“In time.”
It was the least hopeful sentence she had heard that day. When the wardress had gone she broke open the cob of bread and tore out the middle, wiping it into the margarine and forcing it into her mouth. She held the apple for a long time before she ate it, running her fingers over its shape, admiring its innocence, its cleanness. She ate it in mouselike nibbles, and wrapped the core carefully in her handkerchief, so that tomorrow morning she would at least be able to taste the juice on her tongue. She held off using the bucket for as long as she could, but in the end she had to squat over it, the metal rim cold against her thighs. She felt debased by the dribble of urine that would be her companion all night, and would be there for her when she woke in the morning.
They did not take her to see the colonel the next day, but the wardress who had given her the apple brought in a pillow, a pillow case, and a pair of sheets. At least one more night then, Anna thought.
“Did you eat your breakfast this morning?” the woman asked.
“No, I couldn’t.”
“You ought to try.”
“Will you get me another apple? I’d be so grateful.”
“Yes, I dare say you would.”
“Do you think they would let me have something to read?”
“That’s for the colonel to decide. I couldn’t decide that.”
“Would it be possible for someone to go to my house and get me a change of clothes?”
She knew the answer: the colonel will decide. But this is what prison life must be, she thought: a series of endless requests, some great, some small, repeated and repeated, until one day—in the face of all expectation— one of them, great or small, is granted. Can you arrange for me to send a message to my husband? Can I have a bowl of hot water, I cannot get the fingerprint ink from under my nails? Can I have a newspaper, can I have a mirror? Can you assure me that God loves me and that I am his child?
The next day, after the mealie-porridge but before the broth, another wardress came in. “You want to comb your hair, Mrs. Eldred? The colonel is waiting to see you in his office.”
She jumped up from her bed. “Never mind my hair.”
The woman stood back to let her pass out of the cell. To her surprise, two more wardresses were stationed outside the door, and they trod a pace behind her along the corridor. They treat me as if I’m dangerous, she thought. Perhaps I am.
The colonel was a man of fifty, with pepper-and-salt hair shorn above his ears. The regulation belly strained at his uniform belt, but the rest of him was hard and fit looking. He motioned her to a chair. A ceiling fan creaked over her head; she lifted her face to it. Round and round it churned, the same stagnant air.
“I must apologize for not seeing you sooner, Mrs. Eldred. There were some incidents in the men’s prison that have been taking up my time.”
“What incidents?”
“Nothing that should bother you.”
“Is my husband in there, in the men’s prison?”
“You’ll have news of Mr. Eldred very soon—in fact, you’ll be seeing him soon, all we want is that you talk to us a little bit.” The colonel sat down opposite her. “You’ve been to political meetings, Mrs. Eldred?”
“No. Never.”
“You’ve been to protest meetings? About the bus boycott, for example?”
“Yes.”
“So, isn’t that the same thing?”
“I didn’t think so, at the time.”
“We have photographs of you at these meetings. We know you have held political meetings at your house.”
“Never.”
“You have had people from the ANC at your house. Agitators.”
“It’s not illegal to have visitors.”
“So what were you doing, Mrs. Eldred, if you weren’t having a political meeting? Just having tea and cake, were you? Perhaps reading the Bible together?”
Anna didn’t answer.
“We have the names of everyone who has visited you.”
“Yes. I know you have your spies everywhere.”
“It’s necessary,” the colonel said. “Believe me, Mrs. Eldred. We have to keep control.”
Anna pushed her hair back, smoothing it with her hand. It felt lank and greasy; the cell was an oven by midmorning, and she was not given enough water to wash properly. “Can I ask you a question, Colonel? Just one? All I want to know is if any of the mission staff are on your payroll. Has anyone been informing against us?”
“If you were innocent, Mrs. Eldred, you wouldn’t have to ask me that question.”
“Oh, I’m innocent, Colonel.” She felt color rise in her face. She was not afraid. Since they had brought her to the prison she had felt every emotion, but not fear. “I am perfectly innocent, and so is my husband, and I am quite sure that the mission society who sent us out here have been informed of what has happened, and that they will be making representations to your government on our behalf.”
