She takes a few sips and they help make her feel detached, like things are happening to her rather than her being an active participant in her own degradation. And if a few sips can do that, then how much more can a bottle or two do? Feeling nothing is what Zodwa craves more than anything.

CHAPTER THIRTY-SEVEN

Ruth

10 October 1994

Verdriet, Magaliesburg, South Africa

Five months after the baby first showed up on our doorstep, his room is ready and waiting. All it needs now is Mandla.

Mandla: That’s the baby’s official name as registered on his birth certificate. It means “strength” or “power” in Zulu, and it’s also only one letter away from spelling “Mandela,” the man who made history by becoming president on the day Mandla was born. The name was given to him as a kind of talisman by the black staff at the orphanage and I like it; it suits him.

The fostering process usually takes ages but since we’re the ones whose care he was left in and the orphanage is so overcrowded, they’re expediting it. Of course, a part of the process is trying to find his real mother in case he was either taken from her or in the event that she changes her mind and wants him back. They place adverts in the classifieds of various newspapers to that end for ninety days after an application to foster a child is made and then there’s nothing left to do but wait.

Each day that goes by without someone claiming him is just another sign that he’s meant to be mine.

As I lie awake each night, thankful that no one has responded to the ads, I can’t help but wonder about her, his mother. Where is she? What made her give him up? And, most important, what led her to our door out of all the doors in the world? How did she know that mine was the one that contained the most need?

I know Dee would scoff if I confided this belief to her. Well, the old Dee would have waved it off as sentimental nonsense and told me not to be ridiculous. The new one doesn’t do much but sit out on the patio staring off into the distance.

She’s been almost catatonic since Daniel died and nothing I do or say draws her out. It’s completely understandable under the circumstances. I can’t begin to imagine the guilt she’s feeling. At least it means she hasn’t put up any kind of fight about Mandla, but then she isn’t putting up any kind of fight about anything, not even the onslaught from the Coetzees, which has just intensified since news of Mandla spread and set the town on fire.