a body. Thandi obliged. Their words fell in together. The conversation between them grew rich and warm and delicious, like a stew they were both stirring, their laughter scattered here and there like spice.
* * *
Lee was amused when Thandi told him how much she had enjoyed meeting his mother.
‘Did she ask you why you think you’re good enough for me?’
‘Um, no.’ Thandi rolled onto her back. ‘We talked about fountains.’
‘Fountains?’ He snapped her bra strap. She always kept her bra on when they had sex, shy of the white bumps that studded her nipples. He had told her that this was normal – the bumps secreted oil to lubricate them for breastfeeding. But that just reminded her of how many breasts he must see as a med student.
‘Ya, fountains,’ she said. ‘You know. Like Trafalgar Square.’
‘With the big tuma lions?’ He lit a cigarette.
‘Mmhm.’ She closed one eye then the other to make the ceiling switch perspectives.
‘You know,’ he said, ‘I used to have dreams about giant animals. Like those lions.’
‘Really? Lee Banda’s icy brain can have dreams?’
‘Ya,’ he said, shy and indignant. ‘It started with that bird totem at Great Zimbabwe.’
‘I’ve never been to the ruins.’
‘You youthies, you have no patriotism. That is the problem with this kahntree,’ he said, adopting the complaining tone of an old man.
‘Ach, shattap, men. Just because you went to school here doesn’t make you Zimbabwean.’
‘We are bluther nations! We were once the Fedallayshun!’ He blew smoke from both nostrils like a cartoon bull. ‘Didn’t my dad tell you that? He’s usually full of the good old days.’
‘I didn’t really talk to your dad.’
‘Why not?’
The truth was, she had found Ronald curt and condescending. And she had hated how Lee acted around him when he came to pick her up from the house, like an abused puppy ducking for the inevitable blow. That kind of weakness repulsed her. But she didn’t say this.
‘I just like your mum. She’s interested in my ideas.’
‘What ideas?’
‘Hm. Yes. What ideas?’ She rolled her eyes. ‘Teach me about Great Zimbabwe, bwana.’
‘I don’t remember much. It was a long time ago,’ he said, curling his fingers into a cone around his cigarette. ‘But you know what? I found this weird tape on that trip.’
‘A tape?’
‘Ya,’ he chuckled with a frown. ‘We were staying at this motel in Bulawayo. And I saw this little red book in my mum’s suitcase, so I picked it up…’
‘Hallo! Invasion of privacy!’ Thandi smacked his arm.
‘Whatever, man, listen. There was a tape inside the book. The pages were cut out to make a space, and the tape was, like, hidden inside. And, get this – it was labelled “Lionel”.’
‘Mmmm, very Sherlock Holmes.’
‘So I listened to it on my sister’s Walkman. And it was like – a play.’ He shook his head. ‘Or a performance? They were re-enacting a conversation between Kaunda and Mao.’
‘KK and the Mau Mau?’
‘Just one Mao, like China. Chairman Mao. I looked it up later and it turns out they met in 1974.’
‘Huh,’ she said. ‘Who knew?’
‘Anyway, on the inside cover, there was this poem. About the lion and the egg?’
‘The lion and the mouse,’ she corrected. ‘That’s a children’s story, babe. Like kalulu.’
‘Ya, maybe.’ He shook his head. ‘It was a bit…off, though. The poem was addressed to my mum: “Dearest Agnes”, it said. And it was signed: “With love, Lionel”.’
‘Whoah, who is this Lionel?’ Her eyes widened. ‘I mean, who is this other Lionel?’
‘That’s the question.’ Smoke wreathed his smile.
‘You don’t think…’
‘Who knows?’ He leaned over and crushed his cigarette in an ashtray. Then he grabbed her playfully by the shoulders. ‘But don’t let me catch you with some dude’s poem in your diary, Thunder!’ He flipped her onto her belly, pressed his chest to her back, and whispered in her ear, ‘You. Are. Mine.’
Lee wasn’t really a possessive man. But he often used the spectre of jealousy this way as an excuse to prove himself. Now, as ever, he proceeded to fuck Thandi with great precision.
* * *
Brenda broke the news in the middle of their next airborne shift: Zambia Airways was about to declare bankruptcy. Thandi let out an uncharacteristic stream of curses. Brenda snickered.
‘Should have seen it coming, my deeya. At least you have a fancy coloured doctor to marry.’
Some of the stewardesses would try to trap pilots or businessmen into an arrangement. Others might catch shifts on other airlines. Many would be left hanging in Zim or Zam, with their non-transferable skills. Would Thandi, in