Holding Up the Sky (58 page)

I knew Teboho loved me, loved me the best he could, despite the difficulties our love presented. I knew he was making compromises to hold onto that love. I knew the fact that he came home each night was, to him, a daily testimony of his commitment. I knew he was doing the best his shattered childhood, his abandoned adolescence, would allow. I knew he was giving all he had to give and that this had led him to ask, genuinely, ‘Why? I thought we were happy?'

And though I loved him too, with his Peter Pan ways and boyish charm, I also knew that this life and this love were no longer enough for me.

It was only a few weeks until Christmas and we had long planned to spend the holidays in Cape Town, travelling down on the train to celebrate the new millennium at a party in the foothills of Table Mountain. Rags and Barry and some other friends from home group were going and had invited us to come along. Colleen had offered to share her home for the week we would be down there.

The kids, now nine and four, were almost vibrating with excitement at the thought of an overnight train trip. They loved the idea of us all sleeping in the fold-down beds, eating at the restaurant and watching the world go by, while still being able to run around on the train. Though I was looking forward to a holiday, I also knew I couldn't let things go on and it was time to have a conversation with Teboho. It was this thought that weighed heavily on me as we waved goodbye to Moss who had dropped us off at the train station in downtown Jo'burg.

Juggling suitcases and backpacks, we jostled our way towards the compartment. The kids rushed through the door and quickly began investigating each moving part, each secret panel, but were finished too soon, I thought, with a twenty-four-hour journey ahead of us. The compartment was a standard size, but the words I needed to say filled up the space as if a large stranger had entered behind us and was now making himself comfortable.

Soon we were under way and the hours began to flick past as quickly as the open expanse of the highveld. Darkness settled down like a dog for a nap, circling until suddenly it dropped to the ground. Our family card game of crazy eights continued, pausing only as Teboho stood to switch on the lights. Teboho and I had spent the hours focusing on entertaining the children–but the time was approaching when they would sleep and we would be alone together, all distractions removed.

We took the kids through to the dining carriage, allowing them to choose from the menu. Though I was uninspired by the selection, Mello and Chaba hungrily ordered hamburgers and chips, delighted with the idea that by the time the food was brought to them, we would be miles from where they had ordered it. We shared a lively family meal, full of tales of travelling adventures had by Teboho and me before the kids were born. We spoke of Namibia, Zimbabwe, Botswana, France and London. They took turns telling us of memories from their favourite family holidays, longing to add Cape Town to the list. The knowledge that this would most likely be our last family holiday was packed away for now like the folding table in our compartment, making space for other, more important things.

After supper, we made our way back to the compartment, feeling like novice sailors on a rolling ship, casting from one side of the corridor to the other as the train sped along. Teboho took the kids to the bathroom while I made up the beds. As it turned out, it was not practical to make up only two, allowing us to send the kids to bed before us, as the lowering of the bunks made it impossible to sit comfortably on the seats. So by nine, we were all four of us tucked up in separate bunks, allowing the movement of the train to rock us to sleep like a mother's hand on a cradle.

We arrived in Cape Town in the late afternoon, Colleen waving enthusiastically at the barrier, her youngest son Thomas by her side. I had always had a soft spot for Thomas, who was like a kid brother to me. He had his father's compact good looks and his mother's enquiring mind, yet perhaps in the shadow of two powerful parents always seemed to hesitate, unsure which was the best path. I think it was this hesitation that made me want to take him under my wing, be a big sister and a friend.

It was Colleen's birthday the following day and Thomas took us aside to let us in on the secret plans. He and his brother Kezia were planning a party at Colleen's new house, which would be both birthday party and housewarming. Our job was to get her out of the house for the day so he and Kezia could arrange their gift for her. They were building a large Indian love bed in the sunroom that opened out of the living room. The boys had attached five single bed mattresses together under one large blue cover and were having a carpenter come to build the platform on which they would rest. They had asked each guest to bring a cushion as their birthday/housewarming gift, to be placed on the love bed until it was full, each cushion telling the story of those Colleen loved and held dear. It was a wonderful plan and we were happy to be a part of it. Dutifully, we asked Colleen to take us to Kirstenbosch Gardens the following day.

