Hardon

Byron Loker

The caretakers of our block of flats, Darrington and Chastity … they had a son by accident and named him Hardon. They come from Malawi, where maybe that is a good name for a boy, although I didn't think it was such a good name.

I was there when Hardon was born. I took Chastity to the hospital, although I didn't meet her baby until she brought him home from the hospital and she brought him around to my flat to introduce him to me. Hardon was wrapped in a woolly blanket and it was the first time I had seen such a new-born baby. His eyes were closed because he was sleeping, or maybe ignoring the world, because he was born one month premature, so he wasn't really ready for the world. Somehow you could tell - he looked world-weary.

He looks very wise, I said to Chastity. His tiny, tiny face was laced with intricate wrinkles.

Yes, she said and she smiled and looked at her son as if it was the first time she had seen him.

We stood for a little while together, admiring wise-looking Hardon. Let me know if you need help with anything, I told Chastity.

OK, she said, thank you. She took Hardon back to her tiny room around the corner which she shared with her husband. It really did not seem big enough now for a family. They had only a single bed and Darrington had taken to sleeping on the concrete floor in order to make space for Hardon on the bed next to Chastity. I know, because the steps look down into Chastity and Darrington's room and one morning their curtains were open and I saw Darrington lying on the floor. It was unusual, because he was usually up by that time sweeping the leaves or washing the windows sometimes. Chastity was standing at the two-plate cooker making a meal and Hardon was lying on the bed; he looked asleep, wrapped in his blanket. He was one week old by then.

The next afternoon when I came home from a job interview, I saw a car that I did not recognise parked in the driveway. When I walked past Darrington and Chastity's room, the door was open and I could see that they had visitors. I thought I would pop in and say hello. I looked in through the open door. The room was crowded. Chastity was sitting on the bed, suckling Hardon. Darrington sat on one of the two plastic garden chairs in the room, alongside a visitor. The other visitor stood. Nobody was saying anything and they seemed embarrassed by my sudden presence. Darrington was staring at a wall.

Hello, I said, and to Chastity, how's the baby?

He is fine, she said.

One of the visitors, the one who was sitting next to Darrington, stood up to greet me. I recognised him - Darrington had introduced us on a visit in the past, but I couldn't remember his name. He was also from Malawi and worked as a caretaker of a million dollar house down the road from us while the owners were away living in London. He remembered my name. He shook my hand and said, how are you?

I'm fine, thanks, and you? I said.

I am well. It is good to see you again, he said.

Yes, and you, I said.

This is my brother John. I turned and shook the other visitor's hand. He nodded and said, hi. He held a bunch of keys in his left hand - he must be the owner of the car, I thought.

Darrington had not said a word, or altered his gaze from the wall. I said, hi, Darrington. He didn't respond, and I looked at the others in the room for clarity, but none was forthcoming. After a moment's silence Darrington looked at me and said, sorry? Darrington has a slightly Malawian-flavoured "bry", so it sounded like he said, solly?

How are you? I said.

I am fine, said Darrington and he returned his attention to the wall.

Good, I said, and I made to leave. I stepped outside the room and the visitor sitting next to Darrington followed me out.

I'm sorry, I said, I know we've met, what's your name again?

Gift, he said.

Ah, yes, Gift. Is everything OK with Darrington and Chastity? I asked.

Darrington does not appear so well, said Gift.

What's wrong?

We are not so sure. Chastity called us to come and please visit him. She said he has been acting strangely and maybe we can talk to him.

Oh? How has he been acting?

Well, can you see, he is not talking so much and Chastity says sometimes he does not get up. Sometimes he is talking to himself also.

Mm, I said.

Maybe you can keep an eye on him, Gift suggested.

OK, sure. What's your phone number? I asked, and took out my cell phone.

Gift gave me his cell phone number and I typed it into my phone and said goodbye to Gift and went to my flat to check my messages on my home phone. I was hoping that they would call already about the job.

