ByThabo Mooke<\/p>\n\n\n\n
The above short story is one of the author’s works published in a Kenyan online anthology: KISSA<\/p>\n\n\n\n
Nobody knew who brought Miss Elizabeth Daisy to the Sunrise Old Age Home. And nobody knew if she had kids, family, relatives, or associates.
<\/p>\n\n\n\n
Yet Mrs. Olivia Smith was glad Miss Daisy had paid her lodging three months in advance with her credit card. Sister June Buthelezi started working at the old age two days after Miss Daisy moved in over a week ago. During her initiation, Mrs. Smith had peeped into Miss Daisy\u2019s room. Already, another sister was dispensing medication, and she and Sister June moved on to another room.
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t was twilight. Sister June Buthelezi\u2019s ebony face glowed with a thin film of perspiration. Her starched white uniform sparkled under the orange sun rays of September. She gazed at the aged folk, some tottering on the grass, others sitting on wooden benches under the trees.
Tall legs clad in shiny grey stockings, she walked up the cascading lawn. She turned the corner and sauntered towards the main entrance of the old age home. She reported for night duty at 7 am and had arrived much earlier. She strolled to the lockers, put away her handbag, sat at the desk, and registered for duty. With her delicate hands, she stuck her pen into the pocket of her blouse. <\/p>\n\n\n\n
Sister June strolled down the long hallway and peered into the rooms of the more infirm elderly individuals. She noticed they devoted most of their days lying down in bed, with nothing else better to go on, but wait for the eventual period.
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In the next room, she noticed Mr. Eddie Blanco lying in his bed, glaring up at the timber in blankness. He was 67 or thereabouts, but he had aged past his age. The strand of his grey hair framed his aged face, his forehead bearing trenches of regular displeasure and scowling.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
\u201cHello, sweetheart, how are you feeling today,\u201d Sister June beamed a smirk at him.
Mrs. Olivia Smith, a veteran nursing sister, and executive director of the Sunrise Old Age Home accompanied Sister June on the first day of duty. She was impressed by the younger nurse\u2019s unique gifts.
Sister June made her work so easy. She never became impatient with some of the difficult old folk, bar, of course, Mr. Blanco. She was receptive to their maladies. The nurse was raised in a household that emphasised respect for elders regardless of their background, race, or creed. It was therefore not in her habit to speak to the seniors as if they were faded souls long past their living age and refused to die. Mrs Smith was also impressed by June\u2019s possession of a plethora of endearments, \u2018sugar, sweetheart, my love, and sweetie. That worked magic when June gave them their daily dose of pain medication.
\u201cDon\u2019t they have another nurse in this darn place beside you?\u201d asked Mr. Blanco with a trace of resentment.
\u201cNo, sweetheart\u201d. June\u2019s friendly gaze landed on him. \u201cYou\u2019re stuck with me. Don\u2019t you worry, you\u2019ll become used to me\u201d. She strode out as Mr. Blanco turned the other way on the bed to face the wall.
<\/p>\n\n\n\n
Mr Blanco was a retired colonel of the former South African Defence Force. He was one remnant of South Africa\u2019s evil system of apartheid, used to treat Black people like trash. He could not imagine how a Black maid, \u2018pretending to be a nurse\u2019, could ordered him to take medication, undress him and bathe him. He loathed the idea of being at the mercy of Sister June.
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In the other room, Miss Elizabeth Daisy sat with her back against the headboard reading a novel. She peered over her brown-framed reading glasses and placed the book on the bed beside her. Her keen green eyes fixed on Sister June.
\u201cHello, sugar, are you well?\u201d June moved toward the bed, picked up the glass case, and put it on the chest of drawers next to Miss Daisy\u2019s bed.
\u201cSure am. Thanks for asking. Actually, what\u2019d you have done if I said I wasn\u2019t well?\u201d
Sister June Buthelezi had worked on a four-year contract at a hospital north of London. Though she enjoyed her stay in the UK, she failed to get used to the bone-crushing cold weather and was delighted to come back home.
She was used to what she told her friends was \u2018the English people\u2019 dry humour. The older lady\u2019s accent, she guessed, she was English. June\u2019s lips parted with a smile. \u201cWell, I suppose I\u2019d do everything in my power to make you right\u201d.
