The Perils of Skinny-Dipping (15 page)

Abbey took a sip of her gin and tonic and decided to tell Darren about the phone call from Anna.

‘
Darren, I had a call after you left from Anna Halley, from the surveyors.’

‘
What did she say?’

‘
Not much, although she was quite abrupt and seemed surprised that you had got married. She wants you to ring her back as soon as you can.’

Darren shrugged his shoulders. ‘She probably wants confirmation that the meeting is on for next week. I’ll ring her on Monday morning. It can wait until then.’

‘
When is your meeting?’ enquired Abbey.

‘
Next Thursday, in Gaborone. I’ve organised a project meeting to discuss the findings so far.’

‘
Any chance I could come?’ she asked. ‘I’m sure I could leave Boitachello alone for a day or two.’

‘
Of course you can,’ he squeezed her hand. ‘That would be great.’

Abbey completed as many of the office duties as she could the next week so that there would be very little that might arise. If anything did crop up that Boitachello wasn’t sure of, she was under strict orders to wait until Abbey returned and, as she was only going to be away for two days, she couldn’t envisage any major catastrophes.

Boitachello, on the other hand, projected an air of confidence as she waved her hand in the air and said, ‘Ah, Mma, you worry too much! Everything will be fine.’

Abbey smiled at the transformation from the young nervous girl she had been introduced to a few months ago, to the self-assured young lady she was quickly maturing into.

Boitachello still lived with her mother and, now that they were both in full-time employment, the regular income was having an evident effect on their lifestyles. Abbey had noticed several young men walking past the gate at AVP looking inwards, then turning around awkwardly, before walking back again, hoping to get a glimpse of Boitachello. If Boitachello did notice her string of admirers, she paid them no heed and certainly offered no encouragement. In fact, it had occurred to Abbey that Boitachello seemed to display a certain indifference to men in general, apart from Alfred the volunteer labourer at AVP, whom she scolded more than she praised.

Boitachello’s transition had been quite dramatic within a very short space of time. When nobody else was in the office, usually on a Wednesday, which was collection day at the Crossroads, Boitachello would sit on a chair outside the office door under the shading with a cup of tea. She would wave as friends and neighbours walked passed. A few would stop and chat for a while.

She loved to people watch and realised that much could be learned about the town and the people who lived in it by simply sitting and observing the goings on around her. She knew which children truanted afternoon study classes and that Pretty, the wife of Moses the mechanic, always had an appointment at the clinic at two o’clock on a Wednesday afternoon. She noticed strangers, faces she had never seen before, travelling up and down the main street on their way to the hotels or safari trips. As she watched the world pass her by, her thoughts often weaved from the past to the present.

Her childhood had not been easy, but she had had the opportunity to go to school, which was more than her mother. She saw education as the key that would open the doors to freedom and independence. She had worked hard at school and left with a handful of Cambridge Overseas GCSEs, optimistic that employers would queue to offer her jobs. After a few months of being told to ‘try again next week’, the stark reality of being unable to find work emblazoned itself in her mind, and her future looked more uncertain than ever.

Before she got her position at AVP, she had been unemployed for some months, and both her and her mother were struggling to buy enough food. A couple of days after her mother had started work for Mr Morrison, she had come home with a message that Boitachello was to go to his house at four o’clock the next day. Although quite reluctant, Boitachello had duly obliged and Richard had ushered her into the kitchen at the back of the house.

‘
Ah, yes Boitachello. Now, I’m glad you got my message. I have something very important I wish to discuss with you.’

Boitachello stood silently staring down at the floor, avoiding any direct eye contact with him.

‘
Your mother has told me that you are not working at the moment. Is that correct?’

Boitachello nodded, still keeping her eyes fixed upon the floor.

‘
Well, I think I may be able to help you there. You see, there is an opportunity at AVP for a young, strong girl like yourself to come and work for me. Just a couple of days a week to start with, mind. But you never know, it could be more in the future.’

She looked up. Richard’s gaze was fixed on her chest. Embarrassed and feeling nervous, she looked back at the floor. She could hear Richard’s voice getting closer to her until he was only inches away.

‘
Actually, we have had a lot of applicants who we really should interview, but I think I could bypass that if I knew for sure that you were interested in the job. Are you interested, Boitachello?’

‘
Yes Rra, I am interested,’ she replied, moving backwards in an attempt to keep some space between them. The kitchen sink blocked her from going any further. She tried to lift her head to meet his gaze. The sickly, sweet smell of recently applied aftershave wafted into her senses as she felt the tips of his shoes make contact with hers.

‘
Now, I would expect you to show, what shall we say, a small amount of gratitude. I think you know what I mean and you have to realise you are a very lucky girl. There are plenty of young women in this town who would jump at this opportunity. You know that, don’t you?’ He paused for a couple of seconds before continuing. ‘Of course, your mother is also very lucky to have regular employment with me and I know for a fact there are very few jobs around for a woman of her age.’

Boitachello had been expecting this turn of events. It had happened to her before during a brief spell of working in the kitchens at the President’s Lodge. She had been sent up to deliver room service to a travel agent from London who was visiting the lodge on a research trip. In order to ensure the hotel was included in the new brochure, the assistant manager had assured the agent that ‘all’ his needs would be attended to. Boitachello had run out of the room as soon as the man had made clear what his intentions were and reported it to the chef.

She was dismissed within the hour without any hope of a reference. The only way of finding regular employment, without working at the shebeens (where there were always vacancies), would be to leave Kasane and head for the capital. However, the unspoken word is often the loudest and, although her mother had never said anything, Boitachello knew she was ill. Leaving Kasane was not an option in the foreseeable future.

