Chapter 1
The Calos used words others never used, or possibly had not learned. Popular words were forbidden.
Luke and Simon’s parents insisted on ‘unwell’ instead of ‘sick’. It was ‘passed-on’ rather than ‘dead’ or ‘killed’. ‘Disease’, ‘flu’ and ‘accident’ were words they didn’t want to hear and ‘hospital’ made them shudder. You could use the word ‘death’ in any sentence, as long as you said ‘there is no death’. ‘Temperature’ was okay for the weather, but not for people.
Another set of prohibited words used by a few residents of Lawley in Cape Town, where Darcy and Gwen Calo had their home – and by the majority in adjacent Shackleton – were those used to describe South Africans from other cultural backgrounds. Luke’s grandmother insisted on references to ‘natives’ no matter how much Mr Calo urged her not to. He said that his mother was stuck in her ways and ignorant, but meant well.
The boys were taught to refer to the appropriate tribal group such as ‘Xhosa’ or ‘Zulu’, or alternatively say a ‘black person’ or ‘African’, although they themselves were African. ‘African’ was a positive word whereas ‘non-European’ was negative and derogatory. If ‘African’ was abbreviated to ‘Af’ it was an insult.
‘Delusion’ was a word rarely heard in other homes. The Calos were fond of using this word, but wished they didn’t have to do so. For the family it described everything negative – feeling unwell, passing-on, disobedience, nasty thoughts, and racial discrimination all constituted ‘Delusion’.
“Delusion does not exist,” explained Mrs Calo. “We only think these things are real. They are part of the human dream.”
The way to overcome Delusion is simple, the boys learned at the earliest. You just affirmed the perfection of everything in God’s creation and you could see that Delusion was not real. This was easier to achieve with your eyes closed.
When Luke told his mother his leg was sore or his chest was tight, she’d extend both arms and show him her open palms. “Delusion has no sensation.” She spoke slowly and ‘no’ was the loudest word. Saying that could make it better. The next morning he’d realise these words had worked. His sore leg was no longer sore.
“We have demonstrated the Truth,” his father would assert at their morning prayers when a family member was better.
Melvin Joffe also had tight chests. His mother called this ‘asthma’ and gave him a tiny pump to carry in his pocket.
The Calo brothers were more fortunate than pretty Abigail Southwell, the younger daughter of their parents’ closest friends in the neighbourhood. The Southwells came from England and attended the same church. Abigail also had tight chests and was often unable to swim or play. She’d sit patiently gasping, watching from the veranda. This seldom happened to Luke and Simon. The skin trouble from which both suffered, did not stop them playing even when their arms and legs became very sore.
Though she was a year younger than he was, Luke liked Abigail more than her bigger sister Denise. Denise had once locked him in her room and made him lie under the blanket next to her. She had tried to kiss him. Mrs Southwell had banged on the door and shouted at them to join the others outside.
Though Luke preferred outdoor boy games, boring games like Snap were nice when he played them with Abigail. Nor did he mind holding her dolls when they needed changing, though he felt awkward when anyone watched this. He was concerned that Abigail was often a spectator, though he’d hated that moment when his mother had forced him to hand her a birthday present of a box containing frilly girls’ underpants that reminded him of candy floss.
It was not Abigail, but the gift from which he was dissociating himself when he performed on the pavement outside the Southwell home. He shouted fiercely at his mother. “Girls are junk. I’m not going in.” He was aware that he was attracted to Abigail and didn’t want to give her a stupid, embarrassing gift.
Luke glared at Simon, three years his junior, up against his mother’s leg. “Why can’t he do it? Why must I?”
His brother crept closer to his mother and Luke waved his arms threateningly. He would not have hit Simon in front of her. He was always careful there were no witnesses to such behaviour. He was emphasising that the gift was inappropriate.
Arguments with his mother were pointless. “Pull yourself together.” She spoke quietly but firmly and grabbed the collar of his khaki shirt, pushing him toward the gate.
Mrs Calo’s orders were consistently clear, sincere and compelling. They reflected her handsome face, impeccable complexion and upright posture, which made her look much taller than her slightly shorter husband. She always did exactly what she told others to do. Their father shouted at his sons when they scratched their legs, but often did so himself. Rude words were strictly forbidden, but Luke had once heard him say ‘shit’ when he thought no one was around.
“Stand up straight. Get your shoulders back and don’t follow your father’s example.” She told the boys she had to remind them of this, far too often.
The Southwell sisters stood on the veranda watching Luke’s tantrum. He knew he was being horrid as he freed himself from his mother, rushed at Abigail and thrust the gift into her arms without even looking at her.
