Peace In Death

By Sukoluhle Mdlongwa

To the outside world, Thomas and Nomcebo are a happily married couple. They are wealthy, progressive and the 'It Couple' of society pages. But on the domestic front, Nomcebo lives under her husband's shadow, and has learnt never to outshine him. 

 

In a world where women have to tolerate whatever abuse the husband throws at them simply because he is the provider, Nomcebo's case is different. She has a successful career, she has all the money; much more than she can spend in a lifetime. All she yearns for - and what is keeping her hostage - is the desperate need to be loved by a man who breaks her down piece by piece, day by day and at every opportunity he gets.

 

Peace In Death, from the quill of Sukoluhle Nontokozo Mdlongwa, author of My Dad My life and Iph'thule His Sanity, challenges the stereotype that it is only the women who depend on men, who are victims of Gender Based Violence. Peace In Death shines the spotlight on the 'abantu bazothini' syndrome, pressure from family that keeps women imprisoned in loveless marriages, and the misguided belief that he will change.

• Language: English
• Publisher: PUBLISH'D AFRIKA
• Release date: Oct 31, 2022
• ISBN: 9798215454589

Book preview

CHAPTER ONE

NOMCEBO

I'm jolted awake by the blaring alarm and I cuss loudly. I was having such a beautiful dream where I had just given birth to a baby girl, whom Thomas had named Nosihle. I saw my husband's smile after years of seeing his grim face and it felt good. It felt so good I wished this damn alarm didn't wake me up. But it did, only to find myself alone on this gigantic bed. Thomas' side of the bed still looks perfectly intact, signalling that once again I slept alone.

I reach for the vibrating phone and turn off the alarm. The wallpaper on my phone takes me back to the good and blissful days of our lives. It is a picture of me wearing a colourful swimsuit, a lace cover-up and big rimmed sunglasses. I was at the Copacabana Beach View, one of the popular tourist destinations in Rio de Janeiro, Brazil. The warm, tropical South American sun illuminated my caramel skin and the camera didn't miss the glow of the newly and happily married 25-year-old me.

I scroll to my phone's gallery that I refer to as my ‘memories bank’ and click on the file titled Our Honeymoon. The first picture I lay my eyes on is of Thomas, wearing his beach shorts and sunglasses. He held me in his arms like a baby and the cameraman captured our best smiles. I scroll past a few pictures until my finger stops on the only video of our honeymoon that I have left. In the video, the gentle breeze caressed my smile and my flawless skin and curves, while Thomas kept trying to keep my Brazilian hair off my face.

I love you Mrs Gumede, he had said, his eyes on mine as if searching for my soul that I had already voluntarily bared to him.

I love you more, Phakathwayo, I said and his smile widened, revealing his dimples and sharp cheekbones that were – and still are – the most beautiful features of his face.

No, I love you more, he tickled me and I leapt off his lap.

He started chasing me around and I tripped and fell on the soft sand. I didn't bother standing up; the soft sand felt so comforting and relaxing. He laughed at me and joined me.

An older Portuguese gentleman walked towards us, a basket of flowers in his one hand and another basket in the other.

Buy her flowers man, she deserves them, said the man, already offering me a bunch of roses. I smiled at him and took the flowers. You are beautiful, he added.

Are you trying to charm my wife, man? Thomas joked as he gave the man some money for the flowers.

Sharing is caring, the man returned the joke.

Where I come from, we don't share women, said Thomas, a little jealous.

I'm joking man, the man smiled.  You two are just beautiful. May the Lord bless your union.

Thank you, said Thomas.

The man took out two popsicles from the other basket and handed them to us.

We didn't pay for these, I said.

I know. Thank you for reminding me that true love still and does exist.

I put my phone down, stretch my numb limbs before checking the time again. It's almost 7am and I will be late for work if I don't wake up now. I sigh, drag my languid self up and reach for my morning gown. I put it on and make my way to the kitchen.

Thomas is seated on the kitchen stool enjoying pancakes and steaming hot coffee. I'm not surprised that he's looking fresh, clad in one of his expensive suits and ready to go to work. Thomas is the type that would rather arrive fifteen minutes early than to be on time. It doesn't matter that he is the boss. That's how punctual and organised he is. There's a newspaper in front of him and he seems not to care much about it.

Morning, I greet him.

Hmm, he responds.

You didn't come to bed yesterday, I say and he briefly looks at me.

I was working Nomcebo, I lost track of time.

What are you working on? I ask interestedly.

