“The horror, the horror,” Lwazi says, like he’s making a joke. But I can hear bitterness underneath, as we walk into the boardroom. “Seems like I’ve turned into a monster. Those girls couldn’t look at me.”
“They’re just silly.” My heart aches for him.
He shrugs. “Lucky for me they’re not important. We had some fun times together whenever I came to Umjindi, that’s all. I’ve been getting the same reaction from the girls I know in Gauteng – if I happen to meet them. They haven’t come looking for me since … since …”
“Since you were hijacked.” I say it for him, not sure if I should.
“Yes.” He gives me a thoughtful look with his good eye. “What about you, Phindi? Are you also secretly disgusted by the sight of me, but too kind to show it? Everyone says how kind you are.”
“You’re still Lwazi,” I say, smiling at him.
“But I’m changed,” he replies. “Inside and out.”
“It’s the … inside that’s important.” I say it slowly, because I’m only just working it out. “Are you, like … talking to someone?”
“Receiving counselling?” Another twist of his mouth. “Yes, someone is being paid to listen to me, because no-one else wants to hear about what happened. Not the details. Not even my parents. Not after the first time I told them.”
“Maybe because they love you and what happened was so horrible, they can’t bear to think about how nearly they lost you,” I suggest.
“Kind Phindi, making excuses for people.” But then the mockery leaves his voice, and he adds, “Yes, I know you’re right.”
“I’ll listen to you,” I say impulsively, shocking myself, because I never act on impulse.
He looks at me in silence for a few moments. Then he says, “Thank you. I may take you up on that offer one of these days. But for now, I just wanted to let you know what’s happening with your Strelitzia jewellery pieces. I’ve handed over my supervising role to my second-in-command, now that I’ll be away from our Gauteng studio.”
“So you’ll be in Umjindi for a while?” My heart feels like a flower bursting open to the sun.
“Yes, resting and recovering before I go back for some surgery.” He touches the dressing over his left cheek. “They think maybe they can pretty me up – not completely, but a bit. Lucky for me, our family can afford it. But then, if we couldn’t, I wouldn’t have been driving a flash car, flaunting my wealth. You know, they … my attackers … didn’t torture me for information or anything. I’d already given them my PIN. They said it was just because they were poor and they hated me for being rich, and wanted to see me suffer–”
“No.” I don’t know what’s got into me, interrupting him. “Don’t do that. Don’t blame yourself for what happened to you. People in humble old rust-buckets –they also get hijacked and hurt, and most poor people would never think of hurting someone just for being rich.”
“I know that, really.” He sighs. “It’s just that sometimes I get to thinking … Hell, I wish I could stop thinking. It’s like it’s with me all the time; I can’t free myself.”
I can hear his angry frustration. I reach out and touch his arm.
“It’s too soon, too close, that’s all,” I tell him. “It will get easier.”
I look at his tormented expression and pray I’m right. My words seem to calm him. He even smiles at me.
“They’re right about you, Phindi,” he says. “You really are kind.”
***
Tell us: Can you understand the attitude of Lwazi’s hijackers, wanting him to suffer for being rich?