Painted Pearls

Tyoborha, 11 July, 1889

From her vantage the Black Mountains slithered, rock and woodland strewn artfully as if by God’s own hand.

And there, beneath the dark, roiling clouds, a stab of lightning appeared and made its blinding voyage towards the dry, famished earth, awesome and frightening in its brilliance. 

Her eyes grew wide against the surge, the very pits of her stomach leaping to the tines of her wings, her fingers… 

‘‘Liziwe…’’ the very air whispered, consuming her senses; a voice carried on the wings of a falcon.

‘‘Liziwe!’’ the sharp tone of her Mother’s voice overcame her, and she sat upright, the hazy edges of sleep escaping her mind. ‘‘Child, what on Earth possessed you to sleep unclothed? Good heavens, and without a covering, as well! You’ll catch your death of cold, mark my words. Wake up! We have company-’’

‘‘C-company?’’ yawned Liziwe, stifling a groan as she stretched her stiff, frozen limbs.

‘‘Yes, company, if I’ve told you once, I’ve told you a thousand times- Boniswa will have breakfast ready soon, I need you to milk the cow. Bandile is running late as usual...’’

‘‘Who’s coming?’’ Liziwe enquired absently, crossing to the wardrobe to retrieve her dress.

‘‘I must have died and gone to hell,’’ Miriam grumbled despondently. ‘‘Hurry up, you dozy dodo!’’ she exclaimed, unreservedly maddened.             

Her father met her in the pantry with a glance of carefully schooled surprise, the hints of a smile tugging at his thin, parched lips. A man of lean stature, Elias was, with a kind face hidden behind black, horn-rimmed spectacles; the sort of man that one instantly felt at ease with. ‘‘Ah, Lizi,’’ he said upon seeing his daughter.

‘‘Good morning, Papa,’’ said Liziwe, raising a brow as he beckoned her surreptitiously closer. ‘‘What is it?’’

‘‘Don’t show your Mother- here: a present.’’ He passed her a heavy tome that had been bulkily concealed underneath the slick, yellow fabric of his raincoat. Its weight surprised her, and she glanced at the cover. Anatomy: Descriptive and Surgical, by Henry Gray.

‘‘I- thank you, Papa! But it’s not my birthday-

‘‘Does a Father need a reason to dote upon his daughter?’’ enquired Elias with a trifling smile. ‘‘Come, hide it quickly, or Mrs Matiwane will have my head on a spike.’’

‘‘But Mother’s just asked me to see to the cow-’’

‘‘Nonsense. Bandile will do it. Go now, quickly, and hide it somewhere she will not see.’’

Trusting that everything would find itself in order, Liziwe smiled and darted back to her quarters; the room on top of their house- her precious attic.

With the access door safely closed, she chanced a moment to look at the book. And what a book it was: filled with the most fascinating anatomical illustrations, and cautious commentary as to many a cutting-edge surgical procedures. The drawings were executed with the utmost precision, and Liziwe longed to have the luxury of hours in which to study it. What a treasure! For if there was anything in which Liziwe Matiwane took the keenest pleasure, it was in learning her Father’s profession. Elias was a Doctor, and though this trade might have been seen in the highest of lights, he was merely a village Doctor, as it were; and the most difficult cases he had seen in recent years were Mrs Bayeni’s common complaint of headaches. They were of healthy stock in Tyoborha, and Dr Matiwane was rarely called for any excessive grievance.

But it was in Dr Matiwane’s extensive library that his daughter had found her first passion: in the examination of the human body, hidden away in the crackling bindings of her Father’s books. It was, of course, an undertaking neither decorous nor entirely proper; but in the absence of sons, Dr Matiwane was obliged to humour his only daughter’s every whim. So he began to teach her, slowly, under the disapproving remarks of his wife- but Liziwe was steadfast in her desire, and so it was allowed.

And now, as she slowly gained the formidable age of twenty-five, it had become abundantly clear to Mrs Matiwane that this incessant coddling had not been in her daughter’s best interest. Liziwe had become willful, with a strong and immoderate manner of speech; and yet, somehow, she had managed to gain the interest of a small handful of young men, God be praised. But Liziwe Matiwane would not have a husband to stem her learnings; a husband to curtail the experiments she squirreled away in her quarters using her Father’s equipment. No: a husband was not an ideal she would subject herself to, for she fancied herself a woman who would not be an accessory to domestic bliss. And needless to say, the running of her own household was a business in which Liziwe cared not a whit. But this had become somewhat of a problem for our young lady of society: for Liziwe Matiwane had become downright scandalous.

She might have, mind you, simply developed into a mere curiosities in her old age, unmarried and a bit queer; but sadly, the niggling issue of inheritance was one that her mother could not ignore. So, Liziwe persevered in her studies, with the steadfast yearning to become a physician, no matter how unlikely the outcome; while her beloved mother, the old bird, as Miriam was affectionately known to her loving husband and daughter, just as voraciously employed all possible veins to entice a young man of good fortune to marry her odd, stubborn daughter. But alas, the prospects had grown thin, and indeed, the possibility of marriage was beginning to look bleak, with or without any goodly sum of income.

It was with this in mind that Liziwe cautiously stowed away this absolute marvel of a textbook, and reconciled herself to an afternoon with her Mother’s chosen company.