She arrived in town at first light in an endless sunrise. Her car had run out of petrol and she walked the last few kilometres into town to get help. It was a small town and there was no petrol station. The men walked back to the car with her and pushed it all the way to the beginning of the village. There weren’t many trees, but they parked the car under the shadiest one there was.
For the first night she slept in the car.
She woke up the next morning wondering what to do. The people weren’t unfriendly. They answered her questions, but apathetically. They didn’t speak much. They went about their tasks as if they were using them to fill just another day. She could feel their eyes on her, but they weren’t watching her. Towards evening she asked an old woman whether there was some place she could sleep. The old woman gestured towards a small group of quiet men sitting outside a shop.
They looked at her crossing the street, walking towards them. When she asked them about accommodation, they got up and moved down the dusty street towards the middle of town. They silently lined the path leading to a faded green door. She walked up to the door and opened it. A grass broom was leaning in a corner beside a clay pot. It was a small house, but whole and clean. In another room there was a brown table and a chair. The kitchen had a knife, a fork, a spoon and a plate. On a shelf she found a chipped mug and a teaspoon. There was an enamel kettle and a small pot on the coal stove. She went out to thank the men, but they had left.
She went to the car to get her suitcase. The people were standing behind their closed windows, looking at her carrying the suitcase down the street. She returned to the car once more to get the tray of naartjies she had bought along the way. Because they were still in their windows and because she was grateful for the two white sheets and the pillowcase, she placed a naartjie on each windowsill. She walked past her house to the end of town in the grey dusk, zigzagging all the way, placing a naartjie on each windowsill.
She opened all the windows and went to sleep.
The following morning she woke up early and went for a walk. She reached a pool of clear water and splashed around until she felt clean. She lay in the sun until her clothes and hair were dry. Going back, she followed a different path and came across a patch of cosmos. She was laughing as she hugged the flowers. She picked armfuls and returned to the village. The people were standing in the street. As if they had been waiting for her. She handed out tiny bunches of cosmos to them, smiling all the time and telling about the beautiful surprise the flowers were to her. A young child walked up to her and held out his hands. It was the first time she saw a child there. Slowly, reverently, she laid the tall thin stalks of cosmos across his palms.
‘It’s my birthday tomorrow, ‘ the child said.
When she got back to the house she cried.
Late afternoon a young boy knocked at her door. He handed her a plate of food. She was grateful because she’d finished the Coke and chips that were in the car.
‘Does your mother send this?’
‘We all do.’
‘Please say thank you to everyone.’
‘We like you, but don’t trust you.’
‘Why not? Because I’m a stranger?’
‘No. We’ve seen strangers before.’
‘Why then?’
‘You open windows. You laugh with flowers.’
‘I can’t help laughing. I like flowers. I like this place. What’s it called?’
‘No one remembers. Not enough people came around to ask its name. We’ve forgotten the story. Maybe you can ask him.’
‘Who’s ‘him’?’
‘The Story Seller.’
‘Does he live here?’
‘No. He lives up on the mountain. Sometimes he comes down to get candles. He tells your story. You can buy it from him.’
‘How much does a story cost?’
‘No one asks him. No one has money. His stories are beautiful. We don’t want to scare him away.’
‘When does he come?’
‘When he wants candles. That’s what he says.’
‘Does he come often?’
‘Sometimes. Sometimes we think we’ll never see him again.’
The woman went into the house to eat the food. When she came out with the cleaned plate, the young boy was waiting outside.
‘I’ll tell them you can’t help laughing. I’ll say you like it here.’
The next morning was blue enough to be a miracle. The wind was singing a strange sad song through the dry branches of the thorn trees. The people were sitting on their front door steps. She could see the coming of the story seller in their eyes. In their endless waiting.
Just before noon a puff of dust appeared on the path leading down from the mountain. The people began a keening sound deep in their throats. They watched intently as he came closer. He had an easy way of walking – as if he did a lot of it. He had a rucksack slung over his shoulder. When he reached the people he slowed down. He looked deeply into their eyes, smiling. They never once moved. The woman smiled at the story seller.
‘I’ve come to get candles,’ he said.
The acacia trees grew silent and the keening stopped. They people waited until he’d moved into the dark shop. Then they followed their feet and sat down on the low stonewall outside the shop. The woman remained outside with them. She leaned against the raw wall, watching their waiting.
When he came out of the shop he put his rucksack down at his feet. He looked as tired as empty years. He took a deep breath and staring into faraway, began:
‘Once upon a time . . .’
The woman felt flowers growing in her palms. Her eyelids became butterflies as the sky moved into her eyes. Her shoulders were a mountain and she had knowledge of all the creatures living there. Her hair flowed down her back like a stream of cool water. Her feet were brown rocks and her legs were the trunk of every tree. Her arms became a hundred branches and the emerald green fragrance of leaves filled the inside of her. There was the wing-touch of a dove.
When his voice stopped, she opened her eyes and saw him.
‘Do you like your story?’ He asked.
She nodded.
‘Do you want to buy it?’
She smiled. ‘It is already mine. I was born with it in me.’
He cupped her cheek so sweetly; she thought her heart would break.
‘It’s not about buying or selling.’ He said. ‘It’s about believing. Do you have the courage to believe in your story enough to keep it alive? Can you love it enough to share it with them?’
She saw their hands still waiting helplessly. Their eyes looking at her.
She said: ‘We all have the same story, don’t we? There is only one story to tell. To listen to. What makes the difference is where the hearing happens.’
He nodded.
‘I will stay awhile,’ she said, ‘and tell the story until they hear their own sound in it, until they hear it in their believing.’
He hugged her. She walked with him down the dusty road until he turned off towards the mountain. He reached into his rucksack and gave her a candle.
When she moved into the sun with him the people saw that her hair was shining.
She returned to them and said:
‘Let’s go to the pool tomorrow and walk into the water. We’ll honour the child’s birthday. I know a story that is full of tiny candles and has a birthday cake in it.’
They didn’t say anything. They stood looking at her.
The child walked up to her and put his arms around her knees. She touched his hair.
‘I might as well stay awhile,’ she said kindly, ‘like I told the young boy, I like it here.’
The child smiled and went skipping down the road.
The people watched him go. They realised he looked different because he was skipping. Then it dawned on them that he had smiled and they began talking. They nodded at her.
That night, lying in her bed, the woman saw the moon rise. She remembered the Story Seller’s candle. She lit it and invited the stars into her room.
In South Africa today security plays a vital part in any business or private home. This book and the volumes to follow, will guide you step by step through the essential precautionary measures to be taken in protecting your family and valuables. From employing security guards, evacuation of your site and security measures to burglar bars and alarms in your private home.
a Book compiled by me from experience gained after 10 years in the security industry as Industrial relations officer with Nosa qualifications, 1st Aid, fire protection and also S.O.B. grade A.
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