Rebirth.

And in a sweep, Sophiatown was gone.

The jazz clubs, the shebeens, the Odin theatre with its live performers; the bulldozers came and flattened those dreamlands to the ground. Cardboard cutouts burnt in braziers; the legends had fallen.

The once vibrant community had been replaced with Triomf; very clean, very quiet, and very white.

Samson Ngozwana had to relocate not only his house but his business as well. That would not be easy though, as finding offices which would accomodate a black law firm would be somewhat of a challenge, and then there was the issue of rent.

The bespectacled Afrikaans man squinted at him through horn-rimmed glasses. His hair was brylcreemed with a deliberate side-parting, and his safari suit was perfectly pressed. The top of a comb peeked out over the top of his pocket. "Very sorry," he repeated, accenting his r's. "The paperwork has not come through as yet".

Samson sat alone in his office, his desk an oasis of order amidst the boxes piled around him. The amber liquid in his glass spilled over onto his hand as he swirled it round. The only sound in the room was the occasional clink of ice against glass. He sighed, the soft sound a tangible expression of the hopelessness he could not describe. Then, a deep deliberate intake of breath which was more than physical, for it heralded a change.

His mind filled with the visions of a pale pink lace evening dress and Mary neatly folding it in tissue paper, before she packed it away. He saw her easy smile and the growing swell of her belly. He saw a baby, he couldn't decide if he wanted a boy or a girl, and then he saw Mary, her eyes turned to glass with tears. He couldn't provide for his family, he was not a man.

He put his glass down on the desk, then picked up the half-full bottle of brandy and in one smooth motion he put it to his lips, drinking deeply. He winced, the fire in his throat and gut making him feel alive, yet numb.

"Fire" he thought.
"Yes"

Samson was no more.

Amongst the ashes of Ngozwana and Partners, Shakes was born.

He was not the phoenix rising, beautiful and triumphant, but a foul Frankenstein's monster fashioned from graverobbers' booty.

Mary gave birth wearing widow's black. She had railed against God for his cruelty, having taken Samson away when He did. But her bitterness soon wisped away, when after an evening of angry importunate supplication, she found a basket filled with more money than she could count on the front stoep.