The next day when I came home from another day of pretending to look for a job, Chastity came to tell me that Gift and John had taken Darrington to hospital. Chastity held her silent baby wrapped in his blanket and she said, Darrington has gone sick in his brain.

Hey? I said.

He was not moving. He was just lying down and would not talk to me. I did phone Gift to come and help. They have taken him to hospital.

Aaaisch, I said. What can we do?

Chastity lifted her shoulders. She swayed Hardon gently up and down as if to soothe him after the news of this disaster.

Maybe I can take you to visit him, tomorrow? I offered.

Yes. OK. Thanks, Chastity said.

We waited to see if there was anything else to say to each other, but there wasn't, so Chastity said, goodbye, and she went back to her room with Hardon resting on her shoulder.

I decided to phone the hospital and see what I could make of the situation. When I eventually talked to the right person, she was called Sister Venter. She sounded Irish. She sounded like a lovely lady. I pictured a beautiful, Irish Florence Nightingale who had misplaced her country of birth and her maiden name and was now ministering to sick-in-the-brain Africans. I asked her what she could tell me about Darrington's affliction. I heard papers rustling.

What is ye relationship with the patient? She asked.

Um, I am a neighbour, I said, a friend.

Were you one of thoose who brought him in? asked Sister Venter.

No, I said.

Well. His friends broot him in then, carried him in apparently, as he was incapacitated. He was sedated and I see the doctor who attended to him has written oon his repoort that he seems to be suffering from psychoosis.

Hey? I said. I thought only people in movies suffered from that.

He's sleeping noo. But we will see if his coondition improves in the moorning.

Is this going to cost him a lot? I asked.

Is he emplooyed? asked Sister Venter.

Yes, he works as a caretaker of a property in S.

Well, it wo' ne coost too mooch. It'll be a percentage of what he earns, it is affoordable.

OK. Thanks, I said. I'll call again and see how he is tomorrow.

Before I had a chance to call Sister Venter the next day, Darrington's condition must have improved because he ran away from the hospital during the night. Chastity came to find me and she told me, Darrington is here.

Here? Back home?

Yes, he has run away from the hospital.

I went to investigate and found Darrington lying on the floor of his room wrapped in a blanket. He did not smell very good, like he hadn't bathed for a long time.

Darrington? I said. What's going on, my man?

I just need to sleep, please. I am fine, he said.

Why did you run away from the hospital?

I do not want to go to hospital.

If you are sick, it's maybe the best place, they can help you.

I am not sick. I just want to sleep.

Come, Darrington, I'm taking you back to hospital.

No, please, just leave me alone.

Come, Darrington. I leaned over and lifted one of his arms, but the rest of him stayed on the floor.

Chastity was standing outside, holding Hardon. I heard someone arrive and greet her. It was Gift. Chastity must have phoned him. He joined me inside.

Ay, come my brother, he said to Darrington. Gift bent down and lifted Darrington under both arms to his feet. Darrington's pants were undone. He held them up and didn't resist Gift. Gift helped him into a chair and began putting his shoes on for him.

You must go back to hospital. You can't run away like this, it is against the law, Gift told Darrington. Darrington said nothing; he allowed Gift to put his shoes on. Gift led Darrington out of the door and down the stairs while I went ahead and opened my car. Gift deposited Darrington into the passenger seat and pulled the safety belt across his chest and buckled him in.

It is the best thing, Gift said to me, Chastity cannot look after Darrington and the baby.

I said, yes, I agree.

I started the car. Gift moved off back to see about Chastity, and Darrington said to me, please, please do not take me back to hospital. Please, I cannot be there. I thought you are my friend; you cannot take me back there.

The car idled and I looked out my window at the ocean.

What's happening to you? I asked.

Sometimes a person does things that are wrong.

What do you mean?

I have done things. Wrong things.

What have you done?

