Muwena returned with a bundle of clothes that had belonged to her husband. She had washed them and ironed them neatly, years ago, and she washed them four times a year, in a ritual that reminded her of him. She wished she had not been so hard on Martin when he spoke of his ambitions to build a new life for her and the children, she wished she had not interpreted her role as one of an anchor. Despite all of her efforts, he had broken free. She wished she had recognised the futility of her efforts. But in this moment, she saw in this frail young man, who languished in Facebook addiction, a sign that he was still there, somewhere. Still alive. She felt that by helping this person who sat in front of her, she would atone for driving Martin away. She was no longer bitter that he had left her and the children, because she had felt the bitterness eating away at her, and realised that there would be nothing left, if she let it continue. Her child had suffered as a result, and if she could not be there for him, then what good was she? She had decided to set aside her resentment of Martin, to patiently wait for him until he returned.
Martin woke up to find himself in a strange place. The room was lit by sunshine, and he could hear a rooster outside, announcing that it was dawn and time for the day to begin. He heard muffled voices in the next room. He remembered the previous night. He decided he could either leave that moment, or face the prospect of this kindly woman being in danger. He tried to get up, only to realise that his chest was heavy and he was sweating. He coughed mightily, in fits. He was shivering. He did not have the energy to get up. He drifted off into sleep. The next thing he was in a computer room again, playing out his Facebook addiction, there were people in the background saying something, he couldn’t quite hear. He was too busy posting messages about the next underground protest. Suddenly the computer room fell away into darkness and he saw faces, two women, behind them three children, all staring at him. One of the women leaned towards his face with a cloth, and pressed it to his forehead. He felt a cool sensation as the warmth sapped out of his face and into the towel. Then it was dark again and he was back in the place of Facebook addiction.
It took a week for Martin to recover. The women would take turns to look after him. The children would watch him, with Anthony and Nathan bringing him food and water whenever their mothers were both out working. He did not speak at all during the first two weeks. He seemed to be in a dream world, a place where only those suffering from Facebook addiction could reach. He was a revolutionary, and Anthony and Nathan saw that as an honour. They recognised him from the stream, and regretted running away from the hero who now slept in their lounge. Gradually his power of speech returned, and he would answer the children’s many questions about where he came from, and what Facebook was, and whether he was really suffering from Facebook addiction, and how long he had been an addict. He would answer each set of questions slowly, and then fall asleep again, as if discussion of Facebook addiction had exhausted him. The mothers told the boys to stop asking him questions, but whenever they were away the boys would interrogate him more.
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