It was several hours before she started snoring again. I remember the night because Moeder’s shadow seemed to glow in the darkness, her figure vibrating with rage.
A NIGHTMARE WOKE ME to the sound of snoring. Willem’s outburst had accomplished nothing except to earn him a headache from repeated blows. As I did every time I woke now, I felt my head, tracing rows through my hair like raking tender grass sprouts. Any irritation? Blood? Detecting the nits early might prevent another outbreak. Perhaps that was one piece of advice I could give other girls in camp that might help them, and help me get to know them; it would earn their trust, and they would feel more comfortable with other topics. They would tell their friends and seek me out, and maybe they’d call me Sister Aletta. Eating? Nutrition? There was not much I could say. They had no options. Cleanliness? Ja, keep yourself clean. Oh, no, so sorry, we don’t have soap.
I was interested in what Nurse Agnes would tell me about my work with girls in camp. I wished Janetta were with me. She would be perfect for this, so open with others, and wise. Because no matter how much the nurse might instruct me, it would benefit none if I was too reluctant to share it. The girls I saw were all thin and worn, so many with dark eyes. I had stopped using Moeder’s mirror . . . my mirror. In fact, I asked Moeder to keep it for me, safe in her bag.
I was not convinced I had the energy to help Sister Agnes, but I would try to make it so. I would pay attention and learn. Caring for others would cause me to be less focused on myself. I brought a page of rules so that I could take down things they might tell me at the hospital.
As I neared, Tante Hannah ran to me. I had never seen her run, and it seemed a painful exercise. She clutched her arms against her chest as she swayed with steps so long that the front of her skirts flew up. She didn’t hug me this time but clutched my shoulders and focused her eyes on mine.
“Your father and Schalk are fine, ” she said.
Vader and Schalk were fine. Her eyes bore in with such force I heard nothing after that.
“That’s good,” I said.
She shook my shoulders.
“Aletta . . . did you hear me? Oupa Gideon’s been killed.”
“What?”
“I’m sorry. There was no other way to say it.”
“Schalk and Vader?”
“The last we heard, they are fine . . . as far as we know.”
“Oupa Gideon . . . my oupa?” I yelled. “How?”
“I don’t know. . . . His name appeared on a list. A soldier told Oom Sarel that he was killed in battle,” Hannah said. “That’s all we know.”
“Vader and Schalk?”
“Yes, both alive, at least that day. It was almost a month ago.”
Tante Hannah’s kappie was pinched too tight, or her face was swollen, or my eyes distorted it all.
“I’m sorry, Lettie. Oom Sarel is frantic.”
I pushed her away, hard. I hated her for the news. For being married to Oom Sarel. But I had no air in me to scream.
“Moeder . . . Willem.”
“I would have told them, Lettie, but I knew she wouldn’t talk to me. This was the only way I could . . .”
The women at the front of the tent intruded with cold eyes. I raised my lip to them.
“You had to know . . . Lettie.”
Yes. I had to know. And now they had to know.
Tante’s face shifted again, becoming openings and angles. She talked, but I did not hear. I had to go. I had to tell them. I shuffled, my dress gritty against my skin, my feet slipping inside my boots. I felt the air part against my face as I pressed through it. I had the paper and I should have written down what I would say before I had to speak it, but I could not form the words. I wanted to walk, to trace the fence line, again and again, to wear a path in the ground, deeper and deeper until I disappeared or the entire camp sunk in on itself.
I was afraid to stop thinking about Oupa for even a minute for fear I’d lose his spirit, his immense shadow. Oupa was a part of everything. The smell of his pipe, the scratch of his whiskers, his voice, the things he’d taught me. Hold on to his spirit—that was Bina’s lesson.
I reached the tent and walked to the back side, trying to convince myself that there was no longer a door, that there was no way I could enter. I looked up, imagining Oupa in heaven; he was looking down, watching me. Tell me what to say, Oupa. Help me tell them, Oupa.
I would tell Moeder exactly as Tante Hannah had told me. Word has come. . . . Vader and Schalk are not hurt. Oupa Gideon died in battle. Word has come. . . . How had the words come? They just arrived, heavy and cruel, slow and indirect, but with force. They’d been handled by the British, passed on to the traitors, and then dumped in a small pile at my feet by a sorrowful woman. I had to carry them and put them in order and polish them as best I could before giving them to my family.
That was the best I could prepare. Willem was at Moeder’s side when I entered. I could not speak. She read the look on my face, rose, and led me outside the tent with her hand on my lower back. I whispered it to her, using Tante Hannah’s words. And she responded as I had: Vader and Schalk are well?
“Yes, but Oupa is gone. No . . . he died. He isn’t just gone. He’s dead. He’s been gone a long time, but now he’s dead.” I only confused her with extra words. “Oupa Gideon . . . is dead. Shot dead.”
I turned so that I would not have to look at her face. I knew she’d never loved Oupa the way I had. If she was in pain, I did not want to see it. If she was not, I did not want to see that, either.
“Willem?” I said.
“Lettie . . . no, you walk if you want. . . . I’ll tell him.”
Moeder was strong for us; I would show her that I could be, too. I put an arm around Willem’s shoulders, and he struggled against me. Moeder told him, and his body tensed and began shaking as I held him with both arms. His shaking caused me to shake as well, and his crying made me cry, too.
34
November 1901, Concentration Camp
More stars flashed than I could remember, honoring Oupa or mocking me. Oupa would never be on a stoep with me again; he would not be there to teach my children the history of the stars. He would not lift them from their beds or transport them or, in the whispered voice of God, tell stories of our ancestors sailing ships around the Cape. That would be up to me. But they would not know the smell of his pipe or the scratch of his whiskers or the gravity of his immense faith.