Well, I have taken things from the master's flat while he is away. Our landlord lived in Johannesburg and only came down sometimes with his wife on holidays.

What sort of things?

Things. Like food.

I sat for a while trying to make sense of Darrington's confession, which didn't seem that psychosis-inducing to me.

That's probably going to be OK, Darrington, I said. We have to go back to the hospital, though. They need to make the decision on whether you can be discharged; a person can't run away from hospitals, it is against the law, Gift is right.

Darrington said nothing and I reversed the car up the driveway and turned off in the direction of the hospital. It was the same hospital we had taken Chastity to when she gave birth to Hardon.

I walked in through the Emergency Room entrance with Darrington in tow and I asked the man behind the bullet-proof glass in the reception kiosk where the male ward was.

Second floor, he said. We took the steps.

Halfway up, Darrington stopped. Please, he said, please, just take me home, I am fine. I do not need to be here.

Darrington, I said, the doctors will make a decision about that. We just need to go and talk to them. I walked up the last flight of stairs, afraid that Darrington was going to make a dash for it. He followed, however.

I walked into the male ward and there was a fat lady with two warts on her face and she was wearing a white nurse's uniform with maroon epaulettes. I asked her, hello, I'm looking for Sister Venter?

That's me, she said.

Oh, I said. She spied Darrington in the corridor.

Ye! She said to him. And ye! Where did ye disappear to?

I went home, said Darrington, still holding his pants up with one hand.

Well! said Sister Venter, and 'oo said ye could goo hoom?

Darrington said nothing.

Where doose he live? Sister Venter asked me.

In S, I said.

Ye walked all the way froom 'ere to S! she said to Darrington.

Darrington said nothing.

Coom on, let's get ye back te bed! said Sister Venter. I looked at her and I looked quickly around the male ward, preferring not to take in too much detail. All the beds were full. A pretty, young female doctor was attending to a man with a head swathed in bloodied bandages. That's mostly what I saw. I could empathise all of a sudden with Darrington's insistence on not wanting to be in the hospital, except maybe for the presence of the pretty doctor.

No, said Darrington to Sister Venter.

What? What ye mean, ne? said Sister Venter.

I will run away again, said Darrington.

We stood in the corridor outside the male ward and Sister Venter said, we have ne finished with ye treatment. We still can'noo say what's wroong with ye and what happened. We need ye to stay 'ere for a few moor days.

No, said Darrington. I am better now. There is nothing wrong with me. I have done some bad things, that is all. God is looking after me now. He will forgive me. I can go home.

Sister Venter glanced at me. Well, we can' ne foorce ye to stay, she said to Darrington. It's for ye oon good, but there's noothing we can do if ye run away again. Ye are just wasting oor time.

Darrington said nothing and Sister Venter stomped back into the male ward to see about a voice bleating, Nurse? Nurse!

Darrington, you really are complicating everybody's lives, I said. Chastity can't look after you and the baby, and I don't have time to bring you back and forth from hospital. If I take you back now, you'd better sort your shit out, I said.

Darrington said nothing and Sister Venter returned from the male ward. If he wo' ne stay, then we'll discharge him, we can' noo foorce him to stay. She must have decided not to argue with God. Coom aloong, she said. She walked us to the end of the corridor and started rifling around in some drawers in the administration station at the end of the corridor. Where dooes he keep thoose discharge foorms? she mumbled to herself. The ward supervisor's ne 'ere, she told me, where dooes he poot thoose things? she said, as if I'd know, as she looked in in-trays and out-trays and under ashtrays serving as paperweights because it's probably frowned upon to smoke in hospitals. She picked up a telephone which she found under a pile of papers and she punched in an extension number. Miriam? she bellowed, where dooes Leonard keep his discharge foorms? Where is Leonard? she added. Ooh, I see. Doo ye knoow where the foorms are? Ooh. Ookee. Thanks. If you see Leonard, tell him I need him here te see te a patient. Och, she said as she hung up and I wondered if she was Scottish and not Irish. Just write doown his name and address and phoon number, etcetera, and I'll soort it oot later. She handed me a stray piece of paper which didn't seem to be serving any important function and she wobbled back from around the counter with a glare at Darrington and back down the corridor to attend to other sick and maimed African males.

