Clemence
Clemence lay on his bed, staring at the ceiling. He was worn out, right down to his bones. The day had been long and the heat had not helped. It had cooled down later when he had knocked off and walked home, but he was still tired. He had been feeling tense as a taut string since his encounter with the old woman today and the atmosphere at supper had been as tense as always, which had only made him feel worse. He had escaped to his room as soon as he could, but it wasn’t giving him the solace it usually did.
His earphones were plugged into his ears drowning out all sound, all sound that is, but the noise of his thoughts.
What made you stop believing? You will die. Let God’s light lead you.
He gritted his teeth and turned the music up to full volume, until his ear drums were aching against the pressure. But it did no good, his thoughts were still screaming at him; loud and insistent. What made you stop believing?
Frustrated he yanked the useless earphones from his ears. He bunched up the long cord and threw them to the side. The movement jerked his phone off the bed as well, and both of them fell on the floor with a loud clatter. He didn’t care.
He sat up and held his head in his hands, pressing his palms into his skull. He cursed that old woman with vile and cruel words.
She had done this to him, planted her words in his head like a poisonous seed that was spreading and tainting his mind. He didn’t want to talk about God. He didn’t want to think about God. But he found that was exactly what he was doing after both encounters with her. He swung his feet over the bed and glanced at his phone on the floor, its light was on.
Above the picture of the silver Mercedes Benz he’d put as his wallpaper the numbers flashed – 22.45pm. He knew he needed to try and sleep. He had work tomorrow and he had to wake up early. But he was in too much turmoil for that. Maybe he could go find something to drink, watch some TV for a few minutes and then he could come back and attempt to sleep.
He stood up and stepped out of his room, turning left he walked down the corridor to the lounge. The floor was cool against his bare feet.
When he reached the doorway he started when he saw a figure sitting on the sofa. For a second he thought it was his father and was about to turn around and head straight back to his room. He was definitely the last person Clemence wanted to see right now.
But when the figure shifted, he saw a full head of hair, thick and curly and he knew it was his sister. What was she doing up this late?
“Runya?” He called in surprise.
She glanced up “Oh, hi Clemence.”
He moved further into the room. “What are you doing up?”
He drew closer and saw that she was curled up on the sofa, a brown blanket of light material thrown over her. There was an open book in her lap.
“ Ndapedza kusuka maplates but I didn’t feel like going to sleep so I decided to sit and read for a little bit.”
He frowned, “It’s quarter to eleven. Aren’t you tired?”
She shrugged, “Not really.”
He hummed in response and was just moving towards the kitchen when she asked.
“What are you doing awake? You have work tomorrow. You’ll be tired.”
“Just- I wanted something to drink,” he said, mouth twisting over the half truth. He wasn’t about to tell her that he couldn’t sleep because of some words an old woman had said.
“Oh, okay,” she said, her eyes studying him. She frowned slightly. “Are you okay, though? You look…I don’t know.” She shrugged and shook her head, unable to find the words to describe what he looked like.
He knew he probably looked like a mess. “Yah, yah. I’m fine,” he answered quickly.
“Okay,” she didn’t look convinced. He shuffled his feet, his stomach clenched uncomfortably, he felt awkward under her perusal. He nodded his head at her and then escaped to the kitchen.
There wasn’t much in the way of beverages. There was water and Mazoe and tea bags in the glass jar on the counter. He would have preferred something stronger but he settled for Mazoe. He placed ice cubes in the glass to chill the drink, then headed back towards the lounge.
Runyararo was still sitting on the sofa, head bent over the book on her lap. He was about to pass by and wish her goodnight, but he wasn’t ready to get back to his room yet. So he paused,
“What are you reading,” he asked in an effort to stall his walk to his room.
She looked up at him, startled. She hadn’t noticed his return. She cleared her throat and lifted the book up so he could see the cover, “The Bible,” she said.
“Mhmm,” Clemence said as he took a sip of his drink. The icy liquid slid down his throat and settled in his stomach filling it with cold and making him feel awake. “How’s that going?” He asked not really interested but feeling like he had to make conversation.
He and Runyararo didn’t speak much, he was always at work and she was mostly at home. The only time they were in one place together was at supper and no one really did much talking during that. Well, unless you counted the shouting matches that went on between him and his father.
“Well,” she said, shifting on the sofa and tucking the blanket more firmly around her. “I’m reading through Psalms. It’s quite beautiful,” she continued her eyes taking on a bright shine, “the way David talks to God about everything. His fears, his worries. When he’s happy. How he praises God. I want it to be like that with me.”
Clemence nodded and took another sip of Mazoe. He didn’t doubt that she would get there.
Runyararo had always loved hearing about God. He remembered when they were children she would always beg their mother to read Bible stories to her from the pictured children’s book they had. His mother had read to him as well.
She had had a beautiful reading voice, warm and bright. She would make the characters come to life, make the stories exciting but there was also a sense of cool stillness in her words that would calm him as well, when he was feeling agitated. But that was a long time ago, when he used to believe in make-believe things.
“Do-do you want to stay and read with me?” His sister asked hesitantly. He turned to look at her, startled out his thoughts.
“What?”
“Do you want to read with me,” she repeated gesturing to the Bible on her lap.
He laughed, “You know I don’t read the Bible, Ru.” She knew his stance on God.
She sighed sadly and leaned her head back against the couch, “I know. But- you used to really enjoy it when Mama read to us.”
“Yeah, well,” he answered bristling against her words for some reason. “That was when I was a baby. Now I am older and I know the truth. God doesn’t exist.”
“He does exist, Clemence,” Runyararo said firmly, a look of steel in her eyes. “Anyway, you also felt the same way for a long time. It was only after Mama died that you started saying that.”
Clemence’s paused, glass hovering over his lips. His stomach flipped. “What?”
“I remember talking to you about God when I was about six,” she continued unaware of the effect her words had had on him, her gaze turned to the blank screen of the TV. “I think I asked you what you wanted to ask God to get you for your birthday and you said something like, “God isn’t real because he didn’t answer my prayer.” I didn’t understand what you were saying then but now I think it had something to do with Mama dying.”
Clemence gripped the glass like it was a lifeline; his hold so tight that his hand was shaking. He swallowed. The old woman’s words crawled back into his mind. What made you stop believing?
Those words had been dancing around his head all day and now here was his sister giving him the answer. It had something to do with Mama dying.
