Tsotsi nodded.

Miriam turned away and he followed her into the room where she took the baby out of his coat and put it down on the bed.

‘What’s wrong?’

‘He wasn’t hungry.’

‘That’s not so!’ Miriam protested. ‘He’s more hungry than my Simon. Babies need milk. Did you give him the milk in the bottle?’

Tsotsi had sat down on a chair. ‘Yes.’ To his own ears his voice seemed to come floating from a long distance away. ‘I gave it to him. He threw it up.’ He remembered now and looked at his hands. The clotted milk had dried on his hands in white, flaky streaks. He started rubbing it off. The bedsprings creaked behind him as Miriam sat down beside the baby and began to work. Tsotsi turned and watched her. She knew exactly what to do. It was an all-enveloping satisfaction to watch her and the firm, assured movements of her hands.

‘Have you got any money?’

Money? Boston, sourmilk and bread. ‘No. No money.’ He heard the chink of coins in a cup and then her bare feet on the floor as she crossed the room. She was gone for about ten minutes. In that time he looked out of the door at the tub of washing with which she had been busy when he arrived. Beside it was a bucket piled high with twisted rolls of the washing she had already rinsed out. The thought of the cool water in the tub, of wetness against the skin, of something gurgling thirstily down the throat tormented him. Tsotsi found a bucket of water in one corner and a mug beside it. He took a deep drink and then went back to his chair.

Miriam returned with a small bottle. At the table where he sat she measured out a few tablespoonfuls of a dark brown liquid in a cup and then stirred in a little water.

‘Medicine?’

‘For the stomach.’ She fed it to the baby in spoonfuls and after that she gave him a feeding bottle full of milk. ‘A man doesn’t know,’ she said. ‘About babies there are things a man doesn’t know and can’t do.’ She paused and looked at Tsotsi carefully. ‘What is the matter with you?’

‘Nothing.’

‘Your eyes…’ He waited for her to finish. ‘You look tired.’

He shrugged his shoulders.

She dropped her eyes to her hand for a few seconds, then looked up suddenly. ‘Have you eaten? I’ve got some bread here.’

Miriam didn’t wait for an answer. Tsotsi took one of the slices smeared with dripping that she put down before him. After that she went and checked up on the baby. He was still drinking. Miriam sat down beside him on the bed and spoke from there.

‘When I first saw this little one, this baby David, and I knew what you wanted from me it was worse than if…’

Tsotsi was listening to her carefully.

‘You know,’ she asked.

‘I know.’

‘It was worse than that. Because I got a man. My Simon’s got a father. Only, we don’t know where he is—my husband—Simon’s father. His name was Simon too, and I been looking for him, for a long time. I been looking, but he’s just gone. So instead I find this little baby David one day in your room and when I knew what you wanted…you know what I thought. But what I want to say is this. I was wrong. Milk goes sour, you know. Mother’s milk goes sour too. Mine was. In me. In my tits. It was going sour with all the keeping of it, because Simon’s taking food now, and I got more than I need. You understand what I’m saying.’