I remember all the nights over the past few weeks that we’ve lain there, chest to chest, as he’s fallen asleep on top of me; all the times he’s thrown up on me, wiped his snot on me, and peed on me before I could get the nappy on quickly enough. I think, too, of all my tears that have dripped down onto him during all the hours I lay awake wishing that I had a relationship with God so that I could pray to keep my boy safe. I think of the cold sweat that’s broken out on my brow every time I thought Mandla might be getting a fever and I thought, This is it, this is it, this is it.

Despite all the bodily fluids we’ve exchanged, I’ve never once worried that I was about to become infected with the virus. I know the facts of its transmission, which happens primarily through intercourse, sharing needles, blood transfusions, and drinking infected breast milk.

So why the gloves?

I slowly strip them off, take a deep breath, and throw them away. The box full of them goes into the garbage can straight afterward. I won’t be touching Mandla with a barrier between us ever again.

CHAPTER FIFTY-THREE

Zodwa

23 June 1995

Big Hope Informal Settlement, Magaliesburg, South Africa

Zodwa.”

The voice carries from behind her in the shadows but it’s unmistakable.

Thembeka.

Zodwa’s heartbeat is as insistent as rain drumming against a tin roof, when she turns to face the woman she loves. “What?” When Thembeka doesn’t reply, just stands there biting her lip, Zodwa asks again, “What do you want?”

Thembeka still doesn’t speak and Zodwa turns to go. She walks three steps before Thembeka calls out: “I heard that you’ve been making inquiries . . . about the baby. Trying to find out what happened to it.”

Of course, nothing is ever a secret in the township. “So?”

“So.” Thembeka pauses before letting out a long, steadying breath. When she speaks again, it’s with surprising gravity. “I wanted to tell you that your baby didn’t die at birth like everyone said.”

The words are spears in Zodwa’s back. She turns around again but this time she’s the one who’s been rendered mute.

“I saw your mother carrying it away the night it was born.” Thembeka’s words tumble out in a torrent as though she’s scared Zodwa will stop listening to her. “I walked past your shack earlier in the day and heard you crying out. I knew the baby was coming and I wanted to see . . . I wanted to see it for myself. To see if it looked like Mongezi in any way. To make certain. If it didn’t . . . then I didn’t need to keep wondering . . . then I could be sure.”

“Of what? That I was a liar?” Zodwa steps toward Thembeka, who shrinks away.