It’s the first time her mother has said such a thing and it pains Zodwa to hear the terrible hurt in her voice. She wants to reach out to her, to show Leleti a display of the love she feels for her—an indication of how sorry she is that she’s disappointed her—but her mother’s scorn has built this wall between them. No gesture that Zodwa can think of could knock it down, not even the truth.

Especially not the truth.

CHAPTER EIGHT

Delilah

26 April 1994

Johannesburg General Hospital, Johannesburg, South Africa

Hello,” I greeted the ICU nurse. “I’m here to see Father Daniel, the priest. He was brought in just over two weeks ago with a gunshot wound. This is the soonest I could get here,” I said, aware that I was babbling but unable to do anything to stop myself. “I’ve actually come straight from the airport.”

“Oh no. You weren’t caught up in the bomb blast, were you?” she asked, an expression of concern on her kind face.

“What bomb blast?”

“A car bomb went off at Jan Smuts two hours ago. I heard about it on the news,” she said, nodding at her little radio.

“Two hours ago? That must have been just after I landed.”

“Well then, I’d say your guardian angels are working extra hard today. What’s your name, dearie?”

“It’s Delilah. Delilah Ferguson. I’m not a family member, if that’s what you want to check,” I said, peering over the counter to see if there was an official visitors list, “but I know he’d want to see me, which is why I rushed back from Zaire as soon as I heard the news. Please could you let me in? Just for a moment. I promise not to stay long.”

“I’m afraid that won’t be possible, Mrs. Ferguson.”

“Here’s the thing. I’m going to be honest with you,” I said, preparing to bare my soul to a complete stranger and tell her the details of how Daniel and I were connected in the hope that it would make her more sympathetic to my plight. “He—”

“I’m not trying to be difficult, hon. There’s only one visitor allowed at a time and another priest is with him now keeping vigil in case the last rites are required.”

The last rites.

“He’s that bad? There’s no chance at all that he’ll come out of the coma?”

“Miracles have been known to happen,” she said, absently fingering the cross around her neck. “But, yes. He’s still in a critical condition and has yet to regain consciousness.” She nodded behind her at a window cut into the wall allowing visitors a view of the ICU.