every time she has an argument with Papa.
There’s a little blood-dam in my lap. It’s going to soak through my skirt onto my white pantyhose. Ma calls them stockings. She bought me this pair with white roses on them all the way from Joburg, where she went to get her own dress for the wedding. Her dress is orange and gold.
Ma turns away from poking at Salena’s head and looks at me. She curls back her lips, but before she can swear at me I burst into tears. Then everyone is around me and they’re pinching my nose so I have to open my mouth to breathe, and Ma’s dragging off my dress and putting me into the bed Salena and I shared till last night. Last night, when she said, “I don’t want to marry him, I don’t want to marry him,” over and over like a nursery rhyme, even though she was fast asleep.
I don’t get a hiding. Someone calls for a doctor and someone else puts ice cubes wrapped in a cloth on my forehead. I lie back on the pillows and catch Salena’s black-ringed eyes in the mirror. She shuts one eyelid. A wink. I wink back. But I can’t do it properly yet, because both my eyes narrow at the same time, and then Salena smiles at me. “I love you forever,” she whispers before they come in to take her away.
The doctor says I can’t go to Salena’s wedding. He says I should stay in bed. I don’t mind. When they’ve all gone to the wedding and only me and the new maid Rosie are left behind, I climb into bed with my Nancy Drew book that I got from the library, and I’m glad I don’t have to eat the wedding cake.
That night, my first night sleeping alone, I dream of hundreds of colourful eyes, opening and shutting and staring past me.
Ma Judas
I’ M OLD , ALREADY NINE , AND IT ’ S E ID and I keep forgetting to breathe, I’m so excited. Everything I’m wearing is new. I have on pink panties with a small bunch of red cherries embroidered on the right-hand side, a new white vest, fluffy white ankle socks, black patent-leather shoes with a T-bar and, best of all, a white dress that Ma finished sewing last night.
I was scared she wouldn’t finish it in time. I lay awake listening to the sewing machine growling till my ears were too scared to listen anymore. The dress comes down to my knees, white satin and lace with puffy sleeves and a big satin bow at the back.
My black hair is pulled up into a ponytail tied so tight that my eyes look like Ginger’s, and my hair swings from side to side with each bouncy step I take. After lunch we’re going to visit Salena and her new baby, Muhammad.
Lunch is at the house of one of Papa’s brother-cousins (not blood family, just same-Indian-village family). At least I think so, but in the car my father explains that the man we are visiting was on The Ship with him. I’ve heard about The Ship so often I feel like I was bombed by the Germans and left to drown in the icy ocean. During World War II, Papa and his mother, my daadi Bilqis, were travelling from India to Port Elizabeth when the enemy struck. They spent three days at sea, in lifeboats floating on the freezing water, before being rescued along with a few other survivors. I’ve been with Papa at weddings when he’s met up with other survivors, and the women always cry and dab their eyes with the corners of their saris as they talk about not being eaten by sharks.
I wish Papa had been munched up by a shark. At least then I wouldn’t have to listen to him breathing during supper, and if he were dead he wouldn’t be able to shout at me all the time.
When we arrive in Rylands there are cars parked on both sides of the narrow road, and Papa squeezes his gold Mercedes between a bakkie and truck with extra care. He doesn’t want this car, the love of his life, to be hurt. I push my book under the front passenger seat and make sure my door isn’t locked in case I want to read in the car after lunch.
There are so many people in the house, it feels like a wedding. All the girls are wearing pretty,
There’s a little blood-dam in my lap. It’s going to soak through my skirt onto my white pantyhose. Ma calls them stockings. She bought me this pair with white roses on them all the way from Joburg, where she went to get her own dress for the wedding. Her dress is orange and gold.
Ma turns away from poking at Salena’s head and looks at me. She curls back her lips, but before she can swear at me I burst into tears. Then everyone is around me and they’re pinching my nose so I have to open my mouth to breathe, and Ma’s dragging off my dress and putting me into the bed Salena and I shared till last night. Last night, when she said, “I don’t want to marry him, I don’t want to marry him,” over and over like a nursery rhyme, even though she was fast asleep.
I don’t get a hiding. Someone calls for a doctor and someone else puts ice cubes wrapped in a cloth on my forehead. I lie back on the pillows and catch Salena’s black-ringed eyes in the mirror. She shuts one eyelid. A wink. I wink back. But I can’t do it properly yet, because both my eyes narrow at the same time, and then Salena smiles at me. “I love you forever,” she whispers before they come in to take her away.
The doctor says I can’t go to Salena’s wedding. He says I should stay in bed. I don’t mind. When they’ve all gone to the wedding and only me and the new maid Rosie are left behind, I climb into bed with my Nancy Drew book that I got from the library, and I’m glad I don’t have to eat the wedding cake.
That night, my first night sleeping alone, I dream of hundreds of colourful eyes, opening and shutting and staring past me.
Ma Judas
I’ M OLD , ALREADY NINE , AND IT ’ S E ID and I keep forgetting to breathe, I’m so excited. Everything I’m wearing is new. I have on pink panties with a small bunch of red cherries embroidered on the right-hand side, a new white vest, fluffy white ankle socks, black patent-leather shoes with a T-bar and, best of all, a white dress that Ma finished sewing last night.
I was scared she wouldn’t finish it in time. I lay awake listening to the sewing machine growling till my ears were too scared to listen anymore. The dress comes down to my knees, white satin and lace with puffy sleeves and a big satin bow at the back.
My black hair is pulled up into a ponytail tied so tight that my eyes look like Ginger’s, and my hair swings from side to side with each bouncy step I take. After lunch we’re going to visit Salena and her new baby, Muhammad.
Lunch is at the house of one of Papa’s brother-cousins (not blood family, just same-Indian-village family). At least I think so, but in the car my father explains that the man we are visiting was on The Ship with him. I’ve heard about The Ship so often I feel like I was bombed by the Germans and left to drown in the icy ocean. During World War II, Papa and his mother, my daadi Bilqis, were travelling from India to Port Elizabeth when the enemy struck. They spent three days at sea, in lifeboats floating on the freezing water, before being rescued along with a few other survivors. I’ve been with Papa at weddings when he’s met up with other survivors, and the women always cry and dab their eyes with the corners of their saris as they talk about not being eaten by sharks.
I wish Papa had been munched up by a shark. At least then I wouldn’t have to listen to him breathing during supper, and if he were dead he wouldn’t be able to shout at me all the time.
When we arrive in Rylands there are cars parked on both sides of the narrow road, and Papa squeezes his gold Mercedes between a bakkie and truck with extra care. He doesn’t want this car, the love of his life, to be hurt. I push my book under the front passenger seat and make sure my door isn’t locked in case I want to read in the car after lunch.
There are so many people in the house, it feels like a wedding. All the girls are wearing pretty,
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