Starlight in the Ring (11 page)

I have no ‘small baas’ but Mark. Aah, he’s a handsome, charming young man. I need to spend more time around him. Who knows, he might have different views about the laws. He is very quiet and I don’t really know him.

Suddenly, another disturbing thought strikes me. I remember my mum, wearing my dad’s old whitish underwear. She usually ties it with a string to hold it up due to its loose gusset. She wears it daily, and it gets a wash at night. My parents are very poor. My mum can’t afford to buy herself underwear, not to mention clothes, yet she’s worked on the farm since she married my dad. Dad has toiled here all his life. My parents care less about their status; they seem stuck here, and won’t leave. Another pain grips my heart.
What’s the point of worrying and complaining? Oh silly me.

My parents genuinely adore the Douglas’ family as if they were their own. They treat them as their son and daughter. They’ve known Jimmie from when he was a baby, and my mum was his nanny. Some days are better than others, though.

I pull my trunk into the middle of the dormitory ready to go out. In this process, I get distracted. Without realising it, I’m speaking to myself. “They are so devoted to them. Perhaps they know nothing, or very little,” I say, not really bothered about Mandy passing by.

“What’s that, sorry?” she asks, presuming I’m talking to her.

“No, don’t worry, love. I’m thinking aloud, planning my holidays.” She ignores me entirely, and carries on going out towards the clothes-line behind our dormitory.

I start humming my favourite chorus I learned at Sunday school, ‘Yes, Jesus Loves Me’ to distract the nerves. It doesn’t work: my thoughts are too deep to ignore. “I should respect the farmers looking after us in their own terms, and stick to my original me,” I continue to think aloud. “I should be closer to Mark; we might actually enjoy each other’s company. He may learn from me, and perhaps I’ll have a lot to learn from him. Hopefully, both our parents will be comfortable with our
friendship. I wonder how my dad will react if I share with him what I now know. He always says, gesturing with his index finger, ‘No political talk here. Those who want to discuss politics should do it away from me.’ Perhaps one day he will change his mind.”

I start feeling happy and excited at the thought of going home and interacting with Mark Douglas, and everybody I value the most. I know some good and popular things that are happening as a result of the current political climate, for example, the African National Congress (ANC) or the ‘Viva Mandela, Viva!’ in support of Nelson Mandela. Anyway, I have a lot to think about, but I have a duty to study any syllabus the government provides until I complete my education, and perhaps leave Skoonfontein.

On the farm, I’ll speak to small Baas, Mark. He is studying at The University of Witwatersrand, one of the universities for European students instituted according to the 1959 University Education Law. He might help me out with my studies – who knows?

For some reason, today I’m thinking more about Mark than ever before. Is he his dad’s favourite because he is his first-born son? Or perhaps it’s because he is lovely, with good-looking features? Mark is two years older, and a bit taller than me – about five foot seven. His body often looks tanned, and he has dark-brown, thick, long hair cascading over his shoulders. He has a low voice, protruding lips, and greyish eyes. He always puts on casual clothes – jeans, t-shirts and trainers – except on Sundays. He wears suits and ties for church – The Dutch Reformed Fellowship. Lately, he has made an effort to talk to me, and isn’t discouraged that I’ve always ignored him completely. I remember the olden days when he used to pass by me without saying, “Hello.”
Ah, forget this, Betty, you were just a kid. Now you’re a teenager.

I believe I can engage him in a real conversation. How will I do this? My parents tell me to keep a ‘reasonable distance’ from
Baas Jimmie’s children, and I am careful to observe this. Could they have been told the same by their parents? I doubt it because they are all friendly to me, especially since I moved to secondary school.

Always, I’ve shortened the conversation whenever they try talking to me, and I quickly walk away from them. I feel uncomfortable. I refuse to play with them or say anything to them. They are persistent though – small Baas Mark always stares and smiles at me. I’ve never smiled back. Does he know anything about these Apartheid Laws? If so, how much does he know? I go to Lottie’s dormitory to say good-bye.

“Hey, Lottie, I’m leaving now. Have a good journey and I hope to see you next year, unless my application for a teacher training course is successful,” I say, standing by the door.

“Enjoy your Christmas and New Year too. I’m leaving about 4.00 p.m. to catch the train from Queenstown to Johannesburg. I hope to be very busy this holiday, gathering more information about South Africa,” Lottie replies, giving me a wink.