I looked at the piece of paper and then watched Sister Venter disappear and I said to Darrington, let's get the fuck out of here. I put the piece of paper back on a pile of others and we left the hospital.

I dropped Darrington back at the flats and walked down into the village to have coffee at H's. I stayed there for a long time drinking coffee and smiling when the waitress brought me a refill and wondering if I should tell her that I was in love with her. I read the newspaper and a copy of Cosmopolitan which was two months old. There was an article on Manic Depression which is not supposed to be called that anymore, it's called Bipolar Disorder now. I wondered if Darrington had that. I wondered if I did too and whether I would go sick in the brain like him.

There were no jobs for me in the newspaper. There never were; I wasn't qualified for any type of job. When people would ask me what I "did" I would tell them sometimes I water the garden and I'm a writer, and they would say, oh? and secretly roll their eyes, or say, really? I always wanted to be a writer. I write things, you know, just for myself, like a journal, you know, it's not very good, I wouldn't show anyone, but I always felt since I was little that I had a novel in me. And I would say, really? And roll my eyes secretly.

I read the other articles in the Cosmopolitan about finding the perfect mate and getting multiple orgasms and I wondered whether human beings were actually meant to be monogamous. I thought that perhaps it is against human nature to stay with one partner for life? For whatever reason monogamy became the precedent for conducting sexual relationships (probably because of Christianity, I thought) maybe it was no longer supposed to be like that and we still went along with it because magazines like Cosmopolitan and the TV adverts and soap operas and Mel Gibson movies tell us that that is what we are supposed to believe. That's why we get so disappointed when love affairs end. They just end, that's what happens, they are supposed to and it's got nothing to do with failure. But we rally against our inclinations to move on to the next one, we mourn, we perceive failure. We are led to believe that we have failed in love because we don't drive a Mercedes or have a million dollar haircut or use Zitgo cream or because we don't wear the right kind of sunglasses. We are sold the allure of sexual success if only we'd drive a better car, wear the right kind of jeans, get bigger boobs.

I thought about these things and it made me feel like having a tequila, but I couldn't afford tequila because I only had enough money left to buy some mince and spaghetti and I was nearing the end of my overdraft. I thought really hard about that tequila because I could always have three or four and forget to eat like I sometimes did. But I decided to buy food instead. I went to Hennie's Supermarket and I said hi to Hennie from Hennie's and bought enough mince and spaghetti for Darrington and Chastity too.

When I got back to the flats, I stopped in at Darrington and Chastity's room. Things did not look good. Chastity was sitting on the bed holding Hardon. She was just sitting there and Darrington was lying on the floor, talking to himself in a ceaseless, whispered litany which I could not understand at all.

Darrington? I said.

Chastity looked at me and said nothing. Is this what happened before? I asked Chastity. She nodded. I watched Darrington. He just lay there talking to himself.

Darrington, what the hell's wrong with you? I said loudly. I thought maybe I could treat him with some shock therapy, like shouting at him. He stopped talking to himself, but he didn't look at me; he said, solly?

What's going on, my man? I shouted. Darrington said nothing for a while, then began talking to himself again.

Have you had something to eat? I asked Chastity.

She shook her head. I do not have the power to cook, she said.

OK, I said, I will cook for you and Darrington. I'll come and call you when the food is ready. Chastity nodded. She was looking intently at the baby on her lap.

I went back to my flat and cooked the mince and spaghetti and then I went to call Darrington and Chastity. Darrington said, I am not hungry.

