Essays

Job’s fate

Job had been scouring the streets of Johannesburg for weeks, to no avail. Maybe it was a futile effort. Perhaps she hadn't made it over the border, perhaps she hadn't even tried. He knew she was still alive. Their connection was so strong, their bond, a chain of steel, he would have surely felt it being ripped from his heart.
With a sigh he beat his pillow, flat and featherless, barely holding his head above the hard mattress. He had rented a flat on the outskirts of the city, a thin river; a stream really, ran behind the block of flats and separated the town from the township. He had jumped it several times and, always carrying Munisha's photo, had asked himself through row after row of corrugated-iron shacks in search of his wife.
He couldn't sleep, spent every waking hour on his feet and felt guilty whenever he drifted off into restless, uneasy dreams.
This night he gave up on sleep altogether and swung his legs out of bed, groggily heaved himself up and made his way, two steps, to the tiny bathroom. Observing the haggard look on his face and the rings beneath his eyes, he felt a pang of longing, back to his time in London. He had also worried about Munisha back then but at the same time had had the hope, almost a certain belief that she must have started a new life after crossing the border, gone to Johannesburg, as they had planned for her to do. Now that hope was dwindling.
Restlessly Job walked through the alleys in the squalid parts of town, the only areas where he would ever stand a chance to come across her.
At this hour the streets were deserted apart from an occasional stray. Whenever he hit a larger road he would come across an occasional car with darkened windows, stopping at a street corner, picking up a girl in a miniskirt and heels.
Job was once again reminded of his embarrassing attempt to exchange money for sex at the brothel. A shiver ran down his spine when the memories rose in his mind, and still.. he usually did not dare to approach any of the streetwalkers, afraid of the temptation they posed. Tonight he was so exhausted, his feet barely shuffling along the dirty walkway, that he did not even consider making the effort to cross the street when he discovered a huddle of females in front of him.
There might have been four of five of them but as he approached, Job was only aware of one of them, standing slightly apart from the group, her back facing him. In the dim light cast by the streetlight he could still make out her waist-long, dark and curly hair, too straight yet, to be that of most other black women. It must be an illusion, he told himself. This had happened before, at the Citizens Advice Bureau. Then and now he felt his heart thumping in his chest. Bracing himself for disappointment Job walked up behind her. She turned around and for a moment he felt as though they had never been apart. Munisha's eyes widened in surprise and a grin spread across her broad lips. She looked the same and different all at once. The wrinkles around her eyes radiated the identical happiness they had in her teens but these lines also told the story of her troublesome fate.
Time passed in a blur: embraces, kisses and exclamations of joy, lying in each others arms utterly exhausted and yet accelerated.
Job woke up in the morning and smiled to himself. He hadn't slept this soundly in months.
Just like that, things had fallen back into place, he thought. Turning to face his wife he noticed her swollen eyes.
"Didn't you sleep well, peach?", he asked concerned.
"Not really. Listen Job, I have to tell you something."
He swallowed, ready for anything, but not for this.
"I'm pregnant."
Of course this had been a possibility. They had never known why they couldn't have children. He had forgiven her and understood why she had sold her body. Carrying another man’s child inside her though.. Job knew he should be responding, saying something reassuring, perhaps even happy. He couldn't though. The image of another man touching his wife in ways they had vowed only he would, overwhelmed him.
Job went on a walk to clear his head. Physically shaking it, he tried to get rid of the mental pictures.
Munisha patiently waited on him. They discussed all that had happened while they'd been apart: his jobs in London, the attempted suicide bombing, the time in jail and the role which the compassionate Polly had taken in his release. Munisha had never received any of the money Job sent to her. After a few months without hearing from him, she had not been able to take the doubt any longer. If she was to ever meet her husband again, she would have to make her way to South Africa, maybe he'd already be waiting for her. She had made it across the border half a year ago but had had to leave behind all her possessions. Surviving the arduous journey to Johannesburg, she was left with no means to start a new life.
She had no other option than to sell the only thing she had escaped with- her body.
Job thanked Polly in his prayers for having endowed him with enough money to pay off the pimps, although he suspected they weren't all too unhappy about the exchange themselves. Maybe Munisha was also growing too old in the eyes of many a customer and would have soon become a nuisance because of her pregnancy. Either way, they were both free now and eventually, after a few days, Job's feverish mind came to rest.
"What is past is prologue" his wife quoted from Shakespeare's "Tempest". This should hold true. He would accept the child as theirs. See at as a chance even, to start a family with the woman he cherished. The three of them would write their own story and the first chapter was to begin now.
With almost all the money he had left, Job bought them a bus ticket to Sun City. The next day they left the shabby apartment at dawn and followed the sun’s rays off into an uncertain but sanguine future.