by Irma Joubert
“But Pérsomi, if you tell him we must cut my hair, he’ll agree. When I ask him for something, he always says, ‘What does Pérsomi say?’ Will you ask him?”
“No, love,” Pérsomi said firmly, “you’ll have to ask him yourself. Your dad loves long hair.”
There was a moment’s silence, then Lientjie asked, “Pérsomi, are you asleep?”
“No-o, not really.”
“Have you ever been in love?”
Pérsomi opened her eyes. “Yes, head over heels.”
“Can you remember what it felt like?”
Pérsomi closed her eyes again and smiled. “Yes, Lientjie, I remember.”
“It’s . . . very nice, isn’t it?”
“Very, very nice,” Pérsomi agreed. “But being in love means you could get hurt, sometimes badly.”
Lientjie sighed. “I know.” After a while she asked, “Will you tell me one day? About the boy who hurt you?”
Boy? “He didn’t hurt me, Lientjie. The situation hurt us both. But it was long ago. It’s over now. I don’t talk about it anymore. I’m happy with my present life.”
In the late afternoon, just before she left, Boelie said: “I’m glad Lientjie’s got you. She’s such a reserved child, you’re the only one she really talks to.”
“She’s lovely, Boelie,” said Pérsomi with a smile.
His dark eyes became very gentle. “She’s not the only one,” he said and closed her car door.
The year 1968 turned out to be a good one for De Vos and De Vos. The tin mine outside the town made plans to expand, new contracts came through, a new residential area went up. The provincial hospital added a wing, a second primary school opened, and even the Indian area at Modderkuil showed unexpected growth.
Good rains fell in the bushveld. The cattle in the grassy valleys and scrubland grew plump. In the fields, brand-new John Deere and Massey Ferguson and Fordson tractors plowed deep furrows in the red earth. The citrus farmers formed a closed corporation and built their own juice factory.
When the farmers prosper, so do the lawyers and speculators, the storekeepers and the business owners. And the architects.
“I’ll have to take in a partner,” Reinier said one Sunday. “I want to come over tomorrow to discuss it with you, if it’s okay, De Wet.”
“I wish Antonio could go in with you,” said Christine dreamily, “then Klara could also come and live here.”
“Wishful thinking, Chrissie.” Reinier smiled. “Antonio has a thriving practice in the city. He’d never give it up.”
“But Klara did say they would like to return here one day,” Christine said. “Maybe they’ll come. I’m really looking forward to Christmas, when everyone will be here again.”
Pérsomi looked up into Boelie’s eyes, just for a moment, then she looked away. But she knew that Boelie understood. “Everyone here” meant different things to different people.
Once or twice Lewies Pieterse approached Pérsomi for money, but lately he had been keeping his distance. No one knew where Piet was. Sissie, still happily married to her widower, worked in the kitchen of a Western Transvaal boarding school. They lived too far away to come for Christmas this year.
Only Hannapat, her handy husband, and their four children would make the long trip to the bushveld. Then Hannapat and their ma would sit in the front room, chatting for hours. Pérsomi would keep busy trying to fill the tummies of the four lively kids, and the handy husband would fix everything around the house that needed fixing.
“There you are! It should see you through till next Christmas,” he would say before he left.
Her ma would say, “Hannapat has clever children.”
And Pérsomi would say, “Yes, Ma.”
Early one Saturday morning in December 1968 there was a knock on the front door.
Pérsomi had just come out of the bath and wrapped a towel around her wet hair. She hurried down the passage and opened the door.
Boelie stood on the doorstep, his dark eyes fixed on her, the shadow of a smile on his lips. His hair was more gray than she remembered, but he was still well built, tall, proud.
“Good morning, Pérsomi.”
His voice still thrilled her.
“Good morning, this is a surprise,” she said evenly. “Come in, how about some coffee?”
“No, thanks,” he said. “I want you to come with me.”
“Now?” she asked, puzzled, and looked past him to where his car was parked in the street.
“Yes, now,” he said.
She looked down at her short summer frock and bare feet. “Like this?”
“You look lovely, Pérsomi. Just put shoes on, bare feet won’t do, and take that . . . er . . . towel-turban thing off your head.”
