town will kill you, none of us can go there, it’s not in our blood.
But it’s peaceful, I said.
We were not made for peaceful, said my mother, Look at you! What do you want with peaceful?
But you just said these trees are lovely, I said.
Trees are lovely in a city, said my mother, In a small town they’re just part of all the nothing; there’s nothing, people just eat and die.
I said, But surely they don’t have all the stress we have.
Of course they have stress, said my mother, They think, What will become of me? I’m surrounded by nothing. Then they eat and die.
But I can still work, I said, I can still travel, I just live there.
It’s not in our blood, said Mother, Fish don’t sweat, we don’t live in small towns, that’s how it is. Those who do otherwise will not survive.
Like who? I said.
My grandfather had a brother who tried living in a small town, said my mother, We don’t talk about it, but his name was Clementine.
Isn’t that a girl’s name? I said.
It is the name of a fruit, said Mother, He never had a chance. People with food names are not successful. History has never been made by somebody called Peach or Cupcake.
What happened to him? I asked.
Nobody knows, said my mother, He disappeared. Not even that woman who wrote the book mentioned anything.
It was true, a book had been written about our family history. It was written by a very old lady who lived in Somerset-West. I found her number, prayed she was still alive and phoned her on the 2nd of January.
My great-grandfather had a brother called Clementine, I said, Why was he not in your book?
Oh, said the old lady, That whole business was too sad, certain things you just leave out. But I did write a few pages about him, my son is a dentist, he can fax it to you.
Two days later the dentist faxed me ‘The Tale of Clementine’.
On Page One it said that he was the youngest of five children who lived with their extremely poor parents in a house with only two rooms. Despite all their hardships he was an outgoing young boy, a real show-off who knew many songs and jokes. He regularly got into trouble at school, which he then had to leave on Page Two. He started working at the butchery and later at the furniture shop. The money he earned was spent on flamboyant outfits and never to help his family, which he then had to leave on Page Three.
At the bottom of the page he arrived in a nearby town and found work as the butler and chauffeur of a wealthy businessman. By then a charismatic young man, always wearing black, he won the heart of the businessman’s daughter who embroidered the word Clementine on a pillowcase and appeared in his room at twelve o’clock one stormy night to present it to him.
On Page Four she slapped him twice and screamed hysterically that she was pregnant and had to go to England. The businessman made Clementine promise he would never return to that place again and paid him a large sum of money, which ran out on Page Five.
After many jobs in many towns, love affairs with tragic endings and financial schemes gone wrong, Clementine finely ended up on the street. Desperate, he stole a bicycle and rode into the countryside. It was a long journey and only on Page Seven he arrived late one night in a small town and knocked on the door of a small inn.
A thin man opened the door and looked at Clementine with his black coat and his black bicycle.
What is your name, stranger? he asked.
Clementine knew that his name had brought him nothing but trouble.
Call me Father, he said.
Finally! said the thin man, They sent us a priest!
He ran down the street screaming, A priest! A priest!
For days Clementine was wined and dined. They brought him gifts, food, flowers and new coats. They showed him his house and all his furniture, his books and gramophone records. They showed him the site where they were going to build the church. They queued for days to make their confessions, they brought their children to be baptised. Clementine married the young and buried the old. He organised a choir, raised money to build the church and shipped an organ from the Netherlands.
The night before the unveiling Clementine was pouring himself some wine, when there was a knock on the door. It was the mayor, holding a letter.
He’s coming tomorrow! he said.
Who? said Clementine.
The bishop! said the mayor, He’s coming to see the church! All because of you!
The next morning Clementine was gone. Nobody saw him again. Some say he died on the road, on his way to give the last rites to an old man. Others say he lived in another town for many years. Nobody knew. The story ended right there on Page Eight.
There was one more page. I don’t think it was meant for me. It said, Dear Mrs Buckley, I find it hard to believe that you would spend fifty thousand rand on a facelift but complain about a few hundred rand for work done in your mouth. White teeth remain the gateway to youth and social interaction. If, as a gesture of kindness, you decide never to smile or speak again, let it be so. For your health, however, please floss. Your dentist.
(from the Cathedral stage production, 2010)
Too Big
My mother has a cousin who has a daughter who got married the day after Christmas. My mother said although we were all adults, we should go to the wedding, it was always a lesson in life.
The wedding was held on a farm. The farm had a house and the house had a porch. On the porch were 24 chairs, two vases with dried flowers, a very small wedding cake and grey ribbons. The bride and groom were also wearing grey.
I sat next to a woman who was crying into her handkerchief. My mother said we were related in a complicated way.
Isn’t this moving? said the woman.
I said, Why is the bride wearing a sweater and a skirt? And in grey?
To blend in with the concrete, said the woman, It’s in honour of her father.
Is he dead? I asked.
No, said the woman, He’s just not here. That’s why there are 24 guests. With the couple and the preacher and the help we are 29. Thirty are too many, we’ll get noticed.
By whom? I said.
We don’t know, said the woman.
That’s why I live in the city, I said, This is too strange.
The woman dropped her handkerchief.
Oh no, she said, A city will kill you, none of us can go there, it’s not in our blood.
At least it’s normal, I said.
We were not made for normal, said the woman, Look at you! What do you want with normal?
I said, It’s fun to have a wedding with lots of people and a bride in a beautiful white gown.
It’s not in our blood, said the woman, We don’t say gown and we don’t live in the city.
The woman pointed at the bride.
Her father lived in the city, she said, His name was Pluto.
Isn’t that a dog’s name? I said.
It’s the name of a planet, said the woman, He never had a chance. He was a lawyer and he worked at a large company. Then his sister got married. It was an elaborate city wedding, with a large cake and hundreds of people, it was held on the roof of a large building. His sister got a famous designer to make her a dress, a huge white thing. When Pluto found out, he got very afraid, he told her not to wear that thing, he said it was too big,