‘Tomorrow, Grootbaas.’

Everyone knew tomorrow would never come. When it was cold during winter, Twa sometimes wore a kaross over his shoulder, but once back at his fire, he was naked again.

Willem reached into his pocket and took out a piece of rolled tobacco.

‘Don’t smoke it all in one day.’

Twa took the tobacco, smiling humbly, and said something only Roeloff and Willem Kloot understood. He had come to the farm as a young man, and even though he and Willem Kloot had played and hunted together at one stage, Willem had gone from kleinbaas to grootbaas, and Twa was in awe of him. He and Sanna were the only ones the grootbaas never yelled at, and while he knew he fell into the same category as the Koi-na, their earlier comradeship wasn’t forgotten and there was occasional teasing between him and the farmer.

‘You two take care of Meisie,’ Willem Kloot said to his son. ‘I’ll come later to see how things are going. I’m waiting for Oom Jan.’

Roeloff took a paraffin lamp and some rags and went with Twa into the barn. The birthing area had been prepared with a thick carpet of straw, and they found an agitated mare, restlessly circling the stall. Her chestnut coat was streaked with sweat, milk squirting in thin streams as she kicked at her large belly with her hind hoof.

‘Halt!’ Twa trailed after her, holding her still while Roeloff looked under her tail.

‘My father gave me Boerhaan. He said he was mine, he won’t even be riding him from now on. Can you believe it? That he’s given me his stallion?’

‘No.’

‘He’s getting too old for Boerhaan, he says.’

‘That horse has the devil in him, his spirit appeals to your father. He won’t be satisfied with a mare.’

‘Why do you think he did it? My father hasn’t been generous to me.’

‘Maybe for saving your sister. And he is generous to you. More than to your brother. You don’t see it because you are so angry with him for many things. What does David say?’

‘He doesn’t know. He’s away buying wood for that house I told you my father wants to put up at the back. They’ll be here soon, him and Oom Jan. Oom Jan wants one, too.’

Twa chuckled. Roeloff had told him about the farmer in Roodezand who shut himself in a wooden contraption to perch on a plank, dropping his waste into a bucket underneath. He thought it queer, this fascination with your own faeces when a kick of sand covered everything, and queerer still that others wanted to copy the farmer.

‘Can I watch?’

They turned, surprised to see Soela in the doorway.

‘Well, I …’ Roeloff stammered, not sure what he should say. A girl in a foaling barn?

‘Your father says it’s all right.’

‘I’ll be back soon,’ Twa said, taking the tobacco Willem Kloot had given him, and heading for the door.

‘Where are you going? I need you.’

‘Now, now,’ he said and left the barn before Roeloff could stop him.

Meisie whinnied and Roeloff patted her flank.

‘My father says they always give birth after dark.’

Roeloff looked at her: the long hair left loose hung down to her waist; the blue eyes innocent, yet with a hint of daring. Why had she come? Alone in her presence, he was forced to be attentive.

‘It’s the safest time. In the veld there’s the danger of predators, so they wait for the quiet of night. It’s instinctive.’

‘She seems nervous.’

‘It’s her first foal. She doesn’t know what to expect.’

‘Have you thought of a name?’

‘Neizaap.’

‘Sounds Hottentot. My father says your horses all have Hottentot names. Oegaap. Neizaap. Isn’t one called Kakaumaap?’

‘Your father says too many things. We treat our Hottentot-name animals better than he treats people.’

Soela reddened. She had never heard anyone speak about her father like that.

Meisie kicked over a bucket.

‘It’s getting close,’ he returned his attention to the mare. ‘Maybe you should go back to the house.’

‘No.’

The mare swung her head wildly from side to side and he concentrated on calming her down, walking her around the stall. A short while later the water broke with a gush, and a small hoof encased in a bluish sac appeared. Roeloff was conscious of Soela in the barn, the silence between them. He watched the hoof slide back into the swollen flesh. As the hoof continued to appear and disappear with every contraction, he became slowly aware of his own body. He was angry with Twa. If Twa had been there, it would have eased the tension. A mare giving birth was ordinary. Alone with Soela, it aroused other feelings. Why was she in the barn? Where was Twa? Smoking with the Koi-na? Sitting at a fire? He didn’t dare look down at himself for fear that Soela would see his condition.

Meisie looked for a spot to lie down and collapsed onto the straw with a groan. Moments later the hoof appeared again, followed by a second hoof, the snout, and—slowly—the entire head. Meisie gave a final push, and a shiny chestnut foal slid out onto the straw; sniffing, twitching, blinking its eyes to adjust to the yellow light.

Roeloff clamped the umbilical cord, carefully drying the filly.

Meisie raised herself up from the straw.

‘Come, Neizaap, you, too. Up!’

Neizaap began determined efforts to stand, and a few tries later, on wobbly feet, she was exploring her mother’s body to find food.

He wiped his hands on the rag and got up.

‘Why did you come out to the barn, Soela?’

Soela fidgeted with a button on her dress.

‘To watch.’

He advanced towards her.

‘No, Soela. You came for me.’ His face only inches away from hers, he slipped his hand down the front of her bodice and touched her flesh, feeling her breast in his hand.

Soela gasped.