Read Online A Blade of Grass by Lewis DeSoto - Free Book Online Page A

his farm.
    Land is cheap here, especially so near the border, the troubled border, but that is why Ben can own a farm here, where so many are unwilling to risk a belief in the future. He rises to his feet and rests his hands on the shiny wire, careful of the barbs, and lets his eyes travel the width of his land. He is not naïve, he knows the risks, he knows the history, he knows that there are many who look upon him with envy, perhaps with hate. But Ben is also an idealist, and he believes that if he is fair, if he is just, if he is generous, then he will be understood, not resented, even respected. One day the ways of the country will change, and fair, just men who can farm well will be appreciated, even desired.
    So he does not trouble himself too much with politics. He is careful in his dealings with the other farmers in the district, he is careful in his dealings with the workers on the farm, he is careful with the land.
    Now he is in the place where he always wanted to be. Now he has what he wants. But first he must plant the seeds. He takes the jar from his pocket and shakes the soil out, onto the earth.
    As he turns his hand brushes carelessly across the barbed wire and one of the barbs catches the fleshy mound at the base of his thumb. A sharp jab. He jerks his hand back and the barb pulls, digging into the flesh.
    It is nothing, a small cut only, the kind a farmer grows used to in his labors. Yet when he looks down at his palm the drops of blood oozing from the cut fascinate him, the redness of the blood, so dark. A trickle runs across his palm as he tips his hand and the drops fall to the soil, down to the place where he will plant the seeds. He watches as the blood drips into the soil, darkening it, mixing with it.
    A slight tremor passes through Ben, a pulsation of cold, as if someone has called his name. He looks up, startled, but he is alone.
    He reaches into his pocket for a handkerchief, which he uses to dab at the cut as he walks up to the house.
    T HE STRIDENT PEAL of the telephone startles Märit. The phone does not ring often in this house. She hesitates with her hand over the receiver as the bell shrills again, then lifts it to her ear.
    “Kudufontein Farm,” she says.
    “This is Sergeant Joubert in Klipspring. Can I speak to Meneer Laurens?”
    Märit leans to look out the window. “He’s in the fields. Can I help you, Sergeant? This is Mevrou Laurens.”
    “No, excuse me, Mevrou, but I must speak to your husband.”
    “Well, I can take a message to him if it’s urgent. He can call you back.”
    “If you can fetch him, I will wait, Mevrou. It is important.”
    “All right. Just a minute.” She puts the receiver down on the table and steps out to the veranda to call Ben.
    When Ben comes to the phone, Märit listens to the one-sided conversation, to Ben’s questions—“What?” “How?” “When?”
    She paces back and forth, watching his face as a deep frown creases his brow.
    “Yes, yes, of course. Thank you.” He reaches up and takes off his hat, as if he has just remembered he is still wearing it.
    Ben listens a moment longer, staring down at his hand, where Märit notices a thin red cut across the skin. “All right. I’ll come now.” He replaces the receiver.
    “It’s Grace,” he says.
    “Grace?”
    “An accident of some kind. They think she was hit by a car.”
    “How badly is she hurt? Where did this happen?”
    He reaches out a hand and rests it on her arm. “She was killed, Märit.”
    Märit’s gray eyes widen. “Killed?”
    “She is dead. Her body was found at the side of the road not far from here early this morning. The police are pretty sure it was a car that hit her.”
    “But don’t they know? Who reported it?”
    “A hit-and-run.” He sits down and rubs a finger back and forth across his palm. “They don’t know.”
    Märit glances towards the kitchen and lowers her voice. “Oh my God. Her daughter. Tembi.”
    “She was the one who served us breakfast