Dating : In My Hour of Darkness “Hold my hand Ian, I think I may die.”

In My Hour of Darkness

“Hold my hand Ian, I think I may die.” She spoke without fear, just resignation. The chasm in Ian’s heart yawned wider as he saw the small, weathered hand of his mother.

“No mom,” he said with attempted conviction, “you’re going to recover from this virus, just as I have.” His mother smiled weakly, admiring his strong profile silhouetted against the window. The afternoon winter sun trickled through the Venetian blind offering little comfort, an arbitrary intrusion into abnormality.

It was just two weeks ago he and his mom sat outside on the patio enjoying a bottle of red wine together. Contemplation lay at the bottom of his wine glass like sediment, and he realised it had been a while since they had spent time together. How quickly life happens. Admirable his mom – tall, slender, attractive. Seventy-five difficult years had mapped a harsh story on her face, but her beauty had withstood, and her light blue eyes still twinkled with familiar naughtiness. The moon was particularly luminescent this weekday evening and “Let it Be” by the Beatles untethered itself from the Bluetooth speaker and drifted sleepily into the starry skies.

”I’m so grateful to you and Lauren for letting me come and stay here during the lockdown love,” she said. Ah, the lockdown. The announcement by the president, Cyril Ramaphosa last Sunday had instilled unfathomable anger in him, which now threatened to surface and diminish his mellow mood.

“It’s the least we can do mom, we couldn’t have you staying alone in your flat for three weeks, and anyway Lauren could use your help with the boys, they’re a handful when they don’t have distractions.” He paused briefly as he felt his fatherly pride nourish his soul momentarily. Twin sons Jayden and Byron had arrived quite late into his and Lauren’s marriage with them approaching their forties, but the joy they had brought was incalculable. Returning to the present he continued, “For me, it will be business as usual though – essential services and all that. Thank God.”

She reached out and held his hand tightly, “I know love, but please be safe. The Coronavirus is not something to trifle with.” There was an urgency in her voice; she well knew her son’s limitless perception of his mortality. An upbringing fraught with adult challenges had moulded a man fearless, borderline arrogant. He pulled his hand away, disenchanted by her assumption that he wasn’t clued up on everything COVID-19.

“Speaking words of wisdom…let it be,” proffered Paul McCartney.

________

Arriving at work the next morning, Ian Kelly felt familiar contentment at the sight of his diesel supply company. The forecourt was busy already with the “bakkie brigade” arriving to fill up on account whilst paying slightly less than the going rate. Each pump had a tarred strip alongside a concrete plinth, with the surrounding area red dust, now hovering in the air as the early autumn sun began to rouse. Rudimentary may best describe his premises but they sufficed, and his clientele was not too fussy if he did not provide standard garage facilities.

Inside the office, there was a buzz. Coronavirus. Twenty-one days of lockdown. He was reminded there were only two days left of freedom in this supposed democracy and he urgently needed to stock up his liquor cabinet. To him that was the cherry on top of this farce the government was orchestrating, no liquor and cigarette sales to be allowed. With just over five hundred cases and no deaths, he saw a massive overreaction here. He had seen differing opinions amongst his staff and friends but felt that unlike him, they had little factual knowledge of the disease. Conspiracy theories about China’s involvement had been tossed around, some feigned concern for the plight of Italy’s ongoing battle.

“Listen Ian, the boys asked what changes we’re going to make now for their safety?” Hannelie Naude, his middle-aged office manageress intercepted him on the way to his office. She had her voluminous dyed red locks tied up with a clip today but wore her customary strappy top and jeans, her sun-weathered shoulders arguing with her fashion sense. He cringed at her use of the word “boys” for his pump attendants but had long since reconciled himself to her ways – unashamedly racist and patronising towards his staff, but uncannily good at her job at a below-market cost, handling anything from cashier duties to credit collection.

“What are they expecting from me?” His reply was disinterested. “They’re grown men, and they have the hand sanitiser we bought last week.”

“I think maybe some masks?” she queried, “Even the ladies in admin think we should get masks.”

Ugh, this is all so unnecessary he thought, his staff was in good health.

“Alright, find out where we can get some masks. But from my point of view, wearing them will be optional. You won’t catch me wearing one.” He sensed he and Hanlie weren’t on the same page with this one, but her respect for him verged on adulation, admittedly because he was unashamedly charming, so she let it be.

It irked him that he had to pander to the whims of his staff for something so seemingly innocuous. This was such a limited threat and he knew that he would overcome as always – hardship had challenged him from a young age. Besides, even if this virus took hold in South Africa, it was obvious to him that there would be additional catastrophes lying ahead, and he was sure the Coronavirus may prove to be the lesser of many greater evils about to be perpetrated on this country.

