‘We don’t expect her to come back,’ he told Jolly. ‘But one never can tell.’
Big Joe’s wife had run off one day with a man who regularly visited Corriebush, selling insurance. Big Joe had never given a thought to the idea that there might be a little bit of foxtrot going on between the insurance man and his wife, so when she went off with him it was an awful shock. They had always been very happy together, the three of them, or so he had thought. Of course, Sylvia was a good deal younger than he was – only nineteen when he had married her – and the women of Corriebush had warned him to think about it very seriously, but he was enchanted by her shy charm and youthful beauty; he really loved her, believed she loved him, and he was lonely, so whatever they said made absolutely no difference. Now he clearly recalled their words.
‘It’s not that we’re interfering, Big Joe,’ Anna had told him gently, ‘but we all care so much about you, and we hardly know Sylvia. She’s still so young, and we’re worried that if the marriage doesn’t work out, it will bring even more unhappiness into your life.’
Maria was more forthright. ‘She’s just looking for a man to get her off the farm,’ she told him. ‘It can’t be much fun for her, living on that place in the mountains with those old parents of hers. But why must she choose you, Big Joe? I don’t like it, don’t like it at all.’
‘She’s after an older man to spoil her with pretty things,’ Lily warned. ‘She’ll go through your salary like a knife through butter, just you watch.’
‘Big Joe,’ they had told him, one after the other. ‘You’re such a good man, you deserve only the best. A worthy woman with a heart of gold and never mind the pretty face. You’ve waited a long time since your wife passed on, you can wait a bit longer for the right one to arrive, can’t you? After all, you hardly know the young girl. And what about Jolly?’
Jolly was not like other children. He was no trouble at all, but he had a twisted leg and had never learnt to speak. His birth had been a difficult one, and Big Joe’s wife had died within a few days, after complications set in. That was ten years ago. Ten lonely years for Big Joe, and now at last he’d found Sylvia, and the women were causing a hell of a fuss.
‘I’ll tell you straight,’ it was Maria again. ‘I think it’s your looks. When you first arrived in Corriebush I said to Anna, “Anna,” I said, “I think Hollywood has come to town. Gary Cooper himself, with those crinkly eyes and long legs and the square jaw and shy smile.” In my opinion, she’s just got a crush on you because you’re handsome, and crushes never last, you know. Like falling stars. Here today, gone tomorrow.’
Big Joe had listened politely to all their dark warnings. He never argued, never contradicted. He just smilingly ignored them and went on his way, happy in the knowledge that for once he held a secret unbeknown to the well-meaning Corriebush women. It was this. Sylvia was no stranger to him. He had already known her for over five years, watched her mature and grow ever more beautiful, and was as sure of his love for her, and hers for him, as he was sure the sun would rise in the morning.
Sylvia was still a schoolgirl at the time of their first meeting one stormy April morning. He had been trimming the quince hedge that grew on the boundary of his garden, when he heard a thump on the pavement and a girl cry out in pain. Hurrying out, he had found Sylvia sitting clutching her knees, which were streaming blood, staining her white socks and trickling over her lace-up shoes, making little wet brown patches on the stony ground. She was crying and he picked her up and carried her into the house, sat her on a chair, and set about cleaning up the mess. He knew exactly what to do. He had done the same thing often, with Jolly. The water, the disinfectant, the Mercurochrome, the ointment, the plaster, it was all done in minutes, and by the time she had drunk a cup of sugar-water, she was laughing.
‘What happened?’ Big Joe asked. ‘And what are you doing out of school in the middle of the morning?’
‘I’ll tell you in a minute,’ she said. ‘But first let me thank you.’
And she gave him a smacking, childish kiss on his cheek.
‘It was in biology. Halfway through the lesson the teacher said “Oh dash it. I’ve left the experiment at home. Frog in a jar. Sylvia, liefie, run and fetch it for me – you know where I live, just ask my husband to give it to you. And hurry, I must have it before the bell rings.”’