She began to laugh. “Boelie, my hair is sopping wet. I’m not wearing makeup. And my—”
“Come,” he ordered.
In a daze, she went to her room. When she unwrapped the towel from her head, her wet hair tumbled down on her shoulders. At the mirror she pressed her hands to her flushed cheeks.
Then the shock hit her. She raced back to the porch on bare feet. “Boelie, did something happen to Lientjie? Or Nelius? Who’s in the hospital?”
He gave her a reassuring smile. “Nothing’s wrong, Pérsomi. We just have a . . . surprise for you, I hope. Wear walking shoes, you hear?”
Walking shoes? She put on shorts and a cool blouse. She couldn’t very well wear walking shoes with a summer frock. With a ribbon she tied her wet hair into a ponytail and returned to the front porch. “I’ll be back in a while, Ma,” she called toward her ma’s bedroom door.
Boelie opened the car door and she got in.
“It must be a big surprise,” she said. “You’re looking so pleased.” He smiled down at her and closed the door.
“Are we going to the farm?” she asked as they drove through the town.
“What do you think?”
“To De Wet’s place?”
“Stop being so nosy, Pérsomi,” he said. “Wait and see.”
On their way to the farm they chatted as usual, at ease in each other’s company. She asked about the kids and his parents and how the new Bonsmara cattle he had bought were doing. He heard about the labor problems at the new tin mine and the planned new development at the hot springs outside the town.
They crossed the Pontenilo and he turned in at his farm gate instead of continuing to De Wet’s farm.
“Boelie?” she asked.
He smiled but did not say anything as he drove past the farmhouse and stopped in the barn. “Come,” he said again.
She felt strangely ill at ease as she got out of the car. She had not been in Boelie’s home since he and Annabel moved in. Even the slaughtering had taken place at De Wet’s house on the Le Roux farm.
Boelie opened the trunk and took out a backpack.
“Where are we going?”
He motioned for her to follow and began to walk along the footpath to the mountain. She followed, but stopped after a while. “Tell me, where are you going?”
“We’re going for a walk,” he said over his shoulder.
She didn’t budge. “Where are the kids?”
He stopped and turned. “Relax, Pérsomi, everything is fine. Just come.” He turned and continued along the footpath.
She followed him as the going got harder. She watched his calf muscles contract and relax, his muscular shoulders and arms, toughened by hours of physical labor. His skin was bronzed from daily exposure to the African sun.
She was hurting herself, she realized. She looked away.
They were out of the scrubland now, surrounded by rocks and ledges, where grass and wild plum trees struggled to get a grip on the soil. “Can we rest?” she asked.
He stopped for a moment. “Tired?” he asked.
“Not really.”
“We’re nearly there,” he said and carried on walking.
The kids must be waiting at the top, she guessed. Maybe De Wet and Christine
would be there as well.
They passed the baboon cliffs. She looked down and saw the waterfall and the old wild fig by the pool.
Suddenly she felt inexplicably vulnerable, almost sad. She stopped. “I . . . don’t want to go to the cave, Boelie.”
He turned. He was standing on a rock about two feet above her. His expression was serious, his voice soothing. “We must go to the cave, Pérsomi,” he said and held out his hand.
She hesitated a moment, then took his hand. He pulled her up until she was standing beside him. “Would you like to rest for a while?” he asked.
She shook her head. “No, I’m fine,” she said.
He let go of her hand and they walked on in silence. The sun blazed down on their heads, shoulders, and arms. “This had better be a good surprise,” she said.
At the cave, no one was there. Pérsomi looked around in vain.
“There’s no one,” he said, sitting down on the stone floor in the mouth of the cave. He placed the backpack beside him. “Sit down, won’t you?” he said.
She didn’t sit. She stood, waiting for him to explain.
He calmly gazed at the landscape below: at his farm, the barren ridge on the other side of the Pontenilo, and the road winding its way toward the town.
“Who else did you mean when you said we?” she asked.
“I had to say it, or you wouldn’t have come.”
“I didn’t want to come to the cave again, Boelie. Why did you bring me here?”
