Instead, she planted arum lilies and Strelitzia, which she called by its common name, bird-of-paradise. She was also partial to vygies in pinks and purples, and oranges and yellows, because they could grow in rocky areas and still flower spectacularly without much care.
“The garden needs some work,” I said. “Stompie hasn’t been able to manage it by himself, which is why it’s so overgrown. It’s on my list of things to work on.”
“So, you’re going to be staying?”
“Yes. I’m retiring here.”
He nodded, but when he didn’t say anything further, I rushed in to fill the silence. “Enough about me, tell me all about you.”
“There isn’t much to tell,” he said. “We still run the farm but we’ve branched out from agriculture into game farming.” His use of the word we could have referred to himself and a wife, or it could have encompassed his brothers, who all probably still had stakes in the family business.
What I really wanted to know was how life had treated him—if he’d gone on to marry, how many children they’d had, if he’d been happy—but he batted away my awkward attempts at steering the conversation in that direction. While he was guarded about his personal life, he chattered animatedly about the volunteer work he’d been doing with the Wits University scientists who’d been streaming into the Kromdraai, Gladysvale, and Sterkfontein areas over the past few years.
“At the Gladysvale caves, they’ve discovered the first hominid specimens, which are humanlike apes—our human ancestors, pretty much—that date back as far as 3.5 million years,” he said. “The fossil sites here are producing more hominin fossils than anywhere else in the world.”
His excitement took me back to our childhood—when I was seven and he was nine—and the time he’d crawled through a tiny opening into a limestone cave on their property. I remembered his feet disappearing into the black hole as he wriggled his way inside, and how his disembodied voice echoed to me from inside.
“Look,” Riaan had said as he pulled himself free of the yawning blackness a while later, holding up something yellowish that looked like an upside-down rhino horn, only smaller. “I think it’s a cat’s tooth.”
I had looked at it skeptically. It was much too big to be a cat’s tooth and that he thought otherwise annoyed me. I said as much, pointing out that a cat’s whole head was smaller than the thing he was holding up.
He’d laughed, which rankled me even more.
“No, not a house cat,” he said. “A saber-toothed cat. They lived millions of years ago.”
“With the dinosaurs?” I asked.
“I don’t know,” Riaan said. “But I’m going to find out.” He’d always had an insatiable curiosity.
“Delilah?” Riaan smiled nervously then, bringing me back to the present. “Am I boring you?”
“Not at all. Sorry, I was just remembering how much you used to love all of that stuff.”
Riaan flushed and then said, “I actually came here today to speak to you about the Coetzees.”
The abrupt change of subject was disorienting. I had thought he might segue into questions about my unexpected homecoming, but if he had any, he’d done a good job of suppressing them.
“The Coetzees?”
“Yes. Rumor has it that you’ve gotten on their bad side, and judging by the graffiti I saw outside, I’d say the rumors are true.”
“They’re terrible people,” I said. “And I refuse to pander to them.” It suddenly occurred to me that with all the time that had passed, Riaan was as foreign to me as my countrymen were. Just because he hadn’t been racist as a child didn’t mean he hadn’t grown up to be one of them. “Wait, you’re not part of their group, are you?”
“Of course not,” he said, looking affronted that I’d even ask. “But they’re a powerful family in these parts, not people you want to offend.”
“Then they should grow tougher hides so they aren’t so easily offended.”
“I heard they made an offer on the farm that you turned down. Sounds like Ruth was eager to accept it.”
“Yes, but like I said, I’m retiring here. I’m not in the market to sell.” I took a sip of my coffee, which had gotten cold. “I don’t see what the big deal is, anyway. So they don’t get our farm? So what? I’m sure there are plenty of other farms up for sale. Productive ones that will at least bring in an immediate income, unlike this one, which will need a lot of work.”
“They’re not looking for a productive farm, Delilah. They’re looking to open a canned-lion-hunting operation and have bought all of the surrounding property to that end. Yours is the one in the middle that links them all. It’s crucial that they have it for the breeding-and-hunting station they’re planning.”
“Canned-lion hunting? What’s that?”
“It’s a barbaric practice where lions are placed in caged areas for so-called hunts.” He scoffed. “It’s hardly a hunt since the animals have been raised in captivity and used in petting zoos. They have no fear of humans and then have nowhere to escape to beyond the confines of the enclosed compounds. They’re sitting ducks for the kind of people who don’t even have hunting licenses and generally don’t know how to fire guns, but who still want a lion-head trophy.”
“My God, that’s terrible! They’re effectively shooting tame, caged animals. I mean, how is that even legal?”
“It brings in tourism and big money.” He shrugged sadly. “Never underestimate the power of the almighty dollar.”
“Well, then I’m even happier that we rejected their offer!” I sat upright as something occurred to me. “Did Ruth know about this? The canned-lion-hunting thing?”
He shook his head to my relief. “No, they’ve kept it all very hush-hush and are hiding behind some consortium from what I understand. She wouldn’t have known.”
