‘Twa’s been with my family since long before I was born.’
‘And the girl?’
Roeloff looked at Zokho standing next to him, wearing one of his shirts over her small leather flap. The rigours of the journey had narrowed the gap between them, brought them closer.
‘She’s with me.’
‘It’s the old one’s daughter, then.’
‘I mean she’s with me.’
Wynand looked at him intently.
‘I see.’
Neeltje wiped her hands on her apron and looked away.
‘I should tell you as well, so you know, that I’m accused of a crime I didn’t commit.’
Wynand studied Roeloff’s face, then he took off his hat and turned his gaze to the land made untidy by the marauding elephants.
‘There’s work here, much more than I can pay for. And them I can’t pay anything. Food and shelter, and clothes for the girl. You, very little.’
‘How much?’
‘A few ryksdaalder.’
‘We’ll stay half a year.’
‘I’m not a man to be taken advantage of,’ Roos warned.
‘Me, neither.’
‘There’s a buitekamer round the back from the last knecht, and also a hut. Share it however you want. Drinking water’s in the barrel. The sluits are dug, so rain water runs right from the top of the hill into the mealie field. Even when it rains there’s no waste.’ He turned to his daughter. ‘Neeltje, light the fire and start supper. I’ll finish here by myself.’
Neeltje had regained her composure.
‘What will we eat tonight, Pa? There are only twelve potatoes and one cabbage.’
‘You’re good with potatoes and cabbage. Boil it in a little salted water. Better still, kill one of those old cocks.’
‘It’ll take hours to boil one of those cocks, and we only have five chickens left.’
Wynand was already bent over his shovel, ready to resume work.
‘Twelve potatoes, five chickens. Ever since that teacher and his timetables, it’s two of this, six of that. Kill one of them, I said.’
Roeloff smiled at Neeltje.
‘It’s all right. Show me which chicken and I’ll do it.’
Neeltje straightened her dress and walked quickly up to the house, mumbling under her breath.
Roeloff turned to the farmer to thank him.
Wynand spat on his hands, rubbed them together, then started digging.
‘Someone’s out there, chopping wood in the rain. At this hour. The oubaas isn’t back, is he?’ Roeloff got up from the bench and went to the door to look out.
Zokho lowered her eyes to the work in her lap. Roeloff had been restless ever since the oubaas had gone on his horse and left him in charge, worried about the girl left alone in the house for three days. What was he worried about? She, Zokho, had slept alone under the stars. Heard the cough of a leopard. Seen the night eyes of hyenas. Women were afraid of other things, not silence. They were afraid of a man not coming back. Of losing him. Neeltje had courage. The problem wasn’t the emptiness of the house. Zokho knew what ailed her.
‘It’s Neeltje chopping out there. That be one stubborn girl, to be out in weather like this.’
Zokho watched him pull on a jacket and go out. She took her time sewing on a button the way Neeltje had shown her, straining her eyes in the dim light. The farmer had given them a lamp, but there wasn’t much fuel and the small flame flickered like an old man unsure of his step. She got up and watched for a moment from the doorway. She couldn’t hear what was being said, but the continuing crack of the wood signalled determination. She closed the door and sat for a few moments watching the shadows on the wall.
Roeloff stood outside, his boots in the mud, watching the axe smack into the wood. Neeltje knew he was there, but she didn’t look up. Her long hair was plastered down her back, and the wet dress outlined the strength of her arms.
‘It’s storming, Neeltje, why are you doing this now?’ There was something annoying in her wilfulness.
‘There’s no wood for the fire; the house is cold.’
‘You’ll catch your death in this rain. Why didn’t you tell me this afternoon? I’ve told you before that there’s no need for you to chop wood—Twa or I will do it. And your father’s asked me to watch over things.’
‘My father’s left me before for a week. Three days is not a long time.’
‘He’s left you here by yourself for a week?’
‘How else would he trade with other farmers?’ She was soaked to the skin, but continued chopping.
