Burning Eddy Read Free Page A

covered in fallen leaves. Trees had grown and met across the drive and I couldn’t see the house. Ten steps along the drive and I still couldn’t see the house. After pushing branches aside for what could have been a full minute, I found the residence. Well, cottage really, with smooth walls of earth and a chimney formed in blue-grey stone. It seemed to glow in the afternoon sun, filtering through the trees around it. I picked my way along a path to the leaf-laden front step. A small verandah protected a hairy old armchair. I rapped on the solid wooden door.
    ‘ Ja , coming!’ sang a voice from inside. ‘Just having a pee-pee. One minute, hoor .’
    She told me she was having a pee then called me a whore. That couldn’t be right. I jumbled the sounds I’d heard and tried to make sense of them. My head was still rattling as I heard footfalls on a timber floor. The door groaned on its hinges and an old woman peered at me with half a smile on her lips. She was short — probably no taller than my armpit — and she wiped her hands ona blue and white checked apron. The shape of her face was familiar.
    ‘Come in, darling. Come in, sit down,’ she said, waving me inside.
    ‘Hello, I’m Daniel Fairbrother. Mr Calais said . . .’
    ‘ Ja , I know, darling. And I am Eddy. Want a cup of coffee? Come, sit down.’
    I moved past the old lady and into her lounge room. It was filled with fine leather furniture, potted plants and paintings — old sailing boats on high seas and one of a windmill that looked like a photograph. There was a TV in one corner and it was on but no sound came out. One of the guess-the-word game shows.
    ‘Sit,’ she insisted. ‘Coffee?’
    ‘No thank you,’ I said as I sat on the edge of her leather sofa.
    ‘Lemonade? Juice?’
    I could see she wasn’t going to be happy until I had something to drink. ‘Water? Water would be nice.’
    ‘ Ja . Water is good. I collect my own,’ she said, and vanished into another part of the cottage. She came back with two glasses of water and two strange-looking biscuits on a plate. She sat the plate close to me, took one of the biscuits and nestled into the armchair opposite the TV. Her chair was covered in a huge sheepskin rug. The old lady reclined a little and a footrest popped out. She sipped her water.
    ‘So tell me, darling, you are a good worker?’
    I shrugged and nodded sheepishly. If there’s one thing I do well, it’s work.
    ‘Tonio says you have worked hard on his garden. You work hard for me too, ja ? You work hard, I’ll pay you well. If you don’t work hard, I’ll just pay you. Geld verzoet de arbeid. Money will make your work bearable. Okay?’
    I nodded. ‘What jobs do you have in mind?’
    She chuckled. ‘We can go outside and see. Finish your biscuit and your water.’
    She reached over to the table beside her and pushed a button on the TV remote. I jumped when the sound burst from the speakers and somehow resisted the urge to cover my ears.
    ‘Good show. I always learn something. My favourite,’ she yelled, and screwed her face into a smile.
    I picked up the lone biscuit from the plate and hesitantly pecked at the corner. A rush of cinnamon exploded in my mouth and before I could blink I’d eaten the whole thing. I finished my water and sat forward. The closing titles for her show flashed on the screen and she turned the TV off. She stood up and broke wind loudly. She took my glass and broke wind in time with her steps to the kitchen. I didn’t know where to look.
    When she returned, she was smiling. ‘Did you hear that? I played a little tune with my bum! A windje song. Ha ha!’
    She headed for the door. I held my breath and followed.
    ‘It looks like a mess, ja ? It is mine yungle. Mine paradise. When I shifted here . . . when my Kasper died, it was just grass. Now look at it. I am only growing plants that are useful. Some have fruits, some have a beautiful smell, some I can eat. All useful, hoor .’
    I nodded. If I ever