LETHUTHANDO: The Traditional Wife Novel Chapter 4

LETHUTHANDO : The Traditional Wife
CHAPTER 04
.
​KHULUBUSE ZONDO
.
​I couldn’t bring myself to eat inside the bedroom tonight. The air in there felt thick with the unspoken weight of our failure, so I sat alone on the stoep, staring out into the dark. My mind was a carousel of the same jagged thoughts: I want children. I really do. But no matter how hard we try—and we’ve been trying since long before the wedding—Thando just doesn’t catch.
​It hurts. It’s a quiet, dull ache that sharpens every time I see my younger sisters with their little ones. Why not me? Is it too much to ask to be a father?
​A soft chime from my pocket broke the silence. I pulled out my phone and sighed, but the sigh turned into a small, relieved smile. Misikhaya had sent money. For the first time in months, I felt a door cracking open. A job opportunity meant a chance to get us a house—somewhere far from this yard, somewhere Thando could find peace. She’s lost so much weight lately; the stress of this house is carving her down to nothing. Maybe that’s the real reason she hasn’t conceived. Her spirit is too exhausted to carry a life.
​The phone rang in my hand.
​“Misikhaya,” I answered.
​“Bhuti, did you get the money?”
​“I did. Thank you.”
​“It’s the least I can do. Is everything okay at home?”
​I looked back at the darkened house and sighed. “They’re complaining because Lethu didn’t cook tonight. They’ll be fine.”
​“She’s tired, Khulu. Let her rest.”
​“I know,” I snapped, my frustration bubbling over. “But we’re the ones catching the insults for it.”
​“Oh, so you’d prefer she work herself into the grave just to keep the in-laws smiling?”
​“I’m not saying that…”
​“Then what are you saying? Dude, you need to grow a backbone and stand up for your wife. She’s there for you, not for them. She’s supposed to take care of you, not the whole village. Ma and Thoko are already putting her through hell; don’t add to it.”
​“I’m not—”
​“You are. I know it. Give her a break, man.”
​A prickle of irritation flared in my chest. “Why do you care so much about her?” I asked. My voice was tight. He was raising his voice at me, his older brother, over my own wife.
​“She’s human, Khulu. She needs a break. That’s all.”
​I rubbed my face, wanting to drop the subject. “How are things that side?”
​“Fine, I guess,” Misikhaya said, letting the tension go. “Actually, I was hoping you could come tomorrow. One of my drivers had a stroke, and I’m short-handed. I need you.”
​“Okay. I’ll catch the first bus tomorrow.”
​“Good. Have a good night. And Khulu? Give Lethuthando a break.”
​I ended the call without promising anything. He shouldn’t intervene in my marriage. It’s mine, not ours.
​I made my way back to the bedroom. She was already asleep, her breathing shallow and quiet. Misikhaya was right about one thing: she deserved to rest. But a cold knot formed in my stomach as I realized that once I was gone, she wouldn’t get a moment of peace. They’ll slave her around even more without me there to buffer the blows. Will she survive it?
​I leaned down and pressed a light kiss to her forehead. I picked up her empty plate and carried it to the kitchen. I stood at the sink, the water warm against my hands as I washed the dishes myself.
​“Your wife should be doing that,” my mother’s voice rang out, sharp and sudden as she entered the room.
​“I’m doing it anyway.”
​“Where is she? I didn’t get my cup of tea tonight.” She looked around the kitchen as if expecting Thando to materialize out of the shadows.
​“How do you like it?” I asked, looking her in the eye.
​She frowned. “She knows how I like it.”
​“Well, I don’t. Tell me and I’ll make it.”
​“I want her to make it…”
​“Uyalifuna itiye noma qha?” I asked, drying my hands and shoving them deep into my pockets.
​She hesitated, seeing the wall I was putting up. “I do.”
​“Then isho ukuthi ulithanda kanjani ngilenze. Angeke ngivuse umfazi wami for a cup of tea.” I turned to the kettle.
​“Two spoons of sugar. Black and strong,” she muttered.
​“Thanks. I’ll bring it to you.”
​She lingered for a moment, looking at me with a confused sort of resentment before turning back toward her room.
.
​LETHUTHANDO DLOMO
.
​The vibration under my pillow was like a bee sting in the dark. I fumbled for my phone, squinting at the bright screen.
​Vodacom: We have 4 quick questions…
​I clicked my tongue and tossed the phone back. Why did I even bother? It’s not like I had anyone else to talk to. Nature called, so I slipped out of bed, remembering I’d forgotten to bring in the bucket I used during the night. The air outside was crisp, turning my breath into faint mist as I emptied my bladder in the pit latrine.
​“MaDlomo!”
​I frowned. Why was Khula yelling?
​“MaDlomo!”
​I finished up quickly, adjusted my nightdress, and hurried out with the bucket in hand.
​“I’m here,” I said.
​He turned, his eyes wide with a frantic sort of relief. He practically ran toward me. “You scared me for a moment. I thought you’d left me.”
​I smiled softly, reaching up to brush my hand against his cheek. “I’m still here, sthandwa sami. I just needed the bucket. Let’s go inside; it’s cold.”
​He took my hand, leading me back into the safety of our room. He locked the door and began to undress, his movements heavy with exhaustion.
​“Are you okay?” I asked.
​He stopped, one shoelace undone, and looked up at me.
“I really thought you’d left. I haven’t been a good husband to you, Thando. I thought you were just doing your duties… I didn’t see that it was slavery. I’m sorry, Mkami.”
​The apology caught me off guard. It was a rare softness in a world that had become so hard.
“I understand,” I told him.
“I’ll be fine. I’m putting myself first now.”
​“I hear you.” He went back to his shoes, his foot tapping rhythmically on the floor—a sign of his nerves. I sat beside him.
​“Is there something else?”
​“I’m going to Joburg tomorrow,” he said, finally looking at me.
“Misikhaya needs me. One of his drivers had a stroke.”
​“Oh,” I said, the worry for Misikhaya flickering briefly before the weight of my own situation settled back in.
“I hear you, your bag is already packed.”
​“I don’t think I will be here for Nozipho’s wedding. But I’ll be back. And then… then we’ll try again for the baby.”
​I just nodded. The baby topic was our daily bread, and lately, it tasted like ash. I didn’t have the energy to argue or hope.
​“Let me go back to sleep,” I said, leaning over to kiss his cheek.
“I love you.”
​He smiled, the tension leaving his face for a fleeting second.
“Yeah, I know. I love you too.”
​I slipped back under the blankets, pulling the duvet over my head to shut out the world. I knew what was coming. With Khula gone, the journey ahead was going to be very long, and very lonely.
He turned off the light. The darkness of the room felt heavier now that the words were out. Khulubuse climbed into bed beside me, the springs creaking under his weight. He didn’t reach for me and that stang a bit. And the thought of “trying” again felt like a chore I no longer had the strength to perform.
​I stared at the back of the floral curtain, watching the shadows of the trees dance against the fabric. Khulubuse was going to the city. He was going to Misikhaya, to a job, to a life that didn’t smell like fire and cow dung. And I was staying.
​”Khula?” I whispered into the quiet.
​”Mmm?”
​”Will you call me every night? Not just to ask if I’ve eaten, but… just to talk?”
​He shifted, his back to me. “I’ll try, Thando. You know how it is. I’ll be working hard to get us that house. Everything I do is for us. For our future.”
​For our future. It was a beautiful phrase, but it felt like a shield he used to deflect the reality of my present. I sighed, closing my eyes. It’s going to be a long day tomorrow, I know that for sure.