I said, Darrington, come and have something to eat, you must, it will make you feel better. I went over to him on the floor and lifted one arm, but the rest of him stayed on the floor. Come on, Darrington, I said.

Chastity said something sternly to him in a language I did not understand and Darrington said nothing. I tugged some more on his arm. After a while he stood up. Good, I said, come on, I'll see you at my place.

I went ahead and laid the table. I put the spaghetti I'd made into a bowl and put it on the table with plates and things.

It took a little while for Darrington and Chastity and Hardon to come for dinner. We sat at the table and I dished up for Chastity, but Darrington said, I am not hungry, so I didn't dish up for him yet. Chastity picked at her food and ate a few mouthfuls and said nothing, and then she began suckling her baby. She took out one breast and fed Hardon a nipple and I didn't know where to look really. I tried to talk to Darrington, to give him some more psychotherapy, only this time I didn't shout.

You should have something to eat, I told him, it will make you feel better.

I am not hungry, Darrington said.

What is wrong with you? I asked.

I think maybe I am sick, said Darrington.

Yes, you must be, but we can get help for you. That's what they were trying to do at the hospital.

I do not want to go to hospital. I just want to go to sleep and I will feel better.

You are a father now, I said, you have a responsibility to Chastity and your son. They need you to be strong.

I can have some food now, said Darrington.

Good, I said and I dished up a full plate for him and he ate a few mouthfuls.

Maybe my spaghetti bolognaise was terrible. I used ostrich mince because it was cheaper than other mince.

Chastity had finished feeding Hardon and she lifted him up and inspected his face very closely. It seemed a strange gesture and I said, is everything OK?

He is breathing like this, said Chastity, and she made short, shallow breaths through her nose. I went over to her side of the table and saw it was so. Hardon's eyes were still closed and he looked like he was struggling to breathe. Maybe that's how babies are supposed to breathe? I said. He looks alright to me.

Chastity shrugged. Maybe, she said.

Darrington had begun talking to himself again. I went back to my chair and finished my food and couldn't think of anything more to say. Chastity sat quietly rocking Hardon in her arms and Darrington talked and talked to himself.

After a while Chastity said, thank you for the food, it is time for us to go.

You are welcome, Chastity, I said. Maybe things will be better in the morning. I looked at Darrington. When Chastity stood up, he stood up, and balancing her baby against one shoulder, Chastity took Darrington by a wrist and he followed her out through my door and they went to their room. I took the dishes off the table and put them in the sink and wondered what to do next. I put on a CD and sat down on my sleeper couch. Then I went to bed.

Chastity woke me the next morning. She was banging on my bedroom window. Something is wrong, she said. I could see her through a gap in my curtains. She was holding Hardon in her arms. I woke up in a panic and wrapped my duvet around me because I sleep naked and I went to the door and opened it. Chastity was waiting for me there. Something is wrong with my baby! she said. Hardon was loosely wrapped in his blanket and when I opened it there was blood bubbling out of his mouth and nose and his face was covered in blood. I said, oh no, no, no! And I ran back into my room to get dressed.

Chastity was waiting for me when I got to their room. I went in and Darrington was lying on the floor again, talking to himself feverishly.

Come, Darrington, I said, you need to come with us to the hospital, hurry. Darrington didn't argue; he stood up and followed, still talking and talking to himself.

We arrived at the hospital and I knew what to do by then. I skipped the receptionist and walked down the emergency room corridor and the first person I came across was the sister on duty, only he was a man. He was wearing blue plastic gloves and was on his way to do something else when we walked in. He stopped because he could see we were distressed and looked at us sternly and I said, this lady gave birth about a week ago, the baby was premature and there's something wrong, he's bleeding. The sister looked into the bundle in Chastity's arms, he opened the blanket and he saw the blood. Hardon's tiny arms were waving in the air and he was now moaning softly.

