A LETTER FROM HOME
197
oranges are no good this year? Honestly, is that really true?" Anyway,
I said: "Hans, man, for God's sake!" and then he looked at me,
and he said, reproachfully, "The ants would have killed it, just look!"
Well the ground was swarming with ants of one kind or another,
so there was logic in it, but I said "Hans, let's drink man, let's drink."
Well it was Sunday, and no bars open. I took a last look at the
beetle, the black thorn through its oozing middle, waving its black
legs at the setting sun, and I said, "Back home, Hans, and to hell
with Esther, we're going to get drunk."
Esther was in the kitchen, putting out cold meat and tomatoes,
and I said: "Esther, you can take the evening off."
She said: "Master Hans, I have had all the Sunday afternoon
off talking to Sister Mary." Hans looked helpless at me, and I said:
"Esther, I'm giving you the evening off, good night."
And Hans said, stuttering and stammering, "That's right, Esther,
I'll give you the evening off. Goodnight Esther."
She looked at him. Then at me. Hey, what a woman, hey, what
a queen, man! She said, with dignity : "Good night, Mr. Johannes,
good night Mr. du Preez." Then she wiped her hands free of evil
on her white apron, and she strode off, singing All Things Bright and
Beautiful, and I tell you we felt as if we weren't good enough to
wash Esther's
broekies,
and that's the truth.
Coed.
We got out the brandy, neveor mind about the cold meat
and the tomatoes, and about an hour later I reached my point at
last, which was, what about the poems, and the reason I'd taken
so long was I was scared he'd say: "Take a look at Blagspruit man,
take a look, is this the place for poems, Martin?" But when I asked,
he leaned forward and stared at me, all earnest and intent, then
he turned his head carefully to the right, to see if the door into the
kitchen was shut, but it wasn't; and then left at the window, and
that was open too, and then past me at the door to the verandah.
Then he got up on tiptoes and very carefully shut all three, and then
he drew the curtains. It gave me the
skriks,
man, I can tell you. Then
he went to a great old black chest and took out a Manu Script, be–
cause it was all in the beautiful black difficult writing and gave it
to me to read. And I sat and slowly worked it out, letter by letter,
while he sat opposite, sweating and totting, and giving fearful looks
over his shoulders.
