7 Tales of Sex and Betrayal by Zita Weber Page A

a smile to her face.
    Practical to the core, she didn’t make a
scene and decided that her life wasn’t to be disturbed for the sake
of her husband’s folly. She threw her considerable energy into
befriending the local workers and learning from them. Their local
knowledge was fascinating and she admired their strength and
resilience. She began teaching English to those workers who were
interested. She threw herself into her activities and got much
satisfaction from learning as well as teaching.
    Occasionally, she’d find their wedding photo
turned around to face the wall. She never got to the bottom of
which of the servants was responsible, although she had her
suspicions. It was both touching and amusing that someone was
making a protest on her behalf. Once Dave had found his favourite
jacket had inexplicably developed burn holes that were so obvious
he had to throw the jacket away. He was livid because he’d been so
attached to the jacket and although he interrogated all the
servants, no-one was able to say who had done such a loathsome
thing.
    Meanwhile Dave started to drink, moderately
at first, then regularly, and now almost constantly. The more he
drank the coarser he became with his staff and with her. More than
anything else, it was his attitude to the servants that upset her
the most. He was particularly cruel towards Pepie, their general
houseboy.
    Pepie was friendly, eager to help and did a
good job of overseeing the other servants in the house. It was
Pepie who had taught her about the country. He had taught her which
insects to admire and which to be wary of. She owed her beautiful
garden to Pepie’s knowledge of native plants and when to plant
them. She smiled as she now watched him watering the garden.
    “Joanne!” It was a barely audible whisper.
“Joanne, come quickly!”
    The voice was hoarse, but soft, as if to
keep it from screaming. It was Dave’s voice coming from the
bedroom.
    Joanne walked quickly to the bedroom where
she found Dave lying still, his sweating body covered only by a
cotton sheet. He stared at her with desperate eyes.
    “What’s the matter?”
    “A spider,” he whispered.
    “A spider? Where?”
    “With me. Here, between the sheets,” Dave’s
voice was shaking.
    She made a move as if to lift the sheet, but
his terrified whisper stopped her.
    “No! Don’t touch it. Don’t move anything at
all.”
    “Why? Dave, take a hold of yourself, it’s
probably nothing.”
    “A tarantula.”
    “A tarantula? Are you sure?”
    “Of course I’m sure!”
    Gone was his normal bellow. It was replaced
by a muted desperation.
    “I saw it crawl under the sheet.”
    Joanne took the edge of the sheet in her
hand and said, “If I just lift this end of the sheet
carefully...”
    But his panicky voice interrupted her. “No,
don’t. I can feel it...it’s crawling up my leg.”
    Looking down, sure enough, Joanne saw
movement beneath the sheet. A small white mound was inching its way
along his body.
    “Yes, I can see it. It does seem big enough
for a tarantula Dave.”
    She got no reply. Dave’s whole body was
rigid with terror and his face purple as he strained to hold his
breath.
    “Now, just relax. Try breathing very
gently.”
    His eyes were screwed up tight in an effort
to avoid moving, but he acknowledged her suggestion by visibly
releasing his breath, slowly, breathing deeply in and out.
    “That’s good. The spider seems to have
stopped moving.”
    He nodded slightly. “It’s on my stomach.
It’s not moving...can’t you do something?”
    “What can I do? You won’t let me lift the
sheet.” She thought for a moment and said, “I know. I’ll get Pepie,
he’ll know how to handle spiders.”
    “No!” he snapped and stopped suddenly for
fear of upsetting the spider. In a calmer voice he added, “I don’t
want the servants to see me like this.”
    “Don’t be silly Dave. This is a matter of
life and...”
    She stopped just in time, but saw the fear
in his eyes at the