Philida Read online

  So easy?!

  I’m not saying it will be easy. But we got to see what that Gariep look like. We got to find out for ourselves. The way Floris tell it, I don’t know if it’s going to be all good and wonderful. But unless we make sure in time, we’ll still be here when we die.

  And you think you can go and speak to the Meester?

  Yes, I do.

  And the very next afternoon, when Meester de la Bat comes home from his office, I go to him.

  Yes, Philida, what do you want?

  I tell him about what Labyn and I discuss. That we must go to the Gariep to see what it look like. Then we can come back here and talk again.

  It turn out like Labyn say: the man will not listen to anything. When I tell him we need a pass to go to the Gariep, he look at me as if I am now mad in my head. But I keep on: Before we know what is for us at that far place, we can’t do nothing and we can’t go nowhere.

  He sound ready to get difficult: And what if I say no?

  Then we shall just have to go without a pass, I say.

  Philida!

  I shrug my shoulders. This is not how we want to go, Meester. We want to stay with the law. But we got to go and that is how it is.

  How do I know that you’ll ever come back?

  I shall give the Meester my word.

  And you want me to just believe you?

  Yes, I say. Why not? Did I ever lie to the Meester?

  Then he say what Labyn told me was coming: Do you know what I paid for you and your two children?

  Yes, Meester, I say. One hundred and twenty-three pounds two shillings and sixpence. That is my price.

  He stare at me, blinking his eyes. Yes, that is so. I see you kept your ears open at the auction.

  I do not answer.

  And suppose you go away and stay away, how will I ever get my money again, Philida?

  I told you mos I will come back, Meester de la Bat.

  We will talk again, he say quickly and he turn round and go into the house.

  In the early evening we can hear him and his wife arguing in the kitchen. Their voices get loud. But Labyn and I and Floris and Delphina remain sitting very quietly on a bench in the backyard, listening but not talking. The children are lying like little mice, Lena with a small stuffed doll I make for her, Willempie with two short offcuts of wood. Kleinkat is with us too, playing with a cricket she catch.

  So ordinary, so everyday, I think, it is when one’s whole life is decided by other people. And that is precisely what I got enough of.

  I still don’t know what would have happen then. For five, six days there is nothing from the big house. It is mos not for us to decide, is it? The way it always been, as if that Blue Monday never happen. But then there is something no one could have expected. Like when you sit fidgeting with a tuft of wool that Kleinkat unravelled: you struggle for hours, sometimes for a whole day, and nothing happen, but then suddenly you get hold of a loose end, and you pull at it, and everything unwind and your thread is untangled, all the way. What happen this time is that an unexpected visitor turn up from the Caab. A young man in a black broadcloth suit with a top hat on his bony head, as thin and yellowish white as a gut that got scrubbed for making sausage, and he look pretty sick to me. Don’t know him from Adam. But it turn out he is called Jan Fredrik Berrangé, and he is on his way to a village far inland, Driefontein, where he want to talk to the people before he travel away over the sea to study as a dominee.

  A lot of talking to and fro until sometime in their discussion he ask about the slave girl Philida, which of course is me. At first I want to find out which way the wind blow, but I’m curious at the same time, so I go closer. That is when he take a whole bag of stuff from his saddle and give it to me. Not really a present, but things left to me by Ouma Nella. You can blow me over with a feather. A cardigan knit by Ouma Nella, more beautiful than anything my own two hands can make, all pale blue and yellow. And a pair of ivory knitting needles that I know since I was small, she always say she bring them from Java, and a snuffbox with a fine inlaid wooden lid. A heavy soup spoon she once find on the beach. A bolt of heavy red-and-white cloth. And a bamboo box half filled with coins: several handfuls of rix-dollars and seven gold pounds. Also a heavy golden ring that I remember from very long ago.

  Surely all of this can’t be for me? I ask.

  There was no one else she could leave it to, say the thin pale gutman. Francois Brink brought it to us when he heard I was on my way inland. I think you know he is engaged to my sister Maria Magdalena.

