VOID Novel Chapter 2

CHAPTER TWO

SINENHLANHLA

I feel lost. It’s day four since the house burned. Today, it feels like the world has ended. The last couple of days, I was in denial. I guess that was my way of surviving. But now, reality is sinking in when I realise, I don’t even have bath soap.

Kayise hasn’t eaten. She just sleeps and every time someone comes to check on us, she breaks down all over again. If I were her, I’d be shattered too. R10,000 is a lot. That’s double my salary. I can’t even imagine how many heads she braided to save it.

I step into the shop and scan the shelves. All I have is R100 in my pocket. It survived the fire because it was in my handbag I carry to work daily. The shop owner emerges from the back room and gives me a pity look. I hate it. I’ve had enough of those in the last three days to last me a lifetime.

“I heard about your house, Nhlanhla,” she says softly. “I’m so sorry.”

“It’s okay,” I say, forcing lightness into my voice. “We can’t cry over spilt milk.”

“I can’t imagine what you’re going through. What really happened? How did the fire start?”

If I got a rand for every time someone asked that question, I’d have replaced everything lost in that house by now. Sometimes I wonder when people ask, do they really care, or are they just fishing for gossip to spread?

“I don’t know,” I shrug. “There was no one home when it started.”

“That’s suspicious,” she says, lowering her voice. “You and I both know fire doesn’t just appear out of nowhere. Be careful. Maybe someone was jealous of your house.”

“Jealous?” I echo.

“Of course. Enemies don’t want to see you progress.”

“I don’t have enemies though. Not anyone I know of.”

“Look closer. The enemy is always closer than you think.”

I sigh. I don’t have energy to look for the enemy. “May I have bathing soap?”

She nods and disappears at the back. A few minutes later, she returns with a small box.

“This might help while you’re getting back on your feet.”

I open it and my jaw drops. Its full of toiletries. She even thought of adding a fresh pack of underwear. As if she knew how exhausting it was to wash my only pair every night and pray, they’d dry before morning.

“Thank you so much,” I say, handing her the R100 note for the soap I asked for.

She presses R200 into my palm instead. “It’s not much but it’ll help. Get strong. This too shall pass.”

“Thank you.”

As I walk home, my mind races. Who would be jealous of me? No one comes to mind. I honestly don’t have enemies. I shove the thought away, forcing myself toward something lighter. I have R300 now. I can start saving for the new roof.

Before I reach the gate, Chimney appears from the side path, cigarette dangling from his lips and a bag slung over his shoulder.

Could he be the one who burned my house? I’ve known him since I was fifteen, back when we first moved here. A quiet divorcee who lives alone, smokes like it’s oxygen. He rarely speaks unless spoken to. We are not enemies though. I can’t say he is jealous of me because he even helped me with ten bags of cement.

“Hey, Nhlanhla,” he says.

I offer a tight smile. “Carrying bags? Don’t tell me you’re leaving.”

He chuckles. “Why would I leave? Why didn’t you say I’m coming back from shopping?”

“My bad. I only see people with bags when they’re moving out.”

We both laugh, and he falls into step beside me as we enter the yard. He places the bag down in front of the kitchen and heads to the burnt house. I head to the spare room connected to our grandparent’s house. That’s what we use as our bedroom now.

Kayise is still under the duvet. She is crying. I yank the blanket off her. “Do you know what time it is? Wake up.”

“It’s pointless,” she mumbles. “I don’t have money. I want my money, Sne.”

“Uyifuna kimi leyomali?” I snap. “Didn’t you see it go up in flames? I lost more valuable things you can’t even replace but you don’t see me wallowing like this.”

“Are you saying I shouldn’t be hurt?”

I sigh. “No. Grieve. Wear black if you want. But life doesn’t stop. That money is gone and not coming back unless you get up, find clients and start saving again.”

“I don’t have the motivation anymore,” she whispers. I feel the pain in her voice.

“The motivation is the same reason you started the first time. Pick up where you left off.” I pull her up and start flipping through the bedding.

“What are you looking for?”

“Making sure you didn’t stash another money in here.”

She pouts, arms crossed. I slap her lightly on the back of the head before heading out.

Chimney is already at the burnt shell of the house, taking out the roofing sheets and leaning them against what’s left of the wall.

“You think I can buy poles and roof it again?” I ask.

“No,” he says flatly.

“Why not? The walls are still standing.”

“The fire weakened them. They could collapse on you.”

“I’ll take my chances.”

He drops the sheet with a clang. “You’d really sleep in a house that burned down out of nowhere? What if the next fire catches you while you’re asleep?”

“You think—”

“Nhlanhla,” he cuts in, voice firm, “a burning house is a bad omen. It doesn’t matter if it started by accident or malice, you don’t rebuild on ash. You tear it down and start fresh.”

Tears sting my eyes. Start fresh. The words feel like a punch. Maybe I was too harsh on Kayise when she said she doesn’t have motivation to work anymore. The same words of advice I gave her, don’t seem to be motivating me in any way. The thought alone of having to begin again, sucks the air from my lungs.

“Have you tried figuring out why it happened?” he asks, pulling another sheet.

“What do you mean?”

“Step back. You’ll cut yourself.”

His hands are black with soot, his clothes ruined. He’s already done more than anyone else.

“If there was no candle, no paraffin lamp then what did start it?” he presses. “Maybe it’s a message from the ancestors.”

“I don’t believe in that shit.”

He stops. Looks at me like I’ve said something dangerous.

“Then explain a fire from nowhere.”

