Zulu Read Free

true!” She moved her hands like an old tree waving its branches in the wind.
    â€œYour son’s right,” Miriam said, putting away her instruments. “Now, you really need to rest.”
    â€œPooh . . .”
    â€œHow many attackers were there?” he asked. “One or two?”
    â€œOh, just one. One was enough!”
    â€œWhat did he steal?”
    â€œJust my bag. He also tore my blouse, but that doesn’t matter, it was an old one!”
    â€œYou were lucky.”
    Through the window, the local kids were checking out Neuman’s car and laughing. Miriam pulled on the curtains, plunging the little room into semi-darkness.
    â€œWhat time did it happen?” Neuman went on.
    â€œAbout eight,” Josephina replied.
    â€œThat’s a bit early to go to church.”
    â€œThe thing is . . . I was going to the Sussilus first, for our monthly meeting . . . I was in charge of the tontine . . . Sixty-five rand.”
    His mother also belonged to several associations—savings clubs, burial societies, the association of parish mothers—so many, he couldn’t keep up with them. Neuman frowned—it was already after ten.
    â€œWhy wasn’t I informed about this?”
    â€œYour mother wouldn’t hear of it,” the nurse replied.
    â€œI didn’t want to worry you over nothing,” Josephina said by way of justification.
    â€œI’ve never heard anything more stupid. Did you tell the township police?”
    â€œNo . . . No, it all happened so quickly, you see. The attacker came up behind me, grabbed hold of my bag, and I fell and fainted. A neighbor found me. But whoever it was had long gone.”
    â€œThat doesn’t explain why the police haven’t sent anyone to talk to you.”
    â€œI didn’t report it.”
    â€œWhat!”
    â€œShe never listens to anyone,” Miriam said. “You should know all about that, right?”
    In fact, it was Neuman who wasn’t listening. “And why exactly didn’t you report it?”
    â€œLook at me. I’m fine!”
    Josephina’s laughter shook the bed and made her big breasts quiver. The attack, the fall, the blackout—it all seemed to her like another continent.
    â€œThere may be witnesses,” Neuman went on. “They need to take a statement from you.”
    â€œWhat could a blind old woman tell the police? And anyway, sixty-five rand is so little, there’s no point getting worked up over it!”
    â€œThat’s not Christian charity, it’s foolishness.”
    â€œMy boy,” his mother said, affectionately, “my darling boy—”
    He cut her off. “Just because you’re blind doesn’t mean I can’t see what you’re playing at.”
    His mother had radar in her fingertips, sensors in her ears, and eyes in the back of her head. She had been living in the neighborhood for more than twenty years, she knew its people, its streets, its dead ends. She must have some idea of her attacker’s identity, and the way she was trying to downplay the attack made him think there was a reason she wasn’t saying anything.
    â€œWell?”
    â€œI don’t like to insist, Mr. Neuman,” the nurse said, “but your mother has just had a sedative, and it’s going to start to take effect.”
    â€œI’ll see you outside,” he said, anxious to get her out of the house.
    Miriam raised her eyebrows, two impeccable arabesques, and picked up her bag. “I’ll be back this evening,” she said to Josephina. “In the meantime, you rest, O.K.?”
    â€œThank you, sweetheart,” the old woman nodded from the four-poster.
    It was the first time Miriam had met Josephina’s beloved son. A slim, powerful body, fine, regular features, closely cropped hair, elegant, dark, piercing eyes, the kind of lips you might dream about—exactly the way his mother had described him. Neuman