He was now so close she started to feel as though she was suffocating, as if the air in the room was somehow being sucked out. She closed her eyes as he unbuttoned the front of her blouse, pulling it back over her shoulders. She felt the urge to push him away and run out of the door. The memory of the pain from being hungry and the constant search to find food held her prisoner. Her hands continued to grasp onto the edge of the sink, her nails scratching the hard enamel surface. A knock at the front door stopped his advances. He stepped backwards and turned to face the window, now preferring not to look at her at all.

‘
I will expect you at the office tomorrow afternoon at two, to go over your duties, and back here next week at four o’clock sharp. You can go now.’

Boitachello left by the back door and walked around the side of the house, before buttoning up her blouse. As she walked the short distance back to the small house she shared with her mother, she fought the feeling of nausea, trying to swallow back down the vomit that had stuck in the back of her throat. It was no use - she vomited where she stood.

Her mother was sitting outside in the yard, in the shade, on a small wooden stool when she arrived back home.

‘
Well,’ she asked. ‘What did he want?’

‘
He offered me a job at AVP,’ replied Boitachello, trying not to show any emotion in her voice. She felt tears sting her eyes and wiped her face with her sleeve, feigning a cough.

Prisca stared at her daughter for a minute, trying to judge her mood. ‘Is everything alright?’

‘
Yes, it’s fine. I start tomorrow.’

Before her mother could ask any more questions, she took the bucket from the outside shed, filled it with soap and water, stripped half naked and washed herself down.

Fortunately, the next week turned out to be very different from what she had feared. The Wednesday she was due to go back to Mr Morrison’s house at four o’clock, she had been out with Miss Abbey on her first trip to the Crossroads. She had watched with a combination of admiration and amazement at the skill in which Miss Abbey had dealt with both Mr Permelo and Mr Morrison in quick succession. She had never seen a woman get the better of a man in any situation, let alone two white men who expected nothing but obedience and compliance. Yes, it was true that being white was definitely an advantage; however, she felt there were many valuable lessons to be learned from this woman and, if given the chance, she would observe her more closely in future.

Boitachello had been convinced that she would be fired, now that Miss Abbey knew she had not been interviewed for the job, and she felt too ashamed to explain the circumstances under which she had felt obliged to accept the position. After the shock of being offered a full-time permanent job had worn off, Boitachello was inspired to be like her new boss, and set about creating a totally different person from the shy, nervous young girl who had allowed her dignity to be kicked into the dust.

Prisca also appeared to be much happier than when Abbey had first interviewed her at the house. She would regularly smile and engage in conversation, whereas at first she would endeavour to keep herself away from Abbey and Darren if they were in the house, preferring to keep out of sight, almost as if she felt unworthy to be in their company. This, unfortunately, was an affliction from working for white Afrikaans who still expected the locals to ‘know their place’. Prisca had devised her own work routine and Abbey was more than happy to let her get on with her chores in the house in her own way. It had not gone unnoticed by Abbey that Prisca very often went beyond the call of duty and carried out other jobs, like tidying the garden, which she was not expected to do.

Prisca had brought up Boitachello mostly single-handed. Her husband, Benjamin, had struggled to find work in the town and had agreed (rather too readily for Prisca’s liking), to hitch a lift out of Kasane to find work wherever he could, leaving Prisca with the responsibility of bringing up their daughter. Apart from the odd letter, she never heard from him. She did her best to provide for her daughter, cleaning houses and weaving baskets, which she gave to one of the stallholders in the town to sell for her.

After weeks, sometimes months, of being away, Benjamin would return with very little money to show for his endeavours. Initially, the disappointment had hurt beyond belief, and she had hurled accusations of drinking and gambling at him. He silenced her grievances with the back of his hand across her face, or the heel of his foot in the small of her back, before taking up his marital rights, leaving her in no doubt of her place within the marriage, and in her husband’s mind. Even when she stopped the accusations, he would still get angry and question her ability as a wife and mother, finding fault wherever he could.

The beatings weren’t just physical. Benjamin would release a torrent of abuse at both her and Boitachello, systematically breaking down any confidence and self-esteem they had. It was these experiences that Prisca found the most painful. The bruises and black eyes faded, but the venom that came forth from his mouth poisoned her blood, and left her feeling permanently exhausted.

After a few days, Benjamin would disappear from their lives again, leaving behind him yet another chapter of blood and tears. Each night when Prisca went to bed, she prayed for two things. The first prayer was that her husband would never return, and the second, that her daughter’s life would turn out to be very different from that of her own.

By the time Boitachello was fourteen years old, Benjamin’s trips had become less frequent and his health had started to deteriorate. He spent more time in the house, lying on the mattress on the floor, complaining of being tired and in pain. Despite the constant care and attention Prisca gave him, his condition gradually got worse, regularly coughing up blood and gasping for breath. Each visit to the local clinic resulted in the nurse dispensing two paracetamol tablets and advising him to rest. On the third visit, a doctor finally diagnosed tuberculoses and prescribed anti-biotics. The diagnosis came far too late and the treatment seemed to make no difference. After one particularly acute coughing spate, he closed his eyes and his lungs drew their final breath.

Prisca had walked home from the funeral holding on to her daughter’s arm. She knew in her heart the real cause of Benjamin’s death had been the disease that everybody was talking about. His long absences had fuelled her suspicions, and when questioned he had never denied sleeping with other women, instead shrugging his shoulders as if there was nothing to explain or justify in his actions.

She also knew that her husband had passed the disease on to her, and her days on this earth were also numbered. Strangely, she felt no bitterness towards her husband, just a sense of peace from knowing that life from now on, although hard, would be more tranquil than ever before. After all these years she was finally free. Her freedom had come at a price, but it was still very welcome.