I was relieved but still couldn’t help but wonder if it would have made a difference to her if she had. “So, this isn’t a social call?” I tried for levity but it fell flat.
“I wanted to warn you what you’ve gotten yourself into,” Riaan answered. “The Coetzees are not going to just let this rest, because they need this property too much. Please be on your guard”—he nodded his head in the direction of the house—“the both of you. You have no idea what these people are capable of.”
CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE
Ruth
27 May 1994
Verdriet, Magaliesburg, South Africa
I’m not a big coffee drinker. I prefer my morning beverages to be healthier options like orange or tomato juice. Laced, of course, with something fermented or distilled for a bit of kick. So the first shock of the day is the bitter sip of the coffee I made myself. The second is seeing Riaan van Tonder walking inside from the patio and heading for the main door.
He spots me at the same time I spot him and blushes scarlet. Not much of a poker player, that one; you could see his tells miles away. I wink a greeting, which makes him color even more before he stutters a greeting in return. Silly boy should have slept with me when he had his chance all those years ago. I would have made him forget about Dee, I promise you that.
“Let me know if you need help with removing the graffiti,” he says to Dee before he’s out the door.
“Did he come by to pay you all that backdated child support?” I ask to see what kind of reaction I’ll get, and she rewards me by flushing. “Just kidding. Why was he here?”
“Sit down, Ruth. We need to talk.”
“As Meat Loaf would say, ‘you took the words right out of my mouth,’ because we absolutely do need to talk. I’ll stand, though, if it’s all the same to you.” She looks taken aback but sits down. “Would you like to begin, or should I?” When she doesn’t say anything, I jump right in. “Okay, I’ll start. I’m on my way to the orphanage to start proceedings to foster Angus.”
“You can’t possibly be serious?”<
br />
“I’ve never been more serious in my life.”
“Okay, let’s set aside the craziness of that for a minute. I told you—”
“Yes, I know, you can’t be around the baby, but since you won’t let me sell the farm and return to Cape Town with the proceeds, I’m now forced to stay.”
“Who’s forcing you to stay? If you’re so hell-bent on this stupid scheme, why can’t you take him back with you and leave me in peace?”
“I’m getting divorced—”
“Of course you are.” She snorts. “What is this now? Divorce four?”
“Three, actually, and what can I say? The fellas like me.”
“But still, why would you want to stay here? Why not take the baby and go back to Cape Town?”
“I’m a little strapped for cash at the moment, which is why I needed to sell the farm. No money from the sale means I have to stay here. So you know how to get rid of me, Dee. It’s very easy. Just sign off on selling it.”
“No,” she says, jutting her jaw out.
“I don’t see why you’re being so stubborn about this. Why do you even want to stay? My God, you couldn’t wait to get the hell out of here, remember?”
“How can you blame me for that, Ruth? After everything that happened here?”
“Oh, here we go again. Boo-hoo. Poor Delilah who was so hard done by. You weren’t the only one who had a shitty childhood, you know.”
“Oh, please. Everything was always so easy for you, Ruth.”
“No, it wasn’t.”
“Yes, it was. Do you remember when we used to play ‘the Princess and the Pea’ game? You always used to know exactly where the pea was and I never did. You were always the real princess, just like in the story, and I was the perpetual peasant.”
I laugh at the memory of it, something I haven’t thought about in decades. “Oh God, Dee. You were so easy to fuck with.”
“What do you mean?”
“I always repositioned the dressing-table mirror just before we played. I tilted it downward so I could see where you hid it. That’s how I got it right every time.”
“No!” Her face is such a picture of shock that I laugh.
“I can’t believe you never figured it out. Or that you even remember that.”
“Of course I remember it. It felt like the story of my life, the story of us. That I never quite measured up.”
And suddenly I’m not laughing anymore. “But you were Ma’s favorite. She adored you.”
“And you were Da’s. And everyone else’s.”
“I didn’t really care about everyone else. I cared about Ma. And I had to work for it, you know,” I say, “Da’s love. It didn’t just come naturally. I worked my ass off for it.”
“And it protected you from him. He never lifted a hand to you.”
I don’t need to ask her what she means. I saw him hit her more than once. I could have protected her if she’d just let me, but no. Like Ma, she always had to run her mouth off at him, provoking him.
Dee shakes her head. “You didn’t know him like you thought you did. He wasn’t a good man.”
“He wasn’t that bad.”
She holds up a hand to stop me. “I don’t want to hear it.”
“If you have so many bad memories here, then why stay? Why not just pack up and leave and start over?”
“I’m sick of leaving,” Dee says. “Can’t you understand that? This is my home and I’m staying, but you might want to rethink bringing the baby here.”
“No. You already got your way with the farm, I’m not—”
“Ruth, just listen to me for a minute,” she says, and then tells me about Riaan’s warning and what the Coetzees are up to.
So that’s why they’re willing to pay so much for an unproductive avocado farm. “You realize that we could use this as leverage, don’t you?” I say. “Make them up their offer even more?” She glares at me and I shrug. “What? It was worth a try.” I stand to go. “Now, please excuse me. I have an appointment at an orphanage that I need to keep.”