Sylvia stopped and smiled. ‘I know your name is Big Joe. Everyone knows you, because … well, just because. And so, Big Joe, when the teacher said “Go”, I jumped. When you’re a boarder in a hostel you just love getting out of those gates. But once outside, I couldn’t run. I mean, it was such a lovely damp morning and I felt so free, walking slowly past the reservoir with the ducks, past the sign that reads – This Way To The Corriebush Mountain Path. Swinging on the Monkey Ropes Strictly Forbidden. Beware of Snakes. You know, that one?’
Big Joe nodded.
‘And then when I came past your house, I was looking up at the sky. There was this strange light that sometimes happens before a storm, it’s like an egg scrambled with too much milk – that colour – and you know there’s going to be a thunderstorm. I love it when it’s all over, and the birds start singing as though it’s early morning.’
‘And then you fell.’
‘And then I fell, and you fixed me up, and I’m going to be very late with that frog!’ And Sylvia jumped up, winced a little, then kissed him on the other cheek. ‘I’ll bring you some of Mam’s fig jam when next she comes to town.’ And she did.
After that Sylvia often dropped in, and Big Joe found himself really looking forward to her visits. They would have tea together, while she shared her scones with Jolly and chattered about school and exams. And then suddenly – it happened in one afternoon – Big Joe became aware that this girl was no longer the bouncy schoolchild he had first met. She was nearly seventeen, her school days were coming to an end, and Sylvia was on the brink of becoming a mature, serene and very lovely young woman. She still chattered about exams, her life on the farm and her hopes for the future, but at times she would fall silent and just look at him with those wide, honest blue eyes and he knew, knew even then, that in time this warm, sensual spark that was beginning to fly and flick between them would flare up and grow, and he knew that she knew it too.
But Sylvia’s parents had plans for their bright daughter.
‘The child must be qualified for something,’ they decided. ‘Can’t have her sitting here on the farm waiting for a man.’
So they sent her to the Technical College in Bloemfontein to take a secretarial course, and for a full year Big Joe did not see her.
And then one day he met her in town. Eighteen years old now, the course completed, and she was back on the farm for the December holidays. They were standing at the cake stall at the church bazaar, and she handed him a fairy cake she had just bought.
‘I’ve missed you,’ he said.
Sylvia gave him her open, frank look. ‘And I’ve missed you,’ she said.
Anna saw them. ‘Now just look at that,’ she nudged Maria. ‘Standing staring at each other. He doesn’t even see the cake. Something happening there if you ask me.’
Anna wasn’t wrong, and it wasn’t long before Big Joe had a long chat with the dominee.
‘I don’t know what to do,’ he said, embarrassed. ‘I see her and my heart just … my heart just stops. It’s not her beauty. It’s just Sylvia. I can’t get her out of my mind, and the trouble is, she feels the same.’
He knew, because she had told him. The week after Christmas she had come to his house, just as she used to do, sat down at the kitchen table, passed him a biscuit and then taken his hand between hers.
‘I love you Joe,’ she said simply.
They agreed that her parents should be told immediately, before any plans could be made.
‘But liefie,’ her mother said, ‘he might be the kindest, most handsome man in Corriebush, but for a girl of your age? This is a shock, a big shock. Wait a few years – at eightee
n a girl often doesn’t know her own mind.’
‘I do know my own mind, Mam, and I want your and Pa’s blessing. I have always done as you said. Studied hard. Gone to college. Never let you down in any way.’
They could not deny that she had never given them a moment’s anxiety.
‘I know he’s twenty years older than me, but does that really matter?’
‘Perhaps he won’t ask you,’ her father volunteered.
‘He already has. And I don’t think you can imagine how much I longed for him when I was at college. I thought of him all day and every day. I couldn’t wait to finish and come back and then, when I did come back and go to town with you, I used to look for him all over – the Corner Shop, the butcher, I even used to walk past his house, up and down, and when I did see him I used to cry with happiness.’
‘She’s serious,’ her mother said.
‘Well, when did he propose then?’ her father asked.
‘At his front gate. I know it doesn’t sound very romantic, but it was.’
