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If the kleinnooi what, Lys?

Actually you wanted to scream at the woman and throw her out of the kitchen by the scruff of her neck.

Lys had a firm grip on the child’s thin arm, but she was a bit calmer now and stood there, one foot over the other, the glass of cooldrink untouched in front of her on the kitchen table. She started trembling and once, twice, looked anxiously from face to face.

You caught her eye and tried a smile, sent her a wordless message: Come, we must be brave now you and I, now we have to help each other here!

The child’s look just grazed me, she started squirming ferociously. Her glass of cooldrink fell from the table, shattered on the floor, a chair capsized.

Never mind, you said, it doesn’t matter.

Your mother appeared in the doorway, small and old there in the door.

Sorry, Ounooi, excuse, Ounooi, Lys said, on her knees with the scoop and the broom and the floor-cloth, very subservient, but with a venomous set of the mouth. I’ll clean everything nicely, Ounooi.

You put an arm around your mother’s shoulder and accompanied her some way down the passage.

Sorry about the ruckus, you said.

Ai Milla, my dear child . . .

My dear child, you thought, must I figure in a Greek tragedy before you can call me your ‘dear child’?

She turned away and opened the linen cupboard in the passage.

You’d better clean up that little one before you load her into the car.

She fished out a little worn towel from the cupboard and with a sharp yank tore it in two and pressed the two halves into your hands.

One for washing, she said, and one for drying.

When you got back to the backyard you found them standing outside next to the water tank.

You talked past Lys who was waiting arms akimbo.

Maria, I’m taking the child to Grootmoedersdrift and I, my husband and I, we’ll look after her. What’s her name?

You felt Lys’s eyes sliding over your face. You didn’t want to look at her, but she was the one who replied.

She doesn’t really have a name, we call her Gat, Asgat, because she sits with her arse in the ash in the fireplace all the time. She won’t wear a panty.

She won’t want for anything, you said. Either you give her over into my care or your days are numbered here on Goedbegin. There’s quite enough reason to fire the whole lot of you. You squat on the ounooi’s back and mess with one another and don’t pull your weight. You go home now and leave her here, the ounooi and I will manage from here on and the kleinbaas will be here just now. I’ll phone the police and report that Joppie beats his wife so that they can be prepared if there’s trouble again. The ounooi knows what’s going on and she now knows what to do if he or Dakkie or Hekkie misbehaves any more. Is that clear?

It’s right like that, Kleinnooi, we’re only too grateful.

With your hand you signalled to Lys to be quiet.

Maria, have you understood me well here?

Maria stood there with her chin on her chest.

I want to hear a clear yes out of you, Maria, look at me.

Lys smirked.

A dull sound came from the older woman. Her lips stuck out, but she said nothing more. She didn’t look up.

We brought her things, said Lys, picked up the little hessian bag from the ground and held it out to you.

That’s good, Lys, just put it down, I’ll have a look.

She can talk too if she wants. She eats porridge with sugar.

That’s good, Lys, I’ll see to that.

You put your hand on the child.

Kleinnooi must watch out, she’s wild, she’ll pull free and run away, here, take the bad arm, it’s the rein.

That’s enough, Lys, you can go home now, all of you.

You took the child’s good hand.

Maria’s hand came up feebly next to her body, her head was hanging.

Bye bye, Asgat, Lys said, behave yourself, you hear. Tonight you’ll have meat and bread and sweets, you’ll see, and a snow-white bed to sleep in, all to yourself. I put your wheel in the bag and your stick and your moleskin.

You left the dirty bag full of bumps and lumps on the ground.

Cool down, you thought, cool down first. Both of us.

Let’s walk to the