Child of the River

by Irma Joubert

  After a while Pérsomi asked: “And your dad?”

  “I don’t know who my dad is,” said Beth. “No one knows, except my mom, I suppose. But she’s dead.”

  Pérsomi didn’t say that she didn’t know her pa either.

  A few moments later she heard Beth’s even breathing. This coming vacation, she resolved, she would try to find out who her real pa was. Her ma would just have to tell her. She would have to.

  “This afternoon I’m going to town,” Pérsomi told Beth one Friday. “Mr. Nienaber gave me a tickey for looking after his children.”

  It was the first money Pérsomi had ever had just for herself.

  “Really?” said Beth, pleased. “What will you buy?”

  “I don’t know, I’ll see,” said Pérsomi. She had no idea what you could buy with a tickey. She’d thought of sweets, but maybe she should buy a nightgown, if one could be had for a tickey.

  In town, after the other girls had scattered, they found themselves in a wide street with shops and a butchery and a post office. Farther down the street Pérsomi recognized the magistrate’s court with its two wilting flags.

  “There’s the General Dealer,” said Beth. “I think that’s where we should go.”

  “Why don’t you get what you need from Ismail’s?” Pérsomi suggested. “They’re a lot cheaper than the General Dealer.”

  “Reverend says it’s a sin to buy from coolies,” Beth said.

  “Why?” Pérsomi said. “And don’t call them coolies. It’s a very bad word, almost like swearing.”

  “Oh, I didn’t know. But still . . . They’re Mohammedans, not Christians, that’s why we mustn’t spend our money with them.”

  “My ma says they’re cheaper, and Mr. Ismail always gives her a bargain.”

  “I can’t go there,” Beth said, wide-eyed.

  “Okay, go to the General Dealer and I’ll meet you here afterward,” Pérsomi suggested and set off down the street.

  At the door she took a deep breath. The store always smelled the same. She didn’t know what it was, but the mixture of smells made her feel welcome.

  She walked slowly through the shop to the ladies’ wear department. Everything was pleasantly familiar.

  “Hi,” Yusuf said behind her, “what can I help you with today? And by the way, I don’t know your name.”

  “Pérsomi,” she said, “Pérsomi Pieterse.”

  “Pérsomi,” he repeated. “Unusual, but nice.”

  “I’m just looking,” she said. “Where are your nightgowns?”

  He crossed to a drawer, opened it, and spread out the nightgowns—a frilly pink one, a light-blue one trimmed with lace and bows, and a yellow one with tiny embroidered roses. She stroked the fabric. It was soft and almost slippery to the touch. “They’re all so lovely!” she said.

  But when she saw the prices, she turned away. “Actually I just want to buy some sweets,” she said, embarrassed.

  He gave her a reassuring smile. “It’s still nice to look, isn’t it?” he said, folding the nightgowns and returning them to the drawer. “How are you doing at school?”

  “Fine,” she said. She wished she could tell him about the athletics, but he probably wouldn’t be interested. “And you?”

  “Fine,” he said.

  “Where’s your school?” she asked.

  “Right behind the store, next to the mosque,” he said. “We don’t have such a big school, because there aren’t many Indians in town. We have our lessons in English, you know.”

  “English? Why?” she asked, surprised. “You speak Afrikaans.”

  “All Indians go to school in English,” he said, “even if they speak Afrikaans.”

  “It makes no sense,” she said. “Why don’t you just come to our school?”

  He laughed. “That wouldn’t work,” he said. “You’re Boers, we’re Indians.”

  “Yes,” she said, “and you’re Mohammedans and we’re Christians.”

  They had reached the sweets counter. “We call ourselves Muslims, not Mohammedans,” he said. “What kind of sweets do you want?”

  “A tickey’s worth,” she said, pointing.

  He deftly folded a cone from a piece of newsprint and poured in a handful of sweets. He added a few more and folded the top over. “Please look in again, even if you don’t buy anything,” he said, handing her the paper cone. “I’d like to hear your brother’s news.”

  “Thanks, I will, but now I’m afraid I’m going to be late,” she said and left to meet Beth.

  Outside the sun was blazing down on the tarmac.

