And their car: a driver in it, another white man, the engine purring to life as they got in and pulled the doors shut.

And then: a silent journey in the car along the street, through other streets, circling, to Corlett Drive. Some tense words as they passed some parked cars. Then, past them. And a small, wry joke.

A traffic light. A slow traffic light. Another. And another. Out of the suburbs soon and on the main road, then the highway’s yellow lights. And soon enough, the lights of Johannesburg behind them. Joseph turning around to see, because he would feel free then, perhaps free. Some kind of freedom, at least.

To Soweto, into Soweto: its houses and houses, low and dim, lit with paraffin lamps in small windows, the rutted roads, narrow, the smell of coalfires. Joseph felt more at home there than he did anywhere. I see that, I understand that, now.

The car would draw up to a house, parking along the rutted road, its engine turning off. Silence. The bark of a dog.

And then: a low doorway, a small room, well-lit, smoke-filled. Exclamations of welcome, handshakes. Some joking, then. How you get here, man? It’s alright your place still? It’s alright, it’s alright, Joseph would say, his glasses glinting as he turned. A smile.

Then: hot curry in a styrofoam box, its meat, meat at last, its soaked white rice. Joseph eating, eating as he listened, listened. Or a plate of stew carried in from the neighbour’s house. The scrape of a spoon against a metal plate. Some talk about small things; more jokes. A smoke, then; drawing that smoke into his lungs. Joseph was not usually a smoker. A beer.

And finally: to work. The charts, the papers pulled out. Maps of things: of power stations. Of mines.

To bomb the whole thing, the whole system, to the ground, the whole fucking thing. Bring it down, bring it burning down.

I felt the fury of those nights. I was with them. I lay awake in my bed next to Howard and urged them on, in my mind.

Bring the fucking thing down.

Howard slept.

BUT I MENTIONED amends. I felt I must make amends for my coldness. I went down that day and knocked on Joseph’s door. Again, right away he opened the door, and was in the doorway. Jacqueline, he said, come in. And I stepped in. I’m so sorry, Joseph, I said, we’ve had a bad winter, all of us sick. I’m so glad you’re better, I said. And I smiled. He was still wearing his navy sweater, and a white collar I saw beneath it, at his neck. His beard was groomed, still groomed. His hair, groomed too.

Does someone cut your hair, Joseph, I said. It was such a strange thing to say, I felt embarrassed at once. Why had I said that, where did it come from? I hadn’t planned to say it. He looked astonished, then he laughed. He really laughed. And I laughed too.