\u201cBut you\u2019re not a doctor. Just a nurse, right?\u201d
\u201cYou\u2019re right. But nurses also have a way of making people feel well and happy again.\u201d
Miss Daisy burst into amused laughter, rocking her emaciated shoulders. She brushed back her grey thin hair with her wrinkled hand. \u201cYou\u2019re not long here, what\u2019s your name?\u201d
\u201cJust started. June. June Buthelezi.\u201d
She made out her hand. \u201cElizabeth Daisy. Are you a relative of Prince Mangosuthu?\u201d
\u201cNo\u201d. A peal of pleasant laughter escaped June\u2019s throat. \u201cPleased to meet you Mrs\u2026\u201d
\u201cNo, no, Miss Daisy.\u201d She cut in. Her tone was stern, she did not like to be referred to as \u2018Mrs.\u2019 \u201cWell then Sister June, get on with your duties, hope we\u2019ll talk again.\u201d
\u201cWill see you later for your dose of medication, sweetheart.\u201d June moved to the door.
\u201cYou sure can hone a person feel about themselves.\u201d A radiant smile crossed Miss Daisy\u2019s face.
Long after dinner had been served, Sister June moved across the large room, some people had left; a few others remained to chatter. Others wore gloomy faces, their food untouched before them.
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A woman with a cleanly shaven head in a wheel sat at the table next to Mr. Blanco. She waved at Sister June; she blew her a kiss, waved back at the woman, and walked on.
\u201cShe\u2019s a pretty thing, don\u2019t you agree, hey Blanco?\u201d
\u201cSpeak for yourself\u201d. There trace of malice and resentment in his tone.
\u201cCome on Blanco, she\u2019s such a pleasurable person, surely this world would be a better and delightful place with more people like her\u201d. The older lady watched with eyes widened in shock as her companion sprang from his chair and walked away. Blanco did not bother to say goodbye to her.
<\/p>\n\n\n\n
As she walked past, June saw the lights on in Mrs. Smith\u2019s office; she guessed her boss might have left the light on when she went home. Without knocking, she pushed the door open. June stopped dead at the door and covered her mouth in shock. \u201cI\u2019m sorry, didn\u2019t know you were in here and thought you must\u2019ve left the lights on.\u201d
\u201cCome on right in June.\u201d Mrs. Smith closed the drawer on her desk, holding a set of keys in her hand. \u201cI\u2019ve come for some documents I forgot to take along when I went home. I\u2019m meeting a funder tomorrow morning and I need them.\u201d
She moved to a steel cabinet, unlocked it, and pulled the top drawer toward her. \u201cHow\u2019s the going between you and Mr. Blanco? She turned to look at June, her eyes flickered with curiosity. \u201cHope things have smoothened\u201d.
June shrugged, and a satisfactory smile plastered her face like it would stay on her forever. \u201cTold him he was stuck with me. He\u2019ll get over it\u201d.
\u201cYou told him?\u201d Mrs. Smith\u2019s brow lifted with amazement. \u201cPoor thing, the lot that refuses to accept the change\u201d. She pushed back the drawer, moved back to her desk, and tossed away the keys.
\u201cI met Miss Daisy.\u201d
\u201cI\u2019m sorry June; I forgot to tell you about her. She\u2019s such a stuck-up, too difficult. She\u2019s always complaining about food and everything thing else. She always keeps to herself, I think she\u2019s even pretending to be reading.\u201d
\u201cOh\u2026 no, she\u2019s such a spot, Mrs. Smith, pleasant to talk to her. She\u2019s got this dry English sense of humour I find amusing.\u201d
\u201cJune, I can\u2019t find words to even start describing you.\u201d With a yellow folder in her hand, Mrs. Smith moved away from the desk and embraced June. \u201cHow you can change obnoxiousness in people and situations into beauty is captivating.\u201d
Mrs. Smith switched off the lights and locked her office, and the two women wished each other a pleasant evening.
<\/p>\n\n\n\n
That afternoon, after she had had her lunch in the canteen, June moved out of the stiflingly hot room and went outside for a breeze of fresh air. She capped her face to protect her eyes from the bright sun and wandered across the lush green lawn and bright daisies, white, and red roses. Her gaze fell on her.
