‘Neeltje?’
‘You have feelings for her?’
He was surprised by the question.
‘Feelings?’
‘I’ve seen how she looks at you. You do things for her.’
‘Doing things for her is not bad, Zokho. She’s alone.’
‘She has her father.’
‘Her father’s her father, that’s all. She has no one to talk to. I feel sorry for her.’
‘Sorry will lead to other things. Next time you’ll feel sorry she has no husband. What then? I have no husband either.’
‘I don’t know you like this, Zokho. I thought you liked Neeltje.’
‘I like her, but she has powers. It will come between us. You can’t see this. Why do we need this farm? We can live out in the world. We will eat, sleep, and live like all my people.’
‘You’re talking foolish things now. If we had a wagon, it would be different. And where would we get oxen without money? The farmer has four and they are hardly sufficient for these mountains. When I said we would go to the Cape, I wasn’t thinking of the hardships of such a journey, only of the adventure. This isn’t an adventure, Zokho. Look at us. We can’t just drift around. I have nothing. You’re going to have a baby. We need money.’ He sipped his coffee, and came to sit next to her on the bed. ‘As for Neeltje, I see her as a sister. It’s not necessary for you to worry about that.’
‘She’s not your concern.’
‘You’re making it my concern, the way you’re talking. Stop now, or you’ll spoil the thing that separates you from others. I have chosen you, Zokho. Above everyone.’
‘You do not wish to play marriage with her?’
‘No. But I have feeling for her of a brother. She be an Africaander like me.’
Wynand rested his foot on the shovel and turned his face into the rain. The weather had turned suddenly in the afternoon, and dark clouds hung grape-like above them.
‘It’s going to be a bad one this year. No use working on in this rain, let’s go in. I want to talk to you about a kraal I want to build for the sheep.’
Roeloff wiped the wet hair out of his face.
‘There’s something I want to talk to you about, too.’
They found Neeltje seated in front of the hearth with some handiwork in her lap, and Boet lapping at the water dripping from the roof into an old bucket near the door.
‘I smell coffee,’ Wynand rubbed his hands together for warmth. ‘Come in, Roff.’
Roeloff stood awkwardly at the door, waiting for someone to invite him to sit down. The house was not half as grand as the one he came from. Reed partitions divided the rooms instead of walls and doors, but there were no draughts, it was warm, and there was the same sense of wellbeing. It occurred to him that he could live with such a kitchen: the barrel of potatoes and onions, biltong hanging from the wall, the table where Wynand cleaned his gun and ate his meals, the unspoken communication between father and daughter. Theirs was a close kinship, and he longed, at that moment, for the same.
‘I knew you would come in early. Sit down, Roff.’
Roeloff didn’t have to look at her. She’d had a bath, and a smell of something moist and feminine still lingered in the air. He’d never seen her like this, so soft and unguarded, the firelight dancing on her damp hair. A real woman, his grandfather would have said. One who had stamina, strong nerves, and beauty that didn’t show itself immediately, but unfolded over time like a caterpillar into a butterfly.
‘Did Pa tell you he was thinking of moving the sheep?’
‘Yes.’
‘What do you think?’ She got up and set out three mugs for coffee. ‘He wants to clear the bush and stone at the back and move them there.’
‘That’s right,’ Wynand said, taking the first mug offered. ‘The land is higher there. That way, when the rain comes, they’re not standing in mud.’
‘I told Pa it would take too long to clear it all away. The time would be better spent building a shelter for them where they are. We need some protected place anyway, for the ewes when they’re lambing, and to keep them out of the rain.’
Roeloff felt trapped in the middle.
‘Well, both plans make sense, but perhaps we should first take a look at the land at the back to see if it isn’t better suited to cultivation, and then perhaps leave the sheep where they are.’ He turned to Wynand. ‘Sheep will be sheep, and in the end, even on a hill, will still stand in the mud.’
‘Perhaps so.’
‘It would be better, of course, to have them under shelter. We lost twenty last year to exposure.’
Wynand nodded.
‘I just thought the land at the back was more suitable. I bought six merino sheep. They’re not like the vaderlandse schaapen. All sorts of things get into their fleece.’
‘It’s too steep at the back.’
‘Maybe you’re right. Building a shelter where they are now is easy enough, we have the wood. We need a bigger barn anyway, for storage. How big do you think the kraal should be, assuming we leave it where it is?’
‘I’d say about eighty by twenty. We would need at least thirty poles, six feet long and six inches thick, five hundred feet for rafters, ribs and ridges, frames and doors wide enough for a wheelbarrow to pass through to remove the manure.’
‘That kind of wood would be hard to find.’
