Shrivelled Roses 2: Iyana Kleinbooi

38

Chapter Thirty-Eight

-Buhle-

The funny part was that earlier on he felt like he was overwhelmed by his own problems and he thought that the only person who could bring him back to his senses would be Mrs. Khumalo, u Buhle... it never crossed his mind that the tables would turn so quickly and he would be the one looking for flights to KZN because of her problems. Unfortunately for both of them, there were no flights to Durban, he either had to wait for the following day or drive down. So he called her back...

Buhle: Babak- oh sorry, Phathuxolo?

He ignored that slip of tongue and focused on the urgent matter at hand.

Phathu: There are no flights to KZN right now, the earliest is tomorrow morning at 9 am.

Buhle: Yho!

Phathu: Do you not think you should go home? Even if I drive down, that will be more than seven hours, and they will get there before me anyway.

She didn't respond. She was trying to think of another plan now.

Phathu: Buhlebenkosi?

Buhle: Okay, let me call dad...

Phathu: Thank you. Now, because I'll fly in tomorrow morning, should I come straight to your home? Or are we meeting elsewhere?

Buhle: They'll probably be at home too because dad won't just let this one go, and because bazong'fica ngingekho they will have to go home and talk to him. Just text me when you land.

Phathu: Okay. Keep me updated.

Buhle: Will do, thank you, for trying.

Phathu: Anything for the royal princess.

She giggled and hung up.

The gates to the yard were locked, she could hear people screaming, shouting and calling out her last name because not everyone knew her first name. She kept to herself... unless there was a ceremony to attend on behalf of the Khumalo family then she would just attend and work or just show face. She sat in one place, hearing the villagers calling anyone who cared to listen but she didn't move. Two houses were now down, and one of them belonged to the late Khumalo parents. It was one of those sacred rondavels that never got opened unless by one of the boys, it burnt down to ashes. Her phone rang, it was Kuriyata... she answered.

Buhle:

Kuriyata: WHAT THE FUCK IS WRONG WITH YOU???? WHAT THE FUCK ARE YOU DOING????

Buhle: Is that how you talk to Siyasisanda?

Kuriyata: Weh Buhlebenkosi, angiyona indoda yakho mina.

Buhle: Exactly, now stop talking to me like you fucken own me.

Kuriyata: Open the fucken gate right now.

Buhle: Jump over it.

He huffed, and cussed.

Kuriyata: FUCK BUHLE! THERE ARE PEOPLE OUTSIDE WHO WANT TO HELP AND PUT THE FUCKEN FIRE OUT! OPEN THE FUCKEN GATE.

Buhle: Tell them to jump.

Someone grabbed the phone, but it sounded like Kuriyata was fighting for it.

He spoke up again, meaning whoever had grabbed it didn't win.

Kuriyata: I'm going to say this once an-

Buhle: Your mother's rondavel just hit the floor... next is your flat.

Kuriyata: YOU BURNT MY MOTHER'S HOUSE? BITCH WHAT THE FUCK IS WRONG WITH YOU?

Buhle: Burning your mother's house is just a minor inconvenience to what you put me through. You can always rebuild it, I on the other hand will live the rest of my life surviving on therapy sessions.

He didn't respond, but someone took over.

Nairota: MaSheleza mntakwethu?

Buhle: Bhuti.

Nairota: Uyaphila kodwa?

She broke down.

It was the calmness in his voice that broke her, why couldn't the real perpetrator be like that? That calm? That remorseful? He gave her time to cry, once he heard silence from her end he spoke up again.

Nairota: Are you safe?

Buhle: I'm not sure anymore... how far are you?

Nairota: We're still very far. Don't you think you could open the gate and allow the villagers to put the fires out?

Buhle: I don't feel safe with so many people in my space bhuti... I don't know these people... can't you at least get the fire department instead?

Nairota: They won't hurt you... open the gate and just stay in the clear. They will do the work, don't go anywhere near the fire.

"WHY THE FUCK ARE YOU BEING NICE TO HER WHEN YOU KNOW FUCKEN DAMN WELL THAT SHE BURNT OUR HOME DOWN??? FUCK YOU NAIROTA! FUCK MAN!"

Buhle heard her rapist in the background.

Nairota: Uyezwa MaSheleza? Vula is'cabha mntakwethu bese uyahamba and find a safe spot to hide your head.

Buhle: Yebo bhuti.

Nairota: Sure, I'll call you again in two hours.

Buhle: Sure.

She hung up.

She quickly packed her clothes, threw the bag in the car and opened the main gate. People flooded in with buckets of water, others with hoses and not even one person batted an eye towards her as she drove out.

*********

-IYANA-

After days of not hearing from Clive, she gave herself pep talk whilst looking at her small bump.

"Uyayazi uzamile sthandwa sam, Zwelethu never loved you. You could have spared yourself the heartache the first time you found out about the marriage, you could have walked away, but you didn't. You had your reasons, which seem feeble at this very point but you loved that man to hell and back. Ayongxaki yakho ke eyokuba angakuthandi back, you did your part and he did his. Ilishwa ke lelokuba his part has had bad repercussions especially kuwe... kodwa ke yonke lonto iyaphela soon. Uzoba kwindawo where no heartache can find you, where no sorrow will know your address. Ungazisoli sisi, isono sakho sinye kukuthanda umntu ongalwaziyo othando"

She wiped her eyes, and walked out of her room.

Both her parents were in East London but not at home that very moment, the family had accepted the pregnancy even though Zwelethu hadn't responded regarding ukusiwa kwetyala. Her father was even excited to have a granddaughter because Iyana always referred to the baby as "her" instead of "he".

What they didn't know what that there wouldn't be "her" by the end of that week. She had already made peace with her decision, the most important part being that her child would be spared the hardships of life. She knew she was being selfish but it was something she had to do...

She took a deep breath as she got up to go and lock the garage door. Once that was done, she lit up a candle and wrote down three letters. She was numb, as emotional as the process of pouring her heart into written words would have been, at that very moment she felt nothing. No pain, no heartache, nothing. Even the baby in her belly wasn't kicking or making any movements, which she appreciated very much because any movement may have awoken her conscious.

When she was done, after an hour, she took her glass of whiskey and looked at the mixture of pills next to it and the rope that was already hanging above her head. There was no going back.