Miss Daisy sat on a wooden chair next to the pond. Sister June could not why the pool was neglected. It was covered in grass and twigs. Miss Daisy lifted her head from the book she was reading.
\u201cI hope I\u2019m intruding?\u201d said June.
\u201cNo. Never you.\u201d She closed the book with a broad smile on her face. \u201cSit down. I\u2019ve been hoping to have a moment with you so that we\u2019d know each other better.\u201d
\u201cThe feeling is mutual Miss Daisy.\u201d
True. Mrs. Smith had told June that she was curious, that Miss Daisy had booked herself into the old age home. She paid for her lodging in advance. She informed June that it was baffling because usually, it was the relatives or children who brought their parents to the facility. However, this was not the case with Miss Daisy.
\u201cAre you married?\u201d There was a trace of resentment in her tone. \u201cPlease tell me you\u2019re not,\u201d said Miss Daisy.
June was taken aback by what she believed was Miss Daisy\u2019s anti-marriage sentiment. She shook her head. \u201cNever was\u201d.
She held June on the knee and shook in gentleness. \u201cGood for you, and children?\u201d
\u201cI have got a son, studying music at the University of Cape Town.\u201d
\u201cThat\u2019s all they\u2019re good at, these bastards, they spread your legs apart and leave you with the responsibilities of motherhood\u201d.
There was an uneasy quietness between them. June reflected on how damn right the elderly woman was. The father of her son had disappeared like he had been eaten by volcanic lava when she told him she was pregnant. She was eighteen and in matric.
After giving birth the following year, June went back to school to complete her matric, leaving her son in the care of her mother. The boy was raised by his grandparents.
\u201cAnd you, do you have children? I guess you never married too.\u201d
\u201cNo, I don\u2019t have children. I don\u2019t know my father.\u201d And now her throat was stern and sharp with resentment. \u201cI was raised by my grandmother after my mother died of stress-related illness.\u201d Her tiny shoulders rocked, sobbed.
June ran her open hand down her back, feeling Miss Daisy\u2019s spinal bones, and she felt she didn’t have to continue with her poignant tale.
\u201cWe\u2019re friends now, June, aren\u2019t we?\u201d The sister nodded in affirmation. \u201cPoor thing, my grandmother also died when I was in high school. I grew up in different orphanages.\u201d
Miss Daisy was born in Liverpool, UK. \u201cI was awarded a bursary and graduated with a Master\u2019s degree in Anthropology. I taught at various universities in the UK before I came to South Africa.\u201d Miss Daisy wiped off the tears trickling down her face with the back of her hand. <\/p>\n\n\n\n
June wondered if Miss Daisy had siblings, and if she had, did she have contact with them. And her father, was he still alive? Miss Daisy was 85; it was beyond imagination her father would still be alive. What about friends, didn\u2019t she have friends, and why not? June had a plethora of questions she wanted to ask Miss Daisy, but she considered they would not serve any purpose.
<\/p>\n\n\n\n
The first week of December signalled a mixture of exhalation and deep sadness for the old folks at an old age. Some children and relatives came to take their fathers, mothers, and grandparents to spend the Xmas holidays with them. They were expected to bring back the elderly in the New Year. But some old folks, not by their design, would be left neglected at the facility to spend the season all by themselves. A depressing truth.
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Because there would be fewer than six old folks left, the place would run on a skeleton staff to save running costs. The home would be quiet, no clinking of pots and whirring of refrigerators in the kitchen, the endless ringing ofMrs. Smith\u2019s telephone, and the smoking engines of delivery trucks. The beating of the wind against the closed doors echoed in every room, and the whizzing sounds of the wind through window frames.
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\u201cAre you sure you want to do that?\u201d asked Mrs. Smith. She leaned back in her chair, and threw June a curious look. Seated in the opposite chair, June informed her that Miss Daisy had agreed to spend the holidays with her and her son in their home in Mamelodi. \u201cWhat if she doesn\u2019t like the atmosphere in the township? Most white folks have never experienced life on that side of our country. Will that not be an inconvenience to you?\u201d
\u201cWell, isn\u2019t it time for some white folks to learn the ways of life of their Black compatriots? I\u2019m sure you still hold fond memories of the times when you managed the SOS Children\u2019s Village in Mamelodi.\u201d
\u201cOf course I do\u201d. Mrs. Smith moved around her desk, she and June stood in what seemed like a lingering embrace. \u201cMerry Xmas to you and your son\u201d.