  Are they still to be married? I ask without meaning to.

  Yes, still, he say. But the Good Lord alone knows when. She keeps on putting it off, and nobody has any idea for how long.

  I feel a smile tugging at my mouth, but try not to let them see it.

  And how are things at Zandvliet? I ask.

  He shrug uneasily. Well, I suppose, he say. I prefer not to ask them too many questions. I hear that Oom Cornelis has got a bad pain in his fundament, he says it is his old man’s gland, and now your grandmother is no longer around to help, of course, and Tant Janna grows heavier by the day, she can barely walk, but they are all still alive by the grace of God.

  Then it’s good, I say. Now I’m in a hurry to look at the things he brought with him, but I don’t want the others to see how eager I am.

  It is only afterwards, in my room after I put the little ones to sleep, that I count my money in the pretty little box over and over, and change the pounds into rix-dollars. No, I soon discover, it is no way enough to buy my freedom, and certainly not Labyn’s. Not even if we add the golden ring to it. But there must be more than enough to leave with Meester de la Bat until I come back, to show him I am serious. I don’t think he can object now.

  Or can he? With white people one can never be sure.

  Well, possibly, yes, say the Meester when I offer him the money the following day. Then he look hard at me with narrowed eyes, and he ask, But what about the children?

  What about the children?

  If you leave the children with us we may think about letting you go.

  I can feel my mouth dropping open. All I can think of saying is: And will Meester give them a teat to drink? Or clean their bums when they shit themselves?

  He stare at me as if I winded him. Philida! How on God’s earth can you –?

  I just asking, Meester, I say. Now I begin to speak more freely, as I can see he is no longer quite so sure of himself.

  Meester de la Bat pull himself together like a rooster getting ready to crow.

  I think about it, he say very quickly and he get ready to go inside.

  At last I can breathe more freely again. Because I can see that it is all over. There is no crowing left in him.

  So the very next morning Labyn and I are told that we may prepare to leave for the Gariep. We can have the pass. The only condition is that we mustn’t lengthen the road by wasting time along the way, is that clear?

  Very clear, thank you, Meester.

  But what about Floris? I ask. We need him to go with us, he been there, he can show us the way. But when Labyn go to ask him, he say that he don’t want to go. Why should he? he ask. He been there, he know what he know. It’s up to the others who don’t know the way yet, to decide if they want to go or not. And Delphina don’t want to go anyway, she too scared, she will rather stay in a place she know well. She know she may be sorry afterwards, but for now she prefer not to risk it, this land is too big and too wild for her.

  And so we go to pack our bundles, just the most necessary stuff, because the road is blarry long and it’s only Labyn and me, and we still have to carry the children. Meester de la Bat hand over the pass, and there we go. The greatest sadness is about Kleinkat who must now stay behind. But it won’t be for long, I tell Nooi de la Bat, because I’ll soon be back. In the meantime Delphina will look after her, they already know and trust each other. What make me feel better is that at the last moment, as we shoulder our bundles to s
et out on our way, Kleinkat come from nowhere to lay down a small yellow flower at my feet. She do that every morning, a flower or a small branch or a beetle or a half-dead mouse she catch. On this morning it make me feel a kind of peace inside me, because now I know she understand what is happening and everything will go well for us.

  Just before we go, Floris come from the small room where he been working on some new velskoene, and offer me the little chameleon to take with me on my shoulder.

  Look after him, he say. He’ll take good care of you too. And make sure you bring him with you when you come back.

  Now we are ready to go.

  At the last moment we decide to look in at the Drostdy prison to take our leave, but at the gate to the backyard the guard who let us in the last time come out to tell us that old Ontong is no longer with us, he die quietly a few days ago, and so we decide not to ask about Achilles too, it is too sad to find out that they disappearing like this, one by one. So off we go. Out of the village, where we are lucky to be picked up by the driver of a mule cart who is off to the Bokkeveld to fetch some wheat on a nearly empty wagon. Once again, in passing, we greet Galant that we met the last time. This time we do not stop, but drive on along the Skurweberge as far as the turn-off to the farm Houd-den-Bek. From there the mule cart go on while we must turn right to the farm.

