THEME: KNOCK YOURSELF OUT
TITLE: THE FRUITS OF UNGRATEFULNESS
Written by Isaac Tlaka
“Two rand scone! One rand fat cake! Two rand scone! One rand fat cake!”
That’s the shouting everyone who frequented Jane Furse Taxi Rank was familiar with; the shouting from the hawker as he tirelessly advertised his products to taxi drivers and commuters.
Bohlale started that business five months after his parents were laid to rest. His parents died from a lightning strike while they were collecting firewood in the nearby bushes. They had seen a heavy rain developing, but they took it lightly, thinking that by the time it started raining, they would already have left the bushes and taken shelter in their house. Unfortunately, that developing heavy rain sent a lightning that claimed their lives on the spot.
The fact that Bohlale had lost those whom he depended on compelled him to drop out of Grade 11 with the intention of starting something out of which he could make a living. That was the decision to which he had come after he had declined to be fostered by some of his relatives. What he wanted was to fend for himself. Because his parents never had a stable income, there was no money they had left him with when they departed this earth. The only thing he had inherited from them was a modest four-roomed house for which he was grateful.
‘At least, my parents have left me with a house in which I can take shelter. This is way better than nothing,’ he would console himself.
To survive, he did odd jobs in his village, odd jobs that included cleaning yards and making bricks. Those odd jobs gave birth to his business, which was in its fifth year of operation when he met Precious, a young lady who one day approached him as a customer. Just like Bohlale, Precious hailed from a disadvantaged background. Out of all young ladies who had been approaching Bohlale as customers, Precious remained the only young lady in whom Bohlale had taken interest.
At first, Precious played hard to get, which was something Bohlale had taken notice of. So no wonder he didn’t give up; he rather remained patient until the right time for Precious to let him in came, and their relationship didn’t take long to blossom.
Later that same year in which they became lovers, on a Sunday when Precious paid Bohlale a visit, she asked him if he was serious about what he had said to her two days earlier when they spoke on the phone.
“I was dead serious, my queen. I want to make you my official wife. I can start by paying lobola before the end of this year, and then as time progress, we can arrange a wedding. A white wedding,” Bohlale’s reply was sincere.
“Don’t you think it’s too quick, my love? I mean, we are still young and don’t wholly know each other that well to can get married. So I suggest we take one step at a time. Plus, I’m eager to study radiography. Although my parents don’t have money to secure me an opportunity to study that course, I’m optimistic that one day things will go well.”
For a moment, Bohlale looked down, his forehead thrust in his left palm. He was probably giving a careful thought to what Precious had just said to him. He raised his head and looked into Precious’ face.
“How much does that course require? Perhaps I can contribute.” As someone who trusted his pockets, Bohlale was quite sure he could contribute to what Precious was eager to study. The business he had been running for five years now might seem modest, but it generated a handsome profit for him, thanks to his frugality.
“Really?” Precious couldn’t believe her ears.
“My queen, I really don’t mind sacrificing the little that I have to make you happy.”
Precious grinned with pleasure and, without hesitation, mentioned the overall amount required for a four-year, full-time radiography course she was eager to study. Not shaken by the overall amount Precious had just mentioned, Bohlale asked if that amount covered registration fee.
“No, registration fee is three thousand rand.”
Holding his chin, Bohlale nodded continuously as if thinking. He then said, “Okay, I will make sure next year you study that course, my queen.”
“Thank you, my love,” said Precious, giving Bohlale a tight hug.
“I just want to do what’s best for you,” whispered Bohlale while they were still hugging.
The next day, Bohlale visited his friend Moeletši, and told him about the decision he had taken, which was the decision of assisting Precious financially so that she could go to university. Moeletši frowned and asked Bohlale if he was still in his senses.
“What do you mean?” said Bohlale blankly.
