Dug up a cap because the head looks bad, all bare like that and full of sores. She doesn’t like things on her head it seems, she pulls it off when I’m not looking, at least it’s a sign of life.
Gave her worm medicine. Soiled her panties something dreadful. Scolded and gave a good hiding with the duster handle, what’s the use? She’s very far behind her age I think. Could see the worms, flat pieces of tapeworm, round dog-worms.
Ordered nappies from the chemist, waterproof drawers. Wet her bed three nights running. Mattress ruined. Had fourth bath, still tightly-rolled into a bundle. Pitch would sooner soak out of a ship than the stiffness in this child’s limbs. Can’t reach anywhere with the washcloth. She keeps her head pulled in, arms rigid against the body, knees clenched together.
21 December
Aspatat has a cold! Coughing and snottering. Must be from the first washing there in the dam on Goedbegin. Fancy a bit more co-operation with the eating, maybe because the nose is blocked, so she has to open her mouth to breathe. At least she’s swallowing better. Jaws more relaxed. Must start with proteins. Today fish oil and vitamin C. Hellish battle. Gave malt syrup and lecithin on porridge. Sweet things do the trick, it seems. Will have to start using it as reward.
Sawed a hole in the door of the back room. Had Dawid install an old copper post-box flap over the slit. I must be able to see what she does when she’s alone. Suspect she’s sly, suspect she’s pretending to be stupid. Remembered the hessian sack Lys gave along, put it in the room with her. She looks at it for hours. Doesn’t move.
Head-sores healing nicely.
Went and dug up my old children’s books in the cellar. Read rhymes to her. Who’d have thought that! I remember them bit-by-bit as I come across them.
Old mumblemould
I have a cold
I have it now
I give it to you
I tie it up here
And I’m in the clear.
Jak says I’m wasting my time and why am I spoiling our Christmas? I ask where is your faith, where is your heart? I possess neither the one nor the other, I do it exclusively for myself, for nobody else, he says. I don’t dare use other people for my own purposes like that, he says. I’ll see what comes of it, apparently.
He’s just jealous, feels neglected. I devote all my free time to her.
Must succeed in this, I must make it work, make it worthwhile.
It feels as if the whole world is against me. First Mother, now Jak.
Must go and see the dominee about this, the child can’t stay so nameless.
22 December
Now I have a cold! Must have got it from her. Jak says it’s but the beginning. He doesn’t want to go anywhere near her. She gives him the creeps, he says, the idea gives him the creeps. He says I’m sick. He taps against his head when I peer through the slot at what she’s doing. What a whopper of a Christmas present I’ve got, he says. Unto us a child is born, unto us a woolly’s given, out loud down the passage, I say, Jak bethink yourself, what if she can hear and understand you?
Perhaps after all better get to the doctor if he can still see me before Christmas. Her poo is completely yellow from all the runny food she’s eating.
Made red jelly and custard, showed it to her dished up in a bowl and said if she was good and allowed me to wash her nicely in the bath, she could have it. She’s still not looking at me, but it does seem as if she hears me. (Must have ears tested. Deaf and dumb perhaps? I remember the funny high squeaking sounds. Retarded perhaps? You never know with these people. Generations of in-breeding, violence, disease, alcohol. Children of Ham.)
Fifth bath, still no relaxation in the limbs. It’s almost as if she’s holding her breath. Teeth do seem to part more easily, I fancy. She bites the spoon. Let go, I say, let go then you get more. I have to pull at it and wiggle it, then she lets go after a while.
Just like a dog. Reward works. Got down a fair amount of jelly.
She can have it every day if she’s good, I say. If she learns nicely to sit on the pot for me, learns nicely to look me in the eye, eats her other food nicely and takes her medicine. Learns to sit nice and upright and to walk smartly. If she’s a good girl. Only then.
Practise every day with her on pot at regular times. Hour after breakfast, hour after supper. Sit, I say. Pee. Poo. Push. I make little moaning sounds to encourage her. Pour water out of a glass into a jug for the pee. She is closed, shut as a vault. She presses her head into her lap. Then I walk out and lock the door and watch her through the slit. She hasn’t noticed it yet because she’s always looking down at the ground. She crawls off the pot as soon as I’m out, slither-crawls into the corner of the room as if she’s trying to squeeze herself into the wall. Then I relent and put on the nappy. The privates look better but they’re stretched and loose. Shudder to think what happened there. Wanted to put in my finger to feel, but she locks closed her legs. Doctor will have to look.
She has to get moving, then the poo will also get going. I tell her she mustn’t be so timid. She could run like a hare that day at Mother’s. I tap out the rhyme of the rabbit for her on the table-top.
There goes a bunny
says Sarah Honey
Shoot her with an arrow
shouts Mrs Farrow
It’s too short
says Mr Port
It’s over the hill
say Jack and Jill
Overshot the mark
says Jenny Dark
Right through the tail
says Dominee Heyl
It’s hit the spot
says Auntie Dot
Put her in the pot
says John the Scot
Add a bit of mustard
says coy Miss Custard
Now to carve a fillet
says old Doctor Willet
Tastes very good
says wicked Willy Wood
You’re a killer
says little Miss Milla.
27 December half past eleven morning
Both of us recovered fortunately. Christmas day rather quiet. Ma came but she didn’t even go to look in the back room. I put the radio in the room with Aspatat while we were eating so that she could listen to the Christmas carols. It can get hot there in the back room with the door shut like that, but I can’t really let her wander around at will.
Definite progress in the eating department. Little by little, but we’re getting there. This morning mealie-meal porridge with a little lump of butter and syrup, this afternoon mashed potatoes, meat sauce, sweet pumpkin puree. Cinnamon porridge this evening. And red jelly and custard. A bit more lively, I think. Jak’s gone to friends in town, but I can’t yet leave her here alone.
Half past seven evening