The autobiographical stories in Deliver Us from Evil by Johnny Masilela focus on a rural upbringing. In this tale, young Johannes meets someone exciting on a train, but embarrassment follows
My heart is filled with joy, for you have finally seen the light. You say in your letter he’d rather come and stay with me in Warmbaths. I told you that place is not good for him. Where have you seen a people without a church? Why do the people there not take a leaf from the white people, who have the lovely stone church on the mountainside? You say in your letter you will bring him to Warmbaths. I say no. I am his granny and I must pay for the visit. You remember what I said in my last letter. I said the sewing machine is bringing in money. I have even opened a savings book with the General Post Office. The last time I went to the GPO the baas at the counter said my money had given birth to “calves”. Something the baas calls rente or interest. That means I have enough money for the train ticket. But I shall not come on the all-station choo-choo-makhala from Beit Bridge. I shall board the first-stop must-come-back from Pietersburg. If I board the choo-choo-makhala I will miss the SAS bus from Pretoria station to Kleinfontein. The must-come-back is faster. It does not stop at Codrington and Pienaarsrivier and Wonderboom.
The thought of him moving in with me here fills my eyes with tears, tears of joy. I should not be missing the point if I quoted from the Book of Collossians, which reads: “Children, obey your parents in all things. For this is well pleasing unto the Lord.” Perhaps I should be looking at St Mark, who said: “And they brought young children to him, that he should touch them: and his disciples rebuked those that brought them. But when Jesus saw it, he was much displeased, and said unto them, suffer the little children to come unto me, and forbid them not. For of such is the kingdom of God. Verily I say unto you. Whosoever shall not receive the kingdom of God as a little child, he shall not enter therein …”
Granny arrived in Kleinfontein a few days before the morning of Christmas Eve, when she and Johannes boarded the maroon and white bus of the SAS, the Suid Afrikaanse Spoorwe, to the train station in Pretoria.
Granny’s spectacles, which have seen many years, were held together with pieces of wire. No, the spectacles did not really matter, for on the day of the trip Granny was dressed in the stylish blue wrap-around of her times, the “jikisa”. Johannes was somewhat uneasy with the way the old woman had stuffed some of the heavy luggage into a sewn-up goatskin, which she had tied around her waist and carried on her back like a baby. A bag hung from one hand while she held a black umbrella in the other. Johannes struggled alongside her carrying two more bags.
Sitting at the window, Johannes watched with awe as the bus made its way past the farms of Schoeman and De Villiers and Van Staden and many other farms he did not know. Wide-eyed, he asked Granny, “Nkoko, why when the bus runs fast, the trees also begin moving all over the place?”
“It is the wonders of the One up there,” replied Granny, who was busy knitting something.
Johannes tried to figure out what really made the trees move when the bus moved, and when it stopped, made them also stop moving. Did the One up there want it to be that way? That when the trees moved …
“Come! You have to help carry the bags,” Granny spoke with urgency as the bus stopped next to many other SASs at what Johannes guessed was the Pretoria train station.
Dressed in a sky-blue sailor’s suit, matching blue socks, a blue hat and black Jack-and-Jill-design shoes with a strap over the instep, Johannes looked cute standing next to Granny at the train station. Patiently they waited among the crowds for the all-station “choo-choo-makhala”, on its way back to Pietersburg, through Warmbaths. When the train arrived, the white people were the first to board at the Europeans-only Pretoria “A” Station, while the blacks waited their turn at Pretoria “B”, further down the tracks.
Puff! puff! puff! the black locomotive snailed its way into Pretoria “B”, with children from the European carriages waving at Johannes and other black passengers.
Johannes was sorry he could not wave back, because of the crazy scramble for seats, the heavy baggage, Granny’s panicky scoldings, and the occasional swipe from her umbrella.
The railman in the navy-blue uniform blew the whistle and waved a green flag from the tail-end carriage. Puff! puff! puff! the locomotive hauled its human cargo northwards.
In the compartment that Granny and Johannes shared with a number of other travellers, the first person he noticed was a little girl with a radiant smile and dimples. She wore a pink dress with frills and a matching pink ribbon tied in her plaited hair. The girl was travelling with an old man who, to judge from his exclamations and warmth, was acquainted with Granny.
“And who is the little warrior?” asked the old man.
In the intricate manner of tradition, Granny explained, “His name is Johannes. Son to my second daughter Henrica, who was named after one of the great-grandmothers of our clan, the great Bakgatla.”
“Yes, I remember your daughter Henrica, she who got married to the teacher,” replied the old man. “And yes, now I remember. I was on the delegation of elders who received the herd of cattle to pay for the marriage. That was a long time ago.”
All the time Johannes stole quick glances at the pretty one with dimples who, according to the old man, was named Vuyisile, the daughter of one of his sons who lived in a place they called Soweto. Vuyisile was spending the Christmas holidays with her grandpa at Warmbaths.
“Ah, look at that … It reminds me of the grazing lands when I was a young warrior myself, looking after my father’s cattle,” sighed the old man, staring dreamily through the Springbok logo on the train window at the stretch of grassland alongside the railway track. It was a beautiful sight, with thorn trees and meadow stretching endlessly towards rolling hills in the distance.
On leaving the Hammanskraal railway station, the “choo-choo-makhala” was almost half empty. Those left in the compartment now had more space and started searching through their baggage for “skaftin”, the food that passengers carry on long trips.
The old man ran his hands through the pockets of his jacket, took out two oranges, and gave one to Vuyisile.
