And Abraham gave all that he had unto Isaac.
Could the little girl see how her Caffres fought back, how blows from fists fell and whips cracked and the blade of an assegai flashed? How we Christians, dammit, also took blows and lost blood, until somebody cocked a rifle? Does the little creature here at my table know that they were our cattle, Christian cattle, that we drove out of the kraal? Well, most of them. Quite a few of them seemed familiar. In any case, I went to talk to her husband again and then the old bugger wasn’t laughing any more. Did he, there with me, seem older to her than that morning in bed?
But unto the sons of the concubines, which Abraham had, Abraham gave gifts, and sent them away from Isaac his son, while he yet lived, eastward, unto the east country.
I pointed at her. She looked down. I see once more how I and two Hottentots walk towards her. She looks prettier the closer I get to her. A few of her husband’s young men follow us, hands clenched around assegais. One of the Caffres runs ahead and takes up position between her and me, I the evil blond giant. The Hottentot to the left of me shoots the Caffre in the chest and he stays down and his blood pumps out of him. For a moment it looks as if there’s going to be a massacre. One warrior hurls an assegai, but it lands between two farmers. A Hottentot fires but misses. A Christian lashes a warrior with a sjambok. Langa shouts at his warriors to stand back.
They weren’t the only ones who were scared. We weren’t looking for bloodshed, dammit. Could the girl see, there where she was standing, how this big Christian’s hands were trembling by his sides?
And these are the days of the years of Abraham’s life which he lived, a hundred threescore and fifteen years.
The farmers and their tame Hottentots looked around in confusion. I took off, my hands now fists, made for the nearest Caffre between her and me. The wretch was hardly fully grown, probably as old as she. I start thrashing him. He is down on the ground and is holding his frizzy head. I don’t stop. Somewhere somebody shouts something and then there are hands trying to drag me off him. I let go of the Caffre and hit out at the Hottentots trying to hold me back. All three of the creatures. Did she join in the laughter? I heard them laughing, the Caffres roaring with laughter at the crazy white man laying into his own Hottentots. Did she look away then? You’re also going to want to look away. Go ahead and try. Try to turn your head when I get up with blood around my mouth. Try to look away when the Hottentot staggers to his feet, pulling his hands from his face as if they’re stuck to it. She did see. Just look at the way she regards me. The poor Caffre girl beheld it all and understood nothing. I am not ashamed. For what? She knows nothing. The Hottentot looking up with the white bone where his cheek used to be.
Then Abraham gave up the ghost, and died in a good old age, an old man, and full of years; and was gathered to his people.
I wiped my hands on my trousers. Walked up to her. She looked at me and didn’t move. She mustn’t come and act the victim here. Didn’t she, when I bent over her, lick that little hand, the one that’s now making such a fuss about the damned little bead? And didn’t she wipe clean my bloody beard and lips with that same little hand? Yes, girl, what are you looking at? You know that right there in the dust, among your Caffres, with that gentle, slow wipe across my mouth, you gave yourself to me. You wanted to be the wife of the wildest among the wild. You were scared, but you couldn’t keep those little kudu eyes off me. Now you’re still looking. But with a different look.
And his sons Isaac and Ishmael buried him in the cave of Machpelah in the field of Ephron the son of Zohar the Hittite, which is before Mamre.
Maria pushes her chair back and I stop reading. She doesn’t get up. Nombini’s little bead is lying still in the bowl. She puts the dish down on the table. The Lord alone knows what a woman thinks when she looks at you like that. Does she remember how I hoisted her onto my horse? How her old husband spat on the ground and did nothing more? How her people glared at her? How we loaded two more girls on the horses of the Hottentots? How the other two put up much more of a fight and scratched Van Tondere’s face? How we rounded up the cattle? How one of the young Caffres stood in our way and was taken apart with our rifle butts and sjamboks? How we rode off and nobody followed us? I’m sure the girl remembers it all. Now I am sorry that I covered her eyes when I looked back and saw Langa’s Caffres descending upon the cheekless Hottentot who had fallen off his horse and killing him with stones and assegais.
The field which Abraham purchased of the sons of Heth…
I see how Maria is looking at me; I lose my place.
That night I went to lie with her and made her mine. I told her my name is Coenraad. But why would the girl think of that now, if there is so much she can reproach this Christian man with? Does she remember how gentle I was with her? Oh no, if she thinks at all of our first lying together, she’ll think I was like a goddam pipsqueak when I touched her, uncertain and hesitant without her assent. That she had to reassure and encourage me before I could mount her properly. That I looked mighty proud of every gasp I could squeeze from her. Why would the girl think that it was a long day for me too? Why would she remember how I lay behind her all night long? Would you believe it, the next morning the girl tells me that I muttered and sobbed in my sleep. Just what a man wants to hear on his honeymoon. Should have left her right there in the veldt for the hyenas. As it happened, we chased the other two girls into the veldt with sjamboks that morning. But my little princess remained seated next to me. She could have run off with them if she’d wanted to. Why would I want to stop her, haven’t I got a wife? But she remained sitting and now she’s sitting here and glares at me and doesn’t want to let go of the little bead. I seize her hand and force it open and grab the thing off her palm and put it into my mouth and chew it fine and swallow. She remains sitting. I find my place in the verse:
There was Abraham buried and Sarah, his wife. Here endeth the Lesson tonight.
Maria gets up, takes the porcelain dish from Nombini’s hand again, this time more politely, and puts it on the pile of plates.
Is the whore going to help me wash up, or am I Hotnot to both of you now?
Maria, don’t be jealous. You’re my wife.
I wish I was, Buys.
You are, that I promise, my beloved dear Sarah. Weren’t you listening to what I was reading?
She walks away, sighs, then turns around:
Jealous, Buys. I wish I was jealous.
The lightning flashes and outside the whole world scintillates. In the bright glare of the lightning nothing remains hidden and we lot at the table see each other as we are and the surface of everyone’s countenance is illuminated for an instant and reveals no depth and is wholly unknowable and then it is dark again and the shadows drape soft comforting masks over our faces.
On this night the house is steamed up with the breaths of human and animal. It is as if the air itself turns to smooth and damp walls. The rain has stopped but the dripping carries on. The house is full, even the pig has to sleep outside and the pig never sleeps outside. The house feels empty. The house feels big and endlessly known, endlessly repetitive. As if there are passages and halls into all eternity, as if every drop dripping into the bowl has to resound. But nothing sounds in this house.