Dear Joy I am writing you now because I have many things to say and probably not much time left to say them. I can picture you as you are reading this, a shadow falling over the beauty of your face, the warmth leaving your eyes. I have taken the coward’s way out by writing, but if we were together now, it would not lessen the pain or ease the burden, and this way, we are both able to maintain the dignity of our feelings. I have known for a long time that I am dying, but does one ever really know such a thing? Yes, its there in our minds as something far off, something to deal with after we are too tired to enjoy more than the sounds of the birds returning after the winter, the colors of the leaves when they burst into ripeness, when tasting the sweetness of the first apple of the season hurts our teeth more than it pleases our palates. That is when we think that maybe, only maybe, it is time for death. But certainly never before, when there is still so much to learn and do. So for over a year now I have known, but I have not known because I still believed that I could cheat it until I was ready for it. But I’m a very sick man, and the doctors have given me only a matter of weeks. I know what you’re thinking, and no, I could not tell you before. Its ugly, unpleasant, unhappy information, and why should you have carried that around with you? Because death is close at hand and because knowing that makes a person too aware of his frailties and transgressions, I want to tell you something that I should have probably go to the grave with. Indeed, ‘confessing’ is not really good for the soul, just easier on the conscience. You know your mother is a very sick woman. Not sick as I am, but in a way she has a more terrible disease. Unhappiness. For as long as I have known her, she has seen and believed only what she wanted, never what really was. She did this with you and your sister, and still does it. When I see her, there is always a remark about Princess Alice, always a belittling comment about you. You probably will never understand what a threat you were to your mother, a threat that was passed on to your sister. I was able to get you away form one, but you must work at staying away from the other. That is one of the messages of this letter, Joy dear. Listen to your husband, Jaycool and your true friends when it comes to Alice. Even if you don’t believe us, trust us. She is your enemy, as is your mother. Don’t keep giving her second chances, new opportunities to hurt you- she’ll use them. I’m sure you’re reading this and getting angry, but consider it the right of a dying old man and a loving friend to offer advice one last time. Let me go back to your mother. By now you undoubtedly know that she and I were once lovers. No, its unfair to that word to use it for Edith and me. We availed ourselves of each other, but your mother, in her self-delusion, believed that it was more; believed that would marry her once your father died. I never told her I would; I never promised her anything. She believed what she needed to believe, and I need you to believe that I am telling the truth. I am not the cause of her sickness, but I might have helped it along by never convincing her of the reality, and that I do regret. One last thing I want to share with you. You are approaching a milestone in your life, your thirtieth birthday. I would like so much to be able to celebrate it with you, but I’m staying in Lusaka with Lishomwa to the end and you are in Ndola. So I want to wish you the joy I have always wanted for you, just more of it. Lishomwa will be handling the will for me. I’ve spoken with him and Chrispin, and neither of them want the ‘big house’ in Mongu. They like living in Lusaka, Lishomwa with his School and Chrispin with his fancy cloth designing. And I’m glad, since I have always wanted you to have the big house. And that is my bequest to you, my dear Joy. The big house where were discovered each other, and the farm, and my love, which will last long after I have gone. Joseph.
Posted on: Sat, 15 Nov 2014 17:37:16 +0000
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