by Irma Joubert
ACCLAIM FOR IRMA JOUBERT
Advance Acclaim for Child of the River
“Irma Joubert is known to transport her readers to another world. In Child of the River, she masters her craft, weaving a page-turner that shapes our souls. With each scene, we learn something new, not only about the darker side of humanity, but also about the resilience of the human spirit. Filled with lessons of grace and love, forgiveness and fortitude, Child of the River is a story that reminds us all to hold steady through life’s most fragile hours.
—JULIE CANTRELL, NEW YORK TIMES AND USA TODAY BESTSELLING AUTHOR OF INTO THE FREE, WHEN MOUNTAINS MOVE, AND THE FEATHERED BONE
The Girl From the Train
“Readers will adore intrepid Gretl and strong Jakób in this story of war, redemption, and love.”
—PUBLISHERS WEEKLY
“Joubert reminds readers how love triumphed over the difficulties faced by WWII survivors as they navigated new boundaries, revised politics, and the old faith prejudices that defined post-war Europe.”
—CBA RETAILERS + RESOURCES
“Right from the start, Joubert sets up a palpable, tension-filled atmosphere and visually striking landscape. Mixing factual events with fiction, Gretl and Jakob offer interesting viewpoints on the world around them.”
—RT BOOK REVIEWS, 4 1/2 STARS
“Richly imagined and masterfully told, a love story so moving it will leave you breathless. And deeply satisfied.”
—TAMERA ALEXANDER, USA TODAY BESTSELLING AUTHOR OF TO WIN HER FAVOR AND THE INHERITANCE
“A riveting read with an endearing, courageous protagonist . . . takes us from war-torn Poland to the veldt of South Africa in a story rich in love, loss, and the survival of the human spirit.”
—ANNE EASTER SMITH, AUTHOR OF A ROSE FOR THE CROWN
“Captivating. Emotional and heart-stirring. Joubert masterfully crafts every scene with tenderness and hauntingly accurate detail. It’s a stunning coming-of-age novel that packs emotion in a delicate weave of hope, faith—and the very best of love.”
—KRISTY CAMBRON, AUTHOR OF THE BUTTERFLY AND THE VIOLIN AND A SPARROW IN TEREZIN
“A fresh voice and a masterpiece I could not put down—one I will long remember. ”
—CATHY GOHLKE, CHRISTY AWARD WINNING AUTHOR OF SECRETS SHE KEPT AND SAVING AMELIE
“The Girl From the Train is an eloquent, moving testament to love and its power to illuminate our authentic selves.”
—SHERRY JONES, AUTHOR OF THE SHARP HOOK OF LOVE
ALSO BY IRMA JOUBERT
The Girl From the Train (Available in English)
© 2016 by Irma Joubert
All rights reserved. No portion of this book may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means—electronic, mechanical, photocopy, recording, scanning, or other—except for brief quotations in critical reviews or articles, without the prior written permission of the publisher.
Published in Nashville, Tennessee, by Thomas Nelson. Thomas Nelson is a registered trademark of HarperCollins Christian Publishing, Inc.
Thomas Nelson titles may be purchased in bulk for educational, business, fund-raising, or sales promotional use. For information, please e-mail [email protected].
Scripture quotations are from the King James Version.
Publisher’s Note: This novel is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are either products of the author’s imagination or used fictitiously. All characters are fictional, and any similarity to people living or dead is purely coincidental.
Translation: Elsa Silke
ISBN 978-0-7180-8309-0 (eBook)
Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data
Names: Joubert, Irma, author. | Silke, Elsa, translator.
Title: Child of the river / Irma Joubert; [translation: Else Silke].
Other titles: Pérsomi. English
Description: Nashville, Tennessee: Thomas Nelson, 2016. | Includes glossary of terms used and definitions.
Identifiers: LCCN 2016019360 | ISBN 9780718083106 (paperback)
Subjects: LCSH: Young women—South Africa—Fiction. | Women, White—South
Africa—Fiction. | GSAFD: Bildungsromans.