Mrs Calo greeted the party in her normal gracious manner. She ordered her sulking son to apologise to the birthday-girl. He approached her, held out his hand and said he was sorry. Tiny slender Abigail smiled and took his hand. Everybody was happy and laughed. Though he felt foolish, he was glad to be at the birthday of this girl he could not stop thinking about. She looked especially pretty that day with two pigtails in her blonde hair, tied with red pom-poms that matched the polka-dots on her new dress. Mrs Calo had told her sons Abigail’s lovely smile and gentle nature compensated for her frailty.
After cake and ice-cream and happy-birthday singing around the party table in the garden, they all blew bubbles. The birthday girl showed him a whopper before she blew it. It drifted toward the mothers. Luke chased after it, showing her how fast he could run. He was glad he’d been forgiven.
The bubble hovered near the table and burst. His mother spoke to the other mothers. “I think my elder son has a crush on Abigail.” The mothers chuckled.
Mrs Southwell joked. “It’s more complex than that Gwen.”
Luke listened carefully to Mrs Southwell. “My elder daughter is also partial to your son.” There was louder laughter. Luke boiled. They joked about him though he was unsure what they’d meant about Denise.
Denise rushed up and grabbed his arm. “Come and hide with me,” she shouted. They said she was more boisterous than her little sister.
Luke liked running and chasing with her, but at that moment he did not want to play hide-and-seek with those girls. Still it was a better choice than being observed by the mothers and he let Denise lead him round the house. Although the mothers’ chatter was all true, he hated adults joking about him. He knew that girls did not mind such remarks being made about them.
Luke tried to impress on his mother that she was making fun of his private thoughts. It was painful. This was not the first time she’d detected his fondness for a girl. She’d said the same thing to Mrs Wilburn when he’d played with Jenny on the beach.
When he told his mother how he felt about her remarks, she’d laugh and give him a hug. “Nonsense darling, you’re being oversensitive.”
He soon abandoned telling her that she was hurting his feelings. His parents didn’t believe in pain and he did not want them praying about his sore feelings. He did not enjoy disappointing his mother. She loved him and Simon and their father. His parents hardly ever disagreed. He tried to follow their example but he was hopeless. His father was right about his quick temper.
Once Luke could not help scratching his itchy legs. His father also suffered the same Delusion but scratched less. He shouted at his son. “It’s because you’re so damn irritable. Irritable thoughts cause skin irritations.”
As Mr Calo turned into the parking area at church he spoke to the boys. “Abigail won’t be at Sunday-school this morning.”
Luke was disappointed. Seeing her made the boring Sunday morning more enjoyable. After the hymn during which you could fool around, if you were hidden in the middle, Luke would go to Mrs Weller’s class. She had no children of her own and would go on about Delusion and the Truth. She hated children fidgeting. If any child rocked on a chair, she’d stop and glare at the offender and tell the parents after church. Abigail had been promoted to this class.
Mrs Weller even made up stories about things her pupils had not done. When she spoke to Mrs Calo about Luke, there’d be silence in the car on the first part of the journey home. His attempts at conversation would be ignored. He’d shrug his shoulders on the back seat showing Simon his innocence. His brother would return the shrug affirming his support.
Their father would stop at the Menendes’ shop to buy the Sunday newspaper and sweets and turn to his sons. “When will you boys start behaving yourselves? Luke there will be no chocolate for you after lunch today.” He’d shake his head from side to side five times and get out of the car.
Again it seemed necessary to enforce this punishment. Luke protested sincerely. He’d had ‘pins and needles’ in his leg. He was trying to get comfortable.
Mrs Calo dealt with him. “Dulcie saw you rocking on your chair. I want no excuse for your bad behaviour. It’s much better to tell the truth.”
Luke didn’t mind the tedious Sunday morning ritual, if he could glance and smile at Abigail across the table. She was nearly always there.
As Mr Calo parked Luke asked, “Why Dad, where will Abigail be?”
There was a further silence. His parents looked at one another. Their mother gave her husband a nod. “Boysies, your dear friend Abigail has passed on.” Luke heard his father swallowing.
Their hearts leapt. Luke couldn’t speak. Simon spoke. “Is she dead?” ‘Dead’ was the most unacceptable word. That morning its usage was not rebuked.
Mrs Calo turned to her boys. “Sweeties, you know what we’ve taught you. There is no death. Life is eternal.”
Both sons fought back tears as their mother continued. “Abigail’s in heaven, darlings. There’s no need to cry.”
“Why did she pass on?” Luke spoke angrily.
“We don’t know and it doesn’t matter. She just passed on,” his mother answered.
“And there’s no need for that angry tone of voice,” added his father.
Luke ignored him. “You should have told us before!”
