Fig Jam and Foxtrot

by Lynn Bedford Hall

  ‘Luigi?’

  ‘Nellie. It’s Francois. He was thrown by his horse.’

  After the funeral Rosa went back to the farm, Springfontein.

  ‘She wants to.’ Mrs Castello raised her hands, palms upwards, shrugging. ‘Perhaps it’s best, for a while. She says she’s got things to keep her busy. Lots of animals to look after, and kind neighbours. Perhaps after a few weeks she would love you to visit.’

  ‘Of course.’

  They were sitting in the lounge at Springfontein, the ladies and Rosa. The two husbands who had done the driving had gone to smoke their pipes by the river after Rosa had shown them all round the farm, the stables, her flower garden, the river in which willow branches dabbled and in which she loved to swim. Now they were going to have tea. Rosa was pale, but composed. It was when Anna called her Rosatjie that she unexpectedly broke down. They let her cry, knowing there was much that she needed to talk about.

  ‘Frans was really good to me,’ Rosa began. ‘I know you’re all wondering how it came about that I married him.’

  ‘We know he was wonderful with horses,’ Lily said, thinking to help her along.

  ‘And this is a lovely home,’ Anna added.

  ‘And the young men in Corriebush were shy of you, so perhaps you were lonely?’

  ‘We know Francois often came to the shop. He was a cheese lover, I believe?’ Rosa nodded.

  ‘So you met him there and got talking and so on, and then one day he brought you out to the farm and asked you to marry him, perhaps under the willows at the river?’

  Rosa nodded again.

  ‘Well, we understand all that. But Rosatjie, why did you say yes?’

  ‘Money.’

  ‘Money?’ Lily and Anna repeated simultaneously.

  ‘Yes, money,’ replied Rosa.

  ‘My goodness. Now I don’t know what to say,’ said Maria.

  Nor did the others. Shocked into silence, they fixed their eyes on the patterned carpet, and sat waiting. Rosa started to explain.

  They were a close family, she told them. It was like that in Italy. Whole generations lived together, supporting and depending on each other. Being the eldest of the children she felt a particular responsibility to her parents and her brothers.

  ‘And so I married Frans because my father was having a big problem paying for my brothers’ education. Five of them, remember, and both my father and mother were working dreadfully hard. Pappa is getting old now, and sometimes he would just sit with his head in his hands and I could not stand to see him like that. I did not know what to do, I had not thought of a plan, but when Frans asked me to marry him I knew it was the answer to the problem.’

  ‘But child,’ Nellie found her voice. ‘Rosa dearie, how did you think this would help?’

  ‘He told me he would look after me and my family as well.’

  ‘And you believed him?’

  ‘Yes. I told him I would marry him if he would give me a certain amount of money each month for my family, and he did not hesitate.’

  ‘And did he? Did he keep his word?’

  ‘Never broke it, not once. Frans didn’t hold with banks, you know. He kept his money under the bed. At the end of every month he would unlock the trunk, take out a bundle of notes, and give them to me. He would squeeze my hand and say it was my salary. And I would take it to town and give it to Pappa and say I was doing really well, churning bucketfuls of our Guernsey cream, and selling fresh farm butter at the market. I don’t think he ever suspected a thing.’

  ‘And how were matters – you know, matters, like foxtrot and so on – between you and your Francois?’

  ‘Good, except that he was often away riding at shows … he was one of the best show jumpers in the country, you know. Sometimes he took me with him, but I really felt out of it, especially when some of his old friends asked if I was his daughter. I was happier here. Also, when he was away he would drink a little too much. I think that was why he came off his horse.’

  ‘Oh dear oh dear oh dear,’ Amelia sighed. ‘What a horrible thing we have here. Will you stay on the farm all alone?’

  ‘Oh yes. The staff is very good, and I can make a steady income.’

  ‘But my child, you’re twenty-two. This is no place for a young woman like you. Don’t you get lonely? Won’t you come back to Corriebush?’

  ‘Yes and no, Auntie Mel. Yes, I do get lonely, but no, I won’t come back. At any rate not until my father has enough money in the bank for my brothers, and his old age. Frans left the farm to me, and I know I can make it work. I miss him, though…’ her voice trailed off and she looked at them sadly.

