Mysterious Ways

Samsons’ widow, mistress and pastor could never have guessed the secret he took with him to the grave

- BUBELE RETSHE

THEY were seated awkwardly in the living room of Samson’s modest two-bedroom home. His wife, a good woman and the mother of two of his children, had left him when his drinking got out of hand, but they’d never divorced.

She displayed the sadness of losing someone she knew, the father of her children, but not the sadness of losing a husband, for she’d lost him long before he passed away.

Some would say she left him because of Sofia – a loud, hot-headed young woman in her early thirties – who was Samson’s mistress and mother to his youngest son, but the truth was she and Samson had grown apart long before then.

Sofia was the only one in the room who was standing, chewing bubblegum in the corner like a teenager with an attitude.

Samson’s eldest son, Jomo, who’d followed in his father’s footsteps by working at the nearby Loneville goldmine was also present, seated next to his mother. He was still in his navy jumpsuit and gumboots, fiddling inattentively with his safety helmet.

“When did Junior say he’s getting here? Some of us have better things to do,” Sofia’s sharp, squeaky voice broke the silence. The Junior she was referring to was Samson’s middle son.

He was the one who’d requested the meeting.

“You call drinking and dancing at the tavern day and night something better to do?” Jomo replied without turning around to look at her.

“It’s what your father liked. That’s why he left your mom for me.”

Jomo rose instantly but his mother grabbed his arm.

“Don’t you dare mention my mother. You ruined my family and you don’t belong here,” Jomo barked.