  “Did you know that Indians are Muslims and not Mohammedans?” she asked as they filed back to the dormitory with the rest of the boarders.

  “No,” said Beth. “Who told you so?”

  “Yusuf, Mr. Ismail’s grandson. You should go with me to Mr. Ismail’s store. You don’t have to buy anything. It’s just . . . nice inside, special.”

  At the end of February Pérsomi read in Die Transvaler that the first Italian prisoners of war captured in Italian-Somalia and Abyssinia had arrived in South Africa. Gerbrand was in Abyssinia. She wished they would send him back to South Africa too.

  On March 2 she read that it was forbidden now for government officials to belong to the Ossewabrandwag. She didn’t know what that meant or whether it was important, but she would try to remember it when she talked to Boelie during the vacation. In just a few short weeks Mr. Fourie would be waiting for Irene and her at the station.

  Maybe she could also talk to Boelie about the athletics. He and De Wet had taken part when they attended the school. She had seen De Wet’s name on the honors roll in the hall.

  She put away the packet of sweets to share with her ma and sisters.

  Soon she would be back on her mountain. She missed her ma and their home and the farm. But most of all her mountain.

  FOUR

  PÉRSOMI ARRIVED AT THE FARM WITH THE FOURIES LATE Saturday evening. When the car stopped in front of the house, the dogs barked themselves into a frenzy, beside themselves with joy at seeing Irene again. The front door opened, and light streamed out over the porch. Irene’s mother and grandma came out, laughing and opening their arms to Irene. “You must be dying of hunger,” said Aunt Lulu. “Come in, your ouma made a milk tart.”

  “Have Klara and the others come?” Irene asked, picking up the smallest dog. “Hello, Courage, did you miss me? Gosh, it’s good to be home!”

  Pérsomi picked up her suitcase and quietly made her way to the orange grove.

  The dark swallowed her. Behind her the windows of the Big House were brightly lit. The path through the trees was barely visible in the starlight.

  At the Pontenilo she bent down for a moment, scooping up handfuls of water to drink. I’m back, she thought as she prepared to cross to her family’s side. The river was also a part of her.

  The little house on the ridge loomed in the dark.

  She pushed open the back door. It creaked loudly in the quiet night.

  “Who’s there?” Hannapat mumbled.

  “Me, Pérsomi.”

  “Oh,” said Hannapat as she sat up on her mattress. “Why did you take so long? We were waiting for you yesterday.”

  “I had to go to a track meet,” said Pérsomi. She looked around the dark room. “Where’s the candle? Is there any food?” she asked.

  “Look in the pot,” said Hannapat, “but I think it’s empty.”

  She struggled to light the short wick of the candle. The porridge pot was empty. She turned away from the cold stove. “Where’s my mattress?” she asked.

  “Sissie is sleeping on your mattress. She sleeps on two mattresses. Did you bring anything from town?”

  “Yes, but I’ll give it to you tomorrow when Ma and Sissie are awake. Move over, I’m exhausted.”

  She lay behind Hannapat’s back under the rough gray blanket, Sissie’s soft snores in her ears and the sour smell of her home pricking her nostrils. She had forgotten what it was like
.

  A scurrying woke her. Ma stood in the doorway. She had opened the curtain between the bedroom and the kitchen. “Fetch some water, Hannapat,” she said.

  Pérsomi slowly opened her eyes. “Look, Ma, Pérsomi’s here,” said Hannapat.

  “Heavens, child, where did you spring from?” her ma asked. “We thought you’d be here Friday.”

  “I took part in a track meet,” said Pérsomi. “Ran races, you know?”

  “How would I know?” asked her ma.

  “Ma, my tooth hurts,” Sissie complained from under her blanket.

  Pérsomi sat up, throwing off the threadbare cover. “It was a big meeting,” she said. “All the schools were there. We went to Potgietersrus by train.”

  “Potgietersrus?” said her ma.

  “Ma-a, my tooth,” said Sissie.

  “Yes, Ma,” said Pérsomi and got up. “The whole team went by train. We left yesterday morning at four.”

  “Oh,” said her ma, “that’s early. Hannapat, fetch water.”

