Free Ways of Dying by Zakes Mda Page B

just telling you that it was the law that rendered him manless? At least in the cities we hear that they are beginning to form unions that will fight for the rights of the workers. Such ideas haven’t reached us here yet.’
    Toloki was convinced by his new friends to keep his job, and make his home in that country town. These companions were like family to him. He envied the cosy relationship that his new friend enjoyed with his father, and wanted to be a part of it. They were indeed more like mates, and shared everything. Theirs was the closeness of saliva to the tongue.
    The father did part-time gardening jobs in a suburb where white people lived. Sometimes he came with leftovers from thetables of his masters, and the three of them sat in front of the shack, and stuffed themselves with delicacies whose names they did not even know. They laughed and smoked and drank beer and danced to their own crazy off-tune songs. Toloki knew he could be happy there. For the first time in his life, he was treated like a man – even though he was only eighteen. When he shared stories of his village, people listened with genuine interest. No one laughed at his face. People were concerned with the more urgent problems of living, and with the business of creating their own happiness in the midst of penury.
    One day Toloki went to visit his friends as usual. He was surprised to see a group of people standing outside the shack. Some women were weeping softly, others were wailing. He looked for the old man, and found him being comforted by other men behind the shack.
    â€˜They have killed your friend, Toloki.’
    â€˜But I saw him this morning.’
    â€˜I have just come from the hospital. He died this afternoon.’
    Toloki heard how his friend was burnt to death in a deadly game he played with a white colleague. During their lunch break this white colleague sent him to fetch a gallon of petrol from the mill’s petrol depot. When he came back with the petrol he found a black labourer, who was known as the white man’s crony, on the floor, struggling to free himself from his white friend who had his knee on his chest. The crony later said, ‘I do not know exactly how it happened, but I remember kicking the container and the man was doused with petrol all over.’ As he was trying to clean his face with a piece of cloth, the white colleague jokingly said that he was going to burn him. He then struck a match and threw it at him.
    The crony continued, ‘The fire was so big that I was frightened. I went around screaming for help. But by the time they put out the flames and took him to hospital, it was too late. Hewas badly burnt.’ The crony insisted that his white friend was playing. He had played such fire tricks on other workers before, including on him only the previous month. ‘The same white man doused me with petrol and set me alight last month. I sustained burns, but I healed after a while. Although he is a big white baas, he is very friendly and likes to play with black labourers.’
    However the man’s father refused to believe that it was all a game. He said that before his son died, he had told him that the white man hated him because he was doing so well in his job. He had been a labourer for many years, serving the company with honesty and dedication, and had recently been tipped for a more senior position. The white man had conspired with the crony to kill him. They were motivated by jealousy. ‘I cannot believe the many stories that are told, but I believe what my son told me,’ the old man said. ‘Why did the white man who burnt my son laugh at him when he was in flames? Why did he refuse to help him?’ But the crony was adamant that the white colleague was merely laughing because it was a game. To him the flames were a joke. When the man screamed and ran around in pain, he thought he was dancing.
    Toloki went to his friend’s funeral, and solemnly listened