There were physical costs, too. I found myself breathing heavily and wearing down when I walked to the edge of the camp. Time seemed thicker, now, as if it had weight. It did not just pass on its own but had to be pushed through, shoved aside, like wading against a current or walking uphill, and all directions now felt uphill.
It seemed more of an escape in the darkness, when the sky came alive with stars. Sometimes the moon fattened and brightened and drew nearer, always facing the earth, always watching. On those nights when the sky dipped closer, it seemed like the ceiling of a shrinking room. The storms or lightning arrived to set off vibrations I could feel rising up from the ground. Excitement and fear—two other newly inseparable senses—sparked with every splintered bolt, causing me to flinch and gasp and pray for safety, and then pray that another might strike soon.
On this cold night, vapor rose in a small cloud in front of my face with each breath as I labored toward the far fence. I needed to risk a walk after dark to think about Nicolaas and to pray for his soul. He was the first person I actually knew who had died, and he had been my age. When I told Moeder, she shook her head, squeezed her lips for a moment, and said, “Shame.” What else to say? I knew others were dying. But this was the first one whose face I could still remember, and I was forced to realize that I would never see that face again. I needed quiet time to find a spot for that in my mind.
The stars helped. Patches of clouds skimmed past, veiling the stars for a moment, but I liked to study them, too, to scan their layers and texture and depth and see in them the shapes of animals or angels or spooks. Between the clouds, the sky was streaked with light. Others called them shooting stars, but Oupa taught me that they were meteors, pieces of broken stars. From the horizon, a comet flared, brighter and larger than all the meteors combined. I’d never seen such a display. It had a split tail . . . a double-tailed comet.
“Look,” I said, pointing at the comet. It was a reflex. I knew Oupa could see it perfectly from the veld. It would be the first thing I’d ask when this was over: Oupa, did you see the double-tailed comet? It was something I would write in my notebook in the morning. I would describe it precisely so that I could tell my grandchildren about it . . . maybe on a porch some night when I would sneak them out to have coffee and rusks.
A thought of the future was so rare now that it felt as if I’d been ambushed by it. Surviving from one day to the next took such focus that there was little room for seeing beyond a blank wall of time. But the comet, that brilliant flash of light, made the camp seem so temporary, so small. Finite. I expected that by the time another comet like this passed, this camp would be gone and the ground would have healed up over the memories. It was a reminder that there were things bigger than this camp, things that were bright and natural and gave off light, things that could fly over this insignificant cage in the time it took to blink. I actually felt myself smiling for a moment . . . until I heard sounds that made me certain I was being followed.
MEMORIES OF NICOLAAS PLAGUED me every time we went to the reservoir, the place where I heard of his death. Would every daily chore for the rest of my life carry attachments to this time? I saw the value in Moeder’s advice to stay as far as possible from the other women. Their conversations produced little truth and less good news, and in their own way, they spread a kind of illness.
Our laundry became more burdensome, but Moeder and I continued to go even though there was no longer any soap available. We would each hold a basket handle and walk in time like a yoked team. I measured myself against her when she wouldn’t notice. The top of my head had reached the level of her chin. I felt taller, but maybe she did not stand quite as straight anymore, making my growth another illusion.
Walking back with the silence of an ox team, we heard a call from the inner fence.
“Susanna.”
“Tante Hannah,” I answered, happy to hear her voice.
Moeder turned and stood. Silent.
“Susanna . . . God keep you.”
Moeder walked slowly, now, directly at Tante Hannah.
I squeezed the basket handle with both hands.
“Susanna . . . I’ve prayed every day for you,” she said, frantic to get the words out before Moeder had a chance to start a fight. “I’ve tried to catch you near the fence or send you letters. I know you’re angry, but I—”
“Go back to your traitor husband.”
“Ma . . . please.” I just wished to calm her, to take her away from this.
“I’m so sorry,” Tante Hannah said, palms open, trying to give her apology like a present. “I just wanted to tell you how—”
“How what? How you can live with that man? How you can live with yourself?”
Moeder pulled us nearer the fence.
“You don’t understand,” Hannah said. “He was hurt and needed care. He can hardly move his arm. . . . He can’t sleep . . . night terrors.”
“He can’t sleep because of his conscience.”
“He had no choice.”
“We heard his lies already,” Moeder said. “Did you know that?”
“No.” Her shoulders dipped.
“He came to see us . . . to get me to write to Matthys to ask him to surrender in the same cowardly way he did.”
“He didn’t say. . . . I didn’t know. . . . I’m . . .”
“You tell him I won’t forget . . . ever . . .”
“Susanna . . .”
“No . . . Hannah . . . no . . . what would your father think? Your dead father?”
“My father would be alive now if he hadn’t gone to war.”
“See . . . Sarel has infected you.”
“Sarel wants this all to end. . . . If this were over, we’d all go home . . .”
“Ahhhhh . . .”
“They all say we can’t win. . . . There’s no chance. . . . What’s the reward if everyone dies?”
I knew she would not budge Moeder, but I could not interfere.
“If it lasts another year, we still lose,” Tante said, “and what about the children?”
Moeder’s jaws ground.
“You know nothing of children.”
Tante Hannah was struck by a series of coughs and raised a white handkerchief from her sleeve to her face.
“Susanna . . . please . . . I had . . . ,” Hannah said, gripped by coughing again. “More reason for us all to cherish the ones . . .”
“No, you don’t understand. . . . That traitor has infected you. . . . You have caught his cowardice.”
“He is my husband . . . by God’s Holy Word. . . . Susanna, you know that. I honor the vow. And his heart is . . .”
Moeder stepped even closer to the fence and whispered. Hannah mirrored her move and leaned in.
“Don’t try to get in my way if I come after him,” Moeder said with clarity, if not full control.
She pulled me around again, with the basket handle, and we almost raced toward the tent.
“Susanna . . . Susanna . . . ,” Tante called after us. “Don’t keep Lettie from me . . . please.”
“You put yourself over there,” Moeder yelled without turning. I could scarcely keep up, my legs aching from the lengthy strides. She turned sideways so that we could slip into the tent.