as if he wanted to say 'or did you forget Lord?'. "Lord forgive me, I can't forgive". He suddenly left the portrait on his desk and headed for the confession box.
IT DIDN'T TAKE time for the first sinner to arrive. Barely forty-five seconds in the box a voice humbly echoed. "Bless me Father for I have sinned"
"In the name of the Father, the Son and the Holy Ghost you will be forgiven. When was your last confession my child?"
"I don't quite remember Father, but I'm just here to confess my new sins"
"Is it okay if we set the ground rules first Father?"
"Can you be clearer and more precise on what you mean my son?"
"I mean is it true what I heard that every sin confessed in this box is guaranteed forgiveness?"
"Yes, as long as your confession is followed by whole hearted repentance my son"
"Is it also true that what is said here is confidential, that the only people who have access to such a secret is you, me and the other father, I mean the man upstairs?"
"That's also true my son"
After a long sigh. "See Father, the thing with me is that I was raised religious, and believes in the redeeming power of Jesus Christ’s sacrifice. But then father is it also true that what I say in this box today can never be held against me in any court of law?"
"Yes, it cannot be accepted as evidence"
"It will be considered technical in a court, what I say I mean?"
"Inadmissible "
"So, there is some justice left in this world?"
"Yes son"
Breathes heavily, "Then father here's one last question. This is not like the TRC heh, where full disclosure might mean either retribution or forgiveness? I mean this here is forgiveness guaranteed heh?"
"Yes, my son"
"Do you read the newspapers father?"
"Yes, why?"
"Do you remember that pregnant woman who was stabbed to death with a piece of bottle last week? So, is it safe for me to assume that her killers might have come here to confess their sins and were forgiven?"
"Yes, possibly my son"
The sinner gets angry, "I would never have forgiven that son of a bitch Father, I guess that's miscarriage of justice on the part of the Lord. Would you have forgiven them Father?"
FATHER NICHOLAS SUDDENLY remembered when he was leaning with his car at the airport, waiting for Lesego to come through the domestic arrivals. When all of a sudden he saw her at the very same time that she was also noticing him, Lesego drops her bags and rushes to him. He rushes to meet her, hugs and lifts her to the air. He tightly holds her, kissing her on her cheeks.
HE FROWNS, "I guess so, yes"
"Again Father, even the sons of bitches who killed that old man for his R750 pension last week, the one who hemorrhaged and whose blood later dried on the pavement, they might have come here and begged for forgiveness and received redemption, which means possible salvation?"
"Possibly, yes, my son". A a long silence.
"Finally Father, are you sure that when I walk out of here I'll be redeemed?"
"Most certainly my son"
"I don't believe this, this is way beyond my expectations. Do you mean that I walk out of here, I happen to die, I’m going straight to heaven, no visa, no aptitude test, nothing? Wow, God is great."
"What did you do my son?"
"Father, I don't know where to start. I sin a lot and confess a little these days. But then I'll start with my latest sin, it's something I didn't do alone. That's why I'm here on behalf of me, my boys and everybody I've led astray in the past. I hope I can find favour in the Lord's eyes and get my trespasses forgiven. They will be forgiven father, won't they?"
"You most certainly will my son"
After much silence, the sinner's shaking voice confessed, "Father the thing is, yesterday me and my boys abducted and raped a young girl". A pregnant silence. A pen fell from Father Nicholas’ hand, a church bell sounded once. Darkness befell the confession box as the electricity supply got interrupted, again. It was soon back. A column of pigeons flies away hastily as the church bell sounds.
"Father, are you still there?"
"Yes, my son I'm still here, tell me what happened?"
"It was this Sunday, yesterday when this young chick rolled down the street, I guess she was like late for Passover or something. Me and my boys jack rolled her to this run down building with no ownership outside the township. It used to belong to that man who died of TB last year, but now it's our fuck-house, excuse my language. So father, we took this young whore there".
"Then what happened my son?"
"Like it's a ritual at the fuck-house, she had to first blow four horns until they sprayed her cheese soft face with nectar to swallow, then we took turns sexing her. She was crying and bleeding profusely, but it doesn't matter does it, we all bleed sometimes in our lives for no apparent reason. After we were through with her we drove her to this isolated spot and left her there", the sinner spoke in a relaxed mood.
The Father became emotional, "What happened to her now son?", he paused. After a long pause he repeated the question, "What happened to her from there?"
After a long silence, "I don't know, and I don't care. What I know is that I need forgiveness. Is it granted father?"
The church tocsin sounded again, this time for no reason, "In the name of the Father, the Son and the Holy Ghost, you are forgiven my son"
"Really, it’s this simple, can I go now father? Am I really forgiven that I can walk out of here and turn a new leaf in my life?"
"Yes, you are forgiven my son"
"So, it's safe, I can bounce out of here and tell my boys that we are redeemed, through the blood of Jesus Christ our Lord and Saviour?"
"Thank you Father, May God bless you too and your family"
"You too my son"
SECONDS LATER THE sinner stands on the stairs and kisses his Rosary, relieved. He puts on his sporty and reaches for a cigarette. He finds one, searches for matches, finds it and torches, the first match blazes then blows out before the filter catches the fire. He strikes another one, it blazes, then he inhales the smoke hungryly. As he exhales a bullet comes from nowhere and punctures his chest. He never heard the sound - a bad sign. He clutches his chest, blood flows, his face twists in an expression of disbelief, anger and an unforgiving frown. Suddenly he coughs, thick blood. He involuntarily kneels on the steps, collapses and dies. Mahlomola was lost. Forever.
-ends-
Translation: mfana - boy
Mchana - niece/nephew
Malome - uncle
Ngwanake - my child
Mzala - cousin

By: Goodenough Mashego