This is a work of fiction. The events and characters described herein are imaginary and are
not intended to refer to specific places or living persons. Any resemblance to any person or
persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.
All Rights Reserved
The right of Eduard Joseph to be identified as the author of this work has been asserted by him under the South African Copyright Act of 1978 (as amended).
PROLOGUE
The 1950s was the perfect time to be alive. We were on the forefront of many wonderful inventions that would make our lives much easier, but it was also the decade that saw the last of chivalry and ladylike.
It was a time when kids could still play in the parks after dark, without parents worrying about their children being kidnapped, murdered or molested by prying eyes from a park bench.
Rock ‘n roll music was just being accepted by the masses and not seen as obscene music that influenced the minds of the youth, but opened them to new ways of thinking.
It was the decade of picture perfect houses; houses with white picket fences bordering lush green gardens – with a mailbox keeping watch at the gate.
Neighbours warmly greeted ‘hi neighbour’ when passing each other on the sidewalk. Yes, the 1950s was a perfect decade; the last decent decade before the world was ruined by the hippies of the 60s, the rockers of the 70s, the punksters of the 80s, the post-grunge losers of the 90s, and the obsceneness of the decades that followed.
What made the 50s even more picture perfect was the fact that zombies were already amongst us, but it was considered bad manners to talk about the walking dead. You simply had to kill them and go on with your daily life.
ONE
The vinyl record player stood on a small table in front of the living room window and played opera music from an opera called El Le Femme Fleur Du Mal, which was one of Lucy’s favourite operas. Lucy sat on the couch putting the finishing touches on her needle-point work. It was a hobby she learned from her mother back in 1943 – a hobby which required a large amount of patience and preciseness.
That was exactly what Lucy was – precise. She never missed an appointment, dinner was always served promptly at seven PM, her linen never had a single crease and her house was spotless.
She was taught from a young age that anyone can be a woman, but not everyone can be a lady. Being a lady ran in her blood; it was part of her soul and what made her unique.
Lucy’s hair was always a pristine vision one might expect in fashion magazines. Her snow white skin was a dramatic contrast with her charcoal black hair. Not only did she act like the perfect housewife, she looked the part as well.
The telephone rang in the hallway and she got up. Lucy stared at her needle-point work for a moment with self-pride before putting it down on the couch. She straightened her dress and with perfect ladylike composure she walked towards the telephone.
She put on her warmest smile and then picked up the telephone receiver.
“Monroe residence.” Lucy announced.
“Lucy?” the voice asked, “It’s Samantha.”
Samantha was Lucy’s younger, more free-spirited sister and hardly ever telephoned unless she wanted something.
“Good morning, Samantha” Lucy greeted warmly, “To what do I owe the pleasure of your telephone call?”
“I’m just calling to remind you of our tea appointment tomorrow.” Samantha said.
“I have it diarized.” Lucy said, “I had to move a few things around and rescheduled my hair appointment to five o’clock this evening. I will make our appointment.”
Lucy’s sixteen year old daughter, Agnes, came rushing by. Annoyed at the interruption, Lucy covered the telephone receiver with one hand.
“Agnes.” Lucy insisted in a hushed tone, “Manners! Can’t you see I am in the middle of a telephone conversation? You’re being rude.”
“Sorry mother.” Agnes said sincere.
“Are you still there?” Samantha asked.
“Give me one moment.” Lucy said into the receiver and then covered it again.
“Agnes,” Lucy asked, “Where are you off to in such a hurry?”
“I need to get to the library before they close.” Agnes said, “I want to get a few books for the weekend.”
Lucy shook her head. She longed for Agnes to become more involved in the housework instead of burying herself in books all the time. Books made readers smart, and men weren’t very fond of smart women – it made them feel threatened. Lucy knew it would be no use to prohibit Agnes from going, because she would simply sneak out later. Lucy could never understand where Agnes got her free-spirited and rebel genes from.
“Fine.” Lucy said, “But take a knife.”
“Why?” Agnes asked confused.
“It’s for your own safety.” Lucy insisted.
“Are you still afraid of zombies?” Agnes asked amused.
Lucy’s face turned white and she clasped onto the receiver with both hands. She was terrified that Samantha might have heard what Agnes said. The word zombie was something ladies frowned upon. It was a vile word, and to Lucy almost just as bad as the ‘N’ word.
“Agnes!” Lucy said in a hushed tone, “We do not use that word in this house.”
“But that’s what they are.” Agnes said.
“It’s not ladylike to speak of the undead.” Lucy said half embarrassed.
It was a mystery to Lucy as to why her daughter was not a little lady like she was at that age. One never simply blurted out the word zombie. It was unacceptable. What would people think of them if they knew Agnes used such a horrid word? The neighbourhood would think they are Neanderthals.
“It is politically incorrect to refer to them as the Z word.” Lucy pleaded.
“You mean Zombie?” Agnes asked spitefully.
Lucy rolled her eyes shut in despair, took a deep breath and tried to stay calm.
“Yes.” Lucy murmured, “That word.”
Lucy opened her eyes again. Her daughter was a stubborn one. Lucy was almost certain that Agnes was deliberately trying her patience when it came to zombies.
“You are not leaving the house without a knife.” Lucy insisted.
Agnes sighed and said, “Fine mother.”
Agnes went into the kitchen with her shoulders slouching in defeat. Lucy put on her broad smile again and took her hands off the receiver.
“Samantha,” Lucy said, “I am terribly sorry for that interruption”
“No problem.” Samantha said, “Where would you like to go for tea?”
“I heard a new shop opened on Sparrow Street.” Lucy said, “We could go there and –”
Lucy lost her train of thought as Agnes came down the hallway again. Her eyes widened in horror when she saw that Agnes had the butcher knife in one hand. She looked like a lumberjack on his way to the forest for a day’s work of chopping down trees. What was she thinking? She was being spiteful. She couldn’t allow her daughter to leave the house with a knife she couldn’t hide in her purse.
Lucy covered the telephone receiver nervously.
“What is that?” Lucy asked Agnes.
“It’s a knife.” Agnes said stubbornly.
“It’s too conspicuous.??
? Lucy pleaded, “You can’t go out in public with a large knife. Where will you hide it?”
“Why would I want to hide my knife?” Agnes asked, “It’s normal to kill zombies.”
Lucy cringed at the z-word almost as if someone dragged their nails across a blackboard.
“People will think you are a hoodlum if you walk around with a large knife.” Lucy said, “Get something smaller.”
Agnes stared at her mother with distaste, rolled her eyes and sighed.
“I saw that.” Lucy insisted.
“Fine.” Agnes groaned and returned to the kitchen.
Lucy removed her hands from the telephone receiver and returned to her conversation.
“I understand.” Samantha chuckled, “I am a mother too.”
“The new coffee shop on Lexington Street.” Lucy said, “I heard they have the most delicious pies and a wide variety of tea.”
“Sounds perfect.” Samantha said.
Agnes came in again with a potato peeler in her hand and examined it with blissful admiration in order to upset her mother. Lucy saw the potato peeler and rolled her eyes at her daughter’s stubbornness.
“I will have to call you back.” Lucy said to Samantha and disconnected the call.
“Agnes.” Lucy pleaded, “Please do not be tenacious. Take one of the defence knifes in the kitchen drawer. I know you don’t want to, but please. It is for your own safety.”
“When last did you come across a zombie?” Agnes asked.
Lucy pondered a moment and could not recall when last she saw a zombie, but it was beside the point. It was always better to be prepared than