None of your business.

Can we please not fight and talk like two civilised people living under the same roof? I beg and he sighs resignedly.

I didn't know we were fighting. Are we? he raises his eyebrow and I just sigh, defeated.

No, we are not, I open the fridge and close it again. I have already lost my appetite.

Good, because I'm also not in the mood to fight with you, he says, wipes his hands with a serviette and stands up. I made you breakfast, he opens the warmer, takes out the plate and neatly places it in front of me. He walks back to the coffee machine and brings me a cup of steaming hot coffee and milk on the side – just how l like it.

Thank you, I say and he just grunts.

I watch him as he dumps the remaining pancakes from his plate in the dustbin, neatly arranges the dishes and cups in the dishwasher and presses the green button. I don't know why he bothers doing all of this because we have a helper who gets paid for all of it, or should I say for doing nothing? There's never a day when Thomas leaves the house unclean or his clothes scattered carelessly. He even picks up my clothes and does the washing, ironing and folding all the time.

I'm still trying to swallow my first bite when the dishwasher beeps, signalling the end of the cycle. Thomas attends to it. He takes the dishes out, dries them and puts them back in the cupboard.

I'm off to work, he says and pecks me on the cheek. See you later.

I'm so drained I don't even know how to respond to him. There were times when his kisses used to evoke some things south of my navel but now... now I feel nothing. It's as if I have turned into stone; nothing he does ever moves me anymore. I feel empty, like a hollowed out shell. I don't know what went wrong. I have questioned myself countless times but I still can't find the answers.

Good morning Cebo, the bubbly Mam' Agnes says as she walks in.

Morning Ma, I greet back and force a smile.

"Hayi Cebo, what is it now? Why are you not eating?" she asks already helping herself to some of my pancakes.

I'm not hungry Ma...

Cebo, have you looked in the mirror lately? Have you seen how skinny you are? Not only skinny, but miserable too. What's eating you, kid?

Nothing serious Ma, I force another smile and feel my lower lip trembling. It's been hectic at work and working with interns is not a joke.

Why don't you take some time off and take care of your health?

My health is in perfect condition Ma, I just need to finish my projects and I will be fine. Don't stress yourself about it.

"How can I not stress myself when you are a dead woman walking nje?"

Mam' Agnes...

What? Your rich, fake friends don't have the guts to tell you that it's time you get your policies in order? At the rate you are going, you might drop dead any time soon, kid.

You are exaggerating, Ma, I say, shaking my head at her blatant statement.

I force myself up and go to the bedroom where I get ready for work. Fifteen minutes later I'm done and I'm glad to say I look way better than how I feel. My dad always taught us not to let our outer appearances reflect how we truly feel and I held on to his teachings. I grab my car keys, laptop bag and say my daily affirmations that have become routine before I head out to work.

‘Cebo, you are beautiful, strong, intelligent, enough and you deserve all the happiness. Smile through it all and hope for an even better tomorrow.’

***

My head is throbbing from all angles. I guess it is the lack of sleep and working too hard trying to keep my mind off things. I cannot even attempt to count the things that are troubling me because I will need a lifetime to do so.

I open the drawer and pop two pills in my mouth, Morphine to be exact. I had to beg our family doctor to get it for me because my body seems to have developed some kind of immunity against Paracetamol and Ibuprofen. I needed something stronger, something that could help numb the pain and Morphine was the only substance I could think of. At first they worked wonders. It only took one pill to knock me out but as time went on the sleepless nights returned and I had to add one more. Two pills did the magic for two or three weeks and then my system got used to it so much that I no longer even feel drowsy after taking them. I guess I will have to increase my four-hourly dosage by one or two more pills and see how that will pan out.

It's lunchtime, Cebo, my friend and boss, Khethiwe, announces. I look up to see her already on her feet and ready to hop to her favourite restaurant that is across the street from the office. I'm also forced to dine at the restaurant simply because, well, she's the only friend I have in this building.

I know, I say sullenly.

Get your ass up from that chair, Nomcebo, she says pulling me up from the chair.

But...

No buts, we are going to eat lunch like other kids, she says and I roll my eyes. Who refers to women over thirty years of age as kids? 

Okay, let me save this file...

No! If the system crashes while we are out, then the IT guys will have something to do. Those geeks get paid for nothing. They should work their butts off like all of us!

Says someone who barks orders for a living, I taunt.

Those are the benefits of listening to my parents when they told me to study hard and pass so I can live a comfortable life, she brags. Sometimes I wish I had half the enthusiasm she has. I used to, but life happened.