As planned, we returned from Kirstenbosch at 5.00, allowing time to shower and change for the party. When we arrived at the front door, Colleen submitted to being led through to the living room, eyes firmly shut, one hand on the outstretched arm of each beloved son. As she opened her eyes and saw the transformation, she sighed and held them close, having always wished for a love bed but never having the place to put it.

From this night, the love bed would become the heart of this welcoming home, drawing to it all sorts of dear friends who, without a word, would kick off their shoes and climb up, wine glass in hand and settle down to an evening of conversation. The love bed's magic was to draw out what was normally held inside–as friends reclined gracefully on the cushions, mouths and hearts seemed to open and souls find comfort.

But this was all still a dream as we stood in front of the new love bed, with only two cushions yet there, one from each son. I had slipped off to the gift shop in Kirstenbosch to buy a third and now produced it from the backpack I was carrying. So the evening began, with each guest arriving bearing food and a cushion. Soon there were too many guests for the living room and they began to flow out through the kitchen onto the back veranda where couches and low wooden stools awaited.

On the second to last day of 1999 in the warm Cape Town evening, we celebrated another year with Colleen, the start of her new life in this home and the soon to be finishing millennium.

The next day, Teboho was keen to help Colleen with a few odd jobs that needed doing around the house so he disappeared to hunt around the nearby hardware shops, sourcing what was needed. Not long after he left, Thomas arrived for brunch, after which we all retreated to the cool of the pool. By mid-afternoon, Teboho had still not returned. With Thomas playing with the kids, Colleen was free to ask me what was going on.

‘I don't know where he is. He'll come home when he's ready', I said in a resigned tone.

‘You know, it feels as if you brought your family down here to show me, to show me your beautiful children, to show me the distance between you and Teboho, to show me how hard it is for you to decide what to do.'

‘I have decided', I said in a whisper, as if afraid that speaking it out loud would make it real. ‘I need to tell him. I love him, but I can't live this life anymore. It's too lonely.'

Colleen said nothing, but squeezed my hand as we watched Chaba leap from the edge of the pool and into Thomas's outstretched arms.

Teboho returned late afternoon with no real explanation of where he had been all day. It seems we both found ways to get by. He finished the jobs for Colleen in time to change and head into town with me for the New Year's Eve party. Colleen had offered to look after the kids; one party was enough for her. She was reading them a story on the love bed as we left for the night.

We made the short drive along the freeway before taking the turn-off towards Table Mountain and the suburb of Oranjezicht. We finally found the address, parking the car well down the street as every second house seemed to be hosting a party. The city had planned fireworks at the harbour front as well as a laser show from Table Mountain. From Oranjezicht, you could see both.

Though we were among the first to arrive, I could hear Rags's laughter pouring out through the front door like escaping balloons, lifting up into the night. Up the steep stairs, there was a level grassy area in front of the house, and other guests stood on the lawn in small groups. Rags came through the front door carrying a bowl of chips in one hand and a dip in the other. Barry followed closely behind with a tray of drinks. As they reached the lawn, they separated and circulated amongst the early arrivals, eager to get things started. I made straight for Rags, with Teboho following behind. We had hardly spoken in the car, words falling short of the distance between us. ‘Sandy!' Rags shouted as she spotted me coming towards her, before giving us both a kiss, hands still full of edibles. ‘Paul and Tracey are inside and Peter should be here any minute', she said as she moved to the next cluster of guests.

We stood awkwardly together, not knowing whether to meet new friends or seek out old ones, but also unsure if we would do it together or alone. We were both facing Table Bay with the city stretched out before us. The view was impossible to ignore and so we stood in almost companionable silence for a moment, taking it all in.

