Sometimes There Is a Void (71 page)
Read Sometimes There Is a Void Online
Authors: Zakes Mda
To the consternation of my publishers, I have to cancel other venues that they have already booked because Adele decides to return to South Africa to complete a project she was doing for a private company as a consultant in educational programming for the SABC. She also tells me that she has to consult with her lawyers about our divorce. I look after the kids until she returns after a month or so.
One of the first things we do after buying an old red Nissan is to drive to Columbus in search of my brother Sonwabo. Thanks to Bob Edgar's Internet detective work, he discovered through some letters to
the editor of the
Columbus Dispatch
which Sonwabo wrote on some local political issue, that he was living in Columbus. My mother is glad to hear that at least he is still alive, and asks me please to look for him. I am going to persist this time and will not give up as I did on my previous sojourns in the United States. I have written to him via the
Columbus Dispatch
and he has responded, so now I have his address.
the editor of the
Columbus Dispatch
which Sonwabo wrote on some local political issue, that he was living in Columbus. My mother is glad to hear that at least he is still alive, and asks me please to look for him. I am going to persist this time and will not give up as I did on my previous sojourns in the United States. I have written to him via the
Columbus Dispatch
and he has responded, so now I have his address.
The house is next to the Ohio State University campus off High Street. We meet the landlord who is sitting on the porch supervising some workmen sawing wooden boards. He tells us that Sonwabo has left and he has no forwarding address. Our spirits are dampened. We drive back to Athens. I later learn from an African American woman who writes to me about visiting her school to talk about South Africa that she knows Sonwabo and that he works for a soccer team called the Crew as a custodian. Through this connection I trace him to a conservative think-tank organisation where he works as a political consultant. The Crew job is a part-time one. We finally get in touch and he comes to Athens to visit and to meet Adele and the kids. He mentions something about his plans to return to South Africa soon, but I know it's just empty talk. Why should his desire to return to South Africa happen only when he sees me? He has been here for years without writing even to his children, let alone to his wife and his mother.
Â
The divorce is moving very slowly. The lawyers from the opposing sides are involved in protracted negotiations. Raymond Tucker, Adele's lawyer, makes it clear in his letter that they do intend to drag the matter out because the divorce may have some effect on the visas of Adele and the children which are dependent on my visa. His fear is that the divorce may affect their right to remain in the United States. Adele, who has been admitted for a PhD in media studies, has been granted a tuition waiver by the university on the grounds of being my wife, and therefore the divorce may affect that as well. They also want me to continue to pay the mortgage on the house in Weltevredenpark, but the property must be transferred to Adele. I should continue to pay the mortgage on Adele's property even after our divorce until it is fully
paid up. I, on the other hand, will take possession of some property in the Eastern Cape â âthe Herschel property', as Tucker's correspondence refers to it. She is demanding half of all my royalties from my books. She also wants custody of the children and maintenance for herself and the children of a ridiculous amount that exceeds my entire salary at Ohio University before taxes.
paid up. I, on the other hand, will take possession of some property in the Eastern Cape â âthe Herschel property', as Tucker's correspondence refers to it. She is demanding half of all my royalties from my books. She also wants custody of the children and maintenance for herself and the children of a ridiculous amount that exceeds my entire salary at Ohio University before taxes.
This is obviously not going to be an amicable divorce. I instruct my attorneys to respond that indeed she must have custody of the children. It is my belief that children of this age should be with their mother, as long as I get reasonable visitation rights. But of course the maintenance will have to be reasonable, an amount that I can afford rather than her current demand which is beyond my means. The âHerschel property' is a myth she has concocted so that she can have our property in Weltevredenpark, and I must not get a single cent from it. The âHerschel property' does not belong to me but to the Lower Telle Beekeeping Collective Trust, the Bee People, and it cannot be part of the dispute. She knows that as well, but she brings it into the mix to muddy the waters and give the impression that I have more assets than I really do. The only solution I am prepared to accept is that we sell the property in Weltevredenpark and divide the proceeds equally, after paying off the mortgage.
As for the royalties, here I am prepared to fight to the last man. She will not get a single cent of my royalties because she has never supported my writing. Instead, she disparaged it quite early on in our marriage and later lost all interest in it. The only time she paid attention was when I got a bad review, and these were few and far apart. Most of the reviews were glowing with praise. But once in a while there would be a scathing one. And then she would become animated, make copies of it and send it to her friends and to those people in South Africa who she thought were interested in my work. For instance, when a writer called Norman Rush savaged me in the
New York Review of Books
, accusing me of the literary crimes of not featuring AIDS in my novels and of not being previously known by him, she was so gleeful that she distributed the article to all and sundry in South Africa.
New York Review of Books
, accusing me of the literary crimes of not featuring AIDS in my novels and of not being previously known by him, she was so gleeful that she distributed the article to all and sundry in South Africa.
The last time I was in South Africa Dorothy Steele, my biographer,
told me that she had received Norman Rush's review from Adele and added, âThank her for me and please ask her to send me the good reviews too, such as those from the
New York Times Book Review
and the
Washington Post
.'
told me that she had received Norman Rush's review from Adele and added, âThank her for me and please ask her to send me the good reviews too, such as those from the
New York Times Book Review
and the
Washington Post
.'
