‘I was thinking, Roff,’ Willem Kloot said from where he stood at the half door drinking coffee and looking out for Joubert’s wagon, ‘I’m getting too old for that stallion. I was thinking of giving him to you.’
Roeloff came fully alert.
‘Boerhaan?’ Champion stock was hard to come by, and a stallion like Boerhaan was priceless, besides being his father’s favourite horse. Willem cared for nothing and no one like he cared for Boerhaan. Roeloff couldn’t believe it.
‘You’re seventeen. It’s time you took care of some things. I’m putting you in charge of the foaling. You’ll run the stable from now on.’
Drieka, cutting potatoes and carrots, stopped with the knife in the air.
‘Giving him all this responsibility, the stallion—David’s more suited.’
‘Roff has his way with horses, David doesn’t.’
‘David will take a wife. It’s a start.’
Roeloff looked at his stepmother from under his lashes. Her hair had greyed prematurely, making her look older than her twenty-eight years, and her size had not decreased much since Vinkie’s birth. She’d lost her looks, and her thin lips, mean and unfriendly, bore a strong resemblance to her brother’s. Roeloff wasn’t surprised that she favoured David. David, wanting to curry favour with the aunt of the girl he had his heart set on, had worked diligently through Drieka to promote himself with Soela, and Drieka, wanting at least one son on her side for future insurance, had responded. Still, Roeloff was hopeful. Drieka had no hold over his father; in the end his father did what he wanted.
‘Everyone will take a wife sooner or later. There’s enough on this farm for everyone. He’s yours, Roff, but I don’t want anything happening to him, or any change in his routine. He’s still number one around here.’
‘Don’t worry, Pa.’ The thrill of ownership was overpowering. ‘He’s mine, then, completely? You won’t be riding him any more?’
‘He’s yours. I’ll take one of the mares.’
‘Thank you, Pa. Thank you.’
‘Don’t thank me so quickly. I’ve given you a big responsibility.’
‘Yes, Pa.’
Twa appeared at the back door.
‘Meisie is ready, Grootbaas.’ Meisie was one of the brood mares.
‘Come in, Twa.’
Twa came into the kitchen and stood awkwardly in front of them. He was in the same duiker loin cloth he’d arrived in almost a quarter century before, the only additional adornment an old hat hanging from the leather waistband that held up his testicle pouch, a carry-all for his pipe and tobacco. The playfulness he exhibited with Roeloff was seldom seen by the womenfolk.
‘When are you going to wear the clothes I gave you?’
‘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.’
