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“How about her medication?” Greg asked.
“She’s getting along with it, only that she wouldn’t speak to anyone.”
“Even the doctor?”
“Yes.”
“And about the weird scratches she did on the fridge with knife?”
“She advised us to leave her to it, she’s only expressing the pressure in her mind.”
“I might as well buy a new fridge.” Greg smiled, but he was a bit sad- his daughter was too young to have to cope with mental illness.
“I don’t want anything to happen to my daughter,” Mariah uttered and again ran her hand through the girl’s hair.
“Don’t worry about that, I will alert the police first thing tomorrow on my way to the college. I need to sleep now, I don’t want to miss the music in the morning,” Greg whispered and smiled, rising to his feet.
“Me too. I always look forward to it,” Mariah responded. Greg lifted Naidoo and walked into the lounge, leaving Mariah to pack the wine cups and the bottle. As usual the violin sonata woke them up on Friday morning.
On Friday evening, Greg was happy that the week was over; his return from the college was exciting especially when he observed that the makeshift cardboard was empty. The mad man was gone! He smiled peacefully at himself and drove past. He had alerted the police at the station that a strange man was threatening his family and of course the police didn’t take such threats lightly.
“I wont allow destitutes to colonize Rasla Street,” he murmured with pride as he drove into the garage.
Naidoo rushed out of the living room to the balcony screaming, “Daddy is back!” Greg was exceptionally excited too, he hurriedly came out of the driver’s seat and lifted his daughter in the air with excitement. “Police men came to our street!” Naidoo shouted.
“Really?” Greg feigned ignorance.
“Yes, they came and took the beggar and his violin away.”
“Really?” Greg said again animatedly.
“Daddy lets go and see the place.” Naidoo pulled him towards the small gate.
“ No not yet, I need to say hi to your mum.”
“No daddy lets go,” Naidoo insisted. Already she was walking towards the place.
Greg followed her to the makeshift cardboard. There was nothing there except the dirty blanket and the empty tin. Greg felt a bit guilty but he believed he had done the right thing for his daughter.
“Okay lets go back home. I need some rest now.” They walked hand-in-hand back to the house.
Already, Mariah was standing by the door to the living room, waiting for them. “He’s gone!” she shouted; there was something beautiful about her statement.
“I know. I feel better too,” Greg replied.
“Justin’s wife invited us for a dinner and braai.”
“Woo! That sounds great. I will be able to chat with her about my next project.” Greg felt impressed that they were beginning to become important in their neighborhood thank goodness he had single-handedly cleaned the street of mad beggars. He was sure they would talk deep into the night at the braai, after all it was Friday night. And of course they would wake up to a beautiful Saturday morning with Beethoven’s symphony playing as usual.
~
At 6:30 am on Saturday morning, nothing happened. There was something unusual and unpleasant about that Saturday. Greg, Mariah and Naidoo were sick and terrible with serious hangovers from the Friday dinner. There was no symphony to wake them up. Mariah looked more tired than usual. Greg forced himself out of the bed and staggered to the window. The music wasn’t coming, rather, it was dark and thick clouds had gathered across the sky with a heavy rumbling sound.
“What’s wrong this morning?” Greg asked himself. Mariah murmured inaudibly and wished the symphony would keep her up. Naidoo grumbled of a slight headache. Greg wondered why the Govenders had stopped the early morning rehearsal, merely because Justin hadn’t invited them to the braai. Greg staggered to the bathroom to rinse his face. He stared at himself in the mirror by the sink and realized he looked terrible. He hadn’t had adequate sleep. The music wasn’t play either. He decided then to walk up to the Govenders house to accuse them of robbing his family of good music.
“Where to?” Mariah murmured, still struggling to hum the violin tune. Maybe it would make her better.
“To the Govenders‘, why should they stop the music when we need it the most?” Mariah shook her head. She thought Greg was still drunk.
Greg knocked on the Govenders’ rather early. He was fortunate to find Mr. Govender himself, standing face-to-face with him, wearing a bathrobe and holding a wine bottle. He was a fat man, with a rough outlook and smelt of tobacco. The Govenders weren’t actually friendly but Greg forced himself on them for friendship because of the symphony.
“Hi! Morning,” he greeted him and smiled. The clouds were gathering up in the sky.
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Writer Profile
Dan akinlolu
Dan Akinlolu is a Nigerian born South African base writer and producer; a one time prize winning writer with South African Writers’ Circle (SAWC) and Australia’s BLM. He has contributed and published in literary journals both within and outside Africa including the prestigious University of Michigan State journal - The Offbeat (USA), Bruce Cook’s - Author 2008 publication (USA) and BLM’s E-zine (Australia); though Dan published his first poetry with National Poetry of Library, USA, he has a dynamic experience spanning media, literature, public relations and arts. He lives and work in South Africa
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Comments
:) Amanda Hicks | Jul 2nd, 2008
very nice... its funny how sometimes the more touching stories aren't drawn out novels but simple chronicles of someones day
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Hello dear joy | Jan 2nd, 2014
Hello dear
My name is joy (single). I was impressed when i saw your profile today
at and i will like to establish a long lasting relationship with you. In addition,i will like you to reply me through this
my private e-mail box(joysamale197@yahoo.fr)
Thanks
waiting to hear from you soon.
joy
I will send to you my pictures in my next mail through this my mail
box
joysamale197@yahoo.fr
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