The Danger Card

The Danger Card

 CHAPTER 1 Stephen Gotora lay prone on a hospital bed. He had no woman company this time; he was alone. Most of his women - as many as his dozen wound scars - including Gertrude his pretty wife had apparently deserted him, save for Cecilia, who was groaning with indescribable anguish in the females’ ward. He was, nevertheless, not always lonely as it were. His brave decision to rise above his illness’s stigma by going public about it had (in spite of losing him dear friends and relatives) ironically endeared him to a sizeable audience of nurses and other patients who gathered about his bed as he relived the story of his life. This had more than atoned for his lack of visitors. “You owe us one!” cried Eunice. “Tell us those rules of life by which you live you promised us yesterday.” She had, like the night before, sneaked from Dr Parker’s Blood Tests Laboratory a few blocks away to listen to Stephen’s captivating stories. But on that first day his state of health could not allow him to please his enthusiastic audience. His diarrhea had been bad, causing him to respond to the call of nature at short intervals of time. Besides, his suffocating cough could not allow much talking either. Fortunately this day seemed one of those rare good days when he was relatively well. Such were the striking vicissitudes of his illness that in one moment he would feel as strong as a mule and in the next as weak and helpless as a baby. “Life,” started Stephen in his self-assured manner, “has no absolute rules or a definite formula ---”   He paused to gauge the interest he had generated in his audience. He was much better this evening as he could sit on the edge of his bed for long periods of time before complaining of back fatigue. “Or as you said yesterday, like a lottery!”  Eunice reminded him, helping him focus his mind on the right course: He had developed problems of sudden lapses in concentration of late. “Yes. I lived my life like a lottery with a pack of randomly assorted identical cards with half of them carrying the tag ‘PLEASURE’ on them and the other half, ‘DANGER’!”  “But what does that mean?” asked Emma, a new patient. Stephen regarded Emma crouching on the floor before him. During his time, he reckoned, he probably would have made a successful go at her. She still appeared attractive, the sinking cheeks and those herpes sores partially charring her face notwithstanding. “As you experience life the nature of cards you choose to pick essentially predetermines your fate. If you pick the ‘danger card’ then you are likely to encounter insurmountable obstacles and adversities. However, you may overcome once you pick more ‘pleasure cards’ than the ominously dangerous ones that most of us are destined to come across,” said Stephen romantically.          “But why do most people appear bent towards a preference for the ‘danger cards’?” asked nurse Chirume, an obese woman who was very unpopular with patients due to her abusive language and her rough uncaring treatment of them. 

“When you pick the cards of life they would be up-side down like these ones,” he reached for his pack of cards from under the pillow. He shuffled them carefully before expertly spreading them on the floor upside down. Then he asked every member of his audience to pick one card. “So when you pick one card after another you can’t be certain what nature of card you are picking, as the surfaces facing you are all the same---” “Oh!” cried Eunice as she regarded her card. “I have picked a ‘danger card!”  But her impulsive exclamation, meant as a joke did not go down well with her fellow audience. It seemed as if- in the prime of health as she was, in sharp contrast to their emaciated forms – she was mocking them for they had in reality picked some ‘danger cards’. The signs were all there to see…… Meanwhile a small brown insect with an abdomen enticingly spotted in white, the ‘shuranyama’, crawled gracefully on the wall near Stephen’s bed. The insect seemed to have provided the timely diversion from the tension that had mounted after Eunice’s unfortunate statement. “This insect is a forerunner of luck,” said Stephen regarding the insect with curiosity. He remembered vividly the sacred rituals they, as children, would perform upon coming across it. A circle around it would be drawn, as if to trap the luck as it were and, on some occasions it would meet a more gruesome fate as they would sever its abdomen from the rest of its body. “But,” he warned, “the luck insect is notorious for its offensive sting and we believed that it would certainly curse its victims.” Stephen felt a twinge of nostalgia as his thoughts wandered in retrospect of the exhilarating episodes that had preceded his present condition of doom and gloom. “If wishes were horses, I would ask the world, or whoever rules it to grant me another chance.” As he regarded his audience, he knew he was echoing the unspoken wishes of the majority of them. Surely given another chance they would all take it with both arms…. “I would only have asked to mount my horse and guide it back, retracing the footsteps of my life, only dismounting occasionally to smoothen the lane and rid it of stumbling blocks, thorns and pitfalls until I reach the landslide that had proclaimed my eventual downfall……” “What happened at that landslide?” asked Susan.  “It is here where l picked my decisively final ‘danger card’.”  A cold air current streaming through  the window brought a sensation of discomfort on his skin. He rose from the edge of the bed, wrapped a blanket over his entire frame after extending a gesture of mock invitation to Emma to join him in the blanket and get lost in it. During their good old days, she could not (at the right price) have easily resisted the urge to accept that offer. “Here,” he continued. “It would be a wild goose chase to attempt leveling the landscape. Thus, in this my self-redeeming mission, the only realistically safe way would be to avoid tantalizing lanes that appear destined to converge at that catastrophic landslide. I would from here steer my horse away in a course that will never take me back again…..Stephen’s imaginary horse first took him to his childhood advances to Shamiso, then to the liberation war, finally leading him to Rugare Court, that notorious hostel for s*x workers where he had hired Gertrude, Sarudzai, Susan - to name a few of that fateful dozen. Then he relived the episodes with Siphiwe in her Glen Norah room; followed by the unusual encounter with Cecilia in Garikai’s car and his marriage to Gertrude…Farai and….His horse suddenly veered off its course as the dozen or so members of his audience shifted their attention to the advancing figure of Dr Parker.  

 It seemed everybody was fascinated by the doctor for different reasons:  Eunice remembered with regret that she had forgotten to sterilize the blood tests equipment; Nurse Chirume had not taken the temperatures of  patients further than Stephen’s bed because she had, although always trying to hide it, been held hostage by the stories. The patients regarded Dr Parker as their last hope. It was no longer a hushed secret that he was working to find a cure and almost on the verge of announcing a breakthrough. The gradual improvement in the general health of ten patients used as experimental cases pointed to a favourable outcome…..            

CHAPTER 2  

  Stephen regarded his audience with anxiety. Nurse Chirume, with that typical cynical expression on her face dashed listlessly from one bed to another, in a merry-go-round of the beds within earshot of the proceedings. Cecilia, whose incessant cough and pneumonia incapacitated her from talking could only respond by barely nodding her head in approval. Emma, Susan and the rest sat at their usual positions, while those new to this priceless pastime fidgeted restlessly, wondering how, at best Stephen’s revelations would change their lives or at worst, how efficient his sellout of their life experiences would be. Eunice, perhaps his most avid listener was conspicuous by her absence.  Maybe that pompous, overbearing doctor of hers could have prevailed upon her not to come. But when she finally came, her delay was clearly excusable for she had a more colourful stranger in tow. Stephen sighed heavily when he considered the stranger. But this send a wrong signal to his audience who feared that his chest problem had become too hard to bear for him to necessitate his early recall to bed from finishing that evening’s yarn which promised to be more captivating than those that had preceded it. He had given them a hint of what that evening’s story was about: The story of his conquest of Shamiso! Stephen’s attention was so preoccupied with Eunice’s companion that even when nurse Chirume, who could hardly disguise her open preference for attending to him compared to other patients, soaked a towel in warm water and wrapped it over his chest, he didn’t even take note of it. His mind was totally obsessed by that woman. He was even confused by the nature of his emotion towards her. He wondered whether it could be love. No. He had picked his fair quota of such cards…… The object of his obsession swept past him gracefully after rewarding him with a tantalizing smile. Strangely she did not seem all too unfamiliar to him, with that triangular face that was made up of a large flat forehead which terminated at two depressions where small but widely spaced eyeballs looked as clear as twinkling balls of fire. Hers were not shy eyes but seemed like oases of endurance, patience and pity. At the top of the neck was a chisel-shaped chin, which gave the impression of being ready to chop anyone once provoked, more so as she often raised her neck as she often did- arrogantly. Her legs were lovely, particularly when walking with that inimitable gait- they merely touched the floor surreptitiously as if stepping over eggs. Figuring out where he possibly might have met this welcome stranger was like looking for a needle in a haystack. A lot of women had come into, and walked out of, his life. In any case he had never had relations with a nurse and yet, she looked more a nurse than anything else! None of his lovers, since the war, had any potential of being a nurse. It had to be someone he had known before he had left for the war. Lamentably, his demented mind failed just to retrieve that name from his waning memory. All the same, that setback notwithstanding, that day’s story had to be told. Hopefully the stranger would be entertained enough to become a permanent feature of his growing audience.