Diena took him into the voorkamer to wait. It was years since he’d been there, and he looked around with interest. Jan Joubert had improved his life. There were mats and tables, and an oak-trimmed mirror above a handsome cabinet with delicate carving on the drawers. On its polished surface stood six glasses like soldiers next to a matching bowl, an ostrich egg decorated with animals painted in brown, and a jar of dried flowers. The riempie chairs at the window were a better quality than the ones at Kloot’s Nek. He wondered at the handiwork of the painter of the ostrich egg, and the one who’d put the room together.
His eye was caught by a box under the table. He looked at it, the splintered wood and the lid. … a wooden box with a green lid … the dockets of the first settlers. It had to be the box his grandfather had talked about. What was it doing at the Joubert house? Had his father given it to Joubert for safekeeping, or had the farmer taken it?
He strained his ears to try to determine Diena’s whereabouts in the house. He was in two minds whether to take her into his confidence and ask about the box. People changed after marriage. He heard movement at the back of the house, and fell quickly to his knees. What he was doing was wrong, and it was bad manners to pry in other people’s things, but he had to know. Taking a small knife from his pocket, he picked at the lock on the box. It was rusty, but opened with a dull click. It was obvious it hadn’t been opened; a thick mat of dust sat on top of the little bundle underneath. He moved the spiderwebbed dirt carefully aside, and lifted out the dusty treasure. It was a handful of papers, thin and brittle with age, wrapped first in duiker hide, then in coarse, green cloth, bound with string. The handwriting was faint with age, the paper so yellowed he could hardly make out the words. Snaking on top, denting the page and blotting out some of the handwriting underneath, was a small leather necklace with markings on it. He picked it up, measuring its length with his hand. A baby’s. He glanced quickly at the top entry on the first page.
D … Y OF ANNA KLOOT
December 1651—Cold and wet aboard the Drommedaris. Wind blowing strongly … ship so cranky we can carry no sail … topsails taken in—heavy swells—ship almost flung on its side—grave fears of capsizing.
The next few entries were blanked out, either by dampness or age, he could make out the words only here and there.
… unbearably hot … up on deck, trying not to think of the fatherland, the preciousness of water. When Sven asked for me … the appointment of junior surgeon … chance to go with the able Commander great opportunity … father approved of marriage, not of the journey to an unknown land … completely dependent on the vagaries of the wind … water supply no more than 28 leaguers.
April 5, 1652—heaven-high tops of Cabo da boa Esperance sighted … very high mountains, one of which is as flat as a table.
… 25th … number of men down with bloody diarrhoea and fevers from the cold and discomfort. Not yet told Sven the news … other women have children, but we are more curious about the women of the Goringhaikonas and Goringhaiquas with their long, narrow breasts which hang down half an ell long like leather bags, and these they throw to the back to give suck to the child hanging there … sallow complexion and slanted eyes from squinting all day into the sun, and when they speak they make clucking sounds … clothing the undressed hide of goat or sheep which they drape over their shoulders like a cloak. In winter they turn the hair inwards to keep warm, in the hot weather, outwards—over their privities, a scrap of fur. When we kill sheep or cattle, they take the guts between their fingers and press out some of the dung, and lay this on a fire until slightly shrivelled, and gobble it down. Everything eaten in great haste with blood dripping from their mouths. What they cannot eat they wind round their arms and legs to keep warm and as ornament. This rattles in tune with their voices when they dance … religion addressed to the moon. They believe there’s a great captain above and a great captain below. The captain above is sometimes good when he gives good weather, and sometimes evil when he gives storms and cold. The captain below is always good since he gives them cattle for their food and sustenance. They find it strange that we Christians work, and say that we gain nothing from our toil, and at the end are thrown underground so that all we have done is in vain …
He wanted to go on reading, but was too conscious of his unlawful search of the box. He flattened the papers, fingered the faded leather necklace between his fingers, and put it back, wrapping everything up carefully. He would have liked to put something in the box to replace the bundle he’d taken, but there was nothing he could think of and there was too little time, as he heard footsteps coming towards the voorkamer. He moved the webbed dust back in place, clicked the lock shut, and slid the duiker-skin parcel gently down the front of his shirt. He hoped that what he had taken belonged to the Kloots and not to someone else. When Diena appeared at the door, the box was in its place under the table, and he was back in his chair.
‘She’s ready.’
He followed her into the kitchen. His first impression of Soela was from the side, a still figure sitting in a chair, looking out the window. Diena must have just changed her dress for she looked hurriedly prepared, her hair still bristling from the way the brush had gone through it, one sleeve not fully pulled down over her arm. But, even without looking into her face, the silence pained him.
‘Soela, look who’s here. It’s Roff.’
Roeloff came to stand in front of her. Her illness had made her look younger, almost angelic, and she looked at him without moving her eyes.
‘Hello, Soela.’
She looked at him for a moment, then returned her gaze to the window. There was no life or laughter in her. A feeling of despair rose in him. This wasn’t the flirtatious girl he’d known and offended. As he watched, a tear rolled from her eye and sat between her nose and cheek.
‘Don’t take it hard, Roff. She’s not aware.’
‘Can I be with her alone for a moment?’
‘Yes.’
Roeloff knelt down in front of Soela.
‘I don’t know if you understand me, Soela, but you recognised me. It’s Roeloff. I’m sorry for what I’ve done. I was young and stupid.’
Soela sat unmoving as before, staring at something only she could see on the distant horizon.
He took her hand and squeezed it.
‘Bessie needs you. Get better for her.’
Her lashes flickered, and presently, the tear rolled down her face and dropped into her lap.
He left her and returned to the stoep to wait for Joubert.
Diena came out with coffee.
‘Did you speak to Soela?’
‘I did.’
‘You look well, Roff. Your time away did you good. I didn’t have time to talk to you much at the house. I’m sorry about your father.’
He looked at her. The short hair, the colour in her cheeks—Diena had blossomed. She no longer had that pinched, reserved look and was much more forthcoming.
‘Thank you. You’ve done well, too, Diena. A husband, a baby coming. Lourens seems a nice man, pleasant. Are you happy?’
‘Yes. I was fortunate to meet someone like him.’
Bessie came to the front door and watched them.
‘Don’t stand there like a little lost lamb, Bessie. Do you want some of this coffee?’ Diena asked.
Bessie turned and went back into the house.
‘Who does she look like, do you think?’ Roeloff asked suddenly.
Diena looked up from the coffee she was pouring.
‘Soela, of course. Everything about them’s the same.’
Roeloff took a sip on his coffee, and put the mug down.