__________

With the lockdown in full swing, Ian was pleased to see business didn’t seem to be suffering from the altered status quo. He still had constant interaction with his favourite customers: his potty-mouthed Afrikaner; his ebullient Zulu; his flamboyant Indian. Despite personal rhetoric to the contrary he did practice the “Cyril elbow pump” form of greeting as opposed to handshakes and washed his hands regularly. Existing customers continued to pour in for their diesel, and his small “quick-shop” was thriving as he had the foresight to hide his cigarette stock under the counter and offer it at inflated prices to patrons. Hanlie knew who to supply to, and who to deny any knowledge of the contraband to. No government gazetting would convince him that his actions were criminal. Adam will always eat the apple; smokers will still smoke; and at least his wares were legitimate cigarettes.

Sitting in his back office with its limited view of the forecourt he was grateful to be able to leave home in the mornings and join the land of the living. Lauren owned a franchised nail salon and had been forced to shut down her workplace completely. She was an active woman, exercised regularly, and after just a few days of lockdown, she was irritable and despondent. His mom had integrated into the household seamlessly, and helped with the cooking and cleaning – it was particularly annoying to him that his helper Maria wasn’t allowed to come to work, and he felt ethically bound to still financially support her while she holed up in her zinc shack in the nearby informal settlement.

Autumn was gusting in early this year and there was a decided chill in the air. His throat was scratchy today, not surprising as the wind was cold and delivering pockets of dust into his office. He felt tired too; home stresses were taking their toll. He watched the bakkies and trucks for a while, the pump attendants were particularly vocal with each other. He wished he understood their language, the sound of their voices hurtling from one fuel pump to another seemed disgruntled: low key aggressive. As he left for home, he greeted them and there was some muttering, their eyes not meeting his as they said, “Bye baas”. The Highveld sun was dipping languidly behind the horizon, its haze fragmented by clouds, muddled orange and grey.

“Bye guys, stay safe,” he threw back. I wonder what’s rattled their cage. He shrugged off the thought, now eager to return home as his body had started aching and he was decidedly chilly.

________

That night was unusual for him. He slept fitfully, woken by a blazing sore throat and heavy head.

When his alarm went off Lauren turned to him and said, “You’re not well, you should really stay at home today…I think I should make a doctor’s appointment.” Nothing annoyed him more than being told what he should or shouldn’t do. He dragged himself up and hit the shower. The water jets felt good on his body and he inhaled the steam deeply – surprisingly, that hurt slightly. He cleared his nostrils onto the mosaic shower floor as was his habit and saw copious amounts of blood mingling with the soapy water swirling down the drain.

“Fuck!” The curse was involuntarily, and weakness overcame him. Unusually the challenge of his workers looking to him for magical Coronavirus solutions today seemed daunting – his bed looked inviting and cosy. He half-dried himself and curled up under the covers.

_________

He had accepted that he’d come down with ‘flu and due mainly to his sore throat, he agreed an antibiotic may be necessary. Lauren made the appointment but asked him if they shouldn’t call the COVID hotline number first.

“You must be joking?” he sneered at her. “There’s not a chance in hell I have the Coronavirus,” and then toning down his retort, “Relax babe.”

Hannelie was more than willing to hold the fort, or the forecourt as it were, it was after all her forté…and other such random meaningless thoughts occupied his mind as his wife drove him to the clinic. By the time he arrived he was grateful he hadn’t attempted work today as he was feeling, as best he could describe it in his head, pretty kak. He didn’t wait long before he went in to see the doctor; he was relieved as people and staff in the waiting room were looking at him suspiciously. He guessed his cheeks were very flushed and he was coughing occasionally. The doctor was wearing a face mask, surgical gloves, and a plastic jacket – supposedly the receptionist had passed on information to him about his symptoms. A few screening questions later with a high-temperature reading, and he was asked to go for a swab test at the laboratory within the clinic to test for COVID-19.

“I’ll give you a script for some medications but please self-isolate until we have the results of the test,” he said. Ordinarily, he would’ve had plenty to say in response, but at this stage, he just wanted to get home, take some ‘flu medication and rest. The swab caused a further nosebleed, and the protective geared up sisters at the lab gave him a wide berth thereafter.

When he woke up from a feverish sleep later that afternoon in his bed, he found the room was cold and dark. It seemed more naked than usual. His senses gradually slotted into alignment and he realised, with shock, that Lauren had moved a lot of her things out of the room. He checked his phone for the time, it was already six in the evening. Lauren would normally serve supper by now, but he had no desire for food. He drank thirstily from the glass of water left next to his bed.

“Babe” he called out, and again, “Babe…Lauren?”

Within minutes his mom popped her face into the door. ”How’re you feeling lovey? Is there anything I can get you?”

“I’m okay thanks mom. Where’s Lauren, I see a lot of her stuff is out the room?” he asked shortly.

“Yes love, you’re in isolation now I believe, seems likely you have Coronavirus. She intends sleeping with the boys for a while.”

“Jeez that’s a bit extreme, please ask her to come talk to me?” He couldn’t quite pinpoint the emotion, but he was sure he was feeling betrayed.

