Lizzy Abrahams arrived on Peterson Street at 6pm on a Sunday evening. She swung her legs out of her yellow 1960’s VW bug and onto the rocky ground of Mama Jackie’s Shabeen. The Eastern Cape’s icy dew had already fallen this time of day, Lizzy’s heels slowly sunk into the muddy ground. She drew her handbag close to her breast with a deep sigh she lowered her head and whispered, ‘Help me liewe Jesus’.
The shabeen was packed at this hour. Smoke came billowing out of the building like a chimney, while the methodicalness of drunken men caused them to collapse on the grass outside. Clutching onto their empty bottles they reminisce on mischief that Friday and Saturday night generated. The washout brick-faced building was surrounded by darkness except for the overhanging light that shone over the plastic Castle Lager sign. Lizzy placed her hand reluctantly on the entrance door to push it open, fearing that one of the members of the Griqua congregational church might see her, especially nosy Sister Lousia who always seemed to be meddling in her business. She was no stranger to this worn-out chestnut door. Many Sunday evenings she would come to Mama Jackie’s Shabeen in search of her Husband Hendrik. After a full week of hard labour, he used the seventh day of the week to forget about his duties before starting the cycle again on Monday.
Hendrik was well past the age of retirement but he believed that death would come faster to those who agreed to rest for the remainder of their lives. Lizzy navigated her way prestigiously past drunken men to Hendrik’s favourite table. She found him resting the pillow of his body on the table and pitied him as one pities a muzzled faced pug. ‘ Arme ding,’ she sighed.
‘Hendrik come, we are going home!’ he could barely sit up straight let alone get up. Hendrik mumbled a command as she placed his brawny arm on her fragile shoulders. Once she had finally got him to stand up, Lizzy was suddenly enthralled by a story being told by a rugged-looking man on the next table. ‘Beware of the mountains for they call you home.’ The man spoke of adventures from different parts of the country and the thrill they brought. She stood bewitched for at least 20 minutes before she regained her wits and continued with the task of getting Hendrik into the car.
It was 8 pm when Lizzy got Hendrik into the house. He managed to stumble across the stoep to their bedroom; she left him face down on his pillow and closed the door. In her mind, she was still being haunted by the stories of the rugged man from the shabeen. Lizzy had no idea why these stories interested her, in her mind she was well past the age of adventure and had commitments to her husband, her church and her community. Nevertheless, she longed to hear more of his stories about the Drakensburg caves or the free-roaming penguins of boulders beach. With no hesitation, she rushed to the kitchen to get some biltong and bread and put it into a lunch box. She jumped into her yellow bug and rode to Mama Jackie’s shabeen for a second time. Her delicate knees clutched together as she swung her legs out onto the ground. This time the air was colder, she knew her legs would make her pay for all this excitement later on. She slammed the door and walked up the rocky pathway as fast as she could. The building was still as she left it, full of smoke with drunken men parading outside. Lizzy walked strategically to the table she found the rugged man on and just as she hoped, he was there. Feeling a bit uncertain she handed him the lunch box, he looked up at her. ‘eet’ she pleaded.
He ripped the lid off and began devouring the biltong and bread in front of her. Lizzy smiled nervously and sat down on the chair across from him. ‘Tell me one of your stories asseblief.’ The man chuckled and wiped his mouth with his sleeve and began one of many tales that would be shared between them.
Over the course of a few months, the ritual between Lizzy and the rugged man continued. Each Sunday evening at precisely 6 pm she would arrive at Mama Jackie’s shabeen, navigate her way to the table right at the back and place a lunchbox with biltong and bread in front of him as a sort of payment for his stories. On one particular evening, the two were interrupted by the voice of Pastor Jan and Sister Louisa from the Griqua congregational church.
‘I told you Pastor she comes here every Sunday, and she calls herself a Christian Sies !’ sneered Sister Lousia. ‘What am I seeing!’ exclaimed Pastor Jan. ‘ Haai ! Lizzy what is a good standing woman like you doing in the devil’s playground?’ questioned the Pastor. The enchantment from Lizzy’s face turned to sudden embarrassment. She folded her hands neatly in her lap and faced the ground like a child receiving a scolding from their parents.
‘You are a hypocrite, my sister, pretending to be an upstanding woman in our community while you keep the company of thieves and criminals. This is a great sin and you need to repent immediately or the lord will turn his back on you!’ yelled Pastor Jan as if he was preaching to his congregation. ‘You must leave immediately with me and we will prepare the reconciliation oils,” commanded the Pastor. Lizzy clutched onto her handbag and was getting up to leave with the Pastor when she had a sudden epiphany. Her entire life had been about pleasing someone else. When she was little it was being obedient to her father. When she got married it was being an obedient wife and now Pastor Jan was telling her to repent of the one activity that has given her the most excitement in years.
‘Hurry up Lizzy we must get to the church before the maintenance man locks up.’
‘No.’ mumbled Lizzy under her breath.
‘What was that?’ questioned the pastor.
‘Aikona, I think she said she likes being a sinner!’ barked Sister Lousia. Lizzy raised her head and fixed her eyes on the two of them. ‘I may be a sinner but I am going to be a sinner that makes their own choices’ declared Lizzy. ‘Thanks for your concern Pastor Jan but I would rather have adventures than a reputation’. She turned to the rugged man ‘And as for you my friend, I thank you for all your stories but I think it’s time I start living my own.’ With that remark, Lizzy Abrahams stormed out of the shabeen.
When the following Sunday evening came Lizzy Abrahams swung her legs out of her yellow 1960’s VW bug but this time not onto Mama Jackie’s shabeen’s rocky ground instead on lush green grass beside a lake in the Drakensburg.
Read – Misery – A Short Story by Ezeliora Ndidiamaka, Nigeria
