Glittering Gallows

Chapter 28

177 C Chapter 28 he sky was overcast, severely compromising visibility in the unkempt area around Mamelodi Township’s graveyard. Nocturnal birds cried disquietingly. But Regis and Aluwani, carrying a second-hand digging pick on his shoulder and a shovel respectively, threw the tools over a precast wall and scaled it, landing into a section with wilting wreaths indicative of recent burials. One with darkness, they picked their tools and walked stealthily among the graves, picking their way slowly and deliberately, the dirt on them remarkable camouflage. Occasional streaks of distant flashes of lightening rendered them silhouettes. A battery torch Regis held illuminated their path as they made their way to the old section of the graveyard. In silent formation and not more than half a pace from each other, graves solemnly filled the several hectares like small rock outcrops in one sod. Some were tall and intricate, like miniature cathedrals raising spectres and pinnacles; others were as flat as pavement cobblestones. Yet others were unsightly mounds of earth, tufts of grass with broken pottery and enamelware in their midst, or a collection of unmarked rocks. Both knew that despite not a soul being in sight or stirring in the shadowy darkness, they had to take precaution against waking the cemetery caretaker who also doubled as a security guard. Earlier reconnaissance showed them that the man, a bachelor of eccentric habits who drank heavily and talked to the graves, led a solitary life in a doom-shaped old cottage tucked in a hedged corner of the graveyard. They had learnt from vagrants and wreath vendors at the entrance of the cemetery that the caretaker was either possessed by the irate souls in his workplace, was mentally deranged or he had a special ability to converse with the dead. But one thing was certain, whether the man was a lunatic or normal in every sense of the word, T 178 it was imperative for him to be vigilant in his duties because some South Africans vandalised and stole from graves on the advice of diviners and false prophets. There were also those sacrilegious enough to sneak into graveyards and steal vases and tombstones, in some cases coffins, for resale in their communities. Some homeless men slept with prostitutes among the graves. The people familiar with the caretaker and his habits said he moved about unarmed, yet his tongue was vile and delivered curses to people he found among the graves. The threat of curses frightened Aluwani. Regis saw that his fellow vagrant was scared; the man kept bumping into his back. Regis was also afraid though he didn’t show it for the sake of encouraging his mate. Visiting graves by day or at night wasn’t his custom. As an African taught from childhood to revere dead ancestors and to shun graveyards deemed realms of demonic influence, Regis regarded crematoria and graveyards as anathema. But what spurred him tonight was the desire to rise out of his abject poverty. He felt a new life beckoned him. When he slid into vagrancy he had always felt that he would slip out of it. His inner being hadn’t felt like a pauper. Unlike Aluwani and the others, it hurt him to irk a living from leftovers and scrap metal. They were moving quietly when the roving torch beam caught a tombstone that stalled Regis. Aluwani bumped into him. “What is it, Reggie?” Aluwani’s voice was a frightened whisper. Regis mutely kept the beam on the tombstone. Both stared at it: Lerato Makgunda knee Hlobane 17/12/1968 - 27/01/ 2012 Gone but not forgotten RIP Made from polished black granite and engraved with delicate curlicues on the margins, the tombstone was expensive. A portrait half the size of a palm was inserted above her name. Regis stooped and looked closely at the photograph behind a glass panel. The 179 picture was indeed his aunt’s, Lerato Makgunda knee Hlobane, taken at a light moment when she was smiling. The current date being the thirtieth of January, he assumed she had died within the week. Dispassionately, in his mind he saw, with piercing clarity, the premier going for the most expensive casket in a funeral parlour, footing every funeral bill and gaining respect from the community. Regis touched the wilted wreaths on the grave. “That’s a fresh grave, dunderhead. You said your father died two years ago.” “This...