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THE LUMINARY
Chapter 35

Ntatha has been ignoring Zwaki’s calls all day, so it’s no surprise that Yama opens the door and Ntatha heads straight to the bedroom without a word. Zwaki walks in just moments later, wearing that stubborn look he saves for family business. He pauses in the lounge, his eyes scanning the space. Then he smiles faintly, looking at Yama.
“I’m sorry to disturb the honeymoon,” he says.
Yama looks down, her cheeks warming. She’s not sure how to place herself between two brothers who love each other but clearly aren’t in a good place.
“Which room?” he asks.
She lifts her head hesitantly, then gestures to the room Ntatha disappeared into. She knows he left to avoid this conversation. But Zwaki is not asking for permission. He doesn’t hesitate, he walks to the door and turns the handle and lets himself in.
Yama exhales and flops back onto the couch. Her phone pings, it’s Wandi, she’s back from school. Judging by her tone, she probably thinks Yama went to mine gold. Because how is this child always begging for data?

Inside the bedroom, it’s tense. Zwaki closes the door behind him but the energy stays sharp. Ntatha is standing by the window, arms crossed, his shoulders tense.
“You’re not picking up my calls, Ntatha.”
“Because we have nothing to talk about, leave my room!”
But Zwaki stays, he lowers himself onto the edge of the bed even though every muscle in Ntatha’s body is telling him to get out.
“I know you’re angry. And you should be.”
“Then leave!” Ntatha growls.
They’ve known each other in every shade; angry, silent, drunk, joyful…you name it. Zwaki has seen him reckless and out of hand. But this hollow version of Ntatha is new. This is the broken Ntatha.
“I didn’t always know either,” Zwaki says cautiously.
He doesn’t respond or even look at him.
“When I found out, which wasn’t from the family either, I asked Ma about it and she told me we were brothers regardless. It wasn’t my place to tell you and there was no reason to…”
“No reason to tell me?” Ntatha cuts in, his voice rising with disbelief. “No reason, Zwakele?”
Zwaki nods, holding the gaze. “Yes, because of this. Look at you, man. You’re spiralling. You feel like you’re some mistake, but you’re not.”
“I f**kin’ am,” Ntatha chokes out. His voice cracks, and suddenly all the rage he’s been swallowing spills over. “Everyone knows, Zwakele. They’ve known my whole life. People watched me grow up and said nothing. Even my girlfriend knew before I did.”
Zwaki swallows hard, unable to lie or soften it. None of it is okay, truly.
“I look so f**kin’ stupid,” Ntatha whispers, throwing himself in bed. He grabs a pillow and buries his face in it, releasing a guttural breath. He doesn’t want to cry but he can’t hold it anymore. The tears come hot and fast, soaking into the fabric. The last time he cried was the night of MaShabalala’s vigil. He cried alone in his room while everyone else mourned in the lounge.
She was his mother. She fed him, bathed him, scolded him, called him her son. But she also kept the truth from him, just like Buyi. Just like everyone else.
“She died eJikeni, bro,” he says, lifting his head, voice hoarse. “A few kilometres from me, visiting her cousin. And she never thought to come see me. Not even to say hello.”
Zwaki reaches out, placing a firm hand on his shoulder. But Ntatha shrugs it off. He doesn’t want comfort, especially from Zwakele. The brother he admired, leaned on and loved his whole life, only to find out he knew the truth and never said a word. Not from the brother who helped keep him in the dark.
“Everyone knew, Zwakele. Even people who’ve never met me know there’s a r**e child kwaMayise.”
“Please don’t say that, bafo,” Zwaki whispers, his voice cracking.
“That’s what I am, Zwakele,” Ntatha insists. His pain cannot be filtered. “I wasn’t born into love. Someone was broken and violated for me to be here. I wasn’t made, I was produced. I’m a mistake from Baba’s evil doings.”
Zwaki opens his mouth to object but stops himself. Maybe this is not the moment for correction. Maybe this is the moment for listening.
“I thought I was sent to boarding school because the finances were good and the business was growing. But no, I was the shame you all had to hide.”
Zwaki clenches his jaw, trying holding back, but not this time. Not to that lie.
