Women Are Bloody Marvellous! And Other Stories by Betty Burton

Author:Betty Burton [Burton, Betty]
Language: eng
Format: epub, azw3
ISBN: 0246128003
Publisher: CB Creative Books
Published: 2012-12-19T23:00:00+00:00

When winter comes to the South African veldt, it comes with bright sunshine, clear blue skies and bitter, bitter winds that feel as though they have been sucked up on the Russian steppes then expelled down the skyscraper canyons of Johannesburg. So, when the May winds started, I stopped my meandering round the Rosebank piazzas and went instead to the city centre.

I didn't see the melon-seed girl or her Porgy father for about two months, until one Saturday morning. There was an exhibition of tropical fish in a store in Rosebank, so while John took the children to see the fish, I went to have a look round the shops. It was a freezing morning and I was wrapped in a furry coat. I got right up to the door of the OK before I saw her, but there she was, just as when I had last seen her back in March when the days were still warm. She was still in her cotton shift, standing with one foot tucked up into her thigh. No, not just as she had been, only superficially so. Her brown skin had gone grey, and instead of eagerly looking about for customers, she stood with shoulders hunched. As soon as she saw me her face split into a grin. My warm coat shamed me into fatuity as I caught hold of her hand.

'You are so cold,' I said.

Instead of telling me of course anybody would be in that wind, with no shoes and a thin dress, she smiled straight into my eyes. In any B movie of the thirties, the woman would have draped her warm coat round the girl's bony shoulders and the problems of black Africa would have been solved.

I pointed to the necklaces.

'How many?'

'Ten cent.'

'How many to sell?'

She shrugged.

I took a necklace and held up a thumb.

'One?'

She nodded.

I took another and held up a finger.

'Two?'

I continued taking necklaces and counting until I held her whole stock.

'Twenty-five. Yes?'

She nodded. 'Yes.'

'Each for ten cents?'

Another nod.

'Two rand and fifty cents. Yes?'

'Yes,' she agreed.

I gave her the money and told her, 'Now go.'

She went, giving me a waggling-finger wave as she disappeared into the warmth of the OK store.

I thrust the necklaces under my shopping. Twenty-five. Most of the things in the bag I had got for Sara who would be waiting at the top of the stairs to take them from me when I got home. I might have dumped the necklaces, but couldn't bring myself to do it, all the effort that had gone into their making — the old working-class upbringing again. I put the problem aside and went into a coffee-bar where I had arranged to meet John and the children.

When he came in John had his My God! expression on. It usually meant that he had had a brush with the system.

'Dad bought hundreds...'

'Drink your Coke!'

The elder of our two knew when to shut up, but not the other one.

'But you did, Dad. Lots of beads. Hundreds.'

John plunged both hands into his overcoat pockets and pulled out a tangled mass of melon-seed necklaces.

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