Saskia manoeuvred her way through the comfortable but overcrowded living room and went to stand by her mother, but made sure to stand just out of reach. Even so she could not help but sneeze. She was pleased to note that she still reacted adversely to her mother’s proximity.

‘It was orange a moment ago,’ her mother said, sadly placing her untouched outstretched hand on her lap. ‘Now it is peach. If we are lucky, it will become a deep red … and then magenta … and then purple … and then darkness.’

Her mother motioned to her again, but Saskia did not move any closer. Giving her hands something else to do, her mother pointed at her canvas, at the painting of a sunset taking shape on it.

‘Do you think I’ve got it right?’ her mother asked, always seeking attention, appreciation and approval, like a little girl.

‘Is that why you made such a fuss earlier?’ Saskia asked. ‘So that I could come and tell you what I think of your painting?’

Her mother reached out to touch her again.

‘Can’t keep your hands to yourself, can you?’ Saskia bit out. ‘So like your husband. Birds of a feather, I guess.’

Her mother looked as if she had been slapped in the face and cowered in her chair. Good.

‘I am working on a feature – a biography of Emil Coetzee,’ Saskia said as she removed the framed picture of Everleigh Coetzee and the Selous School for Boys 1942 yearbook from her rucksack and handed them to her mother. She watched closely as her mother frowned at the things she now held in her hands.

‘Is this wise?’ her mother asked. ‘Should you be working so soon after …’ She let her voice trail off.

‘So soon after what, Mother?’ Saskia taunted. ‘So soon after your husband’s actions secured a place for me in the madhouse?’

The framed picture and yearbook slipped from her mother’s hands and Saskia moved swiftly to catch them before they fell onto the floor. As she placed them in her rucksack, she wondered why she was still taking so much care.

Her mother began rocking back and forth and the beautiful painting of the sunset came crashing down.

‘Look, Mother,’ Saskia said, pointing at the sudden black night beyond the window. ‘The darkness is already upon us.’

As Saskia walked out of the house, she heard her mother call out, ‘Sassie … Sassie … Sassie!’

Saskia did not turn around. Sassie was not her name. Sassie was the name of a girl. It had been a very long time since she had been a girl.

Joseth

JOSETH