“I was offered that school too, and I chose not to go. For reasons I can’t tell you right now. But don’t think it was to hide you.”
“What reasons you can’t say? How many secrets do you all have?” Ntatha snaps.
Zwaki looks away, his throat tightens. His mind flickers back to things he has buried under years of silence. His childhood fears, his mother’s silence, the way her body tensed every time Mkhumbi walked in the room. He swallows hard. He can’t give Ntatha that right now. He can’t tell Ntatha how he didn’t trust his father around his mother even after he started acting like a responsible father. He just couldn’t. He needed to be around his mother.
“There was a time you didn’t like me. Back when you started smoking and fighting with elders. You’d walk out the room when I came in. Was it because of me? Because of who I am to you?”
Zwaki turns his face back to him, stunned. “Who you are to me is a brother, Ntatha.”
“You hesitated, just tell me the truth. Did any part of you ever hate me for what I represent?”
“No, Ntathakusa!”
But the silence afterward says more than the denial. Zwaki didn’t hate him but for a long time, he didn’t know what to do with him either. He saw his mother cry silently after dinners. He caught her flinch when their father walked too fast behind her. He heard her pray too loudly some nights. He couldn’t unsee it. And Ntatha, sweet and innocent, just smiled and called her Ma, unaware that his very existence tore her spirit in two.
“Did Ma forgive him?” Ntatha asks after a beat.
Zwaki nods, “She did, they were married.”
“And you…did you forgive him?”
Zwaki doesn’t answer. But his silence is the answer.
Ntatha exhales heavily, his shoulders sinking. His eyes still sting with the tears he’s holding back. “She had every right to hate me, but I wish she’d at least given me a chance to meet her.”
Zwaki shakes his head. “I don’t think she hated you. It’s not easy confronting our family, Ntatha. I don’t know if you’ve ever noticed, but we’re not exactly anyone’s cup of tea.”
Ntatha knows. He’s always known. That’s why he never bothered trying to fit in with the locals. But he thought it was envy because of how they live.
“It’s probably because of me, isn’t it?” he says.
“No, it’s because of Mkhumbi,” Zwaki says.
The name tastes like rust in his mouth.
“But I represent what he did. And Buyi hated me for it. That’s why she visits other people in their dreams, not me.”
“Yama is spiritually gifted, that’s how she connects with her. It’s not because Buyi hated you.”
Ntatha shakes his head slowly, the tears spilling over again. Somewhere deep down it feels like punishment. Like Buyi chose not to meet him, even in death.
“I didn’t understand why Yama’s family disliked me before they even met me. But now I get it. No parent wants their daughter with someone who came into the world like me, nginegazi elibi.”
“Bafo,” Zwaki slides closer, reaching for him. He places a hand on Ntatha’s shoulder, even when Ntatha shrugs it off.
“I hate seeing you like this. I hate that your mind is going there. You are not less than anyone, do you hear me? You’ve done nothing wrong. And anyone who can’t see that can f**k off.”
If that’s how Yama’s family feels, then there’s going to be a problem. Ntatha won’t fight them, but he will. Because nobody stood up to Mkhumbi while he was alive. They all just bowed their heads and moved aside when he walked past. That’s who they should’ve rejected. That’s who should’ve carried shame, not Ntatha.
A soft knock breaks the heaviness in the room. They both go still.
Then Ntatha quickly flips over, lying on his stomach, burying his face into the mattress. “I don’t want her to see me like this,” he mutters. “Please, just take her home.”
Zwaki hesitates but the door creaks open a little. He jumps up before Yama’s face can peek inside, his body blocking her view.
“Ntatha is taking a nap,” he says, forcing a smile. “Let me give you a ride home.”
She studies his face, feeling the tension. Something is wrong, she’s sure of it. No one screamed but she heard their hushed voices. Ntatha can’t be sleeping now.
“Did I do something wrong?” she asks, her voice trembling as she tries to peer past him.
“Not at all,” Zwaki says quickly, stepping out and gently pulling the door shut behind him. “Come, let’s get going.”
He takes her hand and pulls her away before she can ask any more questions.