This does not look good, said the sister, which was a stupid thing to say because we knew that already. Take him through there - he indicated a door and we went through into a small room. There was an operating table in the middle and the sister, following us in, said, put him down. Chastity did, and the sister opened the blanket and there was blood all over Hardon's tiny body now. Doctor, said the sister, please come and look at this. Then I noticed the doctor who was attending to a man lying on a trolley in the corner. The man was going, aaai, aaai, and I noticed he had a three-inch stainless steel nail sticking all the way through his thumb. With him was the same pretty female doctor I had seen in Darrington's ward when we had tried to take him back there. She was tall and young and gorgeous in a Gwyneth Paltrow kind of way, the kind of girl I fell in love with all the time. She came over and bent over Hardon and then I walked out of that room.

Darrington was standing outside, whispering to himself.

Come Darrington, I said and he followed me back to the waiting room. I went outside and sat on a wooden bench just outside the doors because there was no one waiting there. I told Darrington to sit down next to me and he did and we waited and waited and Darrington talked and talked to himself.

We waited a long time and no one came to tell us anything. An ambulance pulled up in front of the entrance and waited too. After a while the driver's assistant got out and walked off a little distance to make a call on his cell phone. He spoke for a long time, glancing occasionally over at the hospital doors where Darrington and I were sitting. Darrington stood up and started clapping his hands and stamping his foot and he sang, I've got the love of Jesus, love of Jesus, in my heart, in my heart, I've got the …

Sit down, Darrington, I said, and he did.

We had waited for about an hour when I decided that maybe Darrington would be better off back in the male ward - he seemed psychotic enough to me. So I said, come Darrington, and he followed me and I happened upon the sister. Can you let us know what's going on? I asked.

The doctor will talk to you just now, he said, and it occurs to me that throughout this whole situation, it was only the women who behaved honourably. Only the women showed any grace and compassion.

OK, but this man is the father of the baby, I said to the sister, indicating Darrington. He was admitted here a few days ago for psychiatric observation, but he ran away. I think he should be readmitted. The sister looked at him and said, I can't do anything about that now, you can speak to the doctor, and he walked away. I went back to sit on the bench outside and Darrington did too.

We waited and eventually the pretty doctor came outside and sat down next to Darrington. He was whispering away to himself and she watched him for a little while.

What's his name? she asked me. I told her and she said, Darrington? He did not respond. She put a hand on his arm and she said, Darrington, are you praying?

Yes, said Darrington and he responded immediately and looked at the pretty doctor and stopped praying.

What are you praying for? asked the doctor.

I am praying for God to look after my baby and my wife, said Darrington.

That's very good, said the doctor. I'm sure He is. Your baby is very sick, but he is OK for now. He has a problem with his lungs, but we have put him on oxygen and I think he's going to be alright. The ambulance is waiting to take him to Red Cross Hospital, where they have a special place to take care of him. We are just getting him ready.

Thank you, said Darrington.

It's going to be alright, said the doctor and she patted Darrington's arm where she had her hand and she stood up. We are going to ask you to come in and talk to us just now, she told Darrington. OK?

OK, said Darrington and the doctor nodded and looked at me briefly and smiled weakly and went back inside the hospital.

We waited some more and Darrington started praying again and after a while the sister came out to fetch him. Come, he said and scooped his hand in the air at Darrington. Darrington stood up, but he didn't go anywhere, so the sister took him by the wrist and walked him away into the hospital while I watched.

I stood up and walked away from the doors into the open and carried on waiting. While I was doing that, a police van pulled up outside the emergency room main entrance and two plain-clothes policemen climbed out. One was thin and short with ginger hair and a ginger moustache and a nine millimetre pistol holstered high up on his hip and the other was fat and must have been wearing his gun under the sloppy grey jacket he had on and he also had takkies on.

