He told her all this and somewhere in the telling she asked: ?Why do you want your wife back?? He wondered about that before he answered. He said the thing was, he had been happy then. They had. She was the woman he had begun his life with. They had nothing, just each other. Set up house together, suffered together. Laughed together. Shared the same wonder at the magic of Carla and Fritz?s births. Celebrated together when he was promoted. They had history, the sort of history that mattered. They were friends and lovers and he wanted that back. He wanted the bond and the camaraderie and the trust. Because that was a great part of who he had been, what made him what he had been.
And he wanted to be that again.
If he couldn?t get Anna back, he had fuck-all. That was it.
She said: ?A person can never be like that again,? and before he could react, she asked, ?Do you still love her?? It made no difference how long he thought about that one, he could not answer her. He wanted to talk shit about ?what is love,? but he kept quiet and suddenly felt weary of himself, so he asked, ?What about you??
?What about me??
?Why was it necessary . . . to become a prostitute??
?A sex worker,? she said, but in quiet self-mockery.
She moved slowly and he slipped out of her. A small moment of loss. She turned over so her face was towards him and his hand was off her breast.
?Would you have asked me that if I was selling flowers?? There was no confrontation in her voice. Her words were flat and without emotion. She didn?t wait for an answer. ?It?s just a job.?
He drew a breath to answer, but she went on: ?People think it?s this dreadful thing. Bad. Damaging. Your work brings you damage too. That?s what you just said. But it?s okay to be a policeman. Just don?t be a whore.?
He thought if she hadn?t been a sex worker, Sonia would have been safe at home, but he knew he could never say it.
?When I began, I also wondered what was different about me. All my clients ask the same thing. ?Why did you become an escort?? It makes you think there?s something wrong with you. Then you think, but why should it be something
Why can?t it be something
Why can?t it just be that I think further than most people? What is sex? Is it so bad? What makes it such a bad thing??
She got up and walked away from him and he was sorry he had asked her. He didn?t mean to upset her. He should have thought. He wanted to say he was sorry, but she had disappeared down the passage. He became aware of his trousers still unfastened so he zipped them up.
She came back. He saw her shadowy figure moving and here she was, but this time she sat at his feet.
?Do you want a cigarette??
?Please.?
She put two cigarettes in her mouth and clicked the lighter. In the light of the flame he could see her breasts and face and bare shoulders.
She passed one to him. He drew deeply.
?I was always different,? she said and blew a plume of smoke that cast a ghostly shadow on the opposite wall. ?It?s hard to explain. When you are small, you understand nothing. You think there?s something wrong with you. My parents . . . I come from a good home. My father was in the army and my mother was mostly at home and they were okay with that. With their little world. With that kind of life. The older I got the harder it was for me to understand. How could that be all? How could that be enough? You go to school, you find a husband or a wife, you raise kids, you retire by the sea and then you die. You never upset anyone, you do the right thing. Those are my father?s words. ?My child, you do the right thing.? Whose right thing? The people?s? Who are they to decide what the right thing is? You pay your parking money and you never drive too fast and don?t make a noise after ten at night. And you do your duty. That?s another of my father?s classics. ?People must do their duty, my child.? To your family, to your town, to your country. What for? What did they get for doing their duty? My father did his duty to the army and he was dead before he took his pension. My mother did her duty to us and she has never been to Cape Town or Europe or anywhere. After all the duty, there was never money for anything. Not for clothes or cars or furniture or holidays. But it was okay for them, because people mustn?t be flashy, that?s not the right thing to do.
?Everyone wants you to be ordinary. Everything everyone teaches you, is just so you won?t be different. But I was different. I couldn?t help it. It?s the way I am. If my parents or the school or whoever said that is what you should do, then I wondered what it felt like to do the opposite. I wanted to see what it looked like from the other side. So I did. I smoked a bit and I drank a bit. But when you are fifteen or sixteen, almost all the rules are about sex. You mustn?t do this and you mustn?t do that, because you must be a decent girl. I wanted to know why you had to be a decent girl. What for? So you could get a decent man? And a decent life, with decent children? And a decent funeral with lots of people? So I did things. And the more things I did, the more I realized the other side is the interesting one. Most people don?t want to be decent, they?ve all got this stuff inside that wants to be different, but they don?t have the guts. They are all too scared someone will say something. They are afraid they will lose all the boring things in their lives. There was this teacher, he was so dutiful. I worked on him. And I slept with him on the Students Christian Association camp at The Island. He said, God, Christine, I?ve wanted you so long. So I asked him why he hadn?t done something about it. He couldn?t answer me. And this friend of my father. When he came to our house he would look at me sideways but then go and sit next to his wife and hold her hand. I knew what he wanted. I worked on him and he said he liked young girls but that it was his first time.?
She stubbed the cigarette out and half turned to him.
?He was as old as you,? she said, and for a second he thought he heard scorn in her voice.
She leaned her back against his feet. She folded her arms below her breasts.
?Do you know why my parents sent me to university? To find a husband. One with education. And a good job. So I could have a good life. A good life. What does a good life help? What use is it when you die and you can say to yourself I had a good life? Boring, but good.
?At varsity this guy was visiting me, third-year medical student. His parents lived in Heuwelsig and they had money. I saw how they lived. I saw if you have money you don?t have to be dutiful and ordinary and good. Having
