said, and he tapped an index finger on his temple.
?Tell me, then.?
?It?s about the screaming, Doc. I want to know if the medication will help for the screaming.?
The minister?s children came to say goodnight. They knocked softly on the door and he hesitated at first. ?Excuse me, please,? he said to her and then called, ?Come in.? Two teenage boys disguised their curiosity about her with great difficulty. The older one was maybe seventeen. He was tall, like his father, and his youthful body was strong. His lightning glance assessed her chest measurement and her legs as she sat there. He spotted the tissue in her hand and there was an attentiveness about him that she recognized.
?G?night, Dad,? they said one after another and kissed him.
?Night, boys. Sleep well.?
?G?night, ma?am,? said the younger one.
?G?night,? said the other, and when his back was turned to his father, he looked into her eyes with undisguised interest. She knew he saw her hurt instinctively and the opportunities that offered, like a dog on a blood spoor.
She was annoyed. ?Goodnight,? she said and turned her eyes away, unavailable.
They closed the door behind them.
?Richard will be head boy next year,? said the minister with a certain pride.
?You have these two boys?? A mechanical question.
?They are a handful,? he said.
?I can imagine.?
?Do you need anything? More tea??
?I should go and powder my nose.?
?Of course. Down the passage, second door on the left.?
She stood up. Smoothed down her skirt, front and back. ?Excuse me,? she said as she opened the door and walked down the passage. She found the toilet, switched on the light and sat down to urinate.
She was still annoyed with the boy. She was always aware that she gave off a scent that said to men, ?Try me.? Some combination of her appearance and her personality, as if they knew . . . But even here? This little twerp. A minister?s son?
She became conscious of the loud noise of her urine stream in the stillness of the house.
Didn?t these people play music? Watch television?
She was sick of it. She didn?t want to smell like that anymore. She wanted to smell like the woman of this house, the faithful wife: an I-want-to-love-you woman. She had always wanted to.
She finished, wiped, flushed, opened the door and put off the light. She walked back to the study. The minister was not there. She stood in front of the bookshelf, looking at the bookends packed thick and thin beside each other?some old and hardbacked and others new and bright; all about God or the Bible.
So many books. Why did they have to write so much about God? Why was it necessary? Why couldn?t He just come down and say, ?Here I am, don?t worry.?
Then He could explain to her why He had given her this scent. Not just the scent, but the weakness and the trouble. And why He had never tested Missus Fucking Prude here with her sensible frock and able hands? Why was she spared? Why did she get a dependable carthorse for a husband? What would she do if the elders of the church came sniffing around her with those hungry eyes that said, ?My brain is in my penis??
Probably catch her breath in righteous indignation and hand out tracts all round. The scene playing out in her head made her laugh out loud, just one short, unladylike laugh. She put her hand over her mouth, but too late. The minister was standing behind her.
?Are you okay?? he asked.
She nodded and kept her back turned until she had control.
The extent of it nearly overwhelmed Thobela.
The girl with the earrings first gave him a basic lesson on the workings of the Internet, and then she let him click the mouse on the screen. He battled because the coordination between his hand and the mouse and the little arrow on the screen was clumsy. He improved steadily, however. She showed him connections and Web addresses, boxes he could type words in and the big ?Back? arrow if he got lost.
When at last she was satisfied he could manage on his own and he had solemnly handed over the agreed amount, he began his search.
?
and IOL have the best online archives,? she said, and wrote down the www-references for him. He typed in his key words and systematically refined his search. Then came the flood.
At least 40 per cent of all cases of child rape can be ascribed to the myth that it cures AIDS.
People who exploit children for sex in many parts of the world are more likely to be local residents looking for a ?good-luck charm? or a cure for AIDS than a pedophile or sexual tourist, rights activists told a UN conference on Thursday.
Thousands of schoolgirls in South Africa and the Western Cape are daily exposed to sexual violence and harassment at schools.
From April 1997 to March this year, 1,124 children who had been physically and sexually abused were treated by the TygerBear Social Welfare Unit for Traumatized Children at Tygerberg Hospital. This is only children who were
