A few days after Jama had collected Rose’s vials and packets, he returned with Detective Langa. Rose had still not confessed the source of her income.
Rose, Detective Langa and Jama sat around the kitchen table.
“So, Mr Tshabalala,” said Detective Langa, drumming his fingers on the table, “what’s in those packets and bottles?”
Jama looked over to Rose and shook his head. “Eish, Ma Rose. Why?”
Detective Langa sat upright while Rose looked down at her hands.
“Mama Rosie. You here?” Andile called out from the front of the house. “I brought back your key, and I need more of those pill–”
He came to an abrupt halt when he noticed the detective and Jama. “Askies, I’ll come back later.” He whizzed around and ran out before anyone acknowledged him.
“And then, Ma Rose?” Detective Langa peered at Rose. “What was that all about? What pills?”
“Detective,” Jama said with a smile, “those pills and potions were only vitamins and food colouring in water.”
“Huh?” Detective Langa looked at Jama, his mouth agape. “You serious? What pills could that youngster need then?”
“Ma Rose? You want to tell us what and why?”
Rose raised her eyes and looked Detective Langa straight in the eye. “I’ve given him Vitamins C and D.” Rose sighed. “Andile smokes cigarettes. Smokers need more Vitamin C to counteract the damage smoking causes to the cells. The body needs Vitamin D to absorb the Vitamin C. That’s it. I had him think it will protect him from the nyaope boys. Pastor Jonginkosi got Vitamin B complex for energy. I made him think it will give him confidence to preach, without memorising his notes and sounding like a robot.”
* * * * *
A timid knock on Rose’s front door jerked her from her thoughts. Detective Langa had accepted Jama’s expertise, and her explanations. But she had been forced to divulge her income source to him, and whispered only two words in his ear: “Powerball jackpot.”
Rose shuffled to the door. At least Cynthia and Nomawethu, with the help of Ma Lindiwe, had kept the kitchen going. I’m so tired, she thought.
Pinky stood at the door, head down. “Molo. Ma Rose. Unjani?”
“Good, good. Come inside, Pinky.” Rose stood aside. “Something to drink? How have you been? I haven’t seen you in a while. You on a diet?”
Pinky sat down with a muted giggle. “I’m so sorry, Ma Rose. It’s all my fault. I wanted Jam–”
“Thula. No need to explain. Everyone makes mistakes.” Rose patted Pinky’s hands. “No harm done.”
“What about the bones? Someone was killed.”
“Aah, nobody was killed, Pinky. Those bones belong to a stillborn baby. The parents didn’t have money for a proper funeral and burial service.”
“Shame. That’s awful.”
“Don’t worry about it. Baby now has a proper resting place, with a beautiful angel tombstone.”
Pinky pushed herself off her chair. “Enkosi, Ma Rose. Anytime you need help, I’m your girl.”
An urgent knock on the front door stopped Pinky in her tracks. Rose opened the door and let Detective Langa in.
“Askies, I didn’t know you have a visitor,” Detective Langa said, gazing at Pinky through lowered eyes.
“I was just leaving, Detective.” Pinky headed to the front door, but Rose stopped her.
“No, we were just about to have tea, Detective. Please join us. Or something cold perhaps? Come, Pinky. Help me get the cups and glasses. I’ve got some biscuits too.”
In the kitchen, Rose jabbed Pinky in the ribs and flicked her head to the lounge. “Remember what I said? You’ll get what you need.”
*****
Tell us: Would you tell everyone if you won a huge sum of money? Why or why not? What do you fantasise about doing with money you may win in a lottery? What do you think of what Rose decided to do with hers?