“Bro, do you think that girlfriend of yours will acknowledge you as soon as she acquires a graduate job? Don’t you think she will grow wings and fly away?” Bohlale didn’t say anything. He just shook his head slowly, his eyes fixed on Moeletši’. “Mark my words: as soon as she has acquired a graduate job, she won’t stick with a hawker that assisted her financially so that she could go to university. She will go for her class,” Moeletši assured Bohlale.
“No, not my Precious,” said Bohlale defensively, the pace of his headshake increasing.
“Bro, can’t you see what’s happening under the sun today? People get disappointed by those in whom they put their trust. These days, putting trust in human beings is equivalent to standing relaxed against a wooden pole which has been damaged by termites.”
“Is there any problem when I make the one I love happy, bro?” asked Bohlale, ignoring Moeletši’s philosophy. “I mean, Precious is from a disadvantaged background. So as her boyfriend, I don’t find anything wrong in taking the responsibility to help her further her studies. That’s why I decided to sacrifice the little that I have to make her dream come true.”
Smirking, Moeletši said, “Believe it or not, the sacrifice you are about to make is equivalent to digging your own grave.”
Without saying anything in response, Bohlale rose from the couch and walked out of Moeletši’s house. At that moment, he considered Moeletši a jealous friend, and that was the end of their friendship.
While Bohlale embraced his business which had developed to the extent that he even managed to build an attractive stall at Jane Furse Taxi Rank, Precious made sure she didn’t waste each year of her studies.
At twenty-five, Precious completed the radiography course. It didn’t take her long to find a job at the nearby hospital, and that was when her relationship with Bohlale began to disintegrate. Perhaps that was the manifestation of what Moeleši had said to Bohlale six years earlier pertaining to what Precious would do to him as soon as she had acquired a graduate job, as she seemed to be apathetic in her relationship with Bohlale. Such situation subjected Bohlale to anxiety that he even lost focus on his business.
There was a day when Bohlale visited Precious at her home and confronted her in front of her parents, saying ever since she found a job, she no longer gave him attention.
“Now you overlook me as though I’m not the one who paid for your university studies,” he further said.
But Precious defended herself by saying something her parents corroborated: “You are just overreacting. Nothing has changed with me.”
Shaking his head, Bohlale left Precious’ home without saying goodbye.
It was Sunday at 11: 25a.m which marked two days after Bohlale confronted Precious when he went to Jane Furse Shopping Centre to clear his head, as Precious was not on speaking terms with him. As soon as he came out of the bottle store, where he had bought himself a quart of beer, he saw Precious sitting next to a certain guy in the front seat of a car, which was parked in front of a restaurant. Wondering what Precious was doing in that car, Bohlale approached it, stood at the passenger side and waved his hand to Precious in a gesture of greeting. Precious rolled down the car window and flashed a smile before she said, “Hi,” to Bohlale, in a less energetic voice.
“What are you doing in this car? Who is this guy?” asked Bohlale sharply.
Preserving her smile, Precious rested her hand on the guy’s shoulder and easily said, “Oh, this is Paul.”
Paul was a mining surveyor who had fallen for Precious when he was accompanying his mother to collect her high-blood pressure medications at Precious’ workplace. Courageously, he had expressed his feelings towards Precious, who had found it hard to resist his handsomeness, and quickly responded to him by saying the feeling was mutual. What Bohlale was witnessing at that moment of his bewilderment had been happening for months without his knowledge. All along Precious had been uncomfortable to say it to Bohlale’s face that she had found a replacement for him. But this time it seemed she had gathered enough courage to do that.
“Let him introduce himself to you,” added Precious, removing her hand from Paul’s shoulder.
Paul stepped out of the car, walked over to Bohlale and extended his hand towards him, “I’m Paul, bro.”
“What is my girlfriend is doing in your car?” asked Bohlale gravely, ignoring Paul’s hand.
“Why don’t you ask her?”
Bohlale looked at Precious, who didn’t hesitate to say, “That’s the guy I prefer to spend the rest of my life with, Bohlale.”
“What?” Bohlale exclaimed with his heartbeat skipping.
“You heard me.”