“I had to,” he said. “Sit, please.”
She shook her head and sighed. Then she sank down beside him.
“I hope there’s food in that backpack,” she said, trying to lighten the atmosphere. “I’m famished. And parched.”
“Plenty,” he said and drew the backpack closer.
But he did not open it. Instead, he put his hand into a side pocket and took out a document. Without a word he held it out to her.
Frowning slightly, she took the document, unfolded it carefully, and glanced at its contents.
Application for the Dissolution of the Marriage Between Annabel Fourie (Nee De Vos) and Cornelius Johannes Fourie . . .
Shock jolted through her. She looked up. His dark eyes were regarding her seriously.
Divorce? The word flashed through her confused mind. “Who requested it?”
He kept looking at her. “Annabel. From England.”
She glanced down at the document, looked up at him again. She felt a kind of practiced professionalism take over. “Divorce is divorce, Boelie, no matter who requested it.”
“Adultery is not only against the seventh commandment, Pérsomi. It is also the only biblical grounds for divorce.”
She drew a deep breath. “There’s another man?”
He nodded. “She met someone, yes. Through her work.”
“After . . . all these years?”
“No, Pérsomi. Long ago. But his wife had the money. She died about six months ago.”
Her hand flew to her face. “You knew? All the time?”
“Yes, Pérsomi.”
Her brain seemed to have frozen. The open mouth of the cave was swallowing her. She got up and walked away.
She looked down at the document in her hand.
She registered the date. The divorce was made final the previous Monday.
“Pérsomi?” his voice got through to her.
She turned. He was standing five yards away.
“I love you,” he said for the first time in nearly seventeen years.
She stood transfixed.
He opened his arms. “Come to me.”
Something deep inside her began to thaw—the ramparts built over years began to crumble.
He smiled, his dark eyes infinitely gentle.
She kept staring at him. Her mind could not think clearly, but her heart beat warmly.
She felt herself break open, begin to fly. “I love you, too, Boelie.”
He reached for her and untied the ribbon round her ponytail. He pulled his fingers through her long, cascading hair. “Pérsomi, will you marry me?”
She reached out and stroked his rough cheek. Her heart sang.
Her head was nodding and nodding. “Yes, Boelie,” she said, “yes.”
He clasped her to his solid body. After a lifetime she once more felt his wild heartbeat against her own heart. She felt the strength of the man she loved and knew she would never be alone again.
DISCUSSION QUESTIONS
1. The novel contains three basic storylines. The first deals with Pérsomi’s personal life—she’s the child of a poor white bywoner, or sharecropper. How does Pérsomi’s background define her perception of herself, and how does her upbringing inform her decisions about how to invest her life?
2. The second storyline deals with the Apartheid laws. Based on what you learned from this story, how was Apartheid-era South Africa similar to or different from the Jim Crow American South?
3. The third storyline is the romance between Pérsomi and Boelie. Did you find the progression of their relationship compelling or frustrating? Did you feel, by the end of the novel, that Pérsomi and Boelie could truly forgive the past and overcome their political differences and have a happy life together?
4. Discuss Pérsomi and Boelie’s very different understandings about how the teachings of the Bible should inform their attitudes toward Apartheid.
5. Who are the male figures who play significant roles in Pérsomi’s life, and which part do they each play?
6. Who are the key female figures who play a life-shaping role in Pérsomi’s story? How does Pérsomi manage to overcome the lack of strong female role models in her life?
7. Pérsomi’s mother tolerates behavior from her husband that is extremely difficult for us to accept. Why does she not take stronger steps to protect her family?
8. Pérsomi never experiences the ravages of WWII first hand, but the war has a huge impact on her life. Discuss the way that the war shapes Pérsomi’s destiny and her perceptions of the world around her.
9. Pérsomi rises above her circumstances and pursues an education and uses that education in support of a deeply held political belief that puts her into conflict with those closest to her. What is it about Pérsomi’s character and/or experience that allows her to become the idealist that she is? Why do some people rise above their circumstances while others become a product or a victim of their circumstances?