Classification: LCC PT6593.2.O8314 P4713 2016 | DDC 839.3/636—dc23 LC record available at https://lccn.loc.gov/2016019360
16 17 18 19 20 21 RRD 7 6 5 4 3 2 1
To my son Wikus
CONTENTS
GLOSSARY
PART I
ONE
TWO
THREE
FOUR
FIVE
SIX
SEVEN
PART II
EIGHT
NINE
TEN
ELEVEN
TWELVE
THIRTEEN
FOURTEEN
PART III
FIFTEEN
SIXTEEN
SEVENTEEN
EIGHTEEN
NINETEEN
DISCUSSION QUESTIONS
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
SOURCES
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
ENJOY AN EXCERPT FROM IRMA JOUBERT’S THE GIRL FROM THE TRAIN
1
GLOSSARY
biltong—lean meat, salted and dried in strips
bioscope—an early form of motion-picture projector, which came into use during the early twentieth century
Blacks—an ethnic label for dark-skinned people of pure African origin. One of the four main racial groups (Blacks, Coloureds, Indians, Whites) defined politically during the apartheid era. Used interchangeably with the term “native” during certain periods of South African history.
Boer—inhabitant of the Transvaal and the Free State in the time of the Anglo-Boer War; a white, Afrikaans-speaking person
Boer War/Anglo-Boer War—The Second Boer War was fought from October 11, 1899, to May 31, 1902, by the United Kingdom against the South African Republic (Transvaal Republic) and the Orange Free State. The war ended in victory for Britain and the annexation of both republics.
Brandwag, Die (The Sentinel)—a weekly Afrikaans magazine discontinued in 1965
bushveld—a subtropical woodland ecoregion of southern Africa that encompasses most of the Limpopo Province and a small part of the North West Province of South Africa
bywoner—sharecropper
Coloured—an ethnic label for people of mixed ethnic origin who possess ancestry from Europe, Asia, and various Khoisan and Bantu ethnic groups of southern Africa. Not all Coloured people share the same ethnic background. During the apartheid era, in order to keep divisions and maintain a race-focused society, the government used the term Coloured to describe one of the four main racial groups identified by law: Blacks, Whites, Coloureds, and Indians.
coolie—during the nineteenth and early twentieth centuries, a term for a locally sourced unskilled labourer, mainly from the Indian subcontinent or South China; used pejoratively in midcentury South Africa to describe inhabitants of Indian descent
dominee—reverend, clergyman; also a form of address
dung floor—a mixture of sand and soil, with cow dung added to make the mixture hard and smooth
Eyetie—a derogatory term for an Italian that came into use during World War II, when Italy joined forces with Germany
Khaki—British soldier; derisive term for any Englishman
kloof—a steep-sided wooded ravine or valley
kraal—an enclosure for cattle or other livestock surrounded by a stone wall or other fencing, roughly circular in form
longdrop—an outdoor nonflush toilet with a long shaft dug into the ground underneath to collect waste
lowveld—the name given to the area that lies at an eleva
tion of between five hundred and two thousand feet in the South African provinces of Mpumalanga and KwaZulu-Natal
matric (matriculation)—the final year of high school and the qualification received on graduating from high school
mealie—maize
Nagmaal—Holy Communion
native—pre-apartheid term for dark-skinned people of pure African origin. The term was loosely defined in the 1903 Intercolonial Conference as “embracing the present and future status of all aboriginal natives of South Africa.”
oom—uncle; also a form of address for any older man
ouma—grandmother
oupa—grandfather
phthisis—pulmonary tuberculosis or a similarly progressive systemic disease
Red Tabs—South Africans who volunteered to fight Hitler’s African armies, so called because of the red strips of cloth attached to their uniforms
riempie—a thin strip of softened leather used for the backs and seats of chairs and benches, for shoelaces, and as string
rusk—a hard, dry biscuit
serenade—Young men from university in midcentury South Africa would often strum a guitar and sing below the girls’ residences and serenade, usually for the benefit of their love interests, and the girls would perch in the windows and flicker their lights in appreciation. Later, this practice evolved into an annual competition between universities across South Africa.
tickey—On February 14, 1961, South Africa adopted a decimal currency, replacing the pound with the Rand. The term tickey is applied to both the 3d and 2½c coins.
