African Laughter - Doris May Lessing [189]
In a remote part of Zimbabwe, two American ex-pat teachers live together in a minute house on the edge of a dusty village, near a school that is built in the middle of a vast dusty space. They both come from well-off families, in a large city in the Mid-West. They are used to an easy life. One evening, having finished supper, they are sitting side by side at the little table they eat their meals off, correcting homework by candlelight. There is a knock on the door. They open it and in step an old man and two young men: a local minor Chief with his attendants. ‘Drat,’ think the girls. ‘It is already eight-thirty, and it is bedtime, if we want to get up at five tomorrow.’ The candle is subsiding in a puddle of grease, and they quickly light another. ‘Come in, come in,’ they cry, ‘sit down, take a seat, would you like a beer–tea–coffee–mineral water?’ The old man sits, and his two young men stand behind him.
The girls know the old man. He is the father of two of their pupils.
‘I have come on a serious matter,’ says the old man.
The girls exchange looks: this must mean that it is Gwenda he wants to speak to, for his daughter is a girl who often gets into trouble with her teacher, Gwenda.
The girl who is not Gwenda discreetly withdraws to the kitchen where she stands correcting exercises by the light of another candle.
Gwenda smiles encouragingly.
‘I have come to ask you to be my second wife,’ says the old man.
‘Excuse me?’
‘I love you. You must be my wife,’ he insists.
At last: ‘Do you think we could work out a relationship?’
‘Yes. I love you.’
‘But your first wife would be unhappy. She would be jealous.’
‘Jealousy is unknown among us.’
Oh yes?–the girl in the next room, eavesdropping, can positively be heard thinking: the house is so small everything done and said can be heard by everyone. This makes Gwenda even more nervous.
‘But you are older than my father.’
‘That does not matter. In our culture it is not important.’
Gwenda stands with an unopened beer bottle in her hand, staring at him. Then, an inspiration: as she speaks she knows she is saved. ‘But my parents would never hear of it, they would never agree to my living so far from them. They would not give their permission.’
‘In that case,’ says the old man, ‘I have no more to say.’
The beer bottles are opened. The two young men are urged to sit down. The two young teachers and their guests converse for an hour or so, and then all agree yes, they will be good friends.
LOVE OR SOMETHING. II
It is in the same little house, the same two girls, and about the same time at night. A commotion outside. They draw back a curtain. A young man they know professionally, a community worker, is staggering about in the dust, drunk. ‘Gwenda,’ he howls, ‘Gwenda.’
‘But I haven’t done anything to encourage him,’ protests Gwenda, to her colleague’s satiric look.
‘Don’t you dare go out,’ she says.
Gwenda is not, as might be thought, an extraordinary beauty. She is pretty. So is her friend, who has also had her opportunities.
But Gwenda is kind-hearted: if not succoured, the young man will probably fall down.
‘Well now,’ she says smartly, ‘it is time you were in bed.’
‘Gwenda,’ he shouts, embracing her, ‘I’ve had a terrible day. I’ve just been helping to rebury six Freedom Fighters who were killed in this village. I love you. I want to have a white girlfriend.’
She pushes him off, with, ‘But I don’t want a black boyfriend. Inter-cultural marriages are very difficult. Besides, I have a boyfriend at home.’
‘Yes, yes. You must think about it. I love you.’
She says severely, ‘You are very selfish. You have to learn to see other people’s points of view.’ And goes indoors.
Next day they meet in the supermarket. It is a small supermarket, which you would easily mistake for a village shop. It is not a place where you can avoid unfortunate encounters.
He says, ‘They tell me I behaved unkindly to you last night.’
‘Yes, you did.’
‘Then I’m very sorry. I feel really sad this morning.’
‘Your apology is accepted.’
A Jesuit priest said, ‘The Feast of All Souls has a