“It was only years later when I was at a sexual violence rally that I realised what had happened. We were listening to testimonials from women who had been raped. They were so brave. They were like heroes. As I listened to their stories and heard the crowd applauding, I realised it had happened to me too! I had been raped. I was a survivor, just like them. I had been denying it all those years.

“I can still remember the chill of the floor through my shoes and the way the noise of the crowd sang in my ears as I got up from my seat and walked to the front of the hall to tell my story. Everyone gasped. They knew me as a sexual violence activist—a sympathiser and advocate—but none of them had suspected what I really was—a survivor, just like them. They roared in solidarity, and the love I felt in that hall gave me the strength to tell my story for the first time. After I’d finished speaking, I began to sob as years of pain came flooding out of me. I thought I’d released all my pain and anger. Little did I know that was just the beginning. For two years afterwards, I suffered from severe post-traumatic stress disorder and depression as I finally allowed myself to feel the violation of what had happened to me on that night.”

She sank back into her seat as though exhausted and took a sip of water. Spontaneous applause broke out in the venue. Some delegates rose to their feet in recognition of her bravery and honesty.

“That’s an incredible story, Marion. Thank you for sharing it with us.” The facilitator smiled at her. “And now we have Lucy, who will also tell us about her journey.”

I could tell from the start that I didn’t have the audience’s attention. They were still swept up by Marion’s narrative. They couldn’t keep their eyes off her. She sat next to me, glowing palely under the fluorescent lights.

Next to her, I was a creature of rude health and robust appearance. My hair was brown and my cheeks pink. My eyes shone with vitality. Sometimes I looked in the mirror and knew exactly why Coetzee chose me as his model for the bovine, unflappable fiction-Lucy. We were both sturdy of calf and thick of wrist.

I didn’t have Marion’s gift for storytelling.

“Six men broke into my father’s farmhouse and raped me.”