\u201cMerry Xmas Mrs. Smith. Give your family my profound love.\u201d
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On Christmas Eve, the sun was scorching hot, the sky cloudless when June\u2019s son, Tshepo, parked his mother\u2019s car in front of the entrance of the old age. He gazed to the side; and saw his mother strolling out of the door alongside Miss Daisy.
June\u2019s handbag slung over her shoulder and pulled the luggage bag on its wheels. Tshepo stepped out of the car, walked to the back, opened the boot, and waited for the two women.
\u201cMiss Daisy, this\u2019s my son, Tshepo.\u201d
\u201cLook at him, such a handsome young man. I\u2019m telling you June; you\u2019ll need a whip to keep them away from him.\u201d
Tshepo burst into amused laughter, took the bag from her mother, and placed it inside the boot. \u201cI\u2019m delighted to meet you Miss Daisy; my mother never stopped talking about you when she called me on the phone.\u201d
\u201cYou\u2019re lucky to have a mother like her,\u201d said Miss Daisy, \u201cJune is such a pleasant person. I\u2019m lucky to have such a friend like her.\u201d
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Talk and laughter were boisterous from the moment Tshepo left the old age home in the plush suburb of Sinoville north of Pretoria driving to Mamelodi. Tshepo and Miss Daisy got on well, like a house on fire. Throughout the holidays until the day, he drove his mother and Miss Daisy back, their talks centred around music, RB, jaz ,and classics.
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Sister June could never fathom why people always became ill, and ached with pain during the night, whereas during the day they showed no signs of pain. That be so, though, she preferred working night shifts; it kept her on her toes. She dased from one room to the other to attend to someone curled in the bed, screaming in acute pain. After administering a dose of painkillers, June would go back and watch an old folk, deeply asleep in a moment of bliss and tranquillity.
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It was before midnight when June sprinted into Mr. Blanco\u2019s room, panting. Her gaze fell on him on the bed, lying on his back. His face was covered in sweat, his breathing heavy, and his brown eyes dulled by pain. Not that Blanco\u2019s eyes would have been any different; June was used to his wrathful eyes.
June tore a piece of paper towel secured against the wall above the hand\u2019s basin. \u201cWhat\u2019s the matter, Mr. Blanco?\u201d She reached for his face to wipe off the sweat.
\u201cDon\u2019t you touch me\u201d. The bark of his voice sneered with tension, and he pushed her away. \u201cGet me the doctor\u201d.
\u201cWill do that, Mr. Blanco, but you must allow me to take your blood pressure first, to determine what could be the problem. You look feverish.\u201d
\u201cI don\u2019t care how I look, call the damn doctor\u201d. He turned away from her and faced the wall.
Realising there wasn\u2019t much she could do to persuade Mr. Blanco otherwise, June hurried out. In her office, with frantic fingers, she dialled Doctor Jethro Cullinan\u2019s number. \u201cYou know I\u2019d not call you doctor if it wasn\u2019t an emergency. Mr. Blanco refuses me to treat him. Thank you, doctor\u201d. June drew a long breath of exasperation and slumped into a chair at her desk.
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In what seemed for ages, after twenty-five minutes, June heard the doors of the car slamming, guessing it must be Dr Cullinan; she hurried to the entrance, unlocked and held the door open for the doctor.
\u201cI can\u2019t understand how the miserable old Blanco can be so unreasonable\u201d. Doctor Blanco walked past Sister June, his statoscopes dangling in his long hands.
June shrugged. \u201cHe\u2019s so difficult, doctor, seen no one so stubborn. He would rather be tended only by white nurses.\u201d She trailed the doctor.
In quietness. His forehead furrowed with creases of annoyance, Doctor Cullinan moved his stethoscope over Mr Blanco\u2019s chest. After a while, he removed the stethoscope and glanced at Sister June standing at the foot of the bed.
\u201cNothing to worry about sister, you can administer an antibiotics drip.\u201d
\u201cNo, she can\u2019t do that\u201d. Mr. Blanco\u2019s eyes glistened with rage.