I wish I could get more bad reviews so that there is more sunshine in her life.
That notwithstanding, I am determined not to share my royalties with her. It's a matter of principle.
When Raymond Tucker insists that she must have sole possession of our Weltevredenpark house because I have the âHerschel property' I state my position thus:
The property was never part of any dispute because it belongs to the community of Herschel. It is a Trust and I am only one of the Trustees. Raymond Tucker and I are both Trustees of the Market Theatre. Why doesn't he mention the Market Theatre in this dispute? Why doesn't he include it in the spoils that must be given to Adele?
Since we both stand our ground on these issues it is clear that our divorce will not be resolved in the near future. Yet I am desperate to be free. I ask my attorneys to explore the precedent set in the case of Nelson Mandela and Winnie Madikizela-Mandela â which had been successfully followed in the case of Barry Davidson versus Sally Davidson â where the court granted a divorce without having settled the financial issues between the parties.
While my lawyers are exploring this line of action and her lawyers are opposing it, life in the family is living hell. The children are affected because there is perpetual tension between us. I think she is angry that she is not getting her way and she wants to take it out on everyone. In the morning she wakes up and struts around in her undergarments yelling at the children. It is her way of teaching them how to take their bath and clean their teeth and prepare for school. I lie in my bed frozen with fear lest she turns her wrath on me. But she never does, until one morning when I cannot take it any more and I ask her to cool it a bit.
âYou are a teacher by profession,' I say. âAnd a very good one by all accounts. I am sure you don't teach your students by yelling at them. Zuki and Zenzi will learn better if you go gently on them.'
âYou shut up,' she says. âThese are my children. What do you know about bringing up children when yours are failures who have achieved nothing in life? You left them with your useless mother to bring them up for you; now look how they have turned out.'
I know already that every time we disagree about something she brings up my older kids â Neo, Thandi and Dini â and drives her point home that I have no right to say anything because Mpho and I did a botched job of raising our children. Her running mantra is: âI don't want my children to grow up to be like your children.'
But I think she does see my point because when the kids come back from school she apologises for her morning behaviour. She blames it on the stress of living with me. But the next morning she does it again.
I can understand her point about the stress of living with me. I have my own stress of living with her. I would be having a similar breakdown too if I didn't have an outlet, namely my creative writing classes and
The Whale Caller
, which I have resumed writing. But I don't write it at home. I wake up early in the morning and go to my office at the university where I work furiously for the whole day, until late in the evening. Colleagues see me and praise me for my dedication. They don't know that I am an exile from a poisonous home environment.
The Whale Caller
, which I have resumed writing. But I don't write it at home. I wake up early in the morning and go to my office at the university where I work furiously for the whole day, until late in the evening. Colleagues see me and praise me for my dedication. They don't know that I am an exile from a poisonous home environment.
I don't want to medicalise Adele's anger, turning it into something pathological, but I feel very strongly that she needs help. I suggest that we both go for counselling as I need help too. She opposes it because she says counselling will not do her any good; I will lie about her to the counsellors as I have always lied about her all my life. But I suspect that she does go for medical advice privately. I am hopeful that things will be better, not between us as such, but between her and the children.
They never are. They worsen instead. Zenzi is a relentless painter and a very talented one. She is certainly going to be a great artist one day. Some of her paintings have inspired mine. She uses every free moment she has to paint a picture. Her mother starts a new campaign of destroying Zenzi's paintings. I do manage to save some and hide
them in my office. They are still there to this day. But I am not always there for the rescue. Sometimes I find her crying because her mother has destroyed a prized work. All I can say to comfort her is: âDon't worry, my child, you'll paint another one.'
them in my office. They are still there to this day. But I am not always there for the rescue. Sometimes I find her crying because her mother has destroyed a prized work. All I can say to comfort her is: âDon't worry, my child, you'll paint another one.'
âBut it won't be the same again,' she says sniffling.
She is right. You can only create a work of art once. Even a performance of a play in the theatre cannot be repeated. It can run for every night for months on end, but no performance will be the same as any other performance. I can tell you proleptically at this point that in the next novel I write after
The Whale Caller
I create a character who destroys her daughter's works of art. Adele has indeed inadvertently given me many ideas for characterisation in a number of my novels, beginning with
She Plays with the Darkness
, as I have already told you. Her habits are coming in quite handy in my creation of some aspects of my main female character in
The Whale Caller
, which I am currently writing.
The Whale Caller
I create a character who destroys her daughter's works of art. Adele has indeed inadvertently given me many ideas for characterisation in a number of my novels, beginning with
She Plays with the Darkness
, as I have already told you. Her habits are coming in quite handy in my creation of some aspects of my main female character in
The Whale Caller
, which I am currently writing.
Maybe I do owe her royalties after all!
Â
For me, relief comes from my travels. And from my varied literary activities in America and abroad. As you may have noticed, literature has taken over completely and I don't do much painting these days.