Tommy—an ordinary soldier in the British army; any Englishman
Tukkies—informal name for the University of Pretoria or its students
Vaderland, Die (The Fatherland)—Johannesburg-based daily Afrikaans newspaper, 1936–1988
Van Riebeeck, Jan—Dutch colonial administrator and founder of Cape Town
veldskoen—a rough shoe of untanned hide
Voortrekkers—Dutch pioneers who journeyed to the Transvaal in the 1830s to escape British rule
Wits—The University of the Witwatersrand, Johannesburg, is the third-oldest South African university in continuous operation. Wits has its roots in the mining industry and was founded in 1896 as the South African School of Mines in Kimberley.
PART I
ONE
JULY 1938
ONE WINTER’S MORNING WHEN PÉRSOMI WAS ELEVEN, HER brother Gerbrand said out of the blue: “Ma, I’m going to Joburg. To find a job in the mines.”
Pérsomi stood in the feeble winter sun just outside the back door, her back pressed to the wall, her bare toes burrowing into the gray sand. Gerbrand stood in the doorway. If she reached out her hand, she could touch him. But she didn’t. Gerbrand didn’t like being touched. She knew, because he and Piet shared a mattress, and if Piet happened to come too close, Gerbrand let fly with his fists. Piet was older, but Gerbrand was stronger.
“Heavens, Gerbrand, fetch some water and stop making up stories,” said her ma. Baby was fussing and Gertjie had been coughing all night. Ma was exhausted and her patience was wearing thin.
Gerbrand turned without taking the bucket. In his hand was a bag, the kind Mr. Fourie used for the oranges. Through the mesh Pérsomi could see his flannel trousers, white shirt, and battered school shoes. She didn’t see his sweater and feared he would get cold. But she didn’t say anything, just followed Gerbrand on the rocky footpath down to the river.
Piet came walking up from the river. He stared at Gerbrand, challenging him with his gaze. Who would step aside first? Piet was eating a tangerine, dropping the bright orange peel on the gray stones and the sparse grass as he walked.
They never went hungry in winter. There were plenty of oranges and tangerines in the groves. Not that they were allowed to pick any, but if you reached deep into the prickly inside of the tree, Mr. Fourie would never know.
Gerbrand went right up to Piet and looked him in the eye. “If you so much as lay a finger on Pérsomi while I’m away, I’ll kill you when I get back,” he said. Then he pushed past Piet and continued. Pérsomi gave Piet a wide berth.
Near the river, Gerbrand turned and looked at her. “If Pa wants to hit you, or touch you in any way at all, run for it. Even at night—just run. You can run fast, you’ll have no problem getting away.”
Pérsomi nodded. She wasn’t afraid. “Ma can’t run fast,” she said.
Gerbrand shrugged. “I can’t stay here any longer, please understand. But one day I’ll come back to fetch you.”
“When?” she asked.
“As soon as I’ve saved enough money. Go home now.”
“When will you be back?”
But he didn’t answer, just slung the bag over his shoulder and crossed the river, jumping from one stone to the next to keep his feet dry. She watched until his copper-colored head disappeared among the orange trees.
Pérsomi sat down on a flat rock and stretched out her legs. The sun struck bright sparks from the water at her feet. The rough body of the mountain, her mountain, came slowly to life in the early morning sun.
In Joburg men are swallowed by the mines, her uncle said. She hoped the mines wouldn’t swallow Gerbrand.
After a while she picked two tangerines and walked up the mountain. Just below the baboon cliffs she sat down and peeled the first one. Her mouth filled with saliva as she anticipated the first sweet bite into the juicy, sun-ripe fruit.
Mr. Fourie’s farm lay below her, between the toes of her mountain. To the left the mountain split open and she could see the river, the Pontenilo, winding like a thin ribbon through the trees, occasionally forming shallow pools between its sandy banks.