They opened the back of the van and pulled out a man. He was wearing a sack with holes cut for his head and arms and he also had on raggy pants. His hair was dreadlocked and dirty like the rest of him and he had big, bulgy eyes that looked in opposite directions. I recognised him. He used to hang around S. all the time. He would sit on the benches near the beach and do nothing and I think he slept up on the mountain at night. I felt like I knew him well. I never saw him begging, I never heard him speak; it didn't look like he could. He was black and the short, ginger-haired policeman said, kom fokker, as he pulled the man out of the police van.

The policemen took him inside to talk to the receptionist behind the bullet-proof glass and I went inside too and sat on one of the benches near the door so I could see what would happen.

The ginger policeman said good morning to the receptionist and was very polite. He said, we need a psychologist to talk to this man, we need a psychology evaluation. He says his name's Mandela, he's mal.

Wat's jou naam? the policeman turned and asked the man, who just glared back at him with one eye while the other eye glared at the fat policeman. I wondered what he had done to get picked up by the police. I couldn't hear what the receptionist said, because of the glass. The ginger policeman leaned closer to the hole that you talk through and said, Ja? Alright goed. Dankie.

Ons moet net wag, he told his partner in crime-fighting, who nodded and looked at the man they had caught, and he demanded again of him, what is your name? The man glared at him some more with one eye and still said nothing. The policemen just stood there with the man for a while. Then the fat one came and sat down with the rest of us who were waiting and watching. The ginger policeman stood with the man with the sack on and watched him closely. I looked at the policeman's gun and wondered if he had ever shot anyone.

After a while I lost interest in them and went back outside. The ambulance was still waiting. The driver and her assistant were sitting in the ambulance with the doors open and we were all waiting and then I heard an announcement come over the hospital's PA system. It said: code blue, emergency room, code blue, all available doctors to the emergency room. I watched through the glass of the hospital doors and two doctors came running down the corridor towards me and then turned off down the emergency room corridor to where Hardon was dying. The doctor in front was an older woman and behind her was a man and they were wearing white coats and stethoscopes around their necks that bounced as they ran. I felt a pressure in my head, and the rushing in my veins was the sound of my heart breaking.

I sat down on the outside bench and thought about nothing. People came and went through the emergency room doors and I didn't notice them really. I saw the two doctors who had come running, come out of the emergency room corridor. They were just walking slowly now and they went away. Then I saw the ambulance that had been waiting drive away. Then I saw Hardon's doctor come to talk to the receptionist. When she was done, she began walking away and she noticed me looking at her. I had stood up. She turned away and began walking away again, but then she turned around and came out to me. Has anyone told you what happened? she asked.

I said, no.

She sat down on the bench and so did I.

She said, the baby has died.

Ah, man, I said. I knew already. Why? I asked.

We had him stabilised, but then he just started bleeding out. There was nothing we could do.

But what was wrong with him? I asked.

It sometimes happens with premature babies that their lungs are not formed properly. And he must have picked up an infection. He came in just too late.

I said nothing for a while, then I said, what about Darrington?

We've got him to agree to be admitted to the psychiatric ward at Groote Schuur, said the doctor. It's a big step, but we can't take him against his will. You can go through and see them now. There's a lady here with them, from the church.

I nodded and said, OK, thanks Doctor, and she smiled and we stood up and she pointed out the room where Chastity and Darrington were. Chastity was sitting in an easy chair weeping quietly and I went over and put my hand on her shoulder and said, Chastity I'm so sorry. She looked at me and large teardrops streamed off her face and fell into her lap. Darrington was sitting beside her, still praying; he seemed unaware of what had happened. I turned to the lady from the church. She said, hello, and that her name was Joyce. She had white hair and was warm and dear and sweet. She said her husband had gone to fetch Gift, because he would be an immense help in this situation. So we waited and chatted as if Darrington and Chastity were not there.

Did you know Darrington was about to be ordained as a deacon in our church? she said as if Darrington had died.

No, I didn't, I said.

Yes, said Joyce. Then she said, I've seen this before, as she indicated Darrington. It can be one of only two things, a chemical stroke psychological imbalance, or demon possession.

