Chapter 3 - The Papers on the Table
The roundhouse was practically empty.
There were no chairs.
No sleeping mats.
No cupboards or household decorations.
Only a small wooden table stood against the wall.
I glanced at Mthente.
He looked just as confused as I felt.
“Ma, where are the mats?”
His mother avoided his eyes.
“I'll get them.”
She walked outside.
I watched her disappear through the doorway.
“Maybe she's renovating,” I suggested.
Mthente didn't respond.
He slowly turned, studying the bare walls.
Something about his expression frightened me.
I moved toward the small table.
Several documents lay neatly arranged on its surface.
At first, I assumed they were household records or receipts.
Then I noticed a funeral insurance company's logo.
“Babe, are these your mother's funeral policies?”
Mthente turned immediately.
He picked up the documents and began reading.
His eyebrows drew together.
He checked the first page, then the second.
Then he went back to the beginning.
“Mthente?”
He didn't answer.
He looked around the empty room again.
“Why would she leave these here?”
I stepped closer.
“What is it?”
He swallowed.
“Something isn't right.”
He placed the documents on the table and headed toward the doorway.
“Ma!”
I followed him but stopped just inside the entrance.
His mother was standing several feet away, looking toward the distant hills.
“Ma, what is going on?”
She turned toward him.
“Didn't you read the papers?”
“Yes, but why are they here?”
She remained silent.
Mthente took a cautious step closer.
“Why did you clear the house?”
His mother slowly folded her arms.
“Everything must be ready.”
“Ready for what?”
She looked directly at him.
“My funeral.”
For several seconds, neither of them spoke.
Then Mthente shook his head.
“Ma, what are you talking about?”
“Sandiso is away. My funeral insurance is paid. Everything is arranged.”
His face tightened.
“Why would you prepare for your funeral when you're still alive?”
She stared at him without blinking.
“Because I'm tired.”
I felt a cold sensation spread through my chest.
Something was terribly wrong.
“Ma,” Mthente said carefully, “are you sick?”
She shook her head.
“I'm tired of waiting for the next phone call.”
“What phone call?”
“The one telling me what terrible thing you've done.”
Mthente looked down.
His mother's voice remained disturbingly calm.
“I've buried too many hopes because of you, Tusa.”
“Ma, please.”
“I've spent years being afraid of what you might do next.”
He raised his head.
“I'm trying to change.”
She ignored him.
“I called you because I wanted to see you one final time.”
Mthente went completely still.
“What do you mean, one final time?”
His mother took a slow breath.
“Do it, Tusa.”
He frowned.
“Do what?”
She looked at him with an expression I couldn't understand.
“End this suffering.”
His shoulders stiffened.
“Ma, don't say that.”
“I've made all the arrangements.”
He shook his head more firmly.
“Stop.”
But she continued.
“You know how to take a life. You've done it before.”
Mthente recoiled as though she'd struck him.
“Ma!”
“Take out your gun.”
His face drained of color.
I pressed one hand against the doorway.
Then Mthente spoke the words I would never forget.
“MA, I'M NOT GOING TO KILL YOU!”
May you like
And his mother answered with something even more devastating.
“You already killed me, Tusa. You just left me breathing.”
