Twa went down on his knees and unwrapped the sheepskin. The umbilical cord was still attached to the afterbirth, and the child was stained with dry blood. He lifted the infant, and put an ear to his heart. The sheepskin had protected it from the cold.

‘You’re lucky he isn’t dead, his heart’s still beating. Your callousness didn’t kill him.’

‘It’s bad luck to bring him back from the dead.’ She stood back, wanting nothing to do with the child.

‘He wasn’t dead. Take him now and cut his cord.’

‘No.’

‘I’m not telling you again.’

Zokho took the baby from him and quickly bit into the umbilical cord, clamping the severed end with an antelope strip she peeled off her arm. When she was done, she put the baby down on the ground.

‘He needs your milk.’

She hesitated.

‘I’m warning you, Zokho.’

She picked up the infant and reluctantly put him to her breast.

Twa breathed a sigh of relief. He was exhausted.

‘Now, there are other problems. Did you hear anything in the night? All the sheep are gone.’

‘I heard nothing.’

‘When last did you check on the oubaas?’

‘Yesterday.’

‘Yesterday? What if he’s dead?’

Zokho looked at him in defiance.

‘What, Zokho? They left us in charge!’

She started to walk to the house.

‘I’ll check on him now, then I’ll leave.’

‘Leave? What are you talking about? How can you leave? You have no place to go to. Your place is here with him and the child.’

‘He doesn’t want me. I told him I didn’t want to stay, but he didn’t listen. Now, look what has happened.’

‘What has happened? He went to fetch the doctor.’

‘He wants her.’

‘I swear, Zokho,’ he limped along, trying to keep up. ‘I don’t know how he puts up with you. You make up things in your head. You have brought it all on yourself. Did you really think he would marry you? Just because you carried his child? You are stupid on top of everything else. And wait till he hears what you did.’

‘I don’t care. I will go.’

‘If you go,’ he stepped in front of her, ‘you won’t take his child. You’ll leave him with me.’

‘I don’t want him. She can have him and his child. I’ve seen how she looks at him. He thinks I can’t see how he changes colour in her presence. She can bring the baby up. He doesn’t look like me anyway. I’ll go back to my people.’

Twa looked at her in disgust.

‘Not even a snake crawls away from what’s his. You are despicable, Zokho. And what kind of people are they, to take you back every time you have the notion to run away? You behave like a child. Perhaps it’s a woman he wants.’

It was all Zokho could bear.

‘Go to the oubaas yourself now. I won’t go.’

Twa looked on in anger as she returned to her quarters. He gave up and headed for the house, hoping he wouldn’t find the oubaas with an arrow stuck in his throat. He opened the door and looked around the kitchen. The fire hadn’t been lit since the previous morning, and the house was cold, with a terrible smell hanging thick and heavy in the dank air. He stood still for a moment to let the atmosphere speak to him, noting the pot in front of the fire, the crumbs on the table, the potatoes spilt on the floor where the dog had probably knocked the pot over. He braced himself.

‘It’s Twa,’ he called out so Wynand Roos could hear it was him. He stepped behind the partition, and was both sickened and relieved. The oubaas was alive, his blankets and bedclothes crusty with urine and excrement. Twa’s first reaction was to run from the room, but the man in the bed looked so helpless that he felt sorry for him. Pinching his nostrils together, he stood back from the bed to survey the mess and to think. When he had worked it all out in his head, he came forward gingerly. He started at the feet, peeling off the stained clothing, rolling Wynand Roos on his side, then pulling out the soiled sheets. He dumped them in a bucket outside and took a wet rag to the oubaas, going out several times to throw water from the barrel over the rag to rinse it out, cursing Zokho and all her ancestors.

‘Now what, you old fool, where will you find blankets? The man’s shivering like a dassie.’

He found blankets on Neeltje’s bed, settled the farmer as best as he could, then went to the kitchen to light the fire. When the water had boiled, he made coffee, propped Wynand Roos up in bed and held it to his lips, spilling half of it on his shirt. When Wynand looked a little better, Twa returned to Zokho’s quarters.

She was annoyed by the disturbance.

‘I’m sleeping. What do you want?’

‘I can see that you are sleeping. And that baby’s still crying. Haven’t you fed him?’

Zokho didn’t answer him.

‘I went to look at the oubaas. He was lying in his own mess. What will you tell them when they come back and find out you’ve left him like this? When he can talk and say what you’ve done? I cleaned him up. His blankets are in the bucket. Wash them so they can dry before they come tonight. You’re in charge now, I’m going.’

‘Where are you going?’

‘To look for the sheep. If I’m not back when they come, tell them what happened.’

‘You’ll leave me here by myself?’

Twa laughed.

‘You’ve been with the devil, Zokho, what are you afraid of? Be afraid of Eyes of the Sky and of what he will do when he finds out that you tried to kill his son. And I will tell him if you don’t do as I say. Go in there and give the oubaas his food. And make sure you take care of that baby.’

Zokho challenged him with her eyes.

‘I mean it, Zokho, don’t disobey me. Twa’s old, but he’ll find you. You will wish then that you’d been found by a lion.’

He was fond of Zokho, more than she knew. Looking at her was like looking at his sister, Shy Little Tortoise. The same spirit and naughtiness. Zokho was hurt, she wanted revenge. He understood. But he understood the other also. What would Zokho say if she knew who he was? She, who sometimes forgot to feed him and had answers for everything?