and elbowed their way to her ample dugs. Dishevelled hair covered her eyes, her belly looked nine months pregnant, and her face was a study of utter contentment. Intrigued, if a bit apprehensive, I stopped. If I’d heard Tant Poppie correctly, Bertie’s offspring had been fathered indiscriminately by the men of the settlement, since she couldn’t find it in her heart to say no. And apparently it didn’t take much to impregnate her. “She’s like a flower,” Tant Poppie had said with what might or might not have been disapproval. “If you ask me, she gets pollinated by the wind.”
“What are you looking at?” asked Bettie, shifting a child from her left breast, a trickle of milk dripping from its chin.
“I’m trying to meet the people in the settlement,” I explained. “And how are you?”
“I’m in a bad way,” she answered with a broad smile. “They say mos everybody around here is in a bad way.” She gave a generous, inviting wink.
“What are their names?” I asked, gesturing at her litter.
“I get all mixed up,” she confessed with disarming frankness. “So now I’ve started calling all of them Brother. He talks to me so beautifully about sin.”
Involuntarily I cast mine eyes up to the mountain where the preacher was standing, staring fixedly at us with an expression that seemed disconcertingly possessive to me. And indeed, after a minute or two he began to amble down in our direction.
“Oh my God,” said Bettie in a fluster, beginning to collect her brood and tuck away her breasts. “Here he comes. It was only yesterday he told me it was time I got more careful and here I’m sitting in the sun again.”
Before I could reply she scrambled round the corner, followed by a squeal of little pigs. In the background, I noticed, Brother Holy had resumed his sermon among the vegetable beds.
Just As Well
I’d noticed Jurg Water from a distance, strutting as always behind his weathered forked stick. Usually he moved out of sight the moment he noticed me, a thunderstorm brewing on his large face; but this time I came upon him from behind.
“Any hope of finding water?” I asked, feigning interest.
“There’s no hope for nothing or nobody,” he snarled, glaring at me. “This stick is no bloody use. I might as well have used my dong.”
“You may still find something where you least expect it.”
“What do you know about water?” he grumbled. “What do you know about anything?”
“I’m just saying.”
“You can shove your saying up your arse.”
And he stalked off after his fruitless rod.
Raisins and Figs
For a while I wasn’t sure what to do next. But just as I started off again, I became aware of sounds from the shed behind his house and decided to investigate. The moment I appeared in the doorway the giggling and whispering and scurrying among the wheat-bags and the piles of dried quinces and raisins and figs abruptly stopped like a gust of wind suddenly dying down. Once my eyes had grown accustomed to the fragrant darkness inside I could see dishevelled girls’ heads popping up from everywhere, with blushing cheeks and hay-stalks in their hair.
“What are you doing here?” I enquired expansively.
“Nothing, Oom.”
Embarrassingly unconcerned about the much too tight dark frock that clung to the precocious curves of her buxom body, a redhead appeared from behind a pile of tobacco leaves.
“And what’s your name?”
“Henta, Oom.”
A chorus chanted, “Henta Peach, Oom.”
“Why aren’t you in school?”
A wave of giggles and whispers from which I couldn’t glean anything.
“What do you think I’ve come here for?”
With shocking directness, Henta said, “Cunt, Oom?”
It came so fucking unexpectedly, it must have been the first time in thirty years that I’d blushed. Then, in a stern teacher’s tone, I said, “I’ve come to find out about your history.”
They stared at me blankly.
On the spur of the moment I asked the question that had
“What are you looking at?” asked Bettie, shifting a child from her left breast, a trickle of milk dripping from its chin.
“I’m trying to meet the people in the settlement,” I explained. “And how are you?”
“I’m in a bad way,” she answered with a broad smile. “They say mos everybody around here is in a bad way.” She gave a generous, inviting wink.
“What are their names?” I asked, gesturing at her litter.
“I get all mixed up,” she confessed with disarming frankness. “So now I’ve started calling all of them Brother. He talks to me so beautifully about sin.”
Involuntarily I cast mine eyes up to the mountain where the preacher was standing, staring fixedly at us with an expression that seemed disconcertingly possessive to me. And indeed, after a minute or two he began to amble down in our direction.
“Oh my God,” said Bettie in a fluster, beginning to collect her brood and tuck away her breasts. “Here he comes. It was only yesterday he told me it was time I got more careful and here I’m sitting in the sun again.”
Before I could reply she scrambled round the corner, followed by a squeal of little pigs. In the background, I noticed, Brother Holy had resumed his sermon among the vegetable beds.
Just As Well
I’d noticed Jurg Water from a distance, strutting as always behind his weathered forked stick. Usually he moved out of sight the moment he noticed me, a thunderstorm brewing on his large face; but this time I came upon him from behind.
“Any hope of finding water?” I asked, feigning interest.
“There’s no hope for nothing or nobody,” he snarled, glaring at me. “This stick is no bloody use. I might as well have used my dong.”
“You may still find something where you least expect it.”
“What do you know about water?” he grumbled. “What do you know about anything?”
“I’m just saying.”
“You can shove your saying up your arse.”
And he stalked off after his fruitless rod.
Raisins and Figs
For a while I wasn’t sure what to do next. But just as I started off again, I became aware of sounds from the shed behind his house and decided to investigate. The moment I appeared in the doorway the giggling and whispering and scurrying among the wheat-bags and the piles of dried quinces and raisins and figs abruptly stopped like a gust of wind suddenly dying down. Once my eyes had grown accustomed to the fragrant darkness inside I could see dishevelled girls’ heads popping up from everywhere, with blushing cheeks and hay-stalks in their hair.
“What are you doing here?” I enquired expansively.
“Nothing, Oom.”
Embarrassingly unconcerned about the much too tight dark frock that clung to the precocious curves of her buxom body, a redhead appeared from behind a pile of tobacco leaves.
“And what’s your name?”
“Henta, Oom.”
A chorus chanted, “Henta Peach, Oom.”
“Why aren’t you in school?”
A wave of giggles and whispers from which I couldn’t glean anything.
“What do you think I’ve come here for?”
With shocking directness, Henta said, “Cunt, Oom?”
It came so fucking unexpectedly, it must have been the first time in thirty years that I’d blushed. Then, in a stern teacher’s tone, I said, “I’ve come to find out about your history.”
They stared at me blankly.
On the spur of the moment I asked the question that had
Similar Books