Dr. Cullinan turned to look at Mr. Blanco. The doctor\u2019s eyes narrowed with irritation. \u201cYes, she can, and she\u2019ll Mr. Blanco.\u201d His voice was stern. \u201cSister June is a professional nurse, and she knows exactly what is best for\u2026\u201d The doctor stopped short of saying \u2018your pathetic life.\u201d Dr. Cullinan balanced his weight on Mr. Blanco\u2019s bed. \u201cYou know what? If you\u2019re not satisfied with your stay here, you\u2019re at liberty to go somewhere else to live the last days of your horrible past of racial prejudices\u201d. He stormed out.
<\/p>\n\n\n\n
Three hours after she had administered the drip, the sister went back to check on Mr. Blanco, he lay in his bed in tranquillity, purring softly like a kitten.
Sister June did not leave for home immediately after her night shift ended on that Thursday morning in February. She was concerned about Miss Daisy\u2019s health; she had a complaint about chest pains around 9 pm the previous night. Her blood pressure was recorded at 160\/90. The dose of painkillers did not provide any relief, and she lay curled in her bed, excruciating throughout the night.
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Miss Daisy\u2019s face was pale, drained of any signs of amusement, her eyes showed a tale of solemnness. Her limbs moved like they did not belong to her as she tried to point toward the chest of drawers at the head of her bed.
Though tired, June still smiled at her standing next to the bed. \u201cCheer up, sugar, Doctor Cullinan is coming to see you, everything will be fine\u201d. She took her hand and squeezed it in reassurance.
A weak smile plastered Miss Daisy\u2019s face. Her voice was weak and trembling. \u201cOpen the drawer\u201d.
June opened the drawer, took out books and old women\u2019s magazines, and placed them atop. \u201cWhat do you want me to get for you?\u201d She turned to look at Miss Daisy with eyes widened in with curiosity.
\u201cA business card\u2026\u201d She cupped her mouth as her body quivered with a dry cough. \u201cI want you to call Mr. Lipmann, and ask him to come and see me right away, something urgent I want to speak to him about.\u201d
June looked at the card, its corners bent inwards like dog ears, and read the information, Lipmann, Shapiro, and Schoeman Attorneys. At that moment, Dr. Cullinan, followed by a nurse, walked in.
\u201cOK, old girl, will do so\u201d. She bent and kissed her forehead, iron hot. \u201cSee you in the afternoon\u201d, June waltzed out.
When she arrived home after an hour, June placed her handbag on the table, retrieved the business card, and called Mr. Lipmann\u2019s office. \u201cNo, I\u2019m not a client,\u201d said June to the receptionist. \u201cI\u2019ve been asked to speak to Mr Lipmann personally by her client\u2026\u201d
\u201cOh\u2026 yea\u2026 Miss Daisy, hold on for Mr Lippmann,\u201d said the receptionist.
After listening to the silent telephone for a while, a husky male voice broke the silence.
\u201cLipmann.\u201d
The attorney coughed endlessly into the telephone as he listened to June. \u201cYes, will do that right away, Miss Buthelezi. You\u2019re a nurse at the old age home, you said, right?\u201d
\u201cSister June, please come on in\u201d, said Mrs. Smith as she saw June walking past her office in the late afternoon for her shift that evening. She walked around her desk, wringing her hands, and the radiance in her green eyes evaporated. \u201cPlease sit down\u201d. Her gaze fell on the floor as June sat in a chair. \u201cI\u2019ve sad news for you\u201d.
\u201cIs it Miss Daisy?\u201d
\u201cYes, I\u2019m sorry June; I know how close you two have become.\u201d
\u201cWhen did she\u2026?\u201d June\u2019s voice choked with emotion.
\u201cHer lawyer, Mr. Lipmann, came to see her this morning, and she passed on an hour after the two of them had talked. Listen, June, I know how hard it is on you, you may go back home and come tomorrow evening for your shift.\u201d
\u201cThank you, Mrs. Smith, that\u2019s very kind of you.\u201d
June lay in bed that night, staring in blankness at the ceiling, unable to find sleep. She worried where Miss Daisy would be buried. A 7 am, she pushed her foot out from under the sheet, but she couldn\u2019t negotiate with her limbs to function. She dragged herself out of the bed, and she took her cellphone from the dresser. June grabbed her gown hung behind the door, tucked the phone into her pocket, and trotted to the bathroom.