On the side where the sun went down lay the brakrant, a stony ridge, cleared and plowed years ago in an attempt to grow some kind of crop. But the soil was poor and rocky and faced west, and salty patches rose to the surface from deep below. “This soil is good for nothing, and everything burns to a crisp in the bloody afternoon sun,” her pa always complained. “I work like a slave to try and make a living here.”
Her ma would try to calm him. “Mr. Fourie treats us well. Where would we go if he told us to leave?”
But her ma had better watch out, or she’d get her face slapped. Or worse, she’d get the strap. Her pa took no nonsense from woman or child.
Against the brakrant was their home. It stood in the open veld with no trees to provide shelter, its two small windows staring blindly into the sun. The surrounding land was bare and stony, with not a sprig of grass in sight. To the right, the soil had been dug over, and the scorched earth lay with its insides exposed to the sun.
Pérsomi knew exactly how hard that soil was. At the end of winter the small field had to be tilled to plant mealies. Because he was the strongest, Gerbrand would stand on the plowshare, forcing it down into the earth. Pérsomi would walk ahead, tugging at Jeremiah’s halter to coax him up and down the rows. Old Jeremiah was lazy and stubborn, as only a donkey can be.
Now that Gerbrand was gone, Sissie, who was fatter than anyone else, would have to stand on the plowshare.
To the right of a rocky outcrop she could see the winding road. In the distance, where the sun came up and the earth stopped, the road drowned itself in a big dam. Far beyond the shimmering expanse of water lay the town. Pérsomi had never been there.
When the sun moved in behind the mountain and an icy wind began to bite through her thin dress, she got up and went home.
Their house consisted of two rooms. In the middle of the front room stood a wooden table and four chairs. Against the back wall, next to the door, was a stove, and beside it a wagon chest. An upside-down tea chest in the corner held the Primus stove and an enamel basin for the dishes.
The children’s mattresses were stacked under the table. Six of them slept in the front room: Piet and Gerbrand, Sissie and Gertjie, with Pérsomi and Hannapat on the third mattress.
“Why do I have to sleep with Gertjie? He coughs all night and he pees,” Si
ssie would complain nearly every morning. Then their pa would slap the side of her head to shut her up.
Pérsomi’s ma and pa slept on a proper bed with a mattress in the bedroom. Baby slept in a box next to the bed. A threadbare length of fabric separated the rooms.
The house was in permanent semidarkness. And the enamel basin was permanently stacked with unwashed dishes.
The one whose turn it was to do the dishes had to carry the basin to the river and wash the plates and mugs in a pool. The pots were the hardest. They had to be scrubbed with sand to get them clean.
“Sissie, go wash the dishes,” her ma would say.
“Ma-a! Why must I always . . .”
When this happened, Pérsomi ran away before she could be given the job.
Pérsomi knew exactly who she was: the child of a bywoner, a sharecropper on Mr. Fourie’s farm, the fourth and middle child of Lewies and Jemima Pieterse. She was tall and thin, with dark eyes and straight dark hair. She bore no resemblance to Sissie and Piet, who had inherited their pa’s short, stout figure and small, watery eyes. Or to Gertjie and Baby, who had their ma’s frizzy red hair. Hannapat was a good mixture of their parents, with her bulging tummy, thin legs, and curly ginger hair. Even Gerbrand’s hair was red, like their ma’s. Pérsomi looked different from the rest, presumably taking after her maternal grandma, who died a long time ago.
She attended the farm school on the boundary between Mr. Fourie’s and Freddie le Roux’s farms. Pérsomi, her cousin Faansie Els, and Irene Fourie were the only pupils in standard four. If there was one person in the world Pérsomi simply couldn’t stand, it was Irene Fourie. She had no defense against Irene’s sharp tongue.
“My ouma says Hannapat must knock on the back door when she comes begging for flour,” Irene said loudly as she took her seat next to Pérsomi. “And my pa says if he catches any of you lot among the orange trees again, he’ll chase you from the farm without blinking an eye. You and your miserable donkey.”
Only three children in the school, including Irene, were real children. The rest of them were the children of bywoners.