Mine taught me to work hard for a comfortable life, I retort as we traipse down the corridor.

Let me guess; your father was a peasant farmer? she asks as she summons the elevator. I wonder how she got that right though, I never told her much about my childhood life. Poor and uneducated parents ruin their children's lives because they lie to them as they grow. It's not really lies but it's the fact that they don't wish for their kids to grow up and be like them – miserable and pathetic.

I used to shudder every time Khethiwe opened her mouth to talk but not anymore. This woman is as blunt as they come.

Cebo, working hard doesn't make you rich or give you a comfortable life; it only takes hours if not years from your lifespan. It is working smarter that saw the birth of the likes of Bill Gates and Elon Musk. Have you seen a sweaty billionaire? I shake my head. That's because they work smarter, not harder. Learn the difference.

Khethi, Siphelele, our finance manager who has been trying his luck with Khethiwe for as long as I can remember, saves me from more lunchtime lectures.

Not while I'm hungry Siphelele, please, Khethiwe snaps irritably. Can a woman have a peaceful lunch hour without you being a pest?

I'm sorry, says Siphelele shamefacedly.

"Argh man! Umuntu sengaze alahlekelwe yi appetite ngenxa yakho," Khethiwe says brushing past him and I shrug apologetically. Poor guy.

That was not nice...

Not you too Cebo, please, she dismisses me before I can even finish my sentence.

I follow her as we make our way into the restaurant. The aroma of fried chicken wafts from the kitchen area and my stomach growls, reminding me of Thomas' pancakes that I couldn't stomach in the morning.

Why do you hate men? I ask Khethiwe as we make ourselves comfortable at a table at the far end of the restaurant. A waiter comes, takes our orders and leaves.

I don't hate them, I just love myself too much.

I don't understand?

Men suck women dry and when they are done with you, they move on to the next victim, she says and I shift uncomfortably.

Not all men are after money, Khethi, I defend the other gender that I still love so much and have high hopes for.

I didn't say they are after money, she pauses as the waiter places our drinks on the table. I mean... never mind. You won't understand.

What won't I understand? People keep telling me that I don't understand men. Please make me understand. You are my friend Khethi, aren't you?

I meant men suck women dry, just like how your husband is doing to you...

My husband did nothing wrong! I snap. He has never asked me for money!

Exactly, and you know why? That's because he finds joy in seeing you all skin and bones like this. When was the last time you looked in the mirror and saw your reflection? Nomcebo, I hate to tell you this, but even the expensive clothes you put on are battling to hide your misery...

I'm not miserable! I scream.

Yeah, so you keep telling yourself. I hope one day you will wake up and realise that your marriage to Thomas died long ago and start living your life.

Thomas loves me! He makes me food, tidies up after me, washes and irons my clothes, takes my car to service and has never cheated on me or hit me!

Okay, she says derisively and takes a sip of her juice. I didn't mean to hurt your feelings, I'm sorry.

Don't you ever talk about my husband like that! I slam a fist over the table and walk away.

I'm so angry I can't feel a shortness of breath coming on. How dare she? Who does she think she is? A relationship expert that is still a virgin at thirty?

CHAPTER TWO

NOMCEBO

‘And I'd say, I do

For the rest of my life

With all that I have, I do

And I will

When the sky is falling

I promise you, I'm all in

No turning back

And every day, every moment

Every breath you take

I choose you’

My favourite song plays softly as I make my way into the house. It's been over a year since I played or heard this song playing. I'm still trying to figure out who might be playing the song when the delectable aroma of chicken lasagne hits my nostrils and I can't help but swallow my saliva in anticipation. I rub my eyes to see clearly if indeed I'm in my house or I strayed into the neighbour's.

Thomas meets me in the hallway with a glass of wine in his hand. He's wearing the shorts I bought for him last year as a birthday present – no shirt on. I don't know what I'm anticipating the most – the half-filled wine glass or touching his defined and chiselled torso. Damn! He's so handsome and looks edible at this moment. Now I'm sure what writers mean when they say a character ‘has a body to die for.’ Thomas is God's perfect creation. Dark, not too tall, athletic and with pure white teeth that gleam each time he lets slip a smile.

The last time I saw him naked, or let alone half-naked, was when I accidentally walked in on him in the shower three months ago. The dry spell has dragged on for much longer, a year to be precise. When Izingane ZoMa composed their song ‘indoda inqunu’ they were talking about me. I no longer had a memory of a naked man, until now.