She looked into the mirror and ran her fingers below the bags underneath her eyes. In the kitchen, she plugged the kettle on. June sat at the table, her face resting on her palm, and sipped at her coffee. She jerked in a startle as the phone vibrated against her thighs.
\u201cOh\u2026 Mrs. Smith, what can I say, guess I\u2019ll be fine.\u201d June pressed her itching eyes shut. \u201cNo, she has no living relatives. No, no close friends that I know of. I suppose that shouldn\u2019t be a problem at all, Mrs. Smith. I\u2019ll arrange everything for her burial, yes, the service everything, she\u2019ll be buried here in Mamelodi. OK, I\u2019ll keep you in the loop.\u201d
June parked her car outside the gate of Anglican Church\u2019s mission house in Mamelodi West. In the backyard, she negotiated her way on the stone path dotted with weeds after every stone to the back door. After three or five knocks, June heard the trudging of footsteps inside the house coming towards the door, and it swung open.
\u201cMiss Buthelezi, please come in\u201d. Father Jeremiah Zulu brushed back his wispy grey hair and stepped aside to let June in. She trailed the priest trudging in his black, oversized slippers.
In the living room, Mrs Zulu, a heavyset woman, was slumped on a brown and battered couch. The temperature stood at 32 degrees Celsius. June noticed the windows were closed, and the thick brown curtains not drawn. There was inadequate light inside the room, like some movie theatre. The wall, once painted white, showed concrete beneath them, with fattish smudges. The red and run-down floor smelt of dust.
After he had sat down on a chair at the table, Father Zulu listened with intent at June, seated on the couch next to Mrs. Zulu.
\u201cMiss Buthelezi,\u201d the clergy allowed a mocking smile to cross his unshaven face. \u201cFrom what I\u2019ve gathered from you, this person was not a relative, she was just a friend of yours, right?\u201d
\u201cYes, she was a friend.\u201d
Father Zulu shook his head. \u201cShe was not a member of any church, nor was she a member of my congregation; I cannot see how you expect me to bury such a person.\u201d
\u201cFather, doesn\u2019t the church have a social responsibility towards fellow humans? June\u2019s eyes glistened with rage, and her voice trembled with irritation. \u201cMiss Daisy did not have children, never married, and has no relatives; I was her only friend. Doesn\u2019t the church care about the plight of such people?\u201d
June felt a drop on her cheek, the second, the third, and tears ran down her face. She felt a mixture of anger, regret, and frustration inside her. In the UK, June had earned a descent salary, incomparable to the peanuts her South African colleagues earned. Besides her tithe and other contributions she had made towards the church, she had donated R10 000 for the maintenance of the church and the mission house. She was appalled by the derelict state of the mission house. She was convinced the donation was not used for what it was intended.
\u201cI\u2019ll not wonder anymore when people are critical of the irrelevance of the church.Thatt is why they have stopped going to church. I know,\u201d she pointed towards the window, \u201cout there, there\u2019d be someone prepared to bury Miss Daisy regardless she was a member of their church or not.\u201d June stormed out.
As June had prophesied. A stocky priest in a navy blue cassock presided over the Miss Daisy\u2019s burial.
Back at home, hundreds of mourners stood in snaking queues in and outside the yard of June\u2019s house, with disposable plate plates, to be dished food.
\u201cThese people\u201d, Mrs. Smith nodded with her head towards the queue inside the yard. \u201cDid they know Miss Daisy?\u201d
June squeezed past some people in the queue and made way for Mrs. Smith, followed by Mr. Eddie Blanco.
\u201cNo, some are my friends, neighbours, friends of the friends, and friends of the neighbours. Black people do not invite people to funerals. Those who have the time join others to lend a helping hand to the bereaved family or friend.\u201d
\u201cA sign of Ubuntu, I suppose?\u2019 said Mr. Blanco.
\u201cThat\u2019s right\u201d, a pleasurable smile plastered June\u2019s face. It was beyond her that Mr. Blanco actually understood the principle. \u201cI think that\u2019s what makes us South Africans unique\u201d.