“Bring anything you can find, but be careful,” I say.

“Betty, don’t worry - I know. We need it, though, don’t we?” Lottie answers, and I am slightly mollified.

“Well, I can’t stay any longer to keep you company while you pack your stuff. Please stay in touch over the holidays. Will you remember that?”

“I’ll be fine,” Lottie says, forcing her overflowing suitcase to close. I give her a comforting hug. Feeling heartbroken from this separation, I turn my back towards her, and leave.

This time around, I will change my approach, and welcome Baas Jimmie’s children. I’ll accept their invitation into their Big House. I will be like a family friend and narrow the distance between us. As Mark is only two years older than I am, we should have a lot to talk about, especially secondary school life, and our ambitions.

“I hope his parents will go away, and that they invite me into
the Big House. I’m looking forward to this,” I say, lifting up my two clenched fists in excitement. I may borrow some interesting books from their bookshelves. I can also read the latest newspapers.

Eventually, I go to the telephone-booth to call a taxi. I pick up the receiver, and wind the handle to connect to the exchange.

“Exchange-number, please!” a man’s voice says.

“Hello, hello,” I say, surprised with this quick response. “34444 for taxis, please.” I speak loudly. Immediately, I’m connected to the taxi operator.

“Hello, Tez Taxis.”

“Could I have a taxi, please?”

“Where are you, and where to?”

“I’m at Butterworth High Hostel main entrance, and I’m going to the bus station.”

“The taxi will be there in a few minutes,” he says.

“Thank you.”

The taxi arrives, and the driver helps me to put my trunk in the boot. Then the taxi pulls off, leaving a cloud of dust behind it. In about fifteen minutes, we are at the bus stop. I wait for half an hour before boarding the bus to Burgersdorp, my connection to Skoonfontein Farm.

The bus to Jimmie’s farm is packed with farm labourers. Sadly, I don’t know any of them. I remain quiet until I get off at my bus stop. I struggle to lift my trunk onto my head, and carry my bag with my right hand, slowly staggering home. As I leave the main road, I hear a car approaching from behind. I throw my luggage down to look, hoping it will be Baas Jimmie, and I’m right – it’s him.

With great difficulty, I manage to load my luggage, and jump onto the back of the open van. I’m used to this. Baas always forgets to invite any of my family to sit in the front next to him, even on miserable rainy or snowy days. Soon, we arrive on the farm. He parks the van in front of the Big House on the drive way.

Bobby, one of his favourite dogs, welcomes him, wiggling his tail, perhaps hoping he is to be taken for a drive. He loves sticking his tongue out looking through the window of the van’s front seat. That’s enough to occupy Jimmie’s mind, I suppose. He forgets about everything, and gives full attention to Bobby.

I drag my trunk home. It’s no use leaving it for my mum to help, as she may be in the Big House preparing supper, and getting Theodora’s baby into bed. I get home and make myself a cup of tea. Later, my mum returns, and the rest of the family is back. We all have supper from the left-over food mum has brought from the Big House.

“Mum, I’m old enough now to help you with your jobs in the Big House. Could you ask the missus if that’s all right?” I ask Mum as she is about to shut the door, rushing off to work.

“Betty, I can try, but I don’t think she will be happy to have both of us inside. I’ll ask them, and suggest that two hands are better than one anyway. You get a lot done within a short time. When they see this benefit, they may agree.”

“Try, Mum, please,” I beg her. “Missus may appreciate having more work done at no extra cost.”

Early in the morning the next day, my mum goes to the Big House to work as usual. After lunch, she returns to inform me, “Missus is very happy to have you helping me, Betty. However, she warned me, saying, ‘Watch Betty. She should stick to the jobs you give her. She shouldn’t be all over the house. Girls of her age are curious, and she could get you in trouble if you’re not careful. Watch her, do you understand me, Gladys?’” Mum uses Missus’ exact words to make sure I understand the importance of what she’s saying.

“Okay, Mum, I understand,” I assure her. Mum seems happier, too, and I see her off to work for her afternoon shift.

I have got what I wanted. Tomorrow, I’ll be with my mum in the Big House. I start jumping up and down, in excitement. I look at the mirror, admiring myself, and feeling really inspired.

The day passes by speedily.

My mum comes home in the evening with good news for me again.

