always wore long sleeves against the sun.
'You promised, didn't you. I did what you-' and the clay hit him
across the bridge of his nose, spreading as it struck, jerking his head
back. Immediately there was blood from both nostrils.
Boetie clawed at his face, smearing blood on to his cheeks.
'YOU promised, ' he whimpered. 'You promised, But Dirk was already
moulding the next pellet.
Dirkie walked home alone. He walked slowly, singing a little, with
soft hair falling forward on to his forehead and a smear of blue clay
on one cheek.
Mary was waiting for him in the kitchen of the cottage on Protea
Street. She watched from the window while he slipped through the hedge
and crossed the yard. As he came towards the door she noticed the
smile on his face. There was hardly sufficient room in her chest for
what she felt as she looked at the innocent beauty of his face. She
opened the door for him.
'Hello, darling.'
'Hello, Mary, ' Dirk greeted her, and his little smile became a thing
of such radiance that Mary had to reach for him.
'My goodness, you're covered in mud. Lets get you bathed before your
granma gets home. ' Dirk extricated himself from her embrace and moved
in on the biscuit-tin.
'I'm hungry.
'Just one,' Mary agreed, and Dirk took a handful. 'Then I've got a
surprise for you. ' 'What is it? ' Dirk was more interested in the
biscuits. Mary had a surprise for him every evening and usually it was
something silly like a new pair of socks she had knitted.
'I'll tell you when you're in the bath. ' 'Oh, all right. ' Still
munching Dirk set off for the bathroom.
He began to disrobe along the passage dropping first his shirt and then
his pants for Mary to retrieve as she followed.
'What is the surprise?'
'Oh Dirk, you've been playing that horrible game again.'
Mary knelt beside the tub and gently passed the soapy flannel down his
bruised back and buttocks. 'Please promise me you'll never play it
again.
'All right.' It was a very simple matter to extract a promise from
Dirk, he had made this particular one before. 'Now, what's your
surprise?
'Guess.' Mary was smiling now, a secret knowing smile which
immediately caught Dirk's attention. He studied her scarred face, her
ugly loving face.
'Sweets?' he hazarded, and she shook her head and caressed his naked
body with the flannel.
'Not socks!'
'No. ' She dropped the flannel into the soap-scummed water and clasped
him to her chest. 'No, not socks,' she whispered.
He knew then.
'Yes, Dirkie, it's about your father.'