Mr Blanco held June in a tight embrace and pecked her on both cheeks. \u201cYou\u2019re a wonderful person, Sister June, you really are. He held her hands. \u201cI\u2019ll forever remain indebted to your kindness\u201d.
<\/p>\n\n\n\n
At that moment, a car parked in front of Mrs. Smith\u2019s car. She gazed, her face beamed with recognition as the passenger stepped out. With a smile on her face, she gazed at June and Mr. Blanco.
\u201cThat\u2019s Mr. Lipmann, the lawyer I told you came to see Miss Daisy on the morning she passed on.\u201d
\u201cYes, I remember that\u201d. June\u2019s eyes widened with curiosity.
\u201cHe had phoned looking for you and I told him you\u2019re not in. He asked me for your home address and said he wanted to see you.\u201d Mrs. Smith turned to glimpse at Mr. Lipmann approaching in slow strides, holding a white envelope in his hand.
\u201cAfternoon Mrs. Smith. \u201cWhat are you doing here?\u201d asked Mr. Lipmann.
\u201cI came with Mr. Blanco to bury Miss Daisy.\u201d
Mr. Lipmann masked his surprise, bewildered that his client was buried in a township graveyard. \u201cYou didn\u2019t tell me she\u2019d be buried today. Anyway\u2026\u201d
Mrs. Smith cut in. \u201cThis is Sister June,\u201d She turned to look at June, \u201cMr. Lipmann, I guess you two have not met.\u201d
\u201cMiss Buthelezi, of course, we spoke over the phone\u201d. Mr. Lipmann shook June\u2019s hand but continued holding it in his clasp.
\u201cThis document here\u201d, Mr. Lipmann waved the envelope at June. \u201cIs a testimony of your humility, a gesture of a profound friendship of two women from different backgrounds. He handed June the envelope. \u201cShould you wish to discuss your inheritance with me, please come to my office\u201d.
June held the envelope in her shaking hand. \u201cThank you, Mr. Lipmann\u201d. With teary eyes, she looked on as Mrs. Smith and Mr. Blanco strolled to the car. She wiped off her eyes with her forefinger and waved at Mr Lipmann as he drove away.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
<\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"
ByThabo Mooke The above short story is one of the author’s works published in a Kenyan online anthology: KISSA Nobody knew who brought Miss Elizabeth Daisy to the Sunrise Old Age Home. And nobody knew if she had kids, family, relatives, or associates. Yet Mrs. Olivia Smith was glad Miss Daisy had paid her lodging […]<\/p>\n","protected":false},"author":1,"featured_media":0,"comment_status":"open","ping_status":"open","sticky":false,"template":"","format":"standard","meta":{"footnotes":""},"categories":[11],"tags":[],"class_list":["post-83","post","type-post","status-publish","format-standard","hentry","category-short-stories"],"_links":{"self":[{"href":"https:\/\/thabomooke.co.za\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/posts\/83","targetHints":{"allow":["GET"]}}],"collection":[{"href":"https:\/\/thabomooke.co.za\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/posts"}],"about":[{"href":"https:\/\/thabomooke.co.za\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/types\/post"}],"author":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/thabomooke.co.za\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/users\/1"}],"replies":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/thabomooke.co.za\/index.php?rest_route=%2Fwp%2Fv2%2Fcomments&post=83"}],"version-history":[{"count":1,"href":"https:\/\/thabomooke.co.za\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/posts\/83\/revisions"}],"predecessor-version":[{"id":84,"href":"https:\/\/thabomooke.co.za\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/posts\/83\/revisions\/84"}],"wp:attachment":[{"href":"https:\/\/thabomooke.co.za\/index.php?rest_route=%2Fwp%2Fv2%2Fmedia&parent=83"}],"wp:term":[{"taxonomy":"category","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/thabomooke.co.za\/index.php?rest_route=%2Fwp%2Fv2%2Fcategories&post=83"},{"taxonomy":"post_tag","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/thabomooke.co.za\/index.php?rest_route=%2Fwp%2Fv2%2Ftags&post=83"}],"curies":[{"name":"wp","href":"https:\/\/api.w.org\/{rel}","templated":true}]}}