CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE

I felt a lot better after Jessie’s news, though my stomach was still a little sore.

I was worried about Slimkat’s death, but Hattie was right, it was for the Oudtshoorn police to handle. And I was glad Kannemeyer was helping them. His job was to be a policeman and mine was to answer letters.

I picked up the pink envelope with a Ladismith postmark on the top of my pile. I wanted to ask Jessie what the policewoman, Mostert, looked like, but that would’ve been silly. Henk works with policewomen all the time, and it had never bothered me before. What had happened to me? Was it all because we’d got so . . . close? I pulled my attention back to the letter in front of me.

Dear Tannie Maria,

I don’t know what to do. My darling sweetheart (who I will call Ginger) is not willing to go public about our love. I want to get married and shout it from the rooftops. It’s not because she doesn’t love me. We adore each other, and she has agreed to marry me.

We have been best friends since we were 12, and lovers since we were 15. When she visits me, we spend hours just kissing and looking into each other’s eyes (okay and some other things too). She makes my heart sing like a fish eagle and her eyes light up when she sees me.

The main problem is her father, who is a very religious man (her mother died long ago). Ginger still lives with him, although she is 19 (like me) and has a job. Because of her worry about him and what he will think, we hardly even hold hands in public (well, only under the table).

She thinks he has started to get suspicious about us, because he has been reading her passages from the bible about Sodom and Gomorrah, so she has been even more restrained. We have to make up for it by holding each other very tight when we are alone. We lie entwined, saying our special names to each other.

I cannot give up on my beloved; she is my angel, my delight, my sweetcakes. But I cannot go on hiding my love. It crushes my very soul. I think I must tell her father straight that there is no sin in love. To deny and hide it is the sin.

Yours in turmoil,

Meg

Dear Meg,

You are right: it is no sin. Your love is a wonderful thing. But the truth is that people in small towns sometimes have small minds. And some religions are conservative and are never going to change. If you are open about your love, you may get a lot of bad responses. I think your love is too young and sweet to deal with all that bitterness. It sounds like Ginger does not feel ready for that.

I suggest that you and Ginger leave the town you are in. Go away from her father and others who may judge you.

If you don’t want to go far, you could try Barrydale, which is more open-minded and has a lot of gay people living there. Or move to a big city like Cape Town or Johannesburg, where there is much more freedom. There you will find a minister who can marry you when you are both ready. You are young, there is no rush.

I spent some time thinking what recipe to give to these lovers, Ginger and Meg. Something they’d enjoy making and eating, and that they could give to Ginger’s father to soften him up. Something sweet, of course. Koeksisters! Those two pieces of slim dough, twisted tightly around each other. Soaked in syrup spiced with ginger and nutmeg. Yes, that was perfect.

After I’d typed up the recipe for her, my mind stayed on the subject of ginger. I thought it might be just the thing for my problem: the strange kind of worry that I’d felt since Kannemeyer and I had become lovers (lovers, the word Meg used). Ginger is spicy and exciting but also soothing. And it is good for indigestion. I had a delicious recipe for a ginger cake, with icing made from condensed milk and lemon juice.

I opened another letter in a brown envelope. It was written on lined paper and in careful big handwriting, like a school essay. It was not from a child but an old man. It was in Afrikaans, but here is the translation:

Dear Tannie Maria,

I have lived many years now. I have cooked many rabbit stews and they are good. But a new recipe is welcome from you. A bigger problem is I would like to know what to do with rabbit ears. Every part of the animal has a good use for eating or making something. Nothing is wasted. My grandfather would know what to do with the ears but he is gone long ago. And now most people buy their meat from the Spar. Even the butcher does not know what to do with rabbit ears.

But I also have another problem, which is even bigger. You are with the newspaper and the newspaper can change things. I have been to the council, but they do not have ears for what an old man like me has to say.

I live outside Ladismith, not far from Route 62, close to a corner with a rocky koppie on one side and the Groot River on the other. The cars go fast here, and every day I go to the road, and many days I find a dead animal there. Sometimes an animal that is not dead, and I put it out of its suffering. The animals cross over to come and drink at the river. It is very bad manners to kill them like that.

I have started to dig a tunnel under the road. I used to work in a mine, so I know what I am doing. But the ground is hard and my hands have arthritis, so it is very slow. There are more animals getting killed than I can eat. My freezer is small, but I make biltong and coats.

Two weeks ago, I found a new kind of rabbit in a donga, the ditch beside the road. Smaller than the rabbits I have seen before. It was not dead, and I was going to end its suffering, but then I saw that only its leg was broken, and maybe I could fix it. It was shaking all over. I wrapped it in my shirt and I carried it home. I made a splint for its leg with some sticks and gave it water and a carrot.

This rabbit is now getting strong, but she is still limping. She likes to lie under my bed. I feed her grass from the veld, and carrots. I keep her in the house away from the jackal and the rooikat. She sits by the window in the sunshine. She is every day reminding me to dig that tunnel, but I am not as strong as I used to be. Can your newspaper ask the council to dig a tunnel for the animals? And they must make those speed bumps that will slow the drivers down when they get to that corner by the river.

I would be very grateful and so would Donga (that is her name because that’s where I found her).

I have some good recipes I was going to give you for porcupine. A stew with butter beans and red wine. Also a way to braai the skin so it is crispy and fat. Like pork crackling. But my fingers are sore now from all that writing.

Jan Magiel

PO Box 47

Ladismith

6655

Sjoe, I thought. I would need help with that one. My mother had cooked us rabbit sometimes when I was young, but I didn’t know her recipe, and I couldn’t remember anything about ears. I would look through her cookbooks when I got home.

‘Jessie,’ I said. ‘Look at this letter. Maybe you can interview this old man. Write an article.’

Jessie took the letter from me and read it fast. She had done a speed-reading course at university; her eyes moved like lightning, and her lips didn’t move at all.

‘Hmm. Ja. I am writing a weekly environmental article, and this could be a good one. I’ll interview the old man and the council too. I think I know the corner where he lives . . . that little shack against the hills. What do you think, Hattie?’

She handed the letter to Hattie.

‘Fabulous,’ said Hattie, when she’d read it through (not as fast as Jessie but faster than me). ‘Human interest. Environmental issues. A nice change from libellous murder allegations.’

‘Well, there is the murder of all those wild animals.’

‘Murder is an intended action; these are accidents.’

‘If the council could take action to prevent the deaths and they don’t, then maybe it is murder. Or at least culpable homicide.’

‘Don’t you mean bunnicide?’ said Hattie.

‘It’s not funny,’ said Jessie, but she was smiling. ‘Animals have rights too.’

Hattie sighed and said, ‘Just write the piece, Jessie, and I’ll look at it when it’s done. If you want to avoid my edits, make it an environmental article, not a murder story.’