“Betty, Missus really needs you there. She has added more jobs for us to do tomorrow. Remember what we talked about earlier. You should be very careful.”

“Oh Mum, c’mon, trust me. You know I’m responsible. How would she know if I touch anything?”

“Easily, Betty - she knows the order of everything. If you start moving things about where you were not asked to be, she will know. That would get me in trouble.”

“Ahuh, here come ‘limitations’ again,” I say to my mum, giggling.

Nevertheless, the next morning I prepare myself on time to join mum. She instructs me, and I happily obey her orders. I sweep the bedrooms, scrub and polish the wooden floors until they sparkle. I wash the curtains and hang them back. I iron all the washing. I arrange fresh flowers in the big vases and brighten the dark corridors, leaving the entire place tidy, with a scent. ‘I’m a faithful helper,’ I say to myself, walking slowly home, leaving my mum behind. I feel so tired that I fall asleep immediately. Mum comes back, and wakes me up with better news for me:

“Betty, Missus is very pleased with you,” she says, walking about without looking at me. She continues, “She couldn’t believe her eyes when she checked the vacant bedrooms. I’ve never managed to shine the veranda like you. Baas slipped and nearly fell down!”

“That’s great news, Mum. I’ll do it again,” I respond.

“Yes, she wants you back.” My heart leaps joyfully. “That’s wonderful, Mum.”

From then on, I go to work in the Big House regularly with Mum. I speak to Mark Douglas every now and then, and find that we do have a lot in common. He is reading Political Science and History. When our eyes meet, my heart skips a beat. This is my
secret, and I keep it to myself. I think I’m beginning to like him.

This particular Saturday afternoon, I’ve finished my work but Mum is still busy, so I wait for her in the back garden. It’s beautiful, with green lawns and flowers. I sit on the bench admiring my surroundings and enjoying the sunshine. Suddenly, small Baas Mark comes along and stands by me.

“Hello, Betty,” he says, staring at my face with what seems like admiration.

“Hello, Small Baas,” I say, making eye contact with him for the very first time.

“You don’t have to call me that, you know?” he says with a beaming smile on his face. I’m pleased by this.

“Oh well, I’m sorry. What should I call you then?”

“My name is Mark,” he says. “I’ll be very pleased if you use it.”

“Will your parents be okay with that?” I feel very concerned.

“Yes, of course. I’m an adult now. I can do and say what pleases me.”

“I have no problem with that, but I’ll have to call you ‘Small Baas’ when other people are around – just to make things easier for me.”

“Okay,” he agrees, shaking his head in disapproval. We chat a bit. “Excuse me Betty,” he says. “I’ll be back soon.” Mark goes inside. After a little while he brings with him a glass of orange squash and biscuits, and gives them to me.

“Thank you, Small Baas,” I say, not really meaning it. My aim is just to embarrass him this time. He looks at me and laughs.

“You know I don’t like you to call me that, Betty.”

“Pardon me, then,” I say. We talk about education. I tell him that I’m going into teacher training, and he encourages me to learn. “Knowledge and its application is the key to a successful life,” he says.

I’m getting used to Mark, and I feel happy when we are together. He asks me to go for a walk around the farm with him
some days. I’m uncomfortable about this at the start. I ask him to walk towards the back of our house and whistle a signal to get me out. I need to be safe lest Missus and Baas Jimmie see us, and disapprove of the friendship - something I anticipate will happen. They would then blame their son, not me, for coming around our house.

As we walk behind our house, towards the old rusty car that has been abandoned for ages, I feel my heart beat faster. I keep looking around in all directions. We walk towards it. Mark opens the door; it looks good inside. He sits in the back seat, and I stand holding the door.

“Betty,” Mark calls to me. “Come closer to me, will you?” he continues, beckoning his hand towards himself. “You’re beautiful,” he says lowering his eyes for a moment before meeting my gaze with a strange intensity.

“Thanks, you too,” I say, giving him a romantic look.

I’m a bit confused, though. Looking at his eyes, I see a handsome, confident young man. I listen to him speak: his voice triggers a sweet feeling inside me. He is wonderful, I conclude. I think about Lottie, Nancy, and our political discussion, but I see love in Mark. He seems to like me, too: I decide to see how things go. “You’re gorgeous as well,” I reply, surrendering myself to him.