Old Mrs Rule who had parked next to them heard his rude reply. He lowered his head to escape her stare. Mrs Calo nodded at her husband who kept quiet, but looked cross.
“We felt it was better that you were all told together in Sunday-school.” She got out of the car. “Now get out and go inside. It’s getting late.”
Luke thoughts were fixed on the party. How ugly he’d been as he thrust that gift at his favourite girl, without even looking her in the eyes.
The bell rang and the pupils took their places. Mrs Healey, the Superintendent, announced softly that Abigail Southwell had passed on and was now safely in heaven. Some girls burst into tears but she went on. “Be calm children and know that God is in control.”
In the class everybody sat without fidgeting. Mrs Weller told them that everything was normal and still the same. “It is as if Abigail has gone through a door into another room.” She wanted all her pupils to understand what had really happened to Abigail. Luke noticed that Mrs Weller was not the same. It was the first class he’d attended in which she’d failed to scold a pupil.
Luke accepted that Abigail was happy somewhere. Yet he could not help being suspicious that something had gone wrong, for such a lovely young girl to be taken away. Had she done something wrong? He doubted that. She was always so good.
He felt guilty that his thoughts disagreed with what the adults had told them. He knew that he was failing his parents. If they knew what he was thinking, they would be disappointed. He wished he could do better, but he definitely wanted to know exactly what had happened to Abigail.
On the way home, Mrs Calo did not ask the boys what they had learned that morning, as she usually did. She said that although Abigail was happy in heaven, it was sad for parents to lose a child. They should think about the Southwells and be very nice to Denise when they saw her again.
When they said their prayers that night, Mrs Calo added a line asking God to take care of Abigail in her new home. Their father explained that her prettiness could never be destroyed. “You can still see her when you think about her therefore she must still be there.” They put out the light.
Luke lay in the dark and wondered whether Abigail knew he was there. He vowed he would always be good and listen to everything his parents told him, especially about God.
The following evening Uncle Gilbert and Aunt Muriel popped in for a quick visit after supper. Luke didn’t mind his aunt. She often said nasty things about the rest of the family, but they said nasty things about her.
Cousins Jonathan and Cheryl did not go to Sunday-school. When they were unwell Aunt Muriel gave them spoonfuls of medicine instead of praying. Luke’s parents said that this was very sad. Jonathan, who was two years older than Luke, had been rushed to hospital one evening. He’d showed Luke the scar on his tummy and said he hadn’t enjoyed himself there. Luke had not been taken with the other cousins to visit him and longed to see what hospitals were all about, though he knew that he’d been to a nursing home once - his visit to his mother just after Simon’s birth.
Aunt Muriel often made adult remarks to Luke and that made him feel grown-up. She talked to him about things that she had in her home, which Luke’s family did not have in theirs. Everything in her house was antique and valuable. She was much shorter and thinner than their mother and wore fancy stockings and very high heels. She did not like walking and had her own car. Mrs Calo liked plainer clothes and flat shoes that she didn’t look that much taller than her husband. Aunt Muriel spent a lot more time at the hairdresser and wore make-up that Luke had never seen on his mother’s dresser. She had many bottles of perfume, while his mother had only one which a visitor from overseas had given her, reserved for extra special occasions.
Uncle Gilbert was a taller, plumper version of his elder brother. Both had black hair and big ears though Gilbert had a noticeable double-chin and laughed a lot more than his brother. Sometimes he greeted his nephews as ‘Filthy Lucre’ and ‘Sigh More’. Their father never used nicknames.
While the cousins played Ludo, Luke overheard his aunt speaking louder than usual. “The Southwells are responsible for their daughter’s death. The poor child must have suffered unmercifully and alone.” Nobody spoke. Only a few months earlier, sixty-nine Africans had been killed at a place called Sharpeville and his father had said that racial hatred and government policy was responsible for their deaths.
Again Luke heard Aunt Muriel: “How many more tragedies?” He realised his aunt was being nasty to his parents.
Something was wrong when everybody said goodbye. There were no jokes at the door from Uncle Gilbert. All four adults were quiet as they parted.
“Mummy why didn’t you tell them that Abigail is still alive and just in another place?” asked Luke.
The boys were ushered into the lounge. Their father addressed them. “Many people like Aunt Muriel have no vision. They cannot see the Truth. Jesus Christ proved there is no death when he rose from the tomb. However we must respect the views of others. One day even Muriel will understand the Truth.”
After his mother put out the light, Luke lay awake worried. What if Aunt Muriel was right? Had Abigail suffered? Was it because of her parents?
That was unlikely. Aunt Muriel hardly knew the Southwells. Luke had seen their love for Abigail and Denise. That had been as clear to him, as the love he and Simon received from their parents.