“Say you are joking, Precious.”
“Do I look like I’m joking?” said Precious, giving Bohlale a serious look.
“Is that what you decide to do to me after what I have done for you, Precious? Is that your way of thanking me for paying for your university stu-”
Cutting Bohlale off, Paul said, “Eh, chief, Precious and I have some important things to discuss. So, please leave us in peace.”
“Bro, where were you when I sacrificed my hard-earned money to pay for this lady’s university studies?” Bohlale asked, pointing his index finger at Precious.
“Were you doing that to control her life, bro?” asked Paul with a smirk.
Pause.
Paul, turned his head, looked at Precious and asked, “Sweetheart, did you point a gun at this guy and forced him to pay for your university studies?”
Precious shook her head without saying anything.
Paul looked at Bohlale, shrugged and said, “You see? Bro, in life you have to accept a loss and move on.”
This pressed Bohlale’s anger buttons that he quickly put his quart of beer down and attempted to punch Paul across his face. Not shaken, Paul held Bohlale’s hand tightly.
“Look, chief, you don’t have to be a sore loser. Precious is not in love with you anymore. So accept that and move on,” that’s what Paul said to Bohlale before he shoved him. Bohlale just stood there, looking sternly at Paul who entered his car and drove off with Precious.
That night Bohlale suffered insomnia, haunted by memories of what Moeletši once said to him pertaining to the outcome of paying for Precious’ university studies: “Bro, do you think that girlfriend of yours will acknowledge you as soon as she acquires a graduate job? Don’t you think she will grow wings and fly away? Mark my words: as soon as she has acquired a graduate job, she won’t stick with a hawker that assisted her financially so that she could go to university. She will go for her class.”
Shaking his head, Bohlale got out of bed, switched the light on and looked at the wall clock, which struck 1:45 a.m. He knew it was still early for Jane Furse streets to sleep. He knew Jane Furse streets were nothing but bases of various criminal activities. So he quickly got dressed and fed his hip pocket with some bank notes. He hit the streets, hoping to acquire something he considered a carrier of the fruits he was willing to serve Precious. He knew which side of Jane Furse streets he should head to so that he could acquire what he needed at that moment, and his attempt was successful.
He didn’t go back home, but rather killed time by chilling out at a tavern called TWENTY FOUR SEVEN, taking care of his two quarts of beer. At a crack of dawn, he left that tavern, tipsy and tired. He caught a taxi to Precious’ village, which is known as Mochadi.
Precious was getting ready to go to work when she heard a sharp knock at the sitting room door. Attending to the knocker, she couldn’t believe her eyes.
“Bohlale!” she said, gaping at her ex-boyfriend, who was completely a broken man at that moment. “What are you doing here?”
Bohlale burped heavily and said, “I have come to serve you the fruits of your ungratefulness.”
“I don’t get you,” said Precious, perplexed.
“Yes, you don’t get me,” Bohlale said, nodding lazily. He then pulled a gun on Precious and added, “But this is what you are going to get.”
“Please, don’t do that, Bohlale. I’m begging you,” Precious entreated with her hands up. But that didn’t help, as Bohlale shot her twice. She fell on the veranda and succumbed to two gunshot wounds to the head and chest.
Precious’s parents, who had been dragged out of their bed by the two gunshot sounds they had heard outside, rushed out of the house and became incredulous at the sight of their daughter. She was lying on the veranda, blood seeping out of her head and chest. In unison, they looked at the murderer, who was at that moment standing near the body of their daughter with a gun in his hand. Showing no regret for what he had done, the murderer pointed a gun at Precious’ parents, retrograded and climbed down the veranda. He turned the gun on himself, fell to the ground and succumbed to a gunshot wound to the head.
PUBLISH’D AFRIKA Magazine Facebook Short Story Competition is funded by the National Arts Council, Department of Sport, Arts and Culture and Presidential Employment Stimulus Programme 3
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Great! Enthralling!!!
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Great! Breathtaking!!!
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