  “I took part in a number of events,” Pérsomi continued. She was keen to tell her ma everything. She felt sure her ma would be so proud.

  “Oh,” said her ma.

  “In the 100 yards, the 200 yards, the high jump, the long jump, and the relay.”

  “Oh,” said her ma. “Hannapat, fetch the water now.”

  Hannapat did not budge.

  “I did very well. I was the best junior girl of all the schools present.”

  “Oh,” said her ma, “that’s good. Hannapat, will you fetch the water now? Or must I fetch the strap?”

  Reluctantly Hannapat picked up the bucket and sauntered to the door.

  “Ma-a, my tooth!” Sissie groaned.

  “Oh, Sissie, shut up,” said her ma.

  “I thought you’d be proud,” said Pérsomi.

  “Yes,” said her ma. “Here’s a letter from Gerbrand. Hannapat read it but she can’t read very well. You read it to me.” She produced a crumpled envelope from the front of her dress.

  “He only writes to you and Ma anyway,” Hannapat said sulkily from the door. “Let me fetch the water.”

  Pérsomi had wanted to bring the trophy home, to show her family. But Mr. Nienaber had said it would be better if it stayed at school. Then he locked it in the glass case in the foyer.

  She took the much-handled letter from her ma’s hands, unfolded it carefully, and began to read the familiar round writing:

  10 MARCH 1941

  Dear Ma and Pérsomi,

  I’m sorry I can’t write more often we are very busy. We’re in Italian-Somaliland now. The roads are terrible. We just about had to rebuild the road. We drove through thick sand and sometimes we had to take detours through dense bushes because we have to look out for land mines.

  We have made contact with the Eyeties. I got my hands on an Italian water bottle it’s a lot better than ours because our water bottles hold a pint and the Italian bottles hold three pints.

  I want to spend the rest of my life in the army. It’s a good thing I came.

  A guy in our C Company is very ill malaria, they say. He was sent back to the Union.

  We have taken quite a lot of Italians prisoner.

  I want to tell you about the bridge we had to build across the Juba River because the enemy blew up the bridge and it’s a wide river so we built a bridge. We tied drums together and tied them to trees. Then we rowed across in boats and tied the ropes to trees on the opposite bank and pulled the drums and the chains right up against the trees. Then they I mean we put wooden boards on top of the drums.

  “Gerbrand is very smart, building a bridge like that,” said her ma.

  “Yes, he is,” said Pérsomi and read on.

  The Dukes that’s another of our groups also came to help. The enemy opened fire every now and then. It is called a floating bridge. We built it in three days. First our infantrymen walked across then our vehicles followed. Don’t you think that’s good?

  It’s so hot I can’t sleep but I must sleep because we have to make progress tomorrow. The mosquitoes are a nuisance.

  Best wishes.

  Your son and brother,

  Gerbrand

  “The mosquitoes are everywhere,” her ma sighed.

  “Yes,” said Pérsomi, folding the letter. A sudden longing for Gerbrand formed a lump in her throat.

  Carefully her ma returned the letter to the envelope and tucked it back into her bodice.

  Pérsomi swallowed hard against the lump. Deep inside her was an unfamiliar emptiness.

  “We must get Sissie something for her toothache,” she said and looked around. For the first time she noticed the shambles. The back door swung from a single hinge; there were holes in the dung floor hollowed out by feet over the years; the oven door was missing, and through the gaping hole you could see the flames inside the stove. The two front legs were missing too. Gerbrand had propped it up with stones.

  Her shiny trophy would have been completely out of place.

  “I don’t have anything for toothache,” said her ma. “The hospital gave Sissie stronger medicine because the fits come more often these days. It makes her sleepy. She’ll have to take some of it for her tooth.”

  Pérsomi folded her blanket. Sadness was growing inside her. She felt as if she was about to lose something, or maybe she’d already lost it.

  When Hannapat came back with the water, Pérsomi said, “I brought you something from town.” She knew they would be happy about the sweets. Everyone would laugh.

  But when she turned to her suitcase on the floor, she saw that the string had been removed. She hadn’t untied it herself.

  She opened the suitcase. Her ma and Sissie stepped closer, curious. Only Hannapat kept her distance.

