The speed with which I stand up at the charge office after Khuzwayo says, “We’re not your friends,” shocks me. I’m just too quick. Everyone looks at me like I’m standing up to attack officer Khuzwayo. Shock lingers on Khuzwayo’s face for a fraction of a second before anger takes over. His body language, especially the look in his eyes, seems to say, please try something. Please give me a reason to kill you.

I turn and do what I stood up to do; I leave.

Four days later, I’m with my wife, Zanele, in our bedroom. It’s late at night and we’re about to sleep. She has an old and ugly brown doek on her head, but from the face down she looks as beautiful as she did when I first saw her. I couldn’t believe that the light skin on her face was natural until I saw the backs of her hands, her feet and later everything in between. Her skin is smooth, spotless and soft like she has never been burnt by the sun, had a pimple or a scar. I hate to admit that the only reason I took her back both times when she cheated on me was her physical beauty. And the reason I can’t leave her now is my daughters – she’ll take them away from me if I divorce her.

“Vusi! Hello?” she says with an inquiring, irritated stare.

I realise I have been staring at her instead of helping her straighten the blanket.

“Sorry,” I say.

I grab the edge of the blanket and pull it straight. I look at her face again. She’s definitely pissed and holding some words back. I say a short prayer in my mind, begging God to make her keep quiet.

“Is everything too hard for you to do?” she asks without looking at me.

I instantly think about the one thing she complains about the most – me being jobless. On the day of my encounter with officer Khuzwayo, I had gone to the police station because I no longer had certified physical documents. My PDF documents are also outdated. But since Khuzwayo did what he did, I haven’t sent out any job applications. I think I’m a little traumatized. I know that if I tell Zanele how I feel, it will be the end of me.

“If you’re talking about getting a job, I’m trying my best,” I say. “But if you’re talking about everything in a literal sense, then I’m sorry for not straightening the blanket. I was too busy looking at my beautiful wife.”

Zanele slams a pillow on the bed. She takes a quick deep breath and balances her hands on her waist.

“You’re going to say I’m attacking you again,” she says.

“Here we go again,” I say under my breath.

“I know you don’t have fancy qualifications, Vusi, but you have a lot of driving experience. I just don’t understand how you can’t get a freakin’ driving job. You can’t tell me there are no companies that can hire you,” her eyes suddenly well up with tears.

“Of course there …”

I start speaking but suddenly stop. I want to tell her that of course there are companies that can hire me but I haven’t been lucky enough to find them. But I can’t say that because I know her response. She’ll say I don’t try hard enough and that will piss me off. Ever since I lost my job at Hickman Removals, I’ve been trying my hardest.

“I’m sorry,” I say instead. “I try my best.”

“I’m the one who’s trying her best here, Vusi,” Zanele points a finger towards the wall behind her, towards our daughters’ bedroom. “I’m feeding our two daughters here, feeding my son who lives with Nyovest’s mom because you don’t love him. And on top of that I have to feed you?”

I instantly get dizzy from the responses that flood my mind, but first things first.

“Lower your voice, you’ll wake the girls,” I say.

She replies in a lower voice and says something I don’t hear because I’m deep in thought.

I married Zanele and fed her and her son even after she cheated on me with his father, Sabelo, who she has just called Nyovest – his recent nickname – even though she always insists she hasn’t spoken to him in three years. Zanele didn’t even have matric when I met her. I paid for her to upgrade her matric, made a CV for her and applied for her at Pick ’n Pay where she now works. I bought the iPhone and almost all of her clothes. When I lost my job, I build this house for us with my severance pay. Now she’s complaining like this over buying food and keeping the lights on.

“Hello?” she says.

I stop thinking and listen to her.

“I’m saying … I will lower my voice for my daughters but you better get one thing clear in your head, Vusi. I won’t lower my standards of living for a man.”

***

Tell us: What do you think about Zanele’s accusations? What should Vusi do?