And one day in the newspaper: an incident at a power station on the Vaal dam. Sabotage. I’d seen that power station too, from the car as we drove to Villiers. A vast complex thing, it powered Johannesburg, from that great brown river that I knew and feared. It was some kind of explosion, and a man was injured this time. A labourer, a Black man. I read that — that last — in anguish.

This was going nowhere, I thought. And then I worried about that: that the work, Joseph’s work — the resistance — was all in vain. All this danger, all these attacks, would come to nothing. Nothing. Stasis, more stasis.

Howard was busy at work, his practice was growing all the time. He was preoccupied and tired when he came home, so I never told him about my fears, my new fears. He said again that I looked thin, was I alright? Fine, I said, just busy, busy with the painting. The painting is bothering me, I said.

This, as you see, was only partly true.

I DIDN’T GO to the garden room again to see Joseph. I had no excuse, no reason, I thought. It had become cold then and I’d think about the flimsy heater in the stone room. I’d think of the sharp mornings, white frost on the grass. I imagined the red element of the heater, scorching hot if you went too close. I worried it would burn out, just die, but then I worried it would malfunction and cause a fire. There were accidents with heaters like that.

One night I dreamed of a vast conflagration, an explosion of raging flames, and destruction, destruction, in its wake. I woke with the taste of ashes, ash, in my mouth.

I hoped Joseph had warmer clothes, I worried about it. I asked Emily to make sure, to ask him. I gave her another blanket for his bed, a thick wool one, I said, just give it to him, Emily, even if he says he doesn’t want it. Emily nodded, and later I watched her walk carefully down the grass with the folded blanket, the winter grass yellow now. Emily herself in a beige cardigan. I’d given her that cardigan, an old one of mine, and it strained, strained, against her shoulders and rounded arms, against her back, I watched as she walked. Perhaps I should buy Emily her own cardigan, one that fits her, I thought then.

And Emily told me, yes ma’am, he has a sweater, he’s always in his navy sweater now. He wears a wool cap also, she said. This was a new image for me to carry, in my mind.

And one day as Emily and I stood in the kitchen, I making a list for the grocery order (more, more cheese, because of Joseph), Emily told me Joseph had seen his wife. He told you? I said. Yes ma’am, he told me his comrades make places where he can meet his wife, they take him. This is very good, ma’am, she said, is very good. She nodded emphatically. That is wonderful, Emily, I said, that is wonderful.