  The suitcase contained only her three dresses, her bloomers, her two school shirts, her hairbrush, and her toothbrush. The sweets were gone.

  “What did you bring?” asked Sissie.

  “A packet of sweets, but it’s gone,” said Pérsomi. She turned to Hannapat.

  “Where are the sweets?” she demanded.

  “How am I supposed to know?” Hannapat replied. “You must have left them at the dormitory, or maybe you’re lying.”

  “I didn’t leave it and I’m not lying,” Pérsomi said.

  “Are you saying I stole it?” asked Hannapat, screwing up her eyes.

  “Someone removed the string and it certainly wasn’t me.”

  “Are you saying I—”

  “Hand over the sweets!” Sissie launched herself at Hannapat. “Give them here!” she shouted, tugging at Hannapat’s hair.

  Hannapat screamed and fought back. “Ma! Ma! Sissie is killing me!”

  Sissie fell over a chair and pulled Hannapat to the floor. Hannapat kicked and scratched and bit her way out from under Sissie’s fat body. “Give the sweets!” Sissie screamed.

  “Ma, she’s killing me,” yelled Hannapat.

  Pérsomi walked through the back door and up her mountain.

  The sun was high in the sky the morning Pérsomi helped her ma carry a load of washing to the river. It was always better to talk to her ma when she was busy. It was as if her ma could listen better.

  They sat down beside the pool. Pérsomi scraped together some clean sand and began to rub it into the collars of her white school shirts. Her ma threw one of Sissie’s dresses into the pool and slowly began to wash it, without sand.

  “Ma, do you know how to make soap, from fat?” asked Pérsomi.

  “Heavens, Pérsomi, what kind of question is that?”

  “I’m just asking if you know how to make soap,” Pérsomi repeated as reasonably as possible.

  “Yes, yes, I suppose I do,” said her ma, still rubbing the same spot on the dress. “But I’d have to buy caustic soda, and it costs money.”

  “What else do you need?” asked Pérsomi.

  “Well, child, what shall I say?” Her ma frowned. “A fire, of course, and a soap pot, and fat. Heavens above
, I don’t remember anymore.”

  “Have you ever made soap?” asked Pérsomi.

  “Stop asking questions, child. You’re confusing me,” said her ma.

  Pérsomi rinsed her white shirt until it looked reasonably clean. “At the dormitory we hand in our clothes on Wednesday and we get them back on Friday, washed and ironed,” she said.

  “Yes,” said her ma.

  “I like school. The work isn’t too hard. And I do well, at sport and at my schoolwork.”

  “Yes,” said her ma.

  Pérsomi licked her dry lips. She had to send the conversation in the right direction, so that she had a reason to ask about her pa.

  “I have a roommate, Beth Murray,” she said. “She’s an orphan. Her ma died when she was born. So she stayed behind at the mission station with the reverend and his wife.”

  “Oh,” said her ma.

  “She knows who her ma was, because the reverend could tell her,” Pérsomi continued. “But no one knows who her pa was.”

  “Yes,” said her ma. “Mind that the river doesn’t take your bloomer.”

  Pérsomi fished the bloomer out of the pool and began to rinse it. “I don’t know who my real pa is either, but you do,” she said.

  Her ma’s hands stopped moving. She looked straight ahead at the water but said nothing.

  “Ma.” Pérsomi spoke softly. “I really want to know who my pa was. Or is.”

  Her ma slowly shook her head.

  “It’s important to me. It’s . . . as if a part of me is missing. As if . . .” She was almost pleading now. “As if there’s a hole inside me, do you understand?”

  But her ma was still shaking her head. “I’ll never tell you. I’ll never tell anyone,” she said in a flat voice.

  “Ma, please! I promise, on my word of honor, not to tell anyone, I promise.”

  “I can’t tell you.” Her ma kept shaking her head. “I promised I’d never talk. I might not be educated and I’m miserable and poor and a bad mother whose children were taken away. But I promised I’d keep my mouth shut. And that’s how it will stay.”

  Pérsomi felt disappointment choke up her chest, push up in her throat, bitter as gall. She closed her eyes for a moment and swallowed hard. She would wait, but not forever. Sooner or later she would find out.