The only closed door beckons. When Zodwa opens it, it reveals a small bathroom with a shower, toilet, and basin. Zodwa lifts the toilet seat to check that there’s water in the bowl. She presses the handle and the water flushes. It does the same thing again when she repeats the action. She turns the shower tap on and the water’s hot; she stands for a few minutes with her hand in the spray, amazed at the luxury of running water and plumbing.

Zodwa can’t believe this is all hers.

On the quick drive over, the woman said a whole family of farmworkers lived in it at one time, but the children all moved away and the husband and wife just retired. Zodwa doesn’t know much about her mother’s youth, just that she was orphaned young and fell under the care of another black woman who trained her as a housemaid on a farm. Considering the timeline of her mother’s life, these quarters must be the exact place where Leleti stayed all those years ago. The knowledge makes Zodwa feel less alone.

She unpacks what little she brought with her, hanging up her four dresses and a nightgown in the wardrobe while folding her two pairs of underwear and socks into the drawers. Zodwa puts all of her books on the kitchen table and then picks out the rock from the bottom of the bag, the one she was scared the woman, Ruth, had guessed at when she commented on the weight of it.

Since she couldn’t bring the whole shrine that Leleti built to Dumisa’s disappearance, Zodwa brought the biggest rock from the stack. She goes outside and, under the shade of a thorn tree, lays the rock down as a base that she can add to every day, thinking how time begins anew even as we drag our past into the future.

•   •   •

When Ruth comes back later, Zodwa rushes to the door at the sound of the car’s engine. This time Mandla is with her and Zodwa’s spirits soar at the sight of her son. She didn’t imagine his resemblance to Dumisa. His smile is an echo of her brother’s and she wishes so much that Leleti could see it.

“We brought you some stuff,” the woman calls. “Help us offload.”

The back of the luxury car is filled with bulging garbage bags. Ruth carries a bag in one hand and Mandla in the other. The boy is wearing Nike takkies that match his Nike tracksuit and sweatshirt, as well as a woolen Nike beanie pulled low over his forehead. Just that outfit alone cost more than all of Zodwa’s clothes combined. She watches as Ruth puts Mandla down on the floor of the cottage. He stares at the bare furnishings, his fingers in his mouth.