‘I don’t want to upset things, but the smell …’
‘It’s not too late, man,’ Pietie Retief said. ‘Hennerik and Kupido can bring the lamps. The hole’s dug.’
‘It’s not proper,’ Joubert said.
‘Aagh what, a man doesn’t need all this praying and displaying if he’s lived his life right. I’m with you, Roff, if you want to do it. Hennie can help.’
Everyone looked at Pietie Retief. There was no brandy on the table, he was talking on a clean stomach. It was unheard of, burying at night, no night vigil, all the mourners not yet arrived.
‘It’s wrong, Roeloff. You’re not serious, are you?’ Joubert asked.
Roeloff turned to Drieka.
‘I’d do it, if my stepmother agreed.’ It was the first time he’d called her that. It didn’t go unnoticed.
Drieka blew her nose into her hankie.
‘Well, it’s not the way, but perhaps Roeloff is right.’ She blew her nose again. ‘Perhaps it makes sense in this heat.’
There was a murmur of disapproval.
‘That’s it, then,’ Roeloff said. ‘We’ll do it. Oom? Hennie?’
Joubert looked from his sister to Roeloff. Roeloff had gambled. Drieka had taken up her position: the power structure had been established.
For the rest of the mourners, it was wood for a hellfire. They would talk about it for months.
An hour later, Roeloff, Hennie and Joubert carried the coffin in the dark to the grave prepared next to Oupa Harman’s in the family cemetery. Under the light of lamps and the moon, the mourners’ faces etched with disbelief, Roeloff said a few words for the safe passage of his father’s soul, then helped to lower the coffin with rieme. The distant cry of a jackal lent an eeriness to the proceedings.
Neeltje, staying behind with the children, stood with Harman at the back door. She could see the dots of lamplight in the distance, and hear voices. She picked up her son.
‘Your father’s come home, Harman,’ she held him close to her heart. ‘This is where you and Beatrix will grow up.’
The next morning Roeloff was up early, careful not to disturb the mourners who’d arrived late and camped out in the voorkamer. Sanna was already in the kitchen.
‘Morning, Sanna. I smell coffee.’
Her face brightened when she saw him.
‘I knew you would be up early. There’s coffee and bread. It’s all ready.’
He sat down on the bench and she put a mug of coffee in front of him on the table, and two thick slices of hot bread on which a fat smear of pale yellow butter was melting.
‘The people are sad about your father. But also happy that you’re back. We’re even glad to see that bosjesman.’
Roeloff smiled.
‘Twa doesn’t like it when you call him that. He’s Sonqua. You looked after Vinkie well, Sanna.’
‘Her mother did. Well, Sanna a little bit also. She never forgot you. Talked about you all the time. She never was that close to her other brother. And when he … well, no use talking about it.’
Mention of his brother brought mixed feelings.
‘How was my father after it happened?’
Sanna’s eyes narrowed with the memory. She poured herself coffee and sat down next to him.
‘It was a sad time on Kloot’s Nek. Your father punished himself. Didn’t talk to anyone, not his wife, not Vinkie, not the people who came here to ask questions. He had nothing to do with the funeral. Grootbaas Joubert did everything.’
‘Grootbaas Joubert seems to have been in charge of a lot of things.’
‘He brought kleinnooi Diena and kleinbaas Lourens here during your father’s illness. There was talk that they would run Kloot’s Nek.’
‘And Soela? Does she come here? I didn’t see her at the funeral.’
‘They don’t bring her. But Bessie, she comes with kleinnooi Diena. The kleinnooi’s fond of her, everyone is, especially the grandfather.’ Sanna turned to him with sad eyes. ‘But things are not right there, Roff. The child hardly speaks, no one’s ever heard her laugh. They say she’s seen too much.’
‘What?’
‘Her mother and father. They fought over her, Roff, all the time. He said bad things.’
‘My brother?’
‘Yes. He never accepted that child. There was talk.’
‘What kind of talk?’
Drieka came into the kitchen and Sanna stopped.