“You’re going to go ahead with it? Trying to bring a black baby to a place that’s being targeted by white supremacists?”
“Listen, I hate being bullied as much as you do, and I’m just as sick of running away from things as you are. Apparently, we’re both taking a stand.”
“But why this baby? Why now? If you wanted children so badly, why didn’t you just have your own?”
“Some of us weren’t given a choice in the matter despite how easy you think we’ve always had it.” With that, I pick up my handbag and walk out the door.
CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR
Zodwa
27 May 1994
Krugersdorp Mortuary, South Africa
Zodwa has been waiting for two hours in the mortuary queue when she finally gets called. She’s already been to two morgues and a funeral home in the Magaliesburg area, but none of them could help her. This is where all unclaimed bodies from the area are sent, she’s been told. It depresses her to think that there would be so many waiting for their families to fetch them and lay them to rest.
Zodwa borrowed the money for taxi fare from the township to Krugersdorp from Mama Beauty but lied about what she needed it for. It’s not that she doesn’t need money for food, but this is more important than eating.
The woman assisting her is white and looks to be too old to be working. She peers at Zodwa out of thick spectacles.
“I’m here to inquire about a child that died . . . to see if his body was brought here,” Zodwa says.
“A boy?”
“Yes.”
“What was the date of his death and how old was he?” She’s pulled out a form and is filling it in as Zodwa answers.
“Either the tenth or the eleventh of May, just after his birth. He would have been a day or two old.”
“Did he have any distinguishing features?”
“Yes, a birthmark on his left buttock in the shape of Africa.”
“And where was the body taken?”
The body. As though it’s a bag of stones or something else lifeless and lacking value. Zodwa suddenly hates the woman for her objectivity even as she envies it. How wonderful it must be to constantly be exposed to so much suffering and to sit safely in the knowledge that it isn’t yours.
She grits her teeth. “I don’t know.”
This gets a reaction out of the woman. She stops writing and looks up. “You don’t know what happened to the body?”
“My baby,” Zodwa says. “Not ‘the body.’ My baby.” The woman blinks at her and Zodwa keeps talking for fear that she’ll be cast out for insolence. “Please, madam. I don’t even know if my baby actually died. He was fine after his birth and then . . .” Zodwa trails off, not wanting to speak ill of Leleti even after her death but needing to explain her predicament. “He was taken away and I never saw him again. I was told he died.”
The woman sighs. “But you don’t know where he was taken or if he really had . . . passed?”
“No.”
“Can’t you ask the person who took him?”
Zodwa shakes her head, startled by the tears. “She died as well.”
To Zodwa’s surprise, the woman clucks and sets down her pen. She reaches for Zodwa’s hand and squeezes it gently. The gesture almost undoes her. “Ag, my child. It sounds like you’ve had a very rough time of it. Are you okay?”
Of all the places Zodwa might have expected to find comfort, it would never have been in this place with this woman. She nods but the tears undermine her answer.
“I’ll look at our records but I don’t recall a newborn being brought in then. I remember the babies, you see.”
And suddenly Zodwa understands that what she mistook for lack of feeling was this woman’s defense mechanism against feeling too much.<
br />
“Let me go see.” The woman leaves Zodwa for ten minutes and when she returns, she shakes her head. “There were older babies but no newborn males brought in. Have you checked the orphanages near the camp?”
“No.”
“Sometimes babies are taken there or they get abandoned and end up there. It’s worth a try.”
Zodwa closes her eyes and feels a spark of hope she never knew she was so desperately seeking.
Is it possible that Leleti took her baby to such a place? That she took her grandson away from her daughter because she thought he stood a better chance raised by strangers than by Zodwa?
I took him . . . He is gone . . . I did it for you and for him.
Zodwa grabs the woman’s hand, squeezing it hard before turning away. Hope is a trail of bread crumbs that she will follow.
CHAPTER THIRTY-FIVE
Delilah
4 June 1994
Johannesburg General Hospital, Johannesburg, South Africa
The nurse sounded panicked when she heard my voice. “Delilah? I didn’t think you were going to call today.”
I called the ICU every day at 7:00 a.m. but had slept in late that morning since I’d been doing a lot of worrying about things I couldn’t control: Daniel’s condition; the baby, whose homecoming was being expedited since the orphanage was so overcrowded; and the constant hovering threat of the Coetzee family.
They’d upped their intimidation tactics by leaving poisoned wild animals on our doorstep every few days, and the last one had been eviscerated, its innards trailing down the stairs. I was edgy all the time and the slightest noise outside had me up and peering through the curtains. Exhausted from the lack of rest, I’d finally fallen into a fitful sleep in the predawn hours, only waking just before nine.
“Rachel? What’s wrong? What’s happened?” I’d been on a first-name basis with the ICU nurses for a while.
“It’s Daniel,” she said. “His organs all started shutting down last night. They’re taking him off life support at eleven o’clock. I’m so sorry.”
If You Want to Make God Laugh Page 13