She thinks about the secret hiding spot under her mattress and the beaded purse she keeps there. She compulsively counts the notes inside it every day and knows exactly how much there is. It isn’t enough to set her and Mandla up in KwaZulu, and there’s no point in returning to the squatter camp. It’s the first place they’ll look for her.

As far as Zodwa can see, there’s nothing else to be done except to apologize to Ruth and ask for her mercy. If she can just hold on to her job for another year, she’ll have enough money saved to leave with Mandla and comfortably disappear into her homeland where Ruth hopefully can’t find them.

Still, Zodwa wonders if she didn’t make a mistake in not using the opportunity presented last night to run away with Mandla; she tells herself another one will come again and that she’ll be better prepared next time.

When Zodwa goes to work early in the morning, she half anticipates her key will refuse to yield in the lock, but she has no trouble getting inside. The house is quiet and she thinks everyone is still sleeping until she notices that the patio door is open. Ruth is never up this early, so Zodwa goes outside expecting to find Delilah and hoping to get a sense of Ruth’s mood from her. She’s surprised to find Ruth sitting there in her fancy robe, a cup of coffee cooling in front of her.

The two women look at each other, sizing each other up, and Zodwa is just about to launch into her apology when Ruth holds her hand up. “Let’s not talk of it, okay?”

Relief washes over Zodwa. “Okay.” She’s on her way back inside when she thinks of something and turns back. “Mandla needs a proper haircut. Done by a barber who knows black hair. And you must stop washing his hair every day and treat it with oil instead. I’ll show you what to buy.”

Ruth’s quiet for a few seconds before saying, “Okay.”

When Zodwa starts filling the sink to wash the dishes, she spots all of Ruth’s empty alcohol bottles in the garbage bin. She checks the liquor cabinet and smiles when she finds that it’s completely bare.

CHAPTER SEVENTY-ONE

Delilah

12 October 1995

Van Tonder Farm, Magaliesburg, South Africa

Riaan and I were at a bush pub on our way back from the site. It was his suggestion that we stop for a late lunch, but he seemed distracted during the meal and I wondered if he was in a hurry to get back to the farm.

“Is everything okay?” I asked.

He looked up at me for a moment, a long appraising stare, and then he said, “Actually, no.”

“Why? What’s wrong?”

He sighed. “This. This is all wrong.”

My heart felt like a stone sinking into a pond.