Chapter seven

STRING OF PEARLS: SEVEN

_CAROLINA_

It's just after midnight, and I'm still wide awake. My Cape Town escapade was a quick in-and-out affair. First things first, I called Nkanyezi to apologize for how we left things between us. But, ice colder than the Atlantic greeted me. No visit, no nothing. And, to rub salt in the wound, he blocked my calls.

Now, I'm sitting here, thinking about how much I depend on him financially, but also how much I genuinely care for him. Okay, fine, I bloody love him. Now, it seems I've lost him.

Morning comes, and i take a quick shower, Uber, to the taxi rank where we first met and hope for the best. His family owns a fleet of taxis; maybe I'll find him there.

"Saobona bhuti," I greet one of the queue marshals.

"Ntokazi," he acknowledges.

"I don't know if you can help me, but I'm looking for where I can find Nkanyezi Mthethwa," I say, respect dripping from my words. I know this gang is huge on respect.

"You see that man over there wearing a Chiefs tee shirt," he says, pointing.

I follow his direction, spotting the man.

"Yebo bhuti," I nod.

"He works for the Mthethwas. He might be able to help you," he says.

I thank him and approach the man, who knows me from my previous escapades with Nkanyezi.

After spinning a tale of lost phones, he arranges for a driver to take me to the Mthethwa homestead.

The drive to his village feels like an eternity – one hour that seems like five.

As I enter the yard, my heart threatens to escape.

"Can I help you?" a warm-smiled middle-aged woman in a pinifa asks.

"Saobona ma," I greet.

"I'm looking for Nkanyezi Mthethwa. I was told this is where he lives," I say.

She nods.

"Come," she says.

I follow her like a lost puppy, taking in the impressive setup – multiple huts and a grand double-story centerpiece.

Inside, my eyes lock with Nkanyezi's. Oh, I'm interrupting breakfast.

"Nkanyezi, this young lady is looking for you," the woman announces.

The entire table turns to look at me.

I cast my eyes downward, suddenly regretting coming here. Nkanyezi's expression? Less than thrilled.

"Nkanyezi, make space for your friend and get her a plate," a guy with Nkanyezi's features says. Must be his brother.

Nkanyezi flat-out ignores him. A chubby lady gets up.

"You can sit here. I need to make calls," she says before leaving.

I stand there, frozen, unsure what to do. What if that was his wife? You never know with these guys; he could've been courting me to be his second, third, or fourth wife.

"Hlala phansi Sisi," Nkanyezi says.

I sit, my eyes locked on him. Did he just call me Sisi?

_ONEZWA_

I get to my bedroom and throw myself onto the bed. My mind has been flooding with thoughts of where Qhawe could have hidden those diamonds that are holding me captive in this village. And then there's the whole Qhawe hiding a son from me. I know we weren't married for long, but why would he hide that from me? It just doesn't make any sense.

I'm trying to wrack my brain, but all I have is more questions than answers. This is just messed up.

I dialed Phil's number before taking a deep breath. I'm honestly running out of excuses.

"Please tell me you're back," that's the first thing he says.

"No, I'm sorry. Can't I work from here?" I ask, crossing my fingers.

He heaves a sigh. "You need to come to the office first."

"Please," I plead.

"You know I want to help, but you need to come here."

"Run away with me. Let's leave South Africa," I say, my voice barely audible.

"What?" he asks.

"Never mind. I'll call you to let you know if I can come or not."

"Onezwa, talk to me. Are you in some kind of trouble? I know I said we should take a break from each other until you sort out your mess, but I swear I'll try my best to help you," he says.

I tear up.

"Thanks, Phil."

"Onezwa," he says before heaving a sigh.

"I have to go," I say before hanging up.

After washing my face to wipe away the evidence of my tears, I head downstairs to find everyone has left except for MaSibiya.

"Hi," I say, grabbing a dish cloth as she's busy doing the dishes.

"I'll wipe," I offer.

"Thanks for not telling my husband that I helped you escape," she says.

"And thank you for not agreeing to be his second wife. God knows I would have poisoned you to death," she says before laughing.

"You should see your face! I'm joking," she says, seeing the horror in my eyes.

"But on a serious note, I wouldn't be a good sister wife after all the lengths I went through to keep that man," she says with a slight giggle.

Something is off with this one.

"Who was that girl that came for Nkanyezi?" I ask, changing the subject.

"Nkanyezi," she says, chuckling and clapping her hands once.

"Imagine bringing that city girl here. She's even wearing trousers. Who goes to their in-laws' house wearing trousers?" she asks.

"I didn't see anything wrong with that. She's not married yet, and she's young. If I had her body, I'd be wearing a jumpsuit," I say.

MaSibiya looks at me with a disgusted expression.

"Joburg has changed you. It's a good thing you're not married to Mcedisi because he wouldn't take kindly to that nonsense," she says.

"Yoh sisi, men will leave their knee-length dressed wives and go lay with a girl wearing bum shorts. I think a woman should wear whatever makes them comfortable," I say.

MaSibiya looks displeased.

"MaSibiya," Mcedisi's voice grabs our attention.

"Yebo baba," she says, now humble and all shy and coy.

"We need to get going. We have an appointment with the gynecologist in town," he says.

She nods before darting her eyes my way.

"I'll finish up," I say.

She nods, handing me the washing cloth.

I watch as they walk out, and I chuckle, shaking my head. Imagine having such a traditional husband who dictates what you wear.

_NKANYEZI_

I drove her to her apartment, the tension between us palpable. Now, she sits on the bed, her eyes downcast, resembling a child caught red-handed.

For five minutes, I've silently observed her.

"I'm sorry," she whispers.

"What are you sorry for?" I ask. "We want different things. You're young; I'm 12 years older. I'm ready to settle; you want to explore."

She shakes her head.

"I love you, Nkanyezi. I really do. It's just... modeling is my passion, too..."

I interrupt, my tone firm but gentle.

"You made your choice clear. You prioritized your career."

She rises, dropping to her knees, but I swiftly lift her up.

"Don't. You were clear; I was clear. I don't go back on my word. Keep the apartment; I'll cover it until you find another opportunity or someone to share your life with. Your situation with your mother... I understand." I say, heading for the door, I hear her shaky voice.

"Mthethwa."

I turn.

"Before you go, one last favor?" she asks, wiping away tears.

"Make love to me one last time."

As she removes her top and bra, my common sense flies out the window

I approach her, my eyes locked on hers.

"Carolina," I whisper, my voice husky.

Her lips part, inviting. I capture them, and we kiss hungrily and passionately

My hands explore her curves, lingering on her bare skin.

In one swift motion, I lift her onto the bed.

Our bodies entwine, the world outside fades; only this moment matters. I deliver deep strokes in a missionary position. As we climax, our eyes lock

For an instant, our differences disappear.

Afterward, we lie silently. Only the beating of our hearts is audible. 

"I hope you left your seed in me," she says, breaking the silence, and for some reason, I find myself bursting into laughter.