‘Just some fun, Marion. God! Just some damned fun.’
Hortensia got to the chair. She set aside the walker, lowered herself. Marion moved closer.
‘And the land claim? Dare I ask?’
‘Well, I … I’ve been thinking. Ludmilla called me.’
Hortensia grunted.
‘They submitted a dispute.’
‘Thieves!’
‘Well—’
‘You’re defending the Von Struikers, Marion?’
‘Did you read the article?’
‘What article?’ Hortensia started reaching for her walker.
‘In the Argus. On the whole case.’
‘No. Unlike you, I don’t need to see an article in the paper to recognise dog-shit.’ She got to her feet.
‘You don’t like me, do you?’ Marion asked, watching Hortensia leave.
‘No, I don’t.’
‘Then why did you invite me into your house?’
‘I was desperate … and possibly mistaken.’
Hortensia wasn’t always in the mood for Marion. She found there were days she could tolerate her and days she couldn’t. She honed her skills and counteracted most of Marion’s attempts to waylay her. Her current handicap was a disadvantage but, if she was careful, she could go a whole week without bumping into her. She admired Marion’s restraint at not simply knocking at her door, and continued to use her special powers to venture out only when the coast was clear. At other times, when the Vulture was about, Hortensia communicated with Bassey via his cellphone. Is this really necessary? the man had asked. Yes, Hortensia had responded.
Marion, well versed in being avoided, had her own skills to contribute to the game. She crept up behind Hortensia.
‘You’ve been avoiding me.’
Hortensia cursed under her breath. She’d taken a chance, desperate for some fresh air, and snuck out onto the patio, happy there had been no Marion in the hallway. And yet here she was. Bassey had helped set Hortensia into the chair and she’d told him she’d shout for him when she was ready to be moved again. She was ready.
‘I don’t understand this, Marion. Why is it suddenly so important that we speak?’
‘I visited the library the other day and—’
‘I do not care.’
‘I’m not denying the claim any more.’
‘I don’t care, Marion. And I’m not going to do this with you.’
‘Do what?’
Hortensia waved her hand, as if Marion were a pong she could dispel. ‘I’m not well. Please, leave me be.’
‘I remembered something, that’s all.’
‘I’m not interested.’
‘And maybe … all this time—’
‘Bassey!’
Marion startled at the loudness.
‘But why? I just thought you and I could talk.’
‘Talk about what?’
‘That … well, it seems what you’re always suggesting is … I guess I wanted to clarify that … I’m not really a racist.’
‘Oh, but you are. Where is he? – Bassey! And I’m not going to solve that for you or be part of your project.’
‘It’s complicated.’
‘I’m sure. I don’t care, by the way. I’m not trying to make the world a better place. I’m too tired. Bassey! For goodness’ sake.’
‘Oh, I’ll call him for you.’
But Bassey appeared.
‘Please. Help me to my room.’
The problem with shame, Marion thought to herself, is that it breeds unproductivity. It is such a crippling thing, and even at a young age Marion knew this. Perhaps not to enunciate it as such (the way she was later able to explain it to her adult self), but she sensed it intuitively.
She came home and she asked her parents why. It was a question she knew they hated. It made her father sweat at his temples and her mother’s eyes grow narrow. It brought back history and unwanted memories. So they said different things depending on the day – how much energy they had. They said ‘because they’re different’, ‘because they broke the law’, ‘because they want to kill us’. They said ‘because they caused trouble’, ‘because they are not good people’, ‘because they want what we have’. They said ‘we don’t know’ sometimes. They said ‘that’s just how life is, that’s how things are – don’t bother about it’.
What Hortensia didn’t seem to understand was that sometimes we have to honour our ancestors and side with them. This meant we justified what was horrible and turned away from what needed scrutiny. This life of ignoring the obvious required a certain kind of stamina. The alternative to this was to set on a path to make rubbish of what had gone before us. This approach – of principles, activism and struggle – required stamina too. All the same, she’d chosen the other one.
‘I know I’ve made bad choices,’ Marion started in on the conversation, no warm-up. She’d caught Hortensia as she came out of the toilet, the best place she’d thought, but Hortensia didn’t look too happy about it.
‘May I? Can I at least walk? Can I get past the bathroom? Can I sit?’
Marion pinked. She let Hortensia walk past her and followed. Hortensia propped herself at her desk and Marion stayed standing; after several seconds when Hortensia said nothing, Marion sat down on the edge of the bed.