‘The end of a thousand years of human history', Teboho said ponderously. ‘And the beginning of the next.'

‘Also the end of a century, the end of a decade', I replied.

‘A decade together', he said.

‘Yes', I whispered, not sure I wanted to be drawn into the subject with other couples standing a few feet away. ‘Where were you today?' I attempted, not wanting it to sound like an accusation.

‘I just drove around mostly. I couldn't be there. I couldn't watch the kids having such a great time, feeling the way I do. And I couldn't watch you opening up to Colleen when you are a closed door to me.'

Guilt and regret possessed me, churning my stomach like a grinder. Despite everything, the thought of hurting him still undid me. ‘I'm sorry. Can we talk about this tomorrow?' I suggested, needing some privacy from the raw emotions I was feeling.

As if he hadn't heard me, Teboho continued, ‘It's so hard for me to be here now, watching you happy and smiling, looking so beautiful, but not beautiful for me.'

His vulnerability pierced me, making me wish there was another outcome we could craft instead of this inevitable coming apart.

He took my hands in his and looked into my face, searching for the words I lacked the courage to speak. ‘OK', he said, ‘not tonight', before he turned away and walked towards the beckoning light of the house.

I realised then that he knew the decision was made and though it wasn't what he wanted, it was made nonetheless. We spent the rest of the evening celebrating the New Year in a strange companionship, as if missing each other already and wanting to stay near, wanting to hold onto what we'd had in the protected greenhouse of our lives in 'Maritzburg, in Oxford Street, in Tony and Felicity's garden cottage.

The party had become too much for the hosts just after midnight and the guests, as if feeling the change in temperature, drifted off to find other parties that would see them through to dawn. We followed our friends to another house but the spell was broken, leaving Teboho and I feeling suddenly awkward in light of the knowledge revealed by my face. What had been possible in the torchlight of the garden lamps was chased away now as we sat in the well-lit lounge room. We made our apologies and left shortly after, despite pleading from Rags and the promise of some decent music to dance to, which had been missing up until now. Though that would normally have been enough to make us stay, neither Teboho nor I could face the thought of dancing together to the sensual African rhythms.

We made the short drive home in silence after agreeing that we would take time on the train trip back to Jo'burg to talk through what needed to happen next. Until then, we would try and make the remaining few days memorable for the kids. This was something we both managed to do, as if a pause button had been pressed on the anger and bitterness that was to follow, allowing us all to make the most of the time that was left.

After warm farewells to Colleen and Thomas, we made the slow journey back north. At one point, Teboho asked me to take a photo of him and the kids. As he gathered them close, one under each arm, I watched him struggle with tears, instead bending down to kiss his son gently on the head. I struggled with tears of my own, seeing what the consequences of my decision would be. After the photo, he took the kids for a walk up the train, leaving me to my thoughts. We'd had a few brief discussions about me moving out, what could be taken, what would stay, all as clinical as a surgeon's knife.

This was not the ending I, the holder of dreams, had imagined. My dreams were always big dreams, nearly impossible dreams, dreams that few else wanted. Now, I would have to let this dream go. The train that was taking me north would carry me to new beginnings: a women's consulting group in partnership with Khumo and Rags; a new home for the kids and me where friends were frequent guests. There would be tumultuous years with Mello where she worked through her shattered identity, leaving us both broken and torn, and there would also be a drawn-out, painful divorce. Dad's continuing decline into dementia would ultimately call me back home to Australia, but not before I found a new love.

As I sat alone in the carriage, all this was still before me. I knew that soon I would put aside the security of my wedding ring, jewellery many women wore to show that they were loved. I would soon have to stand alone in the new world I had created where different things would define me. Gone were the idealism and naivety I had brought with me to Africa, the political allegiances that allowed me to take a stand, and the husband and the lifestyle I chose to prove that I could. All that remained was the woman who lived inside a small space that had been created in a dark field one night in Port Arthur, Tasmania.