  At first I am not so sure, but Labyn insist that we must go. Too many ghosts around this place, I think. I know about ghosts, but the ones that haunt this place, I feel, still carry fresh memories of death inside them, and I’m not sure that it will be safe. But then I remember Kleinkat and her flower, and that make me decide to risk it after all. We follow the thin path to the farmhouse that squarely block it as if it don’t want anything to do with the outside world. As we draw closer, a lot of dogs in the farmyard start barking furiously. The back door open and a woman come out. She is thickset and carries a long muzzle-loader in her hands. Her hair is tied back in a long, loose plait. She is still quite young, yet her hair is completely grey.

  When we are still some distance away the woman put the gun to her shoulder and call out very sharply: Whoareyouwheredoyoucomefromwhatdoyouwant?

  This get on my nerves, but Labyn quietly take me by the arm and that make me feel calm again.

  Morning, Juffrouw, I say. I first wanted to say Nooi, but that is something I will no longer do.

  The woman give no answer. The rifle keep pointing at us.

  We are free people, Juffrouw, I call out. I am Philida of the Caab and this is Labyn from Batavia. We have a pass and we’re on our way to the Gariep.

  The Gariep do not run this way.

  We know where it run, Juffrouw, and we know it is far from here, but we are on our way. We just come to hear if Juffrouw got something to eat for the children.

  The woman look angry and scared, but more tired than anything else. I don’t think I ever seen any other person look so tired. She wiggle the gun tighter under her arm and say: I got nothing for layabouts. Get off my farm!

  We came to bring you news, Juffrouw, Labyn say.

  What kind of news? the woman ask with bad weather in her voice.

  It’s about Ontong, Labyn say calmly. He died.

  Well done, say the woman. Glad to hear that. I wish they’d all die.

  Ai, Juffrouw, say Labyn.

  You can stuff your ai up your backside! All of a sudden her eyes are full of tears. It’s not that she is crying, the tears simply streaming quietly over her hollow cheeks.

  There is a wild expression in her eyes as she start talking and cannot stop. My son Nicolaas and Galant grew up together, she say. They were inseparable, like two lambs of one ewe, a brown one and a white one. How could he do a thing like that?

  I have no idea why she talk like this to a stranger like me, but Labyn put his hand on my arm to hold me back. I am very sorry, Juffrouw, say Labyn, as if he is to blame.

  Voertsek off my farm! she suddenly shout. Or I’ll shoot.

  Behind her, leaning over the kitchen’s stable door, a big man say: What’s the matter, Cecilia? What is this scum doing here?

  Without warning, she pull the trigger. Not over our heads but straight at us. About ten paces to our left a small cloud of dust fly off the bare earth.

  We do not wait any longer. Labyn grab me by the shoulder and pull me out of the way. Little Lena start screaming like a little pig. The dogs barking like things gone mad. By the time we reach the road again, a second shot go off, but this time it is far off target.

  I want to shout something bad at the woman over my shoulder, but Labyn keep dragging me away until we are well out of reach.

  He mumbling beside me. I don’t even try to listen, but by this time I know his words well enough to make out what he saying: Al-lah leads the hearts of those who believe in him. Al-lah has knowledge of all things.

  And so we move on from Houd-den-Bek. Only Lena keep on sobbing. But Labyn give her Floris’s chameleon to hold and that make her feel better. A few more deep sobs, and it is all over.

  The children slow us down a lot. But why must we hurry? We know where we are going and we know we’ll get there, even if take a lifetime. At least it isn’t a treadmill like the one old Ontong knew. Step by step, day after day, we move on. Now and then another cart or wagon come along. Sometimes there are long days in between. On a specially busy day there may be two. Some of them stop to offer us a ride, which may be for a very short way, just to the next turn-off, or sometimes for much longer, for days and days.

