?Overpowered,? he said, as if tasting the word.
?The police . . . They are short of manpower. Not everyone turned up on shift.?
?They both got away.?
?There are roadblocks. The station commander said they won?t get far.?
The rage inside him took on another face that he did not wish her to see. ?Where would they go??
She shrugged once more, as if she was beyond caring. ?Who knows??
When he did not respond, she leaned forward in the chair. ?I wanted to tell you. You have the right to know.?
She stood up. He waited for her to pass him, then stood up and followed her to the door.
There was doubt in the minister?s face. He had shifted his large body back and cocked his head sideways, as if waiting for her to qualify her statement, to complete the sentence with a punch line.
?You don?t believe me.?
?I find it . . . unlikely.?
Somewhere she felt emotion. Gratitude? Relief? She did not mean to show it but her voice betrayed her. ?My professional name was Bibi.?
His voice was patient as he responded. ?I believe you. But I look at you and I listen to you and I can?t help wondering why. Why was that necessary for you??
This was the second time she had been asked that. Usually they asked ?How?? For them she had a story to fit expectations. She wanted to use it now?it lay on her tongue, rehearsed, ready.
She drew a breath to steady herself. ?I could tell you I was always a sex addict, a nymphomaniac,? she said with deliberation.
?But that is not the truth,? he said.
?No, Reverend, it is not.?
He nodded as if he approved of her answer. ?It?s getting dark,? he said, standing up and switching on the standard lamp in the corner. ?Can I offer you something to drink? Coffee? Tea??
?Tea would be lovely, thank you.? Did he need time to recover, she wondered?
?Excuse me a moment,? he said, and opened the door diagonally behind her.
She remained behind, alone, wondering what was the worst thing he had heard in this study. What small- town scandals? Teenage pregnancies? Affairs? Friday night domestics?
What made someone like him stay here? Perhaps he liked the status, because doctors and ministers were important people in the rural areas, she knew. Or was he running away like she was? As he had run off just now; as if there was a certain level of reality that became too much for him.
He came back, shutting the door behind him. ?My wife will bring the tea soon,? he said and sat down.
She did not know how to begin. ?Did I upset you??
He pondered a while before he answered, as if he had to gather the words together. ?What upsets me is a world?a society?that allows someone like you to lose the way.?
?We all lose our way sometimes.?
?We don?t all become sex workers.? He motioned towards her in a broad gesture, to include everything. ?Why was that necessary??
?You are the second person to ask that in the past month or so.?
?Oh??
?The other one was a detective in Cape Town.? She smiled as she recalled. ?Griessel. He had tousled hair. And soft eyes, but they looked right through you.?
?Did you tell him the truth??
?I almost did.?
?Was he a . . . what do you call it??
?A client?? She smiled.
?Yes.?
?No. He was . . . just . . . I don?t know . . . lost??
?I see,? said the minister.
There was a soft tap on the door and he had to get up to take the tea tray.
5.
Detective Inspector Benny Griessel opened his eyes to his wife standing before him, shaking his shoulder with one hand and urgently whispering, ?Benny,? she said. ?Benny, please.?
He was lying on the sitting-room couch, that much he knew. He must have fallen asleep here. He smelt coffee; his head was thick and throbbing. One arm squashed under him was numb, circulation cut off by the weight of his body.
?Benny, we have to talk.?