From one of her bags Granny pulled a deep dish wrapped in a neat white cloth. She removed the cloth. The dish contained cold sorghum porridge. Granny then pulled out a cooldrink bottle — the type known as “family size” — containing sour milk. She emptied a portion of the milk onto the porridge.
Johannes could not believe his eyes when the old lady started mixing the food with one wrinkled bare hand, then licking her messy fingers! Blushing, he threw a quick glance at Vuyisile. She rolled her eyes, clearly amused.
His heart beating furiously against his breast, Johannes refused to eat when Granny asked him to join her. He yearned for the train journey to come to an end.
As the carriages entered Warmbaths station, Johannes stood at the window watching with wide eyes the scores of rural folk lining the platform to welcome loved ones arriving in the choo-choo-makhala. Many of them wore ill-fitting, brightly coloured spectacles and waved all kinds of paraphernalia to mark the Christmas season.
Something touched Johannes’s shoulder. When he turned around, he found himself face to face with Vuyisile. He looked away, breathing heavily against the Springbok logo on the window.
“Look at their clothes. Aren’t they funny?” asked Vuyisile, pointing at the crowd singing and dancing on the platform.
“Merry Christmas! Merry Christmas to you from the big cities!” they chanted and panted.
Before Johannes could say a word — his first word to Vuyisile! — the train came gradually to a halt, with Granny scolding at him to help carry the luggage and to follow her.
It was when they started moving along the crowded platform that Johannes noticed that the old man walked with a limp, a condition which appeared to have been worsened by hours of sitting in the compartment.
“Take this, my friend, it should help your tired leg,” said Granny offering her umbrella to the old man.
The old man and Vuyisile boarded the same bus to the black location as Johannes and Granny. The bus was so packed that Johannes’s desire to talk to Vuyisile came to naught.
“Merry Christmas, old man. Merry Christmas, young man. And Merry Christmas, you out there,” the people were chanting throughout the short bus trip to the location.
When the bus reached the terminus where everybody alighted, Granny and the old man bid each other farewell.
“My friend,” said the old man to Granny, “ours is not such a big location. I shall give my niece Vuyisile directions to your place, so that she can bring the umbrella, the latest by tomorrow.” Johannes looked forward to the visit with great anticipation.
When they reached Granny’s place, Johannes’s ears continued to pick up the “Merry Christmas” chants from every corner of the location.
At bedtime Granny ordered Johannes to go down on his knees next to her, and to say the Lord’s Prayer after her.
“… Forever, and ever, Amen,” Johannes recited after the old lady, at the end of the prayer.
Granny made Johannes a sleeping place on the floor by her bedside. But before they went to bed, Granny asked Johannes, “Do you need to relieve yourself at night?”
Johannes replied that when such a need arose, he would normally do it outside of the house.
“Outside of the house? So the boy from Kleinfontein is not scared of the ghosts of Warmbaths, heh?” said Granny. Johannes was frightened, but did not say so. But before Granny blew out the lantern, his attention was drawn to an object underneath the bed — a white chamber pot.
When the light went out, he heard drunken voices chanting “Merry Christmas! Merry Christmas to you too who has just put out the light!” Was it the ghosts, or just merry-makers? He closed his eyes tightly and covered his ears with his hands.
At last Johannes fell into a heavy sleep, only to be awoken later by a burning sensation in the area of his bladder. It took him some time to remember where he was. All the while his insides burned like a hot iron. He had to relieve himself, soon. But what about the ghosts Granny spoke about? He cringed. Ah, the chamber pot, he remembered. Cautiously he crawled towards the pot, lifting it with much care not to wake up Granny and tiptoed to the sitting room adjacent to Granny’s bedroom.
Ta … ta … ta-rrr. Much relieved, Johannes nearly half-filled the container. He tiptoed back to Granny’s bedroom, and returned the chamber pot. He nearly jumped out of his skin when suddenly Granny snapped, “You dare forget to empty that thing in the morning!”
Shortly after dawn Granny’s loud voice once again rang in his ears. Christmas Day! he thought, oh Christmas Day, and the new clothes! With the speed of lightning, Johannes went for the pair of new trousers specially bought for him for today, the new shirt and … But before he could put on the shoes something else struck his mind. The chamber pot!
With Granny’s scolding echoing in his ears, Johannes crawled on all fours — new clothes and all — towards the chamber pot and carefully pulled the thing from under the bed. With the chamber pot in both hands, he hurried through the front door and towards the front gate. He threw a quick look at Granny who had on her spectacles and a pinafore. She was sweeping the yard.
“Look at what is the time! A grown-up like you, staggering from the house with the calabash of shame in your lazy hands.”
Johannes shuffled through the gate, bound for the bushveld across the street. A number of people were boozing and dancing up and down the street, all the time chanting “Merry Christmas”. They ululated and whistled even louder when they saw the young visitor clutching the enamel-plated container.
Ignoring them, Johannes took a few more steps into the street but then oops! Here was a girl in a brand-new white dress with frills and a matching white ribbon tied in her plaited hair! She was carrying Granny’s umbrella in both hands.
Johannes froze. Then, in a panic of rage and embarrassment, he swung around and hurled the chamber pot in the direction of the front door. For a terrible moment the thing spun in the air, its contents swirling and missing the sweeping Granny by a broom’s breadth. The chamber pot hit the front wall with a bang. White enamel chips flew in all directions.
The people in the street laughed and ululated and whistled.
Johannes broke into a run, bolted for the front door and disappeared into Granny’s house. His whole Christmas Day at Granny’s was spent indoors, wide-eyed at the bedroom window, blushing.
This story first appeared under the title Merry Christmas!in the collection Deliver Us from Evil, published by Kwela Books