Really, I said.

Yes, but I've seen demon possession before, this is not it. He'll be alright with some treatment, declared Joyce. She looked through the window as an old Ford appeared in the parking lot. Ah, here's Harold now, said Joyce. He loves that old car of his, she said, as if it was a source of embarrassment to her. Harold and Gift came into the room a short while later and Joyce introduced me to her husband. Gift went over to offer his condolences to Chastity. She nodded and he held her hand tenderly. She had stopped crying, but you could see the paths the tears had left down her cheeks. Then Gift went over to sit next to his friend Darrington.

Right, said Joyce, I've suggested that Chastity come and stay with us for as long as she needs to, I think that would be wise. Doctor Peterson (so that was her name) said she would arrange for an ambulance to take Darrington to Groote Schuur.

I went over to Chastity. Would you like to do that? I asked her. It's probably a better idea than going back to the flats alone? Chastity nodded. Then we all started waiting again for what was supposed to happen next, but nothing did.

I wondered where the doctor is, asked Joyce after a while, but what she meant was, why don't you go and find out what's happening?

I'll go and see, I suggested.

Would you? said Joyce, oh, that would be so kind of you.

I went over to the reception kiosk and asked if Doctor Peterson was available. No, said the receptionist, she's gone off duty now. She must have gone home to cry, I thought. She said she was going to arrange an ambulance to take Darrington Mkhosi to Groote Schuur, do you know if she did?

No, said the receptionist, she didn't. She left this for him though, she said and handed me a manila envelope. Ward Seven is where he needs to go.

OK, I said.

Gift and I took Darrington to the Emergency Psychiatric Ward at Groote Schuur then and he got better after that. But first he had to be transferred to Valkenberg Hospital for two months. He ran away from there once, but he didn't make it home that time. The police found him in some bushes in Woodstock. Naked. He had been mugged and his clothes stolen. I know all this, because Joyce told me. She became the arbiter of Darrington and Chastity's wellbeing after that day at the hospital when Hardon died.

Gift told me on the drive back from the hospital that Darrington had had a similar breakdown in 1998. He had gone home to Malawi then to recover. Gift also told me that Chastity was not Darrington's wife. She was his girlfriend and she was only nineteen. He had brought her back from Malawi after his last trip there on leave and she had stayed. So she was here illegally, therefore the hospital would not issue a death certificate for Hardon to be buried. Joyce told me this. She took Chastity to Home Affairs every day for a week until things got straightened out.

Then Chastity came home to the flats. How are you, Chastity? I asked her.

I am fine she said, and we didn't talk about what had happened. Chastity took care of the flats, but the landlord knew about what had happened by then. I spoke to him occasionally on the phone and he spoke to the doctors who were treating Darrington. He told me Darrington would be OK, but he would need to be on medication in perpetuity from then on. He also told me that Chastity would need to make alternative accommodation arrangements in due course.

Darrington also came home one day. He said he was fine then, better, he said. We didn't manage to talk either about what had happened, and then after about a month he came to tell me that he and Chastity were leaving. The boss told me Chastity could not stay, so I have decided to apply for resignation, he said.

I wasn't home the day they left. When I came home, I knew they were gone because I could see through the window of their flat that it was empty except for the meagre furnishings left behind.

I bumped into Darrington one day about a month later. I had a job then and I was walking down to the train station to go to work and he was walking up from the station. Darrington smiled, it was the first time I had seen that almost since the time we met. He told me he was working again as a caretaker of a house close to our flats.

That's great, I said, do you live in?

No, Chastity and I are living at Masiphumelele, Darrington told me.

How is Chastity?

She is very well.

We ran out of things to say then, so I said, OK, Darrington, good to see you man, and I went on my way then and so did Darrington.

Byron Loker His debut collection of short stories New Swell is published by Double Storey Books.

LitNet: 19 July 2005

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