  When they left, Rosa waved to them from the lawn in front of the gracious old homestead. The women called their husbands back from the river, and they drove to town without saying much, except that they had accomplished their mission.

  ‘So what happens next?’ Servaas wanted to know.

  ‘We must wait for a suitable period, maybe several months, before taking action. It’s the proper thing to do.’

  They were sitting over tea on Nellie’s stoep. Lily introduced the subject.

  ‘It is our duty to present her with a man.’

  ‘But there isn’t a single one in Corriebush. You can’t offer a young boy still wet behind the ears, after all.’

  ‘There’s Samuel,’ Maria offered.

  ‘Him? The one with the dress?’

  ‘It’s not a dress, Maria. It’s called a smock, and proper artists wear them so that their clothes don’t get spattered.’

  Samuel had arrived in Corriebush in a caravan, which he parked next to the river just outside the town. At first they had thought he was some sort of tourist passing through, but after several weeks had gone by and he was still there, they decided to find out exactly what his intentions were.

  ‘But how do you call on a caravan?’ they mused. ‘There’s no front gate, no doorstep, do we just stand on the bank of the river and shout, Yoo-hoo?’

  ‘Just so. And if that doesn’t work, we’ll throw stones into the water.’

  So they filled a basket with home-baked treats and, late one afternoon, strolled down to the river. They found Samuel outside his caravan, sitting on a chair in front of an easel, painting the sunset. When he saw them approaching, he rose and put his brush down.

  ‘No need to look so alarmed,’ Anna told him reassuringly. ‘We’ve just come to say, Welcome to Corriebush.’ She handed him the basket.

  ‘A little something for your supper.’

  ‘How very kind,’ Samuel replied. He lifted the cloth. ‘All my favourite things. Would you like to sit down?’

  The women looked round, and declined. ‘The grass is a bit damp at this time of day,’ Lily replied. ‘So we’ll just be off and hope to see you soon.’

  Samuel lifted his broad-brimmed hat and gave a slight bow. ‘Your town is beautiful, and so are you, ladies.’

  For a moment they were nonplussed, then Maria found her voice.

  ‘Well, arrivederci then, as they say.’

  Samuel waved them up the bank and then sat down again at his easel with the basket beside him.

  ‘He’s really strange, that one.’

  ‘Polite though.’

  ‘I still say he looks like a clown in that dress.’

  ‘I don’t know so much. With that little pointed beard and his fine moustache he’s not unlike Leonardo.’

  ‘Leonardo?’

  ‘You know, the famous artist. Also Italian, like Rosa.’

  ‘Oh yes, that Leonardo.’

  ‘Or Michelangelo,’ Amelia chipped in.

  ‘Yes, him too.’

  ‘Well, I say whatever he looks like – Leonardo, Michelwhatshisname or even Chopin – he’s definitely what you would call a bit odd.’

  ‘Odd or not, Daniel says he’s an asset to Corriebush, because dealers are coming from all over the district to buy his paintings. He signs them Samuel D, in the right-hand corner, and one day they might be worth a fortune
.’

  ‘Maybe. But in the meantime we have to decide about him and Rosa.’

  ‘He does seem a gentleman. No harm in him, and clever in his way. Perhaps we could get something going.’

  ‘I think we should have a little dinner party. We’ll invite him, and put him next to Rosa at the table, and see what happens. Perhaps the sparks will fly.’

  ‘Who knows? It just might work.’

  It didn’t.

  Rosa was at her most beautiful. She wore a low-cut white muslin blouse, a gold chain and dangly earrings, and she had swept her hair up so that it hung down in ringlets onto her bare shoulders. They made a striking couple, she and Samuel, sitting there side by side in the candlelight, and they were as quiet as mice. Just after the soup and before the roast, Rosa turned to him and asked about his painting, and he told her that Karoo landscapes were his speciality. Then, just before the pudding, Samuel asked her whether she had Liliaceae growing on her farm. She said she thought so, after which he quietly enjoyed his dinner, filled Rosa’s glass when necessary, admired Lily’s centrepiece of flowers and took his leave soon after coffee.

  The women were mortified, and came together the following day to discuss the affair.