They had gone to town – she and her parents – to do some shopping. Sylvia had gone off on her own and had met Joe just as he was leaving his house. They both lifted the latch of the gate at the same time and he had held onto her hand.
‘Sylvie. When I see you my heart beats so loudly in my chest, I’m sure you can hear it and it embarrasses me.’
‘Joe. Let me feel.’
And she slid her hand under his shirt – right there in the street, and said, ‘Yes, I feel it. It’s exactly the same as mine.’
And then the two of them just stood, because there was nothing more to be said, and they did not mind who passed, and who saw. It was done.
‘He’s going to ask your permission, Pa, as soon as you’ve got used to the idea.’
‘I know his kind, salt of the earth,’ was all her father said.
And her mother nodded, knowing this to be true.
Early in the New Year, the announcement appeared in the Corriebush Chronicle under ‘Forthcoming Marriages’.
Big Joe offered to pay for the wedding reception, because he wanted to invite everyone in Corriebush. Naturally, they all accepted.
‘We have to stick by Big Joe,’ they said, ‘even if we wonder a bit about the bride.’
‘She’s sure to look very pretty, though, with all that blonde hair and the white satin that Nellie is running up for her.’
‘And at least he won’t have to cook and clean anymore, so that will go a long way.’
‘I just hope it’s not his handsome looks that have gone to her head. I must say, though, if
I were in her place, I would do the same thing, if you know what I mean.’
‘No, Sophia, we don’t know what you mean, but we hope she will prove us all wrong. The teachers tell me she was a shy girl at school. Never looked set for the city lights even with legs built to win a beauty competition. Very quiet, they said. The gentle kind.’
‘And he’s only twenty years older than she is, after all, and that’s not too bad. Knows nothing about housekeeping of course, what with all that secretarial stuff. One doesn’t need a typewriter to run a kitchen, but she’s young enough to learn, and he can show her the ropes. Maybe we will all be nicely surprised.’
And certainly, in the beginning, nobody could point a finger at Sylvia for not caring for Big Joe and Jolly. She spent a lot of time in the kitchen, always had fresh flowers on the table, and made lace curtains for the windows. They knew, because they made it their business to keep an eye on the goings-on.
‘We owe it to Big Joe,’ they said. ‘Don’t really know the wife yet, but we can check on her when we pass, and when we’re happy with what we see, we’ll pay a call. It’s not your regular marriage, remember, and we must let Big Joe know that he can always come to us if things aren’t working out.’
Big Joe was astonished by their concern. ‘Sylvia? Ag, she’s the happiest woman in Corriebush! Always whistling. When I get home she’s always there, whistling and singing and sweeping and baking, and sometimes she takes the broom and goes dancing all over the place. Always playing games with Jolly and always laughing, Sylvie is. She’s happy alright.’
Only once did he admit to Sam that his salary as a blockman could hardly keep up with the monthly bills. ‘But, after all, attractive young women like to buy pretty things, don’t they? Dress up now and again and go shopping? Nothing wrong with that, is there?’
‘Nothing wrong with that, Big Joe,’ Sam agreed.
‘And what if she does spend a bit too much on this and that? She brightens up the whole house with her talk. Full of chatter and jokes. Jolly and I can’t think how it was without her.’
Big Joe really believed that Sylvia was every bit as contented as he was, so her running off like that came as a dreadfully cruel blow.
She did leave a farewell note, however, written on the back of an old Christmas card. It read: ‘Sorry to do this, but I can’t go on. Don’t try to find me, I’ll send money.’
And she did, in the beginning, but then suddenly it dried up.
‘Perhaps she’s gone to Wales,’ the postman told Big Joe when he started waiting anxiously at the gate at the end of each month, hoping for a white envelope with a few pound notes enclosed. If Joe had not lost his job at the butchery, he and Jolly would have managed quite well. But Sam Smith, the butcher, decided to invest in some new, expensive machinery, which chopped and sliced and minced and completely took over Big Joe’s work, and Sam simply could not afford to pay him and pay off the machinery as well.