Hey honey, he says with a radiant smile plastered on his face.

H-hey, I stutter.

Welcome home, he says and hands me the glass of wine.

I'm so confused I have to check if someone is behind me. My mind is still in a zone when he scoops me up and I can't help but giggle like a child.

Put me down, I say in-between giggles.

Uh-uh, he pecks me on the forehead. Why can't I carry my wife?

You will drop me...

Never. These hands are your safe haven and I will never let you fall, he says and puts me on the kitchen counter where a number of food servers are lined up. I take a sip of my red wine and my taste buds rejoice, so does my dry throat.

Wassup? What's all this? Where's Mam' Agnes?

I gave her a day off, he says and takes my hands into his. I also wanted to surprise you and to apologise.

Apologise for what?

For neglecting you, he says and takes a sip from my glass of wine. I have been a shitty husband for a year or so. I'm really sorry honey. My business wasn't doing well, I was stressed I would lose everything I have worked so hard for.

You could have told me, Tom.

I didn't want to stress you. I didn't want to dim your light with my problems. At first I did want to tell you but you got a promotion at your work and you were so happy. Not that you shouldn't have been happy, it's just that you were in a celebratory mood for quite some time and I ended up taking a decision not to bother you with my office problems. I'm really sorry.

Now I feel guilty for ever thinking that Thomas no longer loved me or even entertaining people who kept telling me my marriage was over. I was so happy for the promotion and I didn't realise that my other half was drowning. He needed me, but I was busy celebrating my success.

I'm sorry, I say ashamedly.

No, it's not your fault. You worked hard to be where you are now and I couldn't let my struggling self drag you back, he says and the guilty feeling intensifies. I'm also sorry that I didn't celebrate your win like any husband would.

It's okay. I'm just glad you finally sorted things out.

Oh yes, I did. Like any real man should, he kisses my hand. I got three investors on board and this, my dear wife, is a celebratory pre-talk before my office staff joins us.

You don't say?

Yep. They will be here in an hour or so. For now, I just want to celebrate this win with my better half, he pecks me on the lips and my clit jumps in anticipation. I'm surprised that my body went from feeling nothing but pain to feeling hot and needy within a split of a second.

The oven timer beeps and he rushes to it. A moment later he comes back with a tray of oven-baked drumsticks. They look delicious and my stomach grumbles, reminding me of the last time I had a proper meal. He picks up one piece, bites into it and offers me a morsel.

Mmmm, that's all I manage to say.

Do you like it? I nod while taking another bite. Of course you do, I'm the best cook ever, I laugh but he doesn't. What's funny? It's the truth and you know it, his voice is now laced with some sort of emotion I can't even put into words.

I didn't mean to laugh, it's just the way you always pat yourself on the back that's kinda funny.

One should always be proud of his work, he says and reaches for a dish towel. We better get ready before they arrive.

Sure, I jump down the counter and make my way to the bedroom.

Right behind you, he says and gropes my behind. All I have to do is to put my clothes on.

I'm smiling like a retard as I rummage through the closet for a dress to wear. I take off my floral short summer dress since it's hot. Khethiwe and everyone else were wrong. My husband loves me. Yes, we lost touch for quite some time but that doesn't mean that he's everything nasty that Khethiwe called him. He was stressed and chose to protect me from the same stress. Isn't that love?

I take a quick shower and moisturise my body. My face looks perfectly fine so I won't need any make-up. I put on my dress, comb my 10-inch Brazilian hair and apply purple lipstick to match my dress.

You are not wearing that! says Thomas as he enters the walk-in closet.

"Hayibo, what's wrong with my dress?"

You have lost too much weight Nomcebo, and that dress makes you look like some kind of a scarecrow.

Ouch! That hurts. I take a closer look in the mirror and see my protruding collarbones.

You really should eat and stop walking around looking like you are starved. What will people say about me as your husband?

I was stressed, Tom.

Why? Your life is as perfectly aligned as you had planned. You got your ducks in a row. Why were you stressed?

You... you just went cold on me. I thought you no longer loved me.

"You take yourself too seriously wena, he laughs. What makes you think I wouldn't dump you when I feel like I'm done with you? The fact that we are still married means I love you."

I missed you, Tom, that's all. Nothing else. Now that your business is back on track, I'm sure I will gain my weight back.

As you should. I can't be going around with a wife who looks like she just landed from Somalia, he chuckles. Put something on that will cover all your bones. You will wear this dress when you finally gain your weight back.

