The phone rang on Justice’s desk and Justice answered it.

“Hey Mandla, it’s for you.”

Mandla took off the headphones. He stood with his back to her and exchanged greetings with the caller. Then his voice fell and he was silent for a few seconds. He dropped the phone back on its cradle, slumped down on a chair and cupped his head in his hands.

Sue jumped up to go to him. Gugu was already there, her arms enveloping Mandla, their faces touching. Sue was shut out, only the crown of Mandla’s head was visible. They murmured softly. Then a tortured cry came from Gugu and she began to sob, her shoulders heaving up and down. Suddenly Mandla removed himself from Gugu’s embrace and faced Sue.

The glow was gone from his cheeks. His face was crumpled and there was a slight quiver to his lips. She put out her hands to him. He shook his head, wiped his hands down his face as if to smooth his creased expression. He turned away from her and left the office.

She grasped Gugu’s elbow.

“What… what happened?”

Gugu shook her head, her cheeks were wet, her tissue a bedraggled mess. She blew her nose, the heaving of her shoulders steadying.

“Mandla’s friend… Thulani…”

Sue flinched, anticipating the worst. She reached into her bag and passed Gugu a wad of tissues. An image of Thulani’s bright eyes in his dark face appeared before her. His long delicate fingers playing his home-made violin.

Gugu’s breath shuddered, she dabbed at her nose and then sniffed.

“Udutshuliwe. Ushonile.”

Sue sank to her chair. She forced her eyes closed with her fingers. The palms of her hands were firm on her face, her forearms pressing against her chest. She felt ashamed, ashamed that she’d been obsessing over Gugu’s closeness to Mandla. And now this. Another of Mandla’s friends killed. How could he bear it?

She forced herself up, off the chair, and pulled Gugu to her. She felt Gugu’s shudders slowly subside into her. Their cheeks were warm and wet.

Justice helped Gugu to his chair and placed a glass of water next to her.

“Hlala phansi Gugu, sorry, sorry.”

Sue drew her chair close and continued to rub Gugu’s back.

“What happened?” she asked.

Gugu rubbed her eyes with the sodden tissue, and then looked up at them both.

“Thulani and his brother Sipho, went to the shop in Kwa Shange,” she took a sip from the glass. “The theleweni were coming home from the Inkatha rally in Durban. Some of them started shooting. Thulani… Thulani was hit and died.”

Sue swivelled her head away from Gugu and stared at the photocopier, letting its hum fill her head. She couldn’t tell him it was all over, not now.

“Where’s Mandla gone?”

“To Thulani’s family in KwaShange.”

Sue looked for KwaShange on the huge map of Pietermaritzburg on the wall above Mandla and Gugu’s table. It had a big red star next to it, just like Mpophomeni, KwaMnyandu and Henley Dam. She shivered and stood up from her chair, stepping into the warm rays of the sun shining through the door.

She’d never been to KwaShange but she remembered going to the dam as a child – one of those Sunday family picnics. Then the only dangers were spiky grass that cut their bare feet and puff adders that their father warned them to look out for. She’d got sunburnt. Her nose had blistered and then peeled, even though her mother had covered her in suntan lotion. Now she wouldn’t go there voluntarily. And it certainly wasn’t because of burnt noses and puff adders.

She looked through the window. Vusi was trimming the hedge. She focused on the steady clip-clip of his shears to block out her worst imaginings: was Mandla safe from the theleweni?

***

Tell us: What is your understanding or definition of privilege?