  ‘We’ll have to think of another plan. Perhaps he’s too shy, with all of us around. We must get them together, alone.’

  ‘I’ve got it!’

  ‘What, Sophia?’

  ‘Rosa must have a party on the farm, and we’ll all go, and Samuel too.’

  ‘He can’t go up those mountains in a caravan.’

  ‘We’ll offer him a lift. Tell him we won’t take no for an answer, that he can take his paints along and we’ll set off early and he can do the sunset and the Liliawhatchamacallit. That’ll do it, the sunset and the whatsitsname, and some wine and a good dinner.’

  ‘Especially if we can find a way of leaving them quite alone. Even half an hour might be quite enough.’

  Somewhat to their surprise, Samuel agreed.

  ‘I told you, he’s a gentleman underneath. He looked quite pleased.’

  ‘Shame. I feel quite bad when I think of our plan. About what we’re going to do out there.’

  ‘Nonsense. We’re doing it for Rosa. In the end Samuel will thank us.’

  ‘Do you think we should tell our husbands about you know what?’

  Anna thought for a while. ‘Yes,’ she finally decided. ‘Else they might produce the missing tool, and spoil the whole game.’

  When Lily and Herman stopped to pick Samuel up, he stepped out of his caravan wearing a white silk shirt, tight black trousers, a kerchief loosely knotted round his neck, and a jaunty black hat on his head. There was no sign of his easel.

  ‘Looks like a flaming dancer,’ she whispered to her husband.

  ‘Flamenco, Lily.’

  ‘That, or a bandit.’

  Samuel greeted them affably, thanked them for their trouble, and sat silently in the back seat until Lily, who was delighted to have this chance to ask a few questions, opened the conversation.

  ‘You’re sure of a good meal tonight,’ she started off, turning her head to look at him squarely. ‘Rosa’s a wonderful cook.’

  Samuel smiled. She tried again.

  ‘What are you painting at the moment?’

  ‘A landscape.’

  ‘That’s nice.’

  ‘We’re getting nowhere,’ muttered Herman and in a very loud voice shot off a direct question. ‘Samuel, tell us straight. We’re all wondering. What are you up to, coming to Corriebush in a caravan? Sitting there on the grass all day on a stool with a brush?’

  Surprisingly, Samuel spent the rest of the journey telling them exactly what they had been longing to know.

  Speaking slowly, in his deep, gentle voice, he started by describing his childhood on his father’s farm near the Kruger National Park. He had loved the outdoor life, but had absolutely no interest in growing crops or breeding cattle. Right from the time he had been a small boy he had wanted to paint, wandering around the farm with his sketch pad and pencil. His parents were horrified. Being their only son, they had always assumed he would go to Agricultural College and then take over the farm when his father retired.

  ‘But it was my ambition to study painting and design at a technical college. They said painting pretty pictures was no work for a man, and so I left home and paid for my studies by working in a restaurant at night.’

  The course lasted three years, after which he set off on his own, travelling and selling his work wherever he could. ‘I was happy and fulfilled and slowly gaining a reputation by the time I reached Corriebush.’

  He had not, he said, intended settling here, but found it so peaceful a place with so much scope for his brush that he had decided to stay for as long as it suited him. ‘A man with unfulfilled ambitions is like a blown egg. Empty and ready to crack.’

  ‘That’s what I always say. Empty and ready to crack,’ nodded Lily.

  They were the first to arrive at Springfontein. The sun was just setting, the aroma of roasting lamb was in the air, and the lights that Rosa had strung in the trees were beginning to glow and light up the farmyard.

  As she came out to meet them, the rest of the party drove up, a whole convoy of cars arriving in a miasma of dust, hooters blaring, women waving, the drivers throwing screeching turns before coming to a halt in front of the stables. When they peeled out of their cars and trooped inside it was a sight to make even the stars smile: a clutch of excited, party-dressed women, all powdered and rouged and chattering like guineafowl. Their plump, capable legs were squeezed into nylon stockings like sausages into casings, they had all been to Hannah’s Hairdressing Salon to have their hair done, and their sweetness and laughter and perfume simply filled the night. Sophia tripped going up the steps. ‘It’s these blerrie high heels,’ she said. ‘I usually only wear them to church.’

