Clemence
Clemence woke up to the sound of Winky D’s “Disappear”. He peeled his eyes open and groaned, the upbeat rhythm of the song usually lifted his spirits and gave him energy to face the day but today…he wasn’t in the mood.
His hands fumbled across the sheet until they reached his phone which was lying near his pillow on the far side of the bed. He lifted it up and squinted at the numbers, it was 5.30pm.
He turned the alarm off and shoved the phone away and then buried his head under the covers. Just five more minutes. He didn’t want to face the world yet. He had stayed up late last night, just staring at the walls, listening to music. Not really doing anything but trying to drown out the noise of his father’s voice.
His father had brought up his lack of church attendance without fail again yesterday. He had threatened to kick him out of the house if he didn’t attend a service.
Clemence scoffed, as if his father would really kick him out because he didn’t sit on some plastic chairs with some old people for an hour. But then again, his father could be quite irrational. He was on his case everyday about not doing just that so why would he not go to such extreme measures?
Clemence sighed, he didn’t want to risk losing the only security he had. It looked like he would have to play his father’s game for as long as he was under this roof.
He was far from happy about it, though. The thought of surrendering to his father’s wishes put a sour taste in his mouth. It made him feel weak, like he was nothing but a child being told what to do.
But it is what you will have to do to survive, he thought. One day you will have your own house. You will leave this man and this house. Clemence didn’t quite know how or when that would happen but the thought was like a jolt of electricity in his bones. It gave him the strength he needed to get up.
One day I will leave, he thought again before shoving the covers from his bed and throwing his legs over the edge. One day I will leave, he repeated as he prepared for the day ahead.
***
By the time it was it was twelve o’clock Clemence’s bones weren’t feeling so electric anymore. The sun was blaring hot outside and inside the air was thick and stuffy. His shirt was plastered to his back and his mouth was parched. To make matters worse he had had to endure thirty minutes of some child screaming at his mother for not buying him the toy he wanted; some plastic car that was going for two hundred Zimbabwean dollars.
He didn’t blame the boy’s mother for refusing to buy the toy, no one had money to waste on such things. But the child didn’t seem to think so.
He had sobbed and sobbed and screamed until Clemence’s head was pounding with the heat of a headache, and frustration. The boy’s mother had eventually smacked the boy, but instead of pacifying the situation it only made matters worse.
She had to drag the boy to the car and come back for the groceries. Clemence was more than relieved when she had left the shop. But now he was tired and he still had another six hours of work left. He closed his eyes and rubbed his forehead.
“You don’t look well today, mwanangu. What’s wrong?”
Clemence looked up and a feeling of cold shock flowed through him. It was that old woman from before.
Seeing her brought back all the words she had spoken to him. He wished he could say that he had completely forgotten about them; about her. But the truth was that both her words and this woman had been hovering in the back of his mind like a ghostly whisper. You will die. You will die. The words had echoed around in his head like a voice in an empty tomb.
“Gogo.”
“Hello, mwanangu,” she said when she saw the spark of recognition in his eyes. “Did you not sleep? You do not look well.” She asked with concern on her face; her dark eyes warm and bright.
“Ah-it’s just- umm, basa,” he stumbled over his words, still thrown off by her sudden appearance.
“Ohhh, yes. It’s too hot to be working,” she replied as she lifted a loaf of bread onto the counter.
“What- uh, what are you doing here?”
She laughed, a loud and open laugh that exposed all her crooked teeth. “Shopping, mwanangu. I need to eat, don’t I?”
He had known the words were stupid as soon as they’d left his mouth but –You will die. You will die. He swallowed back the thick fear moving up from his stomach.
“And remember. We still have much to talk about.” We still need to talk about your faith, she had said that day.
“I told you,” he said, defensively. “I don’t believe in your God. And I have work to do.” He was desperate to hurry her along, he wanted her to go and leave him alone.
“Mhmm,” she hummed, “but no one is queuing behind me so I am sure we will have some time.”
Clemence looked past her, ready to point out that there was already a customer waiting behind her. But there was no one.
He looked around and noticed that all the shoppers were going to all the tills except his own. He frowned, there went that excuse. He glanced back at the old woman, who was smiling at him warmly. His frown deepened.
“So tell me? Why don’t you believe in God?” she asked.
“Gogo, there is no time for talk. I have work and you must finish buying,” he brushed off her question and hurriedly pushed her bread across the counter.
“We have enough time, mwanangu. Enough time to talk about what is important,” she answered easily.
It looked like he wasn’t going to get rid of her easily, the only way he could make her leave was by asking the security guard to forcibly remove her. But he didn’t want to do that. She was making him uncomfortable but she was just an old woman after all. There was no way out of this. She seemed to realise this at the same time that he did because she grinned and asked again,
“Why don’t you believe in God?” She placed a packet of biscuits on the counter.
He sighed and pushed them past the scanner, “I don’t know, Gogo. I just don’t.”
“What about your mother and father? Your sisters? Brothers?”
“My mother is dead,” he said bluntly. “My father believes.” He said wryly, thinking of his father’s constant nagging. “So does my sister.” Runyararo had been enthusiastic about God for as long as he could remember.
“Mhmm. I see. So you are the black sheep.”
He looked up at her, offended. The black sheep?
“What made you stop believing?” she asked him.
“I told you I-,” he paused. He was about to say “I don’t believe in God” as he had been saying over and over. But he realised she wasn’t asking him if he believed but what had made him stop believing.
He paused, stunned by her question. Had he always not believed in God or had he believed at one stage and then grown out of it? He didn’t know. He had never thought about it before.
“I don’t know,” he answered uncertainly, “I don’t think I have ever believed,” he said as he scanned the panet of vegetables that she pushed onto the counter.
“I don’t think that is true,” she said as she moved towards the end of the till.
He gritted his teeth against the angry retort he wanted to make. Her words had almost mirrored his father’s. And don’t say that you don’t believe in God, it’s a lie. What made them assume he was lying?
“Not with the way you grew up,” the woman continued, unaware of his thoughts. “God was real to you, mwanangu but something made you stop believing. I am sure of it. You must remember what it was. Then you will remember God’s goodness and come back to Him.” She pushed all her groceries into the basket she had carried the day before. “Think about it. Then you can tell me when I see you tomorrow.”
Tomorrow? Was this woman planning to visit his till everyday and talk about God? Was she that determined to convert him? You will die. You will die. Let God’s light lead you and you will be saved. He shook his head against the words.
“Gogo-,” he began. He wanted to tell her to leave him alone. To tell her she didn’t have to visit him every day, that she didn’t need to preach to him about God. But she interrupted him.
“Don’t worry, mwanangu. You will be fine. All is well. God is already working in you. I will see you tomorrow.” Then she was walking away. Again!
Why did she always leave after saying some cryptic message? Leaving him confused and questioning. Ugh! It was all probably part of her game. Tell him scary and mysterious things and then leave him to think about them, leave him desperate to hear more. Well, he wasn’t going to fall for it. He wasn’t!
“Pamsoroi? Mukomana? Is this till open? I am in a hurry.” Clemence looked up to see a bald man wearing a purple dress shirt peering at him impatiently. He glanced behind the man and saw four other people standing behind him. He frowned and glanced towards the exit doors that the old woman had just left through.
“Aah, yes, yes” he stuttered, “It’s open. Sorry.” He cleared his throat and then reached for the items the man had placed on the till.
