She started crying, a soft, childlike, whimpering sound that she had hoped no one would ever hear again. Silas stalked away, his jacket flung over his shoulder. He hadn't done that in years, walked out into the night, away from her anger and her terrifying grief. And Mikey was with her now, having bounced down from the top of the stairs, where Silas had seen him, wondering how long he had been there, listening, watching, and it was Mikey who put his arms around her, whispering, ‘It's okay, Mama, it's okay.’ It was Mikey she turned to, because Silas had walked away into the humid night, escaping to a bar, to the sweaty warmth of a dark-wooded place, full of late-night drinkers, an atmosphere of softened belligerence. He would confess his sorrows to them, the tragedy of his life, ‘this wife, you see’, then sink into a head-shaking silence, his tale unfinished.

It was Mikey whom she held now, and drew to her, and kissed, the way she had always wanted to draw a man to her, at her behest, for her own comfort and pleasure. Her lips on Mikey's lips, her tongue touching, just touching, the wetness of his mouth. She led him to her bed, and he lay down almost dutifully, his eyes closed. And then he was gone, fallen through a trapdoor into a haven of unconsciousness.

Lydia wept with sorrow and relief. She observed his slender body, saw in it a fragility she had not noticed before, and longed to reach out and touch him, tenderly, as a mother would touch her son, but knew that that was impossible now.

Already he had about him the gruffhess that some men acquire later in life. He will be incapable of loyalty to any one woman, he will be the kind of man who comes and goes without warning. How difficult it will be, from now on, to love him only as a son.

16

The drama in their lives is gone. There is no need for it or its gaudier sibling, melodrama. They live truly secret – and secretive – lives. They are as concealed from each other as they are from the world. No one shouts or remonstrates, Silas does not storm out of the house, even when he is angry. He hides his anger, leaves quietly, and has learned how to shut doors noiselessly, to start his car and drive off without the squeal of tyres, without even revving the engine. He is the only one able to escape in this way. Lydia takes buses, or walks down to Louis Botha Avenue to catch a Kombi-taxi when she needs to go and see Mam Agnes and Jackson in Soweto. It is a brave thing to do, Jackson says, ‘And foolish!’ Mam Agnes adds.