At a meeting of the town councillors, Big Joe’s plight was discussed. ‘The people of Corriebush always stand together,’ the mayor said. ‘And we all know what has happened to Big Joe. His wife has run off. He has lost his job at the butchery. And he has a young child to support.’
They all understood that Jolly would never be able to contribute, could never help his father. ‘I think we should make a job for Big Joe. The salary won’t be much, but I suggest we appoint him as the town’s nightwatchman.’
There was no crime in Corriebush, but that was beside the point, and they all agreed that it was a good idea.
Big Joe took to it at once. ‘You never know,’ he told Jolly. ‘I might come across a robber one night and then I’ll show him a thing or two.’
He set off at seven sharp each evening, and turned in when the sun rose. It was a long shift, but people were very kind. Almost every doorway cradled a packet of sandwiches or a flask of hot soup or a slice or two of cake, and he soon learnt to carry a small basket as well as his lantern, so that he could take some of the treats home for Jolly.
‘Chocolate cake and meringues for breakfast today!’ he would call, setting them out on the kitchen table. Or, ‘Blow me down if it isn’t half a roast chicken I’ve got here!’ They would have their morning meal together, and then Big Joe would check on the postman before going to bed. ‘Time to turn in now,’ he always said. ‘Have to be on my toes tonight.’
‘Of course I still miss Sylvie,’ he told anyone who asked, giving no hint of his real distress. ‘But I’ve fallen into the way of it now. And my job takes my mind off things.’
Big Joe never missed a single shift. Night after night his footsteps echoed down the lonely streets. He stopped at each house, lifted his lantern up high so that the golden glow rested on the front gates and garden paths, and then tilted it so that it swept the roofs.
‘Shame,’ they said, peeping from behind curtains. ‘Best watchman a person could wish for.’
He soon came to know all the sounds of the night. Knew who was having to get up to a new baby. Who was making coffee at strange hours. Which couple was having an argument in the bedroom. ‘Trouble brewing,’ he would mutter.
Big Joe often shared things with Jolly.
‘Boy, you should have seen the shooting stars last night! Falling like diamonds all over the place, just like Guy Fawkes!’ Or ‘There’s a porcupine eating Hester’s pumpkins, you know old Heste
r who lives near the church? I heard him snuffling away, shone my light and off he went, but I don’t want to be there when she sees the holes this morning.’ Or, ‘Purple ring around the moon again, old man. Never a good sign, that.’
One night he passed Sam Smith’s house just as Sam was latching his front gate. ‘You sound happy, humming like that Big Joe!’
‘Evening Sam. Yes, I hum when I walk. It’s one of the songs Sylvie used to sing, you know.’
Sam put his hand on Big Joe’s shoulder. ‘I’m sorry, man. We’re all really sorry and we’re also a bit worried that you are not getting enough sleep. I mean, working all night, like this?’
Big Joe shrugged. ‘It works just fine, Sam.’
He could sleep all day because he did not have to be concerned about Jolly. Unable to attend school, Jolly had always spent his days roaming the streets, perfectly safe and perfectly happy. Everybody knew him and was kind to him. People would slip him little treats, like lollipops and sherbert.
‘Hello Jolly, where are you off to this morning?’ And he would wave and give a crooked smile and lope off somewhere. Until the day Jolly ‘died’.
Right in the heart of the town, near the Corner Shop, grew an enormous oak tree. They called the tree The Corriebush Times, because any news of local interest would be printed on a sheet of paper and pinned to the bark at eye level, where anyone passing would be sure to see it. Concerts and bazaars, horse shows and beetle drives, auction sales and rugby matches, all the exciting events, and then the sad ones too. A funeral notice was quickly spotted because it was printed inside a black border. And one morning, there was this awful thing: Jolly’s death notice, and the time of the funeral that very afternoon. Jolly wasn’t dead, but only the two schoolboys who had nailed up the fictitious announcement knew this. Everyone else read the notice, except for Big Joe. Being asleep, he knew nothing about it.
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