I feel giddy when I am away from the rancour that pervades the homefront.
The Heart of Redness
wins the Zora Neale Hurston/Richard Wright Legacy Award. I ask Robert Edgar, the Howard University professor who writes about my father, to represent me at the awards ceremony because I am at Philips Academy in Massachusetts where the students are performing my play,
The Bells of Amersfoort
. I composed the music for this play so their director wants me to teach them how to sing the isiXhosa songs properly.
The Heart of Redness
wins the Zora Neale Hurston/Richard Wright Legacy Award. I ask Robert Edgar, the Howard University professor who writes about my father, to represent me at the awards ceremony because I am at Philips Academy in Massachusetts where the students are performing my play,
The Bells of Amersfoort
. I composed the music for this play so their director wants me to teach them how to sing the isiXhosa songs properly.
When
The Heart of Redness
is published in Dutch and in Swedish I go to those countries to read and sign books. When Salman Rushdie writes to me inviting me to do more readings in New York I gladly attend the PEN World Voices Festival where I am on the panel with Ngugi wa Thiong'o and Tsitsi Dangarembga. I read for the full-house public about a man who is mating with a whale in
The Whale Caller
,
which is still a work-in-progress. Ngugi tells me he is mesmerised both by the reading and the content.
The Heart of Redness
is published in Dutch and in Swedish I go to those countries to read and sign books. When Salman Rushdie writes to me inviting me to do more readings in New York I gladly attend the PEN World Voices Festival where I am on the panel with Ngugi wa Thiong'o and Tsitsi Dangarembga. I read for the full-house public about a man who is mating with a whale in
The Whale Caller
,
which is still a work-in-progress. Ngugi tells me he is mesmerised both by the reading and the content.
âEven though there is no revolution or class analysis in it,
Mzee
?' I tease him.
Mzee
?' I tease him.
I call him
Mzee
, which is a title they use for elders in his country. I find these older writers inspiring and I like to hang out with them. That is why a month or so later I fly to Basel, Switzerland, to visit writer Lewis Nkosi and his partner Astrid Starck. There I debate with the Yiddish writers who gather in his small living room about fiction and politics. It is a pity, though, that I can't join them in guzzling the vast amounts of hard liquor that seem to oil good conversation. Lewis is still a heavy drinker as I have always known him to be. He has no sympathy for the likes of me who have chosen to walk the lonely path of temperance. The thought of going back to Athens could easily have driven me back to drink. But, thankfully, I no longer have the stomach or the head for it. The problem when you become a teetotaller is that you can't postpone your problems by postponing sobriety.
Mzee
, which is a title they use for elders in his country. I find these older writers inspiring and I like to hang out with them. That is why a month or so later I fly to Basel, Switzerland, to visit writer Lewis Nkosi and his partner Astrid Starck. There I debate with the Yiddish writers who gather in his small living room about fiction and politics. It is a pity, though, that I can't join them in guzzling the vast amounts of hard liquor that seem to oil good conversation. Lewis is still a heavy drinker as I have always known him to be. He has no sympathy for the likes of me who have chosen to walk the lonely path of temperance. The thought of going back to Athens could easily have driven me back to drink. But, thankfully, I no longer have the stomach or the head for it. The problem when you become a teetotaller is that you can't postpone your problems by postponing sobriety.
Good company that makes you forget your problems is found not only in Basel, but in Barcelona where I pop in occasionally to be with Teresa, Albio, Sara and Adrian. And in Toronto, Canada, where I read poetry at the International Festival of Authors at the Harbourfront Center. It is not so much the reading but the meeting of old friends that I relish. There is the couple Patrick Nkunda and Palesa with whom I enjoy reminiscing about the old wild days in Maseru. Just to remind you, Nkunda is a top-notch immigration lawyer and Palesa is a nurse in the city. There is also the attractive film director Debe Morris, with whom I reminisce about her South African visit. She is the lady I took to Lesotho to see Her Majesty Queen 'Mamohato.
I remember that on that trip, after Debe was done with her royal visit she decided to take a minibus taxi to the Basotho Pony Trekking Centre up the very steep mountains where she hoped to hire one of the famous Basotho ponies and ride to the Maletsunyane Falls. It was already afternoon and I worried that she would not be able to get a taxi back, in which case she would be stranded in the mountains. I went to Lesotho High School to get my friend Mxolisi Ngoza, the mathematics
teacher, to accompany me. I drove up the winding road that ascends steeply for more than forty kilometres past Molimo-Nthuse Lodge to the horse breeding place. We waited there for only a few minutes before Debe arrived on horseback. We drove back with her, stopped briefly at the Lodge for a few drinks, drove on and then stopped again at the most dangerous part of the road, the Bushman's Pass.
teacher, to accompany me. I drove up the winding road that ascends steeply for more than forty kilometres past Molimo-Nthuse Lodge to the horse breeding place. We waited there for only a few minutes before Debe arrived on horseback. We drove back with her, stopped briefly at the Lodge for a few drinks, drove on and then stopped again at the most dangerous part of the road, the Bushman's Pass.
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