Scenes From Provincial Life - J. M. Coetzee [194]
A farm is not a business: such was the premise she and Lukas agreed on long ago. The Middelpos farm is home not only to the two of them with the ghosts of their unborn children but to thirteen other souls as well. To bring in the money to maintain the whole little community, Lukas has to spend days at a time on the road and she to pass her nights alone in Calvinia. That is what she means when she calls Lukas a liberal: he has a generous heart, a liberal heart; and through him she has learned to have a liberal heart too.
And what is wrong with that, as a way of life? That is the question she would like to ask her clever cousin, the one who first ran away from South Africa and now talks of cutting himself free. From what does he mean to free himself? From love? From duty? My father sends his love, as do I. What kind of lukewarm love is that? No, she and John may share the same blood but, whatever it is he feels for her, it is not love. Nor does he love his father, not really. Does not even love himself. And what is the point, anyway, of cutting oneself free of everyone and everything? What is he going to do with his freedom? Love begins at home – isn’t that an English saying? Instead of forever running away, he should find himself a decent woman and look her straight in the eye and say: Will you wed me? Will you wed me and welcome my aged parent into our home and care for him faithfully until he dies? If you will take on that burden, I will undertake to love you and be faithful to you and find a proper job and work hard and bring home my money and be cheerful and stop kvetching about the droewige vlaktes, the mournful plains. She wishes he were here this moment, in Kerkstraat, Calvinia, so that she could raas with him, give him an earful as the English say: she is in the mood.
A whistle. She turns. It is Lukas, leaning out of the car window. Skattie, hoe mompel jy dan nou? he calls out, laughing. How come you are mumbling to yourself?
NO FURTHER LETTERS PASS between herself and her cousin. Before long he and his problems have ceased to have any place in her thoughts. More pressing concerns have arisen. The visas have come through that Klaus and Carol have been waiting for, the visas for the Promised Land. With swift efficiency they are readying themselves for the move. One of their first steps is to bring her mother, who has been staying with them and whom Klaus too calls Ma though he has a perfectly good mother of his own in Düsseldorf, back to the farm.
They drive the sixteen hundred kilometres from Johannesburg in twelve hours, taking turns at the wheel of the BMW. This feat affords Klaus much satisfaction. He and Carol have completed advanced driving courses and have certificates to show for it; they are looking forward to driving in America, where the roads are so much better than in South Africa, though not of course as good as the German Autobahnen.
Ma is not at all well: she, Margot, can see that as soon as she is helped out of the back seat. Her face is puffy, she is not breathing easily, she complains that her legs are sore. Ultimately, Carol explains, the problem lies with her heart: she has been seeing a specialist in Johannesburg and has a new sequence of pills to take three times a day without fail.
Klaus and Carol stay overnight on the farm, then set off back to the city. ‘As soon as Ma improves, you and Lukas must bring her to America for a visit,’ says Carol. ‘We will help with the air fares.’ Klaus embraces her, kissing her on both cheeks (‘It is warmer that way’). With Lukas he shakes hands.
Lukas detests