I send Anela an sms: “U home? U ok?” No response.

I get dressed and go and check. As I cross the road her guitar notes weave between the traffic sounds. Anela’s low, rich voice seems to paint the scene with beauty. I try the door, but it’s locked. No-one answers my knock. Ma Makwena will be at church. Maybe Khuzani went with her. He always says it’s a great place to meet pretty girls. I lift my hand to knock again, but I let it drop. What will I say? I stand helplessly, listening. Anela sings a new, slow song.

“What kind of fool believes your silky words? What kind of idiot says yes, I’ll stay the night …”

She sings it straight from the heart. I stare at the closed door, letting Anela’s grief and mine become one. I have not cried since they lowered my mother’s body into the ground, but Anela’s voice breaks through my defences. It’s as full as the earth, yet as light and lovely as my mother’s own soul. My grief bursts from me in silent, dry sobs. I sob for my precious mother, gone from our house. I sob for the loss of my secret, childhood love. I drop to my haunches. I can’t be seen crying. This is not the man’s way. I pull myself together and wipe my eyes. What did I expect? I’m a school drop out, a delivery guy. But even as I lecture myself, an idea starts to tickle at the edge of my mind. What if …?

Suddenly it seems as clear as the windblown sky. I know what I must do.

The South Easter seems to lift me to the doorway of my home. “Lindela! Lindela!” I shout. My brother pulls the blanket over his head. “Lindela, can I use your recorder?’
He grunts. “Your recording what-what. You know, for interviews?”

He comes out from the covers. His eyes open a crack.

“No.”

“Please?”

“Too expensive,” he mumbles.

“Lindela, on my life I won’t let anyone steal it!”

“No.” He turns his face into his pillow.

“I’ll bring it back in half an hour, okay?”

He grunts again. I take that as a ‘yes’. I slide his work bag from under his bed. I search the pockets until I hit the jackpot. “How do you work it?” I shake him gently. “Lindela?”

He mumbles, “Red for play. Red for stop.”

“You sure? That doesn’t make sense.”

“Red.” That’s all he says.

I run into the wind, back to Anela’s house.

Anela sings an angry song, this time. It’s the song she first sang to that bastard at the club.

“I’d rather be green, than change colour like a chameleon…”

I crawl along the wall. Her window is open a crack. I sneak my hand up and ease it wider. I touch the red switch. I stretch into the window, making sure not to disturb the curtain. I’m just in time for her powerful, furious chorus.

“I’d rather stand my ground, know myself, wait for true love…”

Her fury suits the song, it gives it a moving, crazy beauty. I lean even further into the window. I’ve got to get a clean, high quality sound.

***

Tell us what you think: What is Mzingisi up to? Is his plan based on love or revenge?