Free The Water Man's Daughter by Emma Ruby-Sachs Page B

all in, I could have put you behind –”
    “But you didn’t.” Nomsulwa spins and stands her ground. “You wouldn’t because you resent the water menjust as much as I do, as we all do. You hate every bit of what they’ve done here. You wanted those pipes gone. You were glad I was out there, doing what you didn’t have the courage to do.”
    Zembe says very quietly, “I don’t hate them enough to lose my job.”
    “Find someone else. I can’t be in charge of some water man’s kid.”
    “You’re it. She arrives in four days. White girl, twenty-one years old. Be at the airport by eleven, it’s the midday flight from Toronto. She’ll be in the South African Airways terminal.”
    Zembe walks away.
    “What’s her name?” Nomsulwa calls after her.
    “Claire Matthews.”
    Zembe does not look back. Nomsulwa will do it. She has to. The threat is real. Zembe doesn’t like the idea of turning in this brave girl, but she will if she has to.

SIX

    N OMSULWA ALMOST MAKES IT TO THE CAR . T HEN SHE feels sick to her stomach and turns around, dashing back into her house. By the time she is on the road to the airport, she is twenty minutes late.
    She spent the past four days thinking of every possible excuse to remove herself from the position of tour guide. Each phone call was forcefully brushed aside by Zembe. There is no choice. Either Nomsulwa shows up today or she and her entire organization will be arrested for the pipe theft. This reality sitting heavy on her chest, Nomsulwa wonders what part of herself will shut down, what part of her will turn off so that she can get through the task of escorting this girl to and from her fancy downtown hotel. For the first time in her life, she is thankful for her father, a man who held life in pieces, always choosing which one would rise to the surface. The kind of man who could break your fingers one moment and then hold them in his cool, broad hands with complete love the next.
    The airport is on the opposite side of the city from Phiri. She has been there once before, to send off a cousin on his way to London for school. The entire family attendedhis departure, shoving blankets and treats for the plane in his hands as he tried to escape. Nomsulwa hung back, fiercely jealous and nervous in the strange hall full of white men in business suits. One day, she swore, she would be the one with a scholarship, leaving on an airplane to study.
    But then there had been a sick mother, and a cousin to keep out of trouble, and Nomsulwa had gotten her degree from the local university. A degree, sure, and with honours. But it is not worth much now.
    The airport smells like cleaning fluid and men’s cologne. She sidesteps ladies swathed in animal-print gossamer with large bags trundling behind them. Families are here this time, too, gathered in huge numbers to send off or receive their own prodigal sons. She doesn’t look at faces, hoping to avoid recognition. She would have a hard time explaining her presence without giving away who she is picking up.
    There is a scuffle on the left side of the hall. Crowds are being shifted this way and that as people gravitate towards the commotion. She follows a group of kids who were hovering around the vending machines to see what is going on. As she gets closer, she can hear the voice of a young woman yelling, “Give it back!” Another tourist fallen victim to the boys who hang around poaching unattended bags.
    The woman in the centre of the gathering crowd still has one hand on her bag, while a tall boy backs away, looking very nervous about all the attention he is receiving.
    The first thing Nomsulwa notices about Claire Matthews is that she looks incredibly familiar. Her colouring is all wrong.Nothing like the pale ghost of the water man. But the eyes are the same. She is tiny; her face is scrunched and she is on the verge of exploding into tears, grabbing at her knapsack now securely in the arms of the tall boy searching for a place to