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The real point is: The Overberg is the bread basket of the whole country. Remember: Good wheat and good bread, and the nation’s well fed.

She’s a poet and she doesn’t know it! somebody shouted and rapped on the table.

Jak looked away.

You knew of one more supporter at the table, the new young extension officer, Kosie Greeff. The little chap glanced around somewhat anxiously when he saw that you wanted to say something. His wife looked at the glass in your hand. Beatrice as well, all the women at the table thought that when a woman opened her mouth like that in male company it had to be because she was tipsy. You’re welcome to look as much as you like, you thought to yourself and smiled at Beatrice.

It was young Greeff who’d convinced you of the new rotational system. He was having an uphill battle in the region. Now he was red in the face because it was his area of expertise that had cropped up in discussion.

Mrs de Wet is right, he said, and what’s more, gentlemen, the soil problem in the hill country is a bigger problem than the so-called colour problem.

I agree, you exclaimed. You were in full flow now, you could hear you were preaching, but you kept at it.

You can’t take more out of the soil than you put into it, you said. And here we are now, a little group of people at the southern tip of Africa in the process of totally destroying this national asset within the space of a few decades. All the fertiliser crops may make you rich, but it’s not a long-term investment in the soil. Fallow is the answer. It’s a tradition born of respect for nature. In a state of pseudo-death you restore your substance. Even a frog knows that.

Hear hear! the people shouted.

Froggy went a-courting and he did ride, red-faced Flippie sang with a suggestive fillip to his voice.

A commotion erupted.

Beatrice looked at you dumbfounded.

Milla, please, stop, you’re making a fool of yourself, Jak said under his breath, his voice hoarse with irritation.

Give her a chance, chaps, Gawie shouted, such an opportunity you won’t get again soon!

You fixed their eyes as you spoke.

It’s the rhythms of nature that you have to respect as the Creator determined them. That’s what agriculture should be based on. This new greed is barbaric, it’s a form of sacrilege.

And then a thought came up in you and you said it before you thought about it. Perhaps the sips of wine together with your exhilaration had gone to your head.

If a farmer clears and levels his land year after year it’s as good as beating his wife every night. In a manner of speaking, you added, but the words were out and they had been spoken.

You saw Beatrice gasping for breath and putting her hand in front of her mouth.

A heavy silence descended.

Gawie came to your rescue.

Food for thought, chaps, definitely food for thought, let’s hear what Thys wants to say, he looks as if he’s going to burst a blood vessel if he’s not given a turn.

Now it’s enough, Jak hissed, now we’re leaving, you and I.

At the door Gawie greeted the two of you. You he kissed on the cheek and pressed your shoulder.

Congratulations, Jak old friend, you married a first-rate wife, look after her well.

He shook Jak’s hand emphatically, but Jak didn’t know what it was all about. He released his hand quickly.

He got into the car and slammed his door without opening the door for you. Of that he normally made a big show in front of other people.

It was rally-driving all the way home.

Good God, you, Jak swore, think you know everything!

At home he staggered out of the car and urinated against the first tree. He swayed on his legs, he was so drunk.

Your mouth is too big! he shouted as he entered the front door.

You went to your room, heard him pour himself a whisky from the carafe in the sitting room. He came to look for you in the bedroom, came to stand in the doorway, and glared at you.

Jak, I have something to tell you, you said.

So, and what could that be? That you have something on the go with Tredoux?

Jak, he’s our friend, he was just congratulating