—

YAMAKHOSI

I can’t say what happened when Zwaki walked into that room and closed the door. But I know something cracked and Ntatha is not okay.
I’ve been texting him, there’s no response. Zwaki’s jaw is clenched like he’s chewing stones as he drives. The little smile he flashes now and then is too sharp around the edges to be real. He’s trying too hard.
Ntatha is alone now. I hope he drowns himself in food or a beer. Nothing stupid or permanent.
“How are our in-laws?” Zwaki asks out of nowhere.
I turn from the window and look at him. His eyes are on the road.
“They’re okay,” I say.
“They no longer hate my brother?”
That word ‘hate’ makes my throat itch. I never used it with Ntatha. I only told him they didn’t approve, there’s a difference.
“They don’t hate him. Your uncle told them to keep me away from him, that’s all,” I say.
He nods slowly and doesn’t respond for a minute. He turns eJikeni, we are almost home now.
“If I apologise for that on my family’s behalf, will they see him differently?”
“I don’t know,” I say.
“We’ll see,” he mutters.
I don’t know what he means until he slows down and pulls up at my actual gate. Not some sneaky spot like Ntatha and I.
He unbuckles his seatbelt.
“Are you coming with me?” I ask, hoping he says no.
He flashes a smile and opens the door. His smile has two versions; the charming one and the one that hides something heavy under it.
This is the second one. He’s really coming.
I see a shadow moving in the kitchen window, that’s probably my mother. Dad is still at work.
I open the door and step in. Zwaki stays just outside. My mother looks at me from head to toe like she’s scanning for damage.
“Are you okay?” she asks.
“There’s someone here to see you,” I say.
Her face folds in on itself, she’s unimpressed before she even knows who it is. She steps forward; I hover nearby to eavesdrop.
“Sawubona Ma, ngiwuZwakele.”
My mother wipes her hands on her apron and steps outside. I take a step closer too.
“I’m sorry to just come unannounced. I came to drop Yama off, and I thought I should also ask for forgiveness on behalf of my uncle. He did not know Yama very well. He was not sure of her intentions.”
“I see,” my mother says. Her voice is giving me absolutely nothing.
“She’s a great girl, we have seen her and gotten to know her a little bit. There’s no reason to stand in their way. They’re good for each other, BOTH of them.”
“Umm, yeah… thank you for coming and saying that,” she says.
“Please pass my apologies to Bab’ Thabekhulu as well, thank you for understanding.”
A moment passes, then she steps back in and gives me a look. But we wait in silence until we hear the engine of his car fade down the road.
She turns to me, eyes wide.
“Oh Yama, we are dead.”
Huh?
“Who killed you?” I’m confused.
“Since when do these people apologise? It’s fake, he’s just doing it so we can sleep with both eyes closed then strike!”
This woman, really?
I forget about my problems and crack up.

—

Zwaki is not heading home yet. There’s Ntatha, spiraling over lies and secrets. The entire scaffolding of his identity is trembling beneath him. And there’s also Binyo, the task of protecting him sits on Zwaki’s shoulders. Because if he doesn’t, Songalo will reunite Binyo with his ancestors before sunset. Simple as that!
It’s too much to handle but Smanga is on his way too. Songalo wouldn’t approve of too many outsiders getting involved but right now dignity must take the back seat. Ntatha’s sanity matters more.
Zwaki pops into the house first. Ntatha is on the couch with a bottle of whiskey open beside him.
This is better. Not great, but better. He’s drinking, he will probably yell and punch the air later. But he’s dealing with it.
He doesn’t say much, he just glances at him with bloodshot eyes and asks if Yama got home safely.
Zwaki heads to the kitchen, fixes himself a bowl of cereal just to hold his stomach, then leaves without pushing.

—

Binyo is an annoying addition to the chaos, but one Zwaki can’t afford to mishandle. If he buys him time, he can talk Songalo into forgiving him. MaShabalala liked him, Zwaki feels the need to excuse him.
He passes by Shoprite and picks up a few things. Groceries enough to keep Binyo alive for a few days.
The hiding spot is the back of an old shop they abandoned years ago when they moved their operations to the industrial zone. Now it’s just walls and dusty furniture.
He knocks until his knuckles ache, Binyo doesn’t open.
“Binyo, open the damn door!” he growls.
Finally, the door creaks open. Binyo is barefoot holding one shoe in the air like a weapon.
Zwaki frowns. “Are you planning to hit me with that?”
“I thought you were Songalo,” Binyo says, lowering his ‘weapon.’
Zwaki laughs. “And that was your grand defense plan?”
He pushes the bags onto a rickety table and starts unpacking.
“I have work in Richards Bay, I won’t be back until Thursday. This will hold you till then.”
Binyo eyes the groceries like they are an insult to his ancestors. “Is this it?”
Zwaki glares at him. “It’s two days’ worth of food. I also bought you fruits, snacks and juice.”
“This is what MaPhewa packs for Minnie when she goes on school trips,” Binyo mumbles.
Zwaki pauses, holding up a box of WeetBix. “You prefer Coco Pops?”
“I prefer beer, you know I have depression right now. I’m locked up like a prisoner and you give me Oros?”
Zwaki is stunned. “Do you realise this is not a vacation, you’re in hiding?”
“So I must suffer? What’s the difference between Songalo killing me and you feeding me Oros?”
Zwaki pulls out his phone. “Let’s see, I will call him and ask.”
Binyo panics. “Wait! No, put it down! I was joking. I love Oros. It’s always been my favourite. In fact, I only drink alcohol because my great-grandfather used to drink it. If I drink, he also drinks with me, spiritually.”
Zwaki lowers the phone, shaking his head slowly. “Don’t try me again.”
He wasn’t going to call Songalo, his mother would have turned in her grave. But he’s not here for Binyo’s tantrums either.
Binyo peels the banana and chews it like he’s being punished to do so.

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