“I was about to tell you about my early love life,” said Stephen. “I started my heroic feats of love quite early. I was only in grade 4 when l mooted the idea of conquering Shamiso--”  Eunice nudged her friend’s elbow. They looked at each other with eyes that conveyed more than what words could say. They had gotten so used to each other’s impulses and mannerisms that they almost always correctly read each other’s mind. They had known each other almost three years ago when they were both final year student nurses at Harare Hospital. That fateful day they had met had given birth to a lasting friendship. Their friendship was a natural event, forged upon the foundations of firm moral values they both shared. Even before the end of that year Eunice’s friend had easily managed to stir up something between Eunice and her only brother, Garikai. Eunice had not hesitated to fall head over hills with Garikai thanks to the good image of Garikai that was portrayed in Eunice’s mind by her dear friend. When the time came for him to make a formal proposal, she accepted with gusto, for that was the only association that would ensure a permanent access to her dear friend. Besides, Garikai was doing well, having risen gradually through the ranks to become personnel manager at DP Engineering. Eunice wondered whether it was by coincidence that Stephen’s first love –Shamiso-had the same name as her friend! Or could it be that Stephen’s Shamiso was none other than her friend here, Garikai’s sister. While everything was possible under the sun, she quickly realized the absurdity of trying to link her sister-in-law with Stephen at any one time or other. Shamiso - her Shamiso - could not as far as she was privileged to know, have sunk so low as associating herself with someone of so base morals as depicted by Stephen’s own character in his revelations. Eunice had been very right in judging the character of her sister-in-law. Shamiso had turned down all offers of marriage from even very illustrious personalities. She was, however, not even able to convince herself why she had refused even some top civil servants, doctors and managers of leading companies. She had gradually lost interest in men in general, having watched and consoled several of her colleagues who had been offered false promises by men who sought short-term satisfaction.  However the consequences of such temporary satisfaction were not themselves temporary, but had long-term painful effects which were mainly borne by the girl. Shamiso’s subconscious mind was the abode of the man she whole-heartedly loved. He was tall and muscular. She, however, was not perfectly certain of these attributes because it had been a long time since she had seen the man, no, the boy, for he had only matured into a man in her mind. The man’s image in her mind was blurred like a distant shadow or simply a vague silhouette of an adorable man. What was  unquestionably certain about the attributes of this man was that he was brave. Brave enough to win her mean heart….. While Eunice and her friend were still conjecturing about the unexpected mention of the name ‘Shamiso’, Stephen brushed aside any remaining doubts they may have been having about the true identity of Shamiso when he continued his story. “While Shamiso’s home was only a stone’s throw from our own, I had not had the ample opportunity to hand over my love letter to her since her Brother Garikai had always been around, unknowingly throwing spanners into my intentions …..” At this point Eunice and her friend excused themselves. As they entered her office and closed the door behind them Eunice could not suppress the restless inquisitiveness embodied in her eyes. “ I do not think we can continue to treat this as a mere coincidence….that there is another Shamiso  out there, whose brother is Garikai!”  “It is still probable, but what is the name of this man and where does he come from?” wondered Shamiso. “For more information, “ asserted Eunice. “Let’s go back and hear it from the horse’s mouth.” As they return, they were surprised to realize that they had not missed anything at all, for Stephen was just recovering from a coughing trance  he had been in. “The only opportunity I thought I had was when our teacher Mr Ngorima had turned his back to scribble something on the board.” Shamiso almost protested loudly as Stephen mentioned Mr Ngorima, who had been her grade 4 teacher well back in 1966. She remembered vividly how Stephen had attempted to ‘post’ a letter into her lunch-bag, that rested on the desk in front of her with its mouth now open as the Msasa bark fibre that she had tied on it had dried and snapped. Stephen had almost succeeded in guiding his letter inside the bag but for the flies which buzzed out of