After the whispered message, Alice would turn and see the women watching her mournfully. In her agitated state she’d imagine their number multiplied a thousand times, hemming her in, and the smell would settle around her, pulling her down with strong, invisible hands. Above, her mother’s spirit would be flying round, beating its wings against the ceiling, drawing closer and closer to the window every day.

On the last day Lomba went to the hospital, the women were not there. He looked at Alice in surprise. Only her mother lay on the bed, snoring lightly in the stifling evening heat. She read his questioning look and pointed out through the window. They were out under the trees, taking some air. There were only himself and the mother and Alice in the room.

‘Alice,’ the mother whispered. In the two weeks since he first saw Alice outside the hospital, Lomba had watched her mother grow weaker and weaker, smaller and smaller, till she looked like a baby doll in the narrow hospital bed.

Alice went forward to the bed and sat on the edge. ‘Mother, you are awake.’

‘But not for long, I am afraid,’ the mother whispered. ‘Come closer, you too.’

Lomba moved closer. In the corner the incense burned furiously, as if trying its best to ward off the death that hovered determinedly in the air.

‘Alice… soon I’ll be gone…’

‘No Mum, don’t say that. The doctor…’

‘Forget the doctor. What does he know about death…?’ her voice trailed off. She closed her eyes, as if to sleep, then she opened them again; this time they seemed to glow with hidden vitality. When she spoke her voice was stronger, determined, like an old actor’s on his valedictory appearance. She reached out a tiny, bony hand and took her daughter’s hand. She fixed Lomba with her eyes. When she spoke, there was deep melancholy in her voice: ‘You are so young… and this world is full of falsehood… Before you know it, it is all gone, youth, laughter, all…’ Her voice wavered, like a flame in the wind. ‘I am glad you two are in love. Don’t play…’

‘Mother!’ Alice cut in, turning a half-amused, half-embarrassed look at Lomba. He avoided her look. Exhausted, the mother slept.

Outside, by themselves on the log beneath the nim tree, Alice began, ‘I am worried about Mother. This illness is affecting her mind. See what she said about us.’ She gave a laugh and shook her head. When he did not reply, she went on, ‘You were not embarrassed, were you?’

‘No, why should I be? I love you.’