10. Define and discuss Pérsomi’s core beliefs and defining values and how they inform her choices and decisions.
11. Can the fact that Pérsomi was kept in the dark about the identity of her biological father be considered a deciding factor in her life? If yes, how so?
12. What was your reaction to the outcome of Pérsomi’s legal efforts to protect the Indian population from being forced to leave their homes?
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
THANKS TO EVERYONE WHO COMES TO ME WITH A STORY—all my historic novels are based on true stories people have told me.
Thanks to Oom Leon van Deventer and Mr. Ravat, both from Nylstroom, who lived through the relocation of the Indian traders from the town during the Group Areas Act and gave me incredibly valuable firsthand information and insights.
Thanks to Dr. Nico Smith, who granted me a few interviews shortly before his death in June 2010. He was the minister at Louis Trichardt during the late 1950s and experienced the forced removal of the Indian community. And to my mom, Alida Moerdyk, who clearly recalled the Centenary celebrations, the Second World War, and the relocations, and could tell me anecdotes and answers that are not in books.
Thanks to Johannes de Villiers for fascinating information on spiritualism and superstition among Afrikaners in the first half of the previous century, and for the books and articles he recommended.
A special thanks to friend Daan Nortier of Bloemfontein and my son Wikus, who helped me with the apartheid laws dealing specifically with the Indian community and with court proceedings.
Tha
nks to Jan-Jan, Madeleine, and Suzette for advice with the manuscript. Thank you very much, Elize, for excellent ideas during the writing process and for the language editing you are always willing to do for me.
Thanks to my husband, Jan, who keeps loving his wife who writes.
Most of all, thanks to my heavenly Father, who gave me a childhood that allows me to keep myself occupied in my retirement years, and who still fills my imagination with stories.
SOURCES
Bizos, George. No One to Blame? In Pursuit of Justice in South Africa. Cape Town: David Philip Publishers, 1998.
Botha, D. P. Die opkoms van ons Derde Stand. Cape Town: Human & Rousseau, 1960.
Coetzee, Abel. Die Afrikaanse Volksgeloof. Amsterdam: N. V. Swerts & Zertlinger Boekhandel & Uitgeversmij, 1938.
Du Plessis, I. D. Goëlery. Cape Town: Nasionale Pers, 1941.
Grobler, Jackie. Ontdek die Voortrekkermonument. Pretoria: Grourie Entrepreneurs, 1999.
Grosskopf, J. F. W. Plattelandsverarming en Plaasverlating. Stellenbosch, 1932.
Hall, Walter, and William Davis. The Course of Europe Since Waterloo. New York: Appleton-Century-Crofts Inc., 1951.
Keene, John, ed. South Africa in World War II. Cape Town: Human & Rousseau, 1995.
Leipoldt, C. Louis. The Bushveld Doctor. London: Jonathan Cape Ltd., 1937; Cape Town: Human & Rousseau, 1980.
Orpen, Neil. Cape Town Rifles—The Dukes 1856–1984. Self-published, 1984.
Reddy, E. S. “Defiance Campaign in South Africa, Recalled,” Asian Times, 26 June 1987.
Strydom, Hans. For Volk and Führer: Robey Leibbrandt & Operation Weissdorn. Jonathan Ball Publishers, 1983.
Terblanche, H. O. John Vorster—OB-Generaal en Afrikanervegter. Cum Books, 1983.
Van Wyk, At. Vyf dae. Tafelberg, 1985.
Vermeulen, Irma. Man en Monument—die lewe en werk van Gerard Moerdijk. J. L. Van Schaik, 1999.
Verslag van die Carnegie-kommissie, Deel I, Ekonomiese verslag. Stellenbosch: Pro Ecclesia Printers, 1932.
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
INTERNATIONAL BESTSELLING AUTHOR Irma Joubert lives and works in South Africa and writes in her native Afrikaans. A teacher for thirty-five years, Irma began to write after her retirement. She is the author of eight novels and is a fixture on bestseller lists in both South Africa and the Netherlands. Irma and her husband Jan have been married for forty-five years, and they have three sons and a daughter, two daughters-in-law, a son-in-law, and three grandchildren. Another one of her novels, The Girl from the Train, has also been translated into English.
