“We won’t,” Gideon said. “Gone tomorrow.”
Schalk had removed his hat, yet his matted hair continued to show its shape. He was different, more a man, just slightly smaller than the others. He lifted his bandolier over his head, cartridges now scant, like the smile of an old man missing teeth.
Willem awoke and stepped into the kitchen, curious about the commotion, eyes like pinholes.
“Our sentry,” I said.
Oupa took his pipe onto the stoep, and Willem followed.
“Would you like some koekies?” Moeder asked.
Schalk nodded without interrupting his gulp of buttermilk. She retrieved the pastry and sat between Schalk and Vader.
When Vader reached for one, a dark mark on his forearm peeked from his sleeve. Moeder pulled back his cuff. The scar was half the length of his forearm and jagged. I could not tell whether the wound had been deep or serious, but the coloring looked a sickly green. The stitches were uneven, the skin was pinched and puckered, and the wound was seeping in spots.
“What happened?” she asked.
“What?”
“There.”
“Where?”
“There . . . right there. . . . I’m looking right at it.”
Vader looked down.
“Oh, got it caught on something. . . . Didn’t really have time to stop and get untangled.”
Moeder examined his face. He responded by chewing his cake with greater enthusiasm. We looked closer. The fading stitches were made with the green thread she had packed in his kit.
“Who stitched this?” Moeder asked.
“He did,” Schalk answered, pointing at Vader and laughing.
“You did it yourself?” Moeder leaned toward it.
“Ja, not bad.” Vader pulled his sleeve back down to cover it.
She touched his arm, then his hand. “I’ll mix a poultice,” she said.
“He didn’t call me until he needed the knot tied,” Schalk said. “He stitched it with one hand but couldn’t tie the knot by himself.”
Willem interrupted with shooting noises as he acted out one of Oupa’s stories.
“Does Gideon ever tire?” Moeder asked.
“Never.”
“We’ll be hearing these stories for ages, won’t we?”
“In some form,” Vader said, heading outside for his pipe. “They’re getting more dramatic already.”
Moeder brought more milk for Schalk.
“How are you, Moeder?”
“Well. Learning about farming. And stock. Doing some things I haven’t done on the farm since I was young, and some things I never did. Everybody is helping.”
“I mean, how are you?”
“Well.”
“You feel well?”
“Yes . . . well . . . why?”
Schalk stared at her and then sat back from the table and packed a pipe. It looked strange, as if he were pretending to be an adult. It was a perfect chance to make fun of him, but he’d been gone so long I couldn’t. I hoped Willem didn’t see the pipe; he’d be asking for one next.
Schalk took another bite of the cake and combed crumbs from his feathery beard, retrieving and eating those that fell onto the table.
“This is so good,” he said.
We heard more sounds of mock battles from the porch.
“Tell us . . . something about it, Schalk,” I said. “Anything.”
He chewed longer than was necessary, nodding to bide time.
“Schalk?”
“Some of the men are going home and not coming back,” he said, shaking his head. “The British promise they’ll be left alone.”
“Anybody we know?” Moeder asked.
“Not yet.”
“What else?”
“That’s it.”
He closed in on another bite.
“Schalk,” Moeder said, pressing him. “Your father?”
“Fine . . . the best. Oupa is brave but thinks he’s still a young man,” Schalk said. “He is not.”
“Sarel?”
“Oupa is hard on him. Never lets up. Doesn’t seem to matter what he does.”
“And you?”
“Watching and learning . . . staying safe.”
The war he and Vader presented was not the one I had seen in the reports in the newspapers at Tante Hannah’s.
Moeder tried to stroke his hair into place, but it was stubborn. I expected him to complain, but he allowed it.
“Is it close to over?” I asked.
“Moeder,” Schalk interrupted, “will you play something?”
She questioned him with a look that brought no answers.
“Come,” she said, moving into the parlor.
By the time Moeder struck a few notes, the family had gathered.
Be still, my soul, though dearest friends depart And all is darkened in the vale of tears;
Then shalt thou better know his love, his heart, Who comes to soothe thy sorrow and thy fears.
The sight of the men, who looked worn but mostly healthy, soothed my fears—at least the worst of them. And as we all sat in the parlor, Moeder playing softly, I wanted to think of it as another of our quiet evenings before the war. But we had all changed. Moeder looked at Vader and asked, “Is there something you’d like to hear?”
It surprised Vader. He thought about his options. “Sarie Marais,” he said.
She played it at a lively tempo, and the men sang. “There by the maize, by the green thorn tree, there my Sarie lives.” She held the final note, and as long as she pumped the pedal, it continued to resonate. She leaned close to the keys so that her stomach touched the organ.
Vader stood behind her and surprised us all by lifting her to her feet with a hug.
For the first time since they had left months ago, Oupa came in to get me in the night.
“Very quiet,” he whispered. On the way through the parlor, I could see the slim dash of lamplight under my parents’ door; they were still awake. That was never the case. We walked so slowly that my eyes adjusted and I was surprised that a sliver of light could illuminate so much.
Oupa and I did not risk even whispers on the stoep but still pointed at the constellations and smiled at each other. And when we returned, my parents’ lamp was doused. I hoped they had not heard us. I didn’t want to give away our secret.
They had time only to load supplies and inhale a standing breakfast before leaving in the morning.
“God’s grace, Susanna,” Vader said.
“His grace, Matthys.”
They used each other’s given names so seldom I had almost forgotten them. We watched the men turn and go, but it felt different this time. We could no longer pretend it was a glorified hunting trip. The visit upset me, bringing the war nearer. When their dust trail faded, Moeder went to the side of the house. I watched her, in case she needed my help with her next work project. She leaned with one arm against the blue gum tree and then slipped around the other side. She returned only after I’d gone inside, looking pale and unwell.
PART II
Chosen Vessels
20