the bag noisily as the letter landed in. His desk-mates, who had witnessed the event, could not resist the temptation to laugh, Mr Ngorima’s predictably harsh reaction notwithstanding. As Shamiso continued to absent-mindedly listen to the story, a story which she, ironically, could also have told though with much less humour and  romance, she could sense the dreaded advance of the teacher, finally pausing in front of her, inviting her to own up and explain what had happened. She felt pity for that poor little girl she was then, for she had not understood what had actually transpired, except for the distracting buzz of the disturbed flies. Suddenly she had seemed to realize her mistake: She was supposed to have left her food-pouch in a special compartment at the back end of the classroom where other children always left their lunch-bags.                           “I am sorry,” she had stuttered, as she picked up the pouch. As she moved liquid dripped  from one corner of the bag describing her trail, soiling Stephen’s exercise book in the process.  “The last thing I remembered,” continued Stephen, “ was when Mr Ngorima had ordered Shamiso to hand over her food pouch to him” ”Did he suspect that your letter was in that bag?” asked Susan.   “Not really. But I think my classmates gave me away. The way they kept on looking at her bag was too suggestive to ignore. It must have given him a hint that there was more in the pouch than just boiled nuts and mealies. ”  “Then did you wait for the teacher to open the bag and reveal your ‘cat’ out of the bag as they say?” asked Joshua, one of the few male nurses at the hospital. “’May I leave for the toilet, sir?’ I said apparently shivering. Mr Ngorima was not surprised by my tremulous condition as he knew that sometimes pupils shivered when their bladders’ valves were beginning to yield to urine pressure. “’Quickly run,’ the teacher had said as he took out the letter. “As soon as I had closed the door behind me I knew I had escaped humiliation in front of my peers. I had known for certain that Mr Ngorima would read the letter loudly to the class so as to deter others from repeating the same offence.  Stephen had correctly read the situation, thought Shamiso. She remembered, with a feeling of self-pity how she, like a sacrificial lamb was taunted and jeered at after the teacher had read the letter. She couldn’t have stood all that. After all she had done nothing wrong. She could not have done anything to have prevented Stephen, or any other boy for that matter, from developing feelings of attraction towards her. And in her childish mind by then, the line between love and friendship was far too faint for her uninitiated eye to see. She had broken into heart-rending sobs and bolted out of the classroom for home. “Upon  arriving home I had lied to my father Chipangano, that I had been excused from school since I had not been feeling well,” continued Stephen. “But my escape was not final. The teacher had an ace up his sleeve after all. The next morning I deliberately dragged myself late for assembly and as I peeped behind the administration block I was shocked to see Shamiso standing on the staff platform with the hawkish Mrs Garwe next to her. “When the headmaster led the prayer, I stealthily tip-toed to join the rest but no sooner had the prayer ended than I was shoved by two prefects to stand alongside Shamiso.” Stephen recalled how he was forced to read his letter loudly at assembly, amid jeers from the other pupils. As  Shamiso remembered the incident, it sent a ripple  of shivers through her spine. She had felt almost all sense of feeling leaving her, her consciousness submerged by an overwhelming feeling of hate. She hated everyone from the teachers to their pupils who were enjoying every moment of her humiliation. She had almost exploded when Mrs Garwe forced her to clasp Stephen’s hand as Mr Ngorima led the school choir to sing the happy wedding song “Muchatise  d-r-d-t-l-s….”  “What type of disgraceful teachers were they?” ranted a Masocha, a teacher on sick leave. “Didn’t they realize that punishments based on humiliation are not effective deterrents. If anything, they may cause long-term psychological damage or even reinforce those misdemeanors they are trying to weed out in the first place. Surely Socrates or Skinner or my grandmother who did not know the difference between a classroom and a cattle-pen would have turned in their graves to such abuse!” he concluded, adding a philosophical dimension to the story. “But how did Shamiso feel about your dragging her into this?” asked Eunice. Shamiso knew that the question was more directed at her than at Stephen. But Stephen had answered it as well as she could have. She had only managed to nod in approval. She had hated everyone except one person, her fellow victim Stephen. She had admired how he had boldly withstood that humiliating experience by maintaining a brave face where other boys of his age could have broken down crying.  She had forgiven him and gone further to reward him by yielding to his proposition, if only to defy the teachers further……