“Who said it’s from nowhere? Someone started it.”

“Who, Nhlanhla? There was no one home.”

“Maybe a jealous neighbour,” I say, eyes narrowing. “One who smokes like his life depends on it.”

He freezes. Opens his mouth. Closes it. His eyes flicker. Guilt or surprise perhaps.

I cross my arms. I’m good at reading faces. And his just told me everything. He really burnt my house.

He pulls out a cigarette and lights it with shaky hands. “I would never burn your house, Sinenhlanhla. I was happy for you. I thought you knew that. Why would I be jealous?”

“You were the one who saw the fire first,” I say, voice rising. “Instead of trying to put it out, you cycled to school to tell me. I found you standing under that tree, watching everything I’d worked for turn to ash. You didn’t help salvage anything. Now you show up with a shopping bag. Maybe you took Kayise’s money before it burned. Maybe that’s why you’re ‘shopping’ today.”

There, I have siad it. Let him deny it.

He shoves his hand in his pocket; exhales smoke like it’s the only thing holding him together. “I smelled it first. The smoke got stronger, so I came out. Saw it coming from the air vents. The door was locked, flames already eating through it.”

“You could’ve tried!”

“Even if I had, it was too late!”

“Or maybe you were glad,” I hiss. “It was revenge for your four goats we killed.”

“My goats?” His voice cracks. “You killed them?”

“They got in our garden and ate our vegetables every day!”

“And that was worth four goats?” He shakes his head, disgusted. “Even if you’d slaughtered my whole herd, I’m not sick like you. I wouldn’t burn a home over livestock. I know how hard you worked for this.”

I swirl my tongue in my mouth. No words come.

“For your information,” he continues, “I didn’t know about Kayise’s money. And I’m not ‘shopping.’ That bag, ” he gestures to it, “is for you. There are clothes I used to sell. I thought you might need them. Sinenhlanhla, I see you like my young sister; your success makes me happy, very happy. I never thought you…you….”

He chokes on the next word, raises his hands, shakes his head and turns away without another sound. The tears I’ve been holding back finally spill.

I’m hurt. Not just because my house is gone. But because the one person I’ve always run to in crisis might now be gone too. I don’t know what to do, but I think I handled it wrong.

Kayise is standing near our grandparents’ house, watching me. I walk to the grass-thatched kitchen where I left my box and Chimney’s bag. I open it.

Just as he said, there are clothes. New but stained from fittings, probably. There’s also washing powder poured into a large plastic bag, not the original packaging.

I stare in the direction he walked. Did he really do it?

Kayise approaches and sits across from me. “That was harsh. Chimney’s a good man. He wouldn’t burn the house.”

“You can never be sure.”

“Then why give us clothes? Why not celebrate seeing us suffer?”

“Because, Kayise,” I say quietly, “some people will steal your million then hand you ten cents in the morning so the world sees them as heroes. They’ll cut off your leg and hand you crutches just to be praised for kindness.”

She sighs. “Still, you didn’t have to accuse him like that. I’d rather take the crutches than limp alone.”

Honestly, I regret it too. Maybe it was the timing. Maybe it was the mention of ancestors, that word always makes my skin crawl.

Mr. Khabo’s call comes through.

“Sir. Good day.”

“How are you holding up?”

“Hanging in there.”

“Take it slow. One day at a time. Do you think you can come to work tomorrow? I know I said you could take all the time you need, but we’ve got visitors coming. We need you at the reception.”

“No problem. I’ll be there.”

“Keep well.”

Rural schools. You’re hired as a bookkeeper, but you end up doing five jobs: welcoming guests, making tea, collecting school fees, balancing ledgers and even running errands for the headmaster. I wonder who’s visiting. It doesn’t matter, I’m glad I’ll be away from this wreckage, even for a few hours. Sitting here, drowning in condolences, isn’t helping. It only makes me feel like I’m performing grief.

We wash Chimney’s clothes and iron them. I want to keep more since I’m working, but Kayise won’t have it. We split everything evenly, though she insists she deserves more because I insulted him.

The next morning, I’m up early. My back aches from sleeping on the floor, but I guess this is my life now. I will get used to it. I look in the cracked mirror. In Chimney’s clothes, I look good. If I told you my house burned five days ago, you’d call me a liar. I feel good. I wonder why didn’t he give us these clothes sooner. It’s not like someone was going to buy them anyway.

At school, I slip into my office, open the reception window, and dive into work. Most teachers avoid talking about the fire and I prefer it that way. I don’t want pity. It makes me emotional.

Gift comes in. “I missed you.”

“You missed bullying me into marking your students’ books.”

He grins. “Come on, Nhlanhla, you know my eyesight is bad.”

“So you admit it? You missed me doing your work?”

“I missed both,” he laughs. “I’ll buy you lunch at the tuckshop today.”

“Lunch for the rest of the week.”

He throws his head back. “Then you’ll be scheming lesson plans for me too.”

I laugh. Between all the favours asked of me, I know more about teaching than half the staff. Even students come to me for help especially since some of the teachers bark more than they teach.

Just as Gift prepares to leave, two women and two men approach the reception window. Our visitors have arrived.

“Hello, welcome to Kezi—”

I pause. My breath catches. The woman in front looks like me. Short hair. Same shape of eyes and nose. Thick black lips. Time stretches. Her eyes widen. I can tell she also sees the uncanny resemblance. Everyone does. Their eyes are darting between the two of us.

I read her name tag, it reads: LIHLE NDLOVU.

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UPDATE: Prologue is at the beginning of chapter one.

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