  Once it is a very rickety little wagon, coming from behind. It don’t look as if it will get far before it collapse. On the front chest sit a small man, all shrunk from age and weakness and possibly hunger, as small and thin as a praying mantis, grey with dust and years. Next to him is a skinny woman in a worn chintz dress.

  Hokaai! the little man shout at his four thin oxen as he pull them up next to us. My brother, my sister, my children! he call in a voice like a thin little cicada. Where you going to?

  To the Gariep, I tell him. Is it still very far?

  For us it is far, he say. For the Lord nothing is far.

  And not for All-lah either, say Labyn sharply. He is everywhere.

  I don’t know anything about this Al-lah, say the small man on the wagon chest. But I know a bit about the Lord. If you like to know more, you can all get on the wagon, then we can talk, because the Lord called me to speak about him.

  For the children’s sake we can get on, say Labyn. But don’t talk too much, because they’re small and they get tired quickly.

  What about you? the driver turn to me. You women usually make better listeners.

  To tell you the truth, I answer, I hear more than enough about the Lord from the bloody Ouman I worked for on the farm called Zandvliet. I want to hear more about you. Please tell us who you are and what you doing in this Nothing-from-Nowhere?

  I am Cupido Cockroach, say the stick man. I am a missionary of the LordGod, on the other side of the Gariep, on the other side of Kuruman, on the other side of almost everything.

  And I am Philida of the Caab, I tell him. This is Labyn from Batavia, and these are my children, Willempie and Lena. We are on our way to the Gariep.

  I can take you in that direction, say Cupido. Not all the way, mind you, because I must turn off to go and look for a few of the members of my congregation that ran away. But perhaps a day or so.

  It turn out different. Because before we rode another hour there is a grinding, gnashing sound under the sad little wagon and we find it is a wheel that broke and fell out. There is no more time for talking about the LordGod and Al-lah. Just as well, I think afterwards, otherwise this little Cupido Cockroach would have talked us all the way to hell. All we got time for is to get down from the wagon so that the children can play with a dead toktokkie in the thin shade of a thorn tree while the woman Anna and I give a hand to the men to repair the wheel. This take us right through the hot afternoon to nightfall, when we prepare to sleep.

  Until the
break of day, and then we get up again to go on working, searching for wood to make spokes and patch the wheel together. In a way it is a good feeling to see the two men work together. Labyn, with a sore back, because he is not young any more, and the spidery little man with the stick legs. The stranger passes on the spokes for Labyn to fit. And by the evening of the second day the wheel can start wobbling again, following the oxen.

  First we got to test it to make sure that it work. Then the two men go off into the veld and return, a miracle, with a steenbok that the driver has shot with an arrow, and Anna and I skin the little thing and roast it on a fire and one way or another we all share the bit of meat. Afterwards we sleep in a circle around the dying fire, our filled stomachs turned to what is left of the flames and the embers, until it get light again. At the first light of the dawn we get up.

  We women embrace. The men shake hands. One of them say, May God go with you. The other one say, May Al-lah go with you.

  Then we go our separate ways without needing to talk any more – Cupido and Anna on the shaky little wagon, following the oxen that are so thin it seem the daylight must shine right through them; and the two of us with the children, towards the Gariep.

  After a while I start laughing quietly to myself.

  Why you laughing, Philida? ask Labyn.

  And I say, No reason, Labyn. Just about you two men.

  What so funny about us?

  Nothing, Labyn. It’s just that when the two of you meet, it was just God and Al-lah all the way. I thought there was a hell of a lot of talk coming to us. But in the end it was only the fixing of the broken wheel.

  That is Al-lah’s way of working, say Labyn.

  And I suppose if you ask Cupido he’ll say it’s the LordGod’s way of working.

  As long as the wheel turn, he say with a little laugh. Then we all get to where we want to be.

  Who know? I say.

  And then we move on again.

  On our long walk Labyn talk about many things. Sometimes I wonder about his stories. But in the end it always get back to the Gariep that we are going to.

  You can say it’s our Promised Land, Labyn like to say. You remember that Al-lah showed Moses how to trek through the desert? We just got to go on and not give up.