I was hot, and could not sleep, even when I threw off my sheet and lay there in just my nightie. I wanted to open my window wide, but I didn’t want to make a noise that Kannemeyer would hear.
I listened to the sounds of the night and Kannemeyer’s soft growl. It was not loud, but I could feel it in my whole body. After a while the snoring stopped. The frogs were still carrying on. A cool breeze came, but it didn’t bring sleep. Then the frogs finally went quiet and it was just the crickets, and now and then the sound of a faraway truck on the R62. And then, at last, there was nothing. Just the silence.
I fell into the deep silence of the Klein Karoo.
I woke, tangled in my nightie. The sun was bright and the birds had finished saying good morning to each other long ago. I closed my door and put on my veldskoene and my brown dress. It wasn’t that pretty but it fitted. I went to the bathroom to freshen up. I brushed my hair and put on my lipstick, before going into the lounge. It was empty. The sheets were folded neatly on the couch.
The front door was unbolted and I stuck my head out.
‘Good morning, Mevrou,’ said Vorster.
‘Hallo, Sergeant Vorster,’ I said. ‘Where’s Kannemeyer?’
‘At work.’
‘Coffee?’ I offered.
‘Please.’
Of course he went to work. I looked at the kitchen clock. Eight o’clock. I looked around for a note. Why should he leave me a note? He’s a policeman not a . . . whatever I was imagining. Surely as a police guard he would say goodbye, or check on me.
Then I remembered my bedroom door. It was slightly open that morning and I was sure I’d left it closed. He’d have knocked and when I didn’t answer he would have checked I was okay.
He had seen me, in the full light, hardly dressed, there on the bed.
I felt sick. The moonlight may have shown him my shape, but the sunlight would have shown him the worst truth of me. The uncooked dough of my legs. My hair all messed up. My breasts without a bra.
I made coffee and took Vorster his cup on the stoep along with some honey cake. I sat at the kitchen table and dipped a rusk into my coffee, but I did not feel like biting into it. I put the soggy rusk onto the saucer. It was breakfast time, but I wasn’t hungry.
‘Maybe I’m coming down with something,’ I said to the rusk. ‘My belly feels strange.’
I drank my coffee and threw out some mielies for the chickens. Then I packed most of that snake cake in a Tupperware for Jessie, and headed into town.
Hattie was in the Gazette office, but no Jessie. I put her cake in the fridge.
‘Golly, Tannie Maria,’ said Hattie, ‘you look terrible.’
‘I know,’ I said.
‘Have you got Jessie’s sickness?’
‘Maybe,’ I said. ‘How is she?’
‘She’s not coming in today, but she can’t be too bad because she’s done a lot of work from home. She’s written an article on fracking. I’ve just posted it on our website. There’s also a nice piece about Grace Zihlangu, Van Schalkwyk’s domestic worker. Both articles rather provocative, but that’s our Jessie.’
Hattie put on the kettle at my desk.
‘Let me make you some tea for a change,’ she said. ‘Here’s some post for you. That letter on top was stuck under the door this morning.’
Who would have made a hand-delivery? I picked up the small white envelope. TANNIE MARIA it said. In capitals. Underlined. Nothing else written on the front or the back.
Inside, a lined A4 sheet was folded into four. I sat down and spread it out in front of me.
Dear Tannie Maria,
Please will you help me. I don’t know what to do. It’s like this. There’s this girl. Even when I was young I knew she was the one for me.
I sighed. There was no escaping this love sickness. Hattie added milk and sugar to my tea and handed it to me.
‘Thank you, skat,’ I said.
She offered me beskuit, but I shook my head.
‘Good heavens,’ said Hattie. ‘What’s wrong, Maria?’
‘I think it’s my tummy,’ I said.
‘I’ve never seen you like this.’
‘It kind of hurts,’ I said.
‘It does sound like Jessie’s problem.’
‘I’ll be okay,’ I said.
Hattie took her tea to her desk and I went back to my letter.
We’ve always been just friends. Then she went away and came back and she was all clever but she was still my same girl and this time it seemed like she was interested in me, in that way, you know. But she said she didn’t want a boyfriend and she wanted to be independent and all that. But then one night it just happened. She was in my arms, and – you know.
I had a sip of my tea. It wasn’t bad. Harriet was much better at making tea than coffee.
I don’t have the right words. I can just say it was awesome. I thought it was special for us both, I really did. I remembered her independence story and I didn’t want to pressure her so I thought I’d let her phone me but she didn’t. Then the next night I was out with the guys watching rugby and she came in with a friend and said hello but was not very friendly, so I thought okay, maybe she doesn’t want it to go public about us. I really wanted things to work out between us, so I was happy to do whatever she wanted. She didn’t invite me over to sit with them. They were getting stacks of drinks from other guys. I just watched the rugby.
The phone rang and Hattie got it.
‘Harriet Christie,’ she said. ‘Hello, Mr Marius.’
Then she was quiet for a long time as if he was talking and talking. She would say ‘But— ’ or ‘Mr Marius— ’, like she was trying to speak but he wouldn’t let her. I got on with my letter.
She didn’t really say goodbye when she left. But I still hoped she would be my girlfriend and we would work something out. The next day I phoned her a few times, but she didn’t answer my calls. Then on the Monday I went to see her at work. She looked at me like she hated me and walked out.
I don’t know what to do. I suppose I should give up on her because it obviously didn’t mean anything to her and she doesn’t want to be seen with me. But I somehow can’t give up.
Can you help?
He did not sign it. But I could guess who it was from.