Harvest of Fear: A Story of Zimbabwe by Cienska Anna

Author:Cienska, Anna [Cienska, Anna ]
Language: eng
Format: epub
ISBN: 9781039127883
Publisher: FriesenPress
Published: 2022-04-03T00:00:00+00:00

CHAPTER 13

The morning was perfect. Warm, cloudless, windless. Chirpings and rustlings of birds and insects gave it a comfortable busy-with-breakfast voice. More aspirin with her coffee. No blood between her legs. Her cheek still red from the blow of his hand. The bruise had spread and turned an unhealthy yellow-tinged purple. The dogs stretched pale gold undersides to the sun. How long was he going to stay away? And what to do when he came back? She did not want to face him. She would never speak to him again. She should pack up and leave–but Carol came to pick Mikey up for school. Do you know what your daughter’s doing super-mom?

Too sore to walk, Marie took the Jeep to the clinic. A little girl waited for her. A minor burn, a blister on black skin. Marie, a wing of hair across her cheek, ran water over the hand and let it air dry before spraying it with ointment. “You must keep it clean,” she said and gave the girl two children’s aspirin. Quite the run on aspirin these days.

On her way out, the child pushed past Johan standing in the door.

Marie couldn’t stop herself looking at him, couldn’t prevent the anguished lurch of her heart. I love you. I love you. How could you do this to us? His hair was wet from the shower. Danie stood at his side like an absurdly small bodyguard.

A jolt went through him at the sight of her face. He lifted his hands then let them drop. He gave a small despondent shake of his head and turned and walked away.

A fly buzzed, trapped against the window. Rowesai picked up the swatter and slapped it dead. Marie jumped and forgot to avert her face.

“Maaai-we !” Rowesai’s eyes widened. “Sorry,” she muttered, put her fingers on each side of the gash and yanked off the Elastoplast. “It is too late now for stitches.”

Marie clenched her lips as Rowesai cleaned the bruise. No point in searching for a lie. This was not the first battered woman they had attended to. But, usually, Johan had been sent to warn the husband to behave himself.

“Newman’s brother has come,” Rowesai said as she re-dressed the wound. “It is he who will care for us now. He comes from the kraal of Chief Tlala.”

It was one of the most honourable of African customs, Marie knew, this obligation of the next of kin to take a deceased brother’s family under his protection. Often the relative was only a half-brother, having a different mother, but this responsibility was taken seriously. Through the ache that was now serious pain in her head, Marie heard Rowesai say the brother would move them to his village.

“Leave Leopard Kloof? But Rowesai, you work here. You have an income.”

“Yes, that is why I am worryful.” Rowesai did not look happy. “You see there will be no school here now for my children. Near the village there is a school. It goes up to Standard 4.”

Marie had

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