‘Gosh, the time!’
‘What about it?’ Hortensia asked.
‘I’m making us a dinner.’
‘Where?’
‘Don’t look like that,’ Marion put out her hand. ‘Give me your house keys, I’ll walk ahead and start up. You can count.’ She chuckled. On a previous walk Hortensia had been unable to hold the numbers back from her lips and Marion had caught on.
‘Now you’re making fun of me.’
‘Just a small joke, Hortensia. Your keys. Come on.’
Hortensia relinquished her keys but didn’t smile. She watched Marion walk off, grudgingly jealous for the smooth movement where hers, with all attempts at grace, was still a hobble.
‘What are you making?’
Marion, without turning, waved her hand in the air in response.
Hortensia counted the stumps, the dead trees. She chided them the way a mother would a child who is in more trouble than it can be rescued from. The path narrowed and she paused, took a moment to stand and breathe in the sharp Rutaceae, stinging and succulent.
Only once Hortensia had descended the hill, passed the vlei and was walking up Katterijn Avenue towards No. 10 did she realise she’d done a ridiculous thing. The thought came and made her walk faster, made her not care about the occasional stab of protest from her healed but aching limb. Cook a dinner, my foot! Watch now. This stupid woman burns my house to the ground … or gives me indigestion.
Hortensia walked even faster.
ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS
THANK YOU TO my family, always there, providing what is needed when, from food and shelter to love and encouragement. Jacqui L’Ange, Zukiswa Wanner, Paige Nick and Anya Mendel, thank you for reading this in its various stages of undress and for your partnership, insight and generosity. Elise Dillsworth, super-agent, you were with this story from very early on, helping, with expert searchlights, move it onwards. Thank you for your belief, patience and tenacity. Becky Hardie, thank you for your close reading and careful editing. I have learnt an immense amount as a result. I acknowledge Michele Rowe and her article ‘My Place: Silvermine’s true gold’ published in Times Live, 6 November 2013, portions of which have been used, with permission from the author, here. Several people provided me with information and anecdotes that were crucial to the writing – Lyle Cupido, Moegsien Hendricks, Lanice Holloway, Eve Mendel, Nomzamo Mji, Mrs Helen Richfield, Rosalie and Julian Richfield, Mrs Dvora Schweitzer, Marcel Tamlin, and Issy Wolman, thank you for giving your time and engaging with me. To the organisers and staff of the Ebedi International Writers Residency and Norman Mailer Fellowship, thank you for providing timely solace and invaluable opportunities for connecting with writers, readers and teachers.
Thank you to my friends, I feel lucky to love and be loved, writing wouldn’t be writing without that.