fountainhead

2 d. claudia

i love beaufort-west. i love how when one parks on the small hill by the dam, one can see into forever in every direction. the flatness, the pale shrubs, the blue, blue sky. i love this little town with its dusty streets and its many churches; nearly as many as its liquor stores. and how ironic that these two places are frequented by the same customers. god doesn't move in mysterious ways, i can see exactly how things are panning out; the same ones who spend lots of money on liquor are the ones whose tithes are the fattest. and they are the same ones who will make me rich in the not too distant future, please lord? but i am careful and i am discreet and i will not lose the visitors whose contributions to my business are larger than the money they spend at the bottle store and the churches combined. dominee mouton of the dutch reformed church is the most generous patron. and he ought to be, what with his strange little likes that have to be catered to. father sean is different; he needs love and affection. sometimes he just wants to talk for hours about his home town and his childhood years and how, when he was a child, all they had to eat if they were lucky, was potatoes. then he'll be happy with a baby bottle with milk and whisky mix and a nappy and he just wants to be mothered, sweet man... the only other man i would have wanted to frequent our house, because he is rich, rich, rich, is jan-willem, but i know why he has not done so yet. it's because of poppie's sister, sadie, who has been working there at that big house with the vast veranda for years now. no one in this town is blind or stupid. (except of course giel, but that's because he landed up with his head under the wheel of the horse cart of that hawker, delilah cloete - who on earth has ever heard of a woman hawker, anyway, although i take my hat off to her because it cannot be easy...) it's no wonder that geena's mother left (but did she have to leave the child?) i remember that day; i even called to her to come over. (she didn't know that i knew about it, how could she?) poor geena. left like old vegetables... and her mother off with that bus driver. lord, life is strange... and certainly not fair. well, poppie and i are doing well in this flourishing trade. maybe it's time to expand a bit. there's always place in this business for one more girl. pity geena is not game. maybe i must approach her again. perhaps this time she'll join us. money means freedom. and when geena has enough of it, she can leave this place too; i know she's dying to go to her mother in cape town, even if the woman just left her like that with her father. a father who still sleeps with the help. and black help, at that - it's just too much for most white folks...