  ‘Come Samuel,’ said Servaas, taking him by the elbow. ‘Once we get past this lot we can have a brandy.’

  The dining room was vast in the way that old farmhouse dining rooms always are, with a table that ran from end to end. Rosa, looking as inviting as a ripe peach, positioned herself at the top, and suggested that they all choose a chair and sit down.

  ‘This is it,’ Lily whispered.

  ‘Samuel,’ she trilled, ‘you sit up there, next to Rosa, because you’re the youngest man here and we’ll need you to jump up and pass the bottles and things.’

  It was too late. Servaas had already taken up the chair on Rosa’s left, and Daniel was about to sit down on her right.

  ‘I think I’m going to cry,’ said Lily.

  ‘All is not lost,’ whispered Anna. ‘We still have our trump card in hand.’

  The evening passed pleasantly enough, with much noisy conversation and clinking of glasses. But it was going nowhere with Samuel and Rosa, for they were seated at opposite ends.

  Just before coffee was served, Anna winked at Lily, and then stood up, saying quite unashamedly, ‘Excuse me, it’s the powder room for me.’

  Shortly after that, Lily followed. They met outside, in the dark, next to the stables where all the cars were parked.

  ‘I think this is how it is done,’ Lily muttered, bending down. ‘Yes, just a gentle twist. Now we’ll do the rest.’

  And one by one they visited each car, crouched down and loosened the valves on twenty-four wheels. Sighing gently as the air was released, the tyres settled onto the dusty ground with a whoof and a clunk.

  ‘There now. Flat on the ground like sleeping cows,’ said Lily, as they dusted their hands and went back for coffee.

  Just after midnight, Herman pushed back his chair. ‘A toast to Rosa, our hostess. We would all like to stay till morning, Rosatjie, but duty calls. Thank you from us all for a grand evening!’

  And they all raised their glasses, collected their coats, kissed Rosa warmly, and left. The men looked sleepy. The women were all smiling with their secret.

  ‘And now?’ Servaas stepped
back and looked at his back tyre. He bent down and prodded it, then crawled all around and tested each one, swearing more loudly with each discovery.

  ‘What’s up?’

  ‘Flat as pancakes. Every damn one.’

  Herman checked his. ‘Dammit Servaas! So are mine!’

  ‘And mine! What’s going on here? Anybody got a jack?’

  The men looked concerned and shook their heads, exactly as their wives had told them to.

  And then Rosa nearly spoilt everything by saying, ‘I think Frans had a jack.’

  They held their breath.

  ‘But it’s somewhere in the workshop and it’s too dark to see in there now.’

  ‘Oh much too dark,’ Anna said quickly. ‘We’ll just have to go on with the party, won’t we? Can’t travel with flat tyres, can we? Might as well party a little longer and hit the road when the sun comes up. If you can have us to stay a little longer, Rosa? Any more coffee?’

  Rosa was delighted, and gleefully they all returned to the dining room, which was looking a little dishevelled now with the dirty plates and crumpled napkins and half-dead candles.

  ‘What about a bit of dancing, Rosatjie?’ suggested Herman. ‘I see you have a gramophone in the corner there.’

  ‘Ah yes, I’ve got some records Pappa gave me – there’s Cosi fan tutte and The Barber of Seville and some Verdi.’

  They tried a whirl or two, but it wasn’t the sort of music they were used to.

  ‘Ag, no Rosa. If you have a spare room or two we’ll just go and lie down for a while, it’s close to sunrise anyway, and it’s such a warm night, we’ll just lie down on top of the quilts so you won’t have to wash anything.’

  Rosa showed the couples her rooms and gratefully they marched off and flopped down on the beds. Samuel and Rosa were left alone.

  ‘It’s working,’ Lily said to Herman as she kicked off her shoes and lay down.

  ‘It’s working,’ Sophia told Dawid and Nellie told Charlie, Amelia told Daniel and Anna told James.

  ‘If Samuel doesn’t grab his chance now, in the dining room, he never will,’ Maria said to Servaas. ‘He’ll never find another woman like Rosa, with her looks and sweetness and all those Lilythings to paint when he chooses.’