‘You have been back two weeks and you haven’t come once to see your son, or ask about him. Is it that you don’t care now that his mother’s gone?’
He was surprised at the confrontation.
‘I hear he’s doing well in your care.’
‘He needs his father, and his father needs him. His father must snap out of whatever it is that’s holding him back from living his life again. What’s perished is perished.’
‘His father doesn’t need reminding of his responsibilities.’ He returned to tamping and stamping, harder than before. ‘And watch you don’t hasten your own fate, Neeltje Roos,’ he said darkly.
‘My fate doesn’t scare me.’
‘No?’
There was silence. Suddenly she realised what he meant.
‘Prepare yourself. Before winter I will come to you.’
The colour rose in her face.
‘You will have to go to Roodezand for supplies,’ she said hurriedly, in an effort to cover her shock. They needed supplies, but it wasn’t what she’d come to talk to him about. ‘We’re down to the last salt and rice. I also need needles and thread and cloth. If I cut up any more of my clothes for Harman, I’ll not have a dress left to stand in.’
He smiled a thin smile, the humour not reaching his eyes.
‘That’s perhaps not so bad. It is said that a woman with too many layers of calico suffers the same fate as one who lives with his head in the sand. And we mustn’t forget that Harman’s a baster.’
Neeltje raised her chin in defiance.
‘He’s one if you make him so.’
‘No, Neeltje, his heart be half bosjesman, that be who he is. You have to be sure of your feelings. How you will feel when he looks at you with his mother’s eyes.’
‘He be your son, he be mine.’
Roeloff got up. His eyes looked deeply into hers and she felt dizzy under his gaze.
‘I’ll go to Roodezand in two weeks. When I return, I’ll come and see you.’
‘There won’t be any memories and spectres claiming your soul?’
‘No living thing will claim me. You have feeling for me, Neeltje? You have taken Harman. Will you take me?’
Neeltje wanted to cry with happiness. Only that morning she had tossed in her bed wondering when he was going to get over grieving for Zokho; now he was coming for opsit in a few weeks’ time. What more did she want?
‘I have feeling for you, yes.’
‘A little?’
‘More than a little. Look!—that dust cloud near the caves. It’s a wagon. Someone’s coming. It must be Stoffel.’
Roeloff squinted his eyes.
‘It’s not the trader, it’s a woman.’
‘The widow Reijnhardt. Oh my. She came.’
‘What’s wrong? Your father doesn’t like her?’
‘He’s amused by her spirit, but she’s not to his taste, you’ll see.’ She saw Twa talking to some of the Sonqua who were from the same band who had stolen the sheep, and who had later come asking for work. She called to him. ‘Go to the house, Twa, and wait for me there.’
The wagon drew up in front of them. Marta Reijnhardt stepped down in a cloud of skirts and petticoats, onto the back of a young slave kneeling on his hands and knees. Her figure was ample, with huge breasts decorated by a rainbow of hankies tucked in the front of her dress; her eyes were flinty, inquisitive, and there was a prominent fuzz on her lip. The bonnet matched her outfit, and her hair, heavily pomaded, had two flattened crescents of curl on her forehead.
‘Neeltje!’ She tapped the slave with her cane to indicate he could get up. ‘It’s wonderful to see you. Otto’s right, you have grown up. He’s my doctor, too, you know. When I heard you had come looking for me and went to see Otto Lieberband, I went immediately to see him. He told me about your father.’
‘How are you, Tante Marta? This is Roeloff Kloot.’
Roeloff came forward and extended his hand.
Marta Reijnhardt looked at him, and for a moment Neeltje thought she was going to tap Roeloff with the cane.
‘Otto’s told me about you. I believe you have family in the Cape. Not married yet? Neeltje?’
Neeltje blushed.
‘He’s the bijwoner, Tante Marta. He looks after things for Pa. You’ve had a safe journey?’
‘Yes. I have a new driver, Agt. He understands Dutch and was able to follow instructions.’
‘Agt?’