Okay.

***

The intercom system beeps and Thomas attends to it. We decide to set the table by the poolside and we are almost done. All that is left is to bring out the food warmers and a cooler box. Thomas thinks it's a good idea that we bring the drinks outside so that no one walks up and down for drinks.

Open your gate, says a man's voice.

Sho, responds Thomas.

A second later three cars park in the driveway and they all make their way to where we have set the table.

"Hola Tom," his friend Ntuthuko greets while already helping himself to a drumstick.

Howzit? responds Thomas and they shoulder bump.

"Heita sisters," he greets me and so do the rest of the people he came with.

I don't know who they are, I've never been to Thomas' office nor has he ever invited me there. He's the one who always comes to my office. Whenever I offer to visit him he tells me about the ever busy road to his office and offers to come to me instead. I'm even surprised that there are four women and seven men that Thomas works with. I have never heard him say anything about a female employee. 

I'm still waiting for Thomas to at least introduce me to his workers when a heavily pregnant woman makes her way to us. I might be mistaken but her car key holder looks exactly like my own key holder that Thomas got for me when he bought me a BMW X5. The woman is wearing a floral maxi dress and flip flops. She has her natural hair tied into a neat bun and her make-up looks like that of a magazine cover girl. I'm jealous of her glowing skin, I don't even want to lie.

Hi, she says, taking me by surprise. From where I come from a visitor doesn't greet the host. It's the host's duty to do that.

Hello, I greet back.

Oh, Thembi, you are here, says one of the female colleagues. I almost thought you wouldn't make it.

Tjo! This baby must just come out already, I'm tired, says Thembi, pulling up a chair. Water please, she says and Thomas pours her a glass.

I'm supposed to be the host but these people seem not to regard me much. I feel out of place already. I'm on my second glass of wine as they rant on and on about their business, which includes generating power using solar energy and how the introduction of solar panels can help change our situation. I decide to make myself useful and dish up for them. I thought maybe by now Thomas would introduce them to me but it seems like I will have to wait forever for that.

Thembi doesn't eat chicken, that's Thomas stopping me from piling chicken on all the plates. Our guests pause, briefly look at each other and smile, before returning to their banter.

Oh, I didn't know, I say, feeling somewhat insecure. How did he know?

It seems like there's a lot you don't know, says one of the ladies who seems intoxicated already.

Juliet! screams Ntuthuko. Would you shut it?

"Hayibo, it's not my secret so why should I burden my chest? Juliet burps loudly before taking a sip of her wine. Why are you all quiet and acting as if you don't know what I'm talking about?"

Juliet! this time it's Thomas who roars. Have you been drinking in the office?

Nope, she laughs. I'm not drunk, it's just that this secret is burning my chest. And it's awkward seeing your wife serving your...

Shut up, Juliet! Thomas cuts her off.

What is she talking about? What secret is she referring to? I ask.

She is talking about your father being the investor, Ntuthuko takes me out of misery. I didn't know my father had money lying around to invest in someone's else's business.

No no no! Juliet retorts. Tell this woman the truth and set Thembi free. The girl has been pregnant for twelve months if I'm not mistaken...

What? What do I have to do with her pregnancy?

Because...

Juliet, you are fired! Thomas roars once again before turning to me. Honey I...

What's going on, Tom? I don't understand any of this.

Thembi is carrying my child...

CHAPTER THREE

NOMCEBO

Thembi is carrying my child...

Thomas' words echo in my head and I feel the world spin around me. The echoes are so loud I feel like my head will explode. I scream involuntarily and feel someone touching me. I can't help but scream even louder.

Leave me alone! my voice is as loud as the echoes in my head. I'm now moving in circles with my head in my hands but the echoes just won't stop.

Cebo, I think I hear Thomas' voice. Honey...

Leave me the fuck alone, Thomas Gumede! I summon all the strength left in me and attempt to push him away but he's just too strong. How could you do this to me? How on earth could you look me in the face every day and still manage to go out and do such a thing?

I turn to Thembi and feel anger building from the depths of my gut. You bitch!

Thomas grabs me as I lunge for Thembi's wig, and pulls me away. How dare you even show your face in my house knowing exactly what you have been doing with my husband?

I'm seething. I swear if I get a hold of her I will make sure she gives birth right here and now.

The truth is, your so-called husband never told me that he was married, Thembi defends herself. I only got to know about you today when he told me to play cool around the woman I will find at his place...