Free The Disappeared by Vernon William Baumann Page A

Johannesburg; away from sorrow and
degradation; away from a throwaway life.
    ‘I’m going
to be very sick ... soon,’ Lindiwe said as they passed the city limits of Johannesburg.
She dreaded the heavy convulsive withdrawals that came with alcohol addiction.
Her heart was dark with anticipation.
    ‘I know,
angel.’
    Angel .
    Her mom
used to call her that. A very very long time ago.
    The old
woman placed a hand on Lindiwe’s leg. ‘Don’t worry. I used to be a nurse.’
There was a long silence as the old woman negotiated the thinning traffic of
the outskirts of Johannesburg. She looked at Lindiwe again. ‘You’re too
beautiful. You deserve better.’ There was a poignant tenderness in her voice
that once again moved Lindiwe to tears. She cried until the glow of Johannesburg
faded behind the dark horizon. Until the whizzing landscape merged into one
shapeless mass. Until darkness fell over her. She awoke when they entered the
tiny hamlet of Bishop. She was immediately struck by the quaint, near-fairytale
appearance of its streets and neat buildings.
    Soon after
that the terrible withdrawals started.
    The old
woman offered her a room in the house but Lindiwe preferred the privacy of the
compact caravan in the backyard. She was too familiar with the terrible
indignity of withdrawals and wanted a measure of solitude and privacy.
     For the
next two weeks Lindiwe suffered horribly at the hands of her addiction. The
deep inner cold that couldn’t be assuaged by a thousand blankets; the
convulsive retching and vomiting that ripped her body apart; the ceaseless
degrading diarrhoea that struck without warning; and the constant longing for
the bitter taste of alcohol on her lips – the fiery liquid that was the only
thing that could fill the aching void.
    But always
there, like a tireless hovering angel was the old woman – the old woman who had
come to save her; who had come to restore her to sanity. In the long endless
hours of night – it was always worst at night – she begged and pleaded with the
old woman. Please ... just one drink ... just one more drink. Just one sip to
silence the screams inside her body. But the old woman was unrelenting. And she
insisted. The withdrawals had to be clean and unassisted by anything but the
most rudimentary medication. And so for two weeks Lindiwe sweated and suffered
and puked and defecated her way to recovery and health. And then ...
    One day she
had awoken ... and it was over. She was clean. She was healthy. And she had a
brand-new life before her. And then the sorrow had come. All the feelings she
had suppressed for so long with the amnesia of alcohol came flooding through
her. For three days she cried. For the lost life of an infant; for the lost
love of a mother; and the lost years of her life.
    But that
too had passed. And at the end of it, she was in a place called Bishop. And she
had found a new mother – the old lady who she had come to call gogo .
    The old
woman who – overnight – had disappeared from her house.

 
22:15
     
    Estelle van
Deventer never knew what hit her.
    Earlier
that evening she was watching Isidingo – the local soapie on SABC
3 . She had been watching the long-running series since ... well, who could really
say. Since the beginning, she guessed.She had
been through deaths, divorces, betrayals, affairs, addictions, hostile
take-overs and God-knows-what-else. She had even watched TheVillagers - the original show all those years ago that had inspired this spin-off. She
had been a loyal viewer. For a very long time now. She even – sometimes –
enjoyed watching the Sunday Omnibus. Yes. She was a loyal viewer indeed.
    Sometimes
though. Not often. But sometimes ... she would sit with a cup of black coffee
in her hand and stare at the flashing images and she would think. No. Not again
.Not another affair. Not another scandal. Not another new preppy face supposed
to boost flagging ratings. Sometimes it felt like an ancient marriage that had
gone sour.