“Sure love.”

He tried to get himself up and out of bed, but that extraordinary weakness came over him again. Shit, he thought, I probably am going to be spending some time in bed anyway.

Lauren appeared in the doorway, face mask on, and clearly not prepared to cross the threshold.

“You okay babe?” she asked.

“I’d be better if you hadn’t made such a point of distancing yourself from me,” he retorted sarcastically. He couldn’t discern from her expression how she felt about his response.

She paused a long time and then replied, “I’ve made this decision for the good of our family Ian, I am really sorry that you’re feeling so ill, I am, really, but the right thing is for you to stay isolated so that if it is the virus me and the kids won’t get infected. I’m happy to bring you anything you need, I’ll put it outside the door. I think you must just text me if you do need anything…do you want some supper? It’s just bolognaise.”

“No, I’m not hungry. Just need some more water…please.” As she turned to leave, he added, “If I do have Coronavirus, I hope you realise I could die, and this is how you’re choosing to spend our last days together.”

Her face seemed pale against the white surgical mask as she turned back, “That’s low Ian, even for you,” and she disappeared.

His mom was promptly back in the doorway and this time she came right in and sat next to him.

“Don’t worry lovey, I’m here,” she paused thoughtfully, ”Would it be okay if I moved in here? Your bed is king-size and at least poor Lauren won’t have to sleep in the boys’ room – she can take my room rather.” Her concern was touching – he felt loved.

“Thanks mom, yes I don’t mind, I could use the company if I have to stay here for a few days. Aren’t you worried about the possibility that I have the virus though?“

She took his hand, “You’re my baby Ian, my greatest purpose is still to take care of you, and I will never be able to repay you for the sacrifices you’ve made for me. Anyway, I guess at my age anything could take me, the virus may have to stand in the queue.” Her words were earnest, but her eyes twinkled at the end. The small boy inside him felt reassured; comforted; safe.

Lauren was livid. Intuitively she had suspected Ian would react this way: stubborn; self-absorbed. Twenty years of marriage had immunised her to his ways. But to allow Frances to move into the same room was just next level selfishness. She didn’t begrudge his mom her decision; she fully understood how much she felt she owed Ian for stepping up as a young boy and helping them survive after her husband had died so suddenly. His only season of selflessness, she thought wistfully.

_________

Those few days were a fog of aimless wanderings for Ian. His fever raged for a couple of days; his mom never left his side. Cooling him with cold sponges when he felt hot; wrapping him up when he was shivering. He was told by his wife at the door that the doctor had called and confirmed he was COVID-19 positive. The Department of Health had visited shortly thereafter, all geared up and requesting contact information for tracing, and offering compassion to him and his family.

“Apparently Lauren ‘kept mum’ about my quarantining with you,” he remembered his mom quipping. His boys’ faces floated past the door: worried; unsure; torn; baffled. Then just as suddenly, he felt better.

He woke up mid-morning on an early April day. His mom was dozing next to him. He texted his wife to tell her he was peckish and feeling better. Huge smiley sticker emojis were received in reply. While he was waiting for food, he phoned Hannelie.

“Jissie Ian, it’s good to hear from you. Fok, I thought Lauren was playing an April Fool’s joke on me. How’s it going man?”

“Better thanks Hannelie. How are things in the diesel world?”

“Ag sales are good actually. You know the Department of Health was here testing everybody hey? We haven’t heard the results yet, but everyone passed the screening interview.”

“That’s good news. Okay, I suspect I’ll have to stay quarantined quite a bit longer, shout if there’s anything you guys need.”

“Okay Ian, feel better.“

The conversation had awoken his mom and when she opened her eyes and looked at him ice flowed through his veins – her eyes were red, unfocused, and she just looked so old.

“Are you okay mom?” he asked with panic in his voice.

“Hello lovey,” she whispered, ”you’re looking so much better.”

“Mom…YOU don’t seem well!”

“No, I’m not love, I have the Rona,” she attempted a wink to accompany her word choice. He felt her head and she was burning up with fever.

“What do you want me to do mom?” he asked in an unfamiliar voice, which even to his ears sounded strangulated.

“Give me some time to rest love, I’m sure I’ll feel better later.” She patted his hand, comfortingly.

But by mid-afternoon Lauren had called an ambulance. It took ages to arrive; apparently COVID-19 equipped ambulances were hard to come by, and the screening questions from the operator had concluded they were undoubtedly dealing with a Coronavirus patient.

He took her hand as she had asked.

“Mom, I’m telling you, you’re going to get better, they’ll take good care of you at the hospital…mom…I’m so so sorry I’ve infected you, I wasn’t thinking clearly, I wasn’t myself…Jeez, I was such a selfish prick.”

She was loaded onto a stretcher by the dystopian-like hazmat suited paramedics from the ambulance.

She whispered to him, “Love…let it be. Let it be.”

__________