people taken in by the cheating city slickers. I was almost sick with worry by the time he turned down a street of even grander houses than those we had passed and shifted down to a crawl as he started to look for the address.
âWhat was the number again, Dawta?â he asked.
I was so flustered I couldnât remember and had to fish in my purse for the letter that had the address on it. He didnât have to drive much farther before he rolled up in front of number 30. Before I got out, my heart sank as I looked up at the black wrought iron gates that were firmly closed, and the freshly painted white two-storey house set some distance behind an ocean of flower beds and lawn.
The driver turned around to look at me fully then and he must have sensed something in my expression. âThis is the place the Dawta want?â he asked in what seemed a kindly voice and he actually smiled, showing several gold teeth. I was surprised to see he was middle-aged, older than I thought from his driving, for I hadnât looked at him properly when I got in.
I nodded. I paid him what he asked; it was almost half of what I had left. I was shocked at the amount, but still had no idea of whether he had cheated me or not. The street was empty as I got out of the taxi and watched it move off slowly, looking shabby and out of place. I went to the gate and gazed up at the house. I picked up a stone to knock on the metal mailbox attached to the gate to attract the attention of someone inside, for that is what we country folk did. But even though I raised my hand with the stone in it, I couldnât for the life of me bring it down. It was as if I was suddenly seeing myself in slow motion. My unkempt hair pulled back and knotted at the back with escaping strands like steel wool. My plain cotton dress with my breasts straining against the fabric for it had gotten too small for me. I could see the large sweat stains spreading from under my arms and feel the dampness and rank smell. My feet were stockingless in my one pair of good shoes that werenât that good anymore as I had bought nothing new for myself since I married. Surely these people inside would take me for a madwoman. Would they recognize me? I was only in my early twenties then, but I knew that my plain and careworn self was that of someone much older. How could Junie claim me? It struck me for the first time that day: what if she didnât want to? What if she refused to come with me? What if she simply said no and closed her face? During the miserable journey to get there, I had not once thought about that. In the world I occupied, as it was then, children had very little say about what they did or didnât want. Their job was to obey adults. But in my heart of hearts I knew that obedient and polite though she might have been, her own wishes would matter terribly to me. She had to want to come.
I felt so overwhelmed by everything my entire being began melting away, becoming insubstantial and faint. I knew I couldnât go through with it. I dropped the stone and held on to the gate, my head bowed, trying to gain control of myself. It took a while, but I finally pulled myself up from that abyss and turned back to the street, with no consciousness of where I was, with no plan in mind. It took me a while to focus. When I did so, I was surprised to see the taxi parked on the grass verge on the other side of the street. It was a dead end, and I suppose the driver had merely gone to turn around. I cringed with shame at the thought that he must have been watching me. How long I donât know. I had lost track of time. I walked towards him, still with a sense of remoteness, still outside of myself. As he reached behind and opened the back door I got in automatically.
âDe I-an-I not dere then?â he asked as I got in and shut the door.
âNoâ, I said.
âWhere the Dawta want to go to now?â He had turned around and was looking at me.
I stared
âWhat was the number again, Dawta?â he asked.
I was so flustered I couldnât remember and had to fish in my purse for the letter that had the address on it. He didnât have to drive much farther before he rolled up in front of number 30. Before I got out, my heart sank as I looked up at the black wrought iron gates that were firmly closed, and the freshly painted white two-storey house set some distance behind an ocean of flower beds and lawn.
The driver turned around to look at me fully then and he must have sensed something in my expression. âThis is the place the Dawta want?â he asked in what seemed a kindly voice and he actually smiled, showing several gold teeth. I was surprised to see he was middle-aged, older than I thought from his driving, for I hadnât looked at him properly when I got in.
I nodded. I paid him what he asked; it was almost half of what I had left. I was shocked at the amount, but still had no idea of whether he had cheated me or not. The street was empty as I got out of the taxi and watched it move off slowly, looking shabby and out of place. I went to the gate and gazed up at the house. I picked up a stone to knock on the metal mailbox attached to the gate to attract the attention of someone inside, for that is what we country folk did. But even though I raised my hand with the stone in it, I couldnât for the life of me bring it down. It was as if I was suddenly seeing myself in slow motion. My unkempt hair pulled back and knotted at the back with escaping strands like steel wool. My plain cotton dress with my breasts straining against the fabric for it had gotten too small for me. I could see the large sweat stains spreading from under my arms and feel the dampness and rank smell. My feet were stockingless in my one pair of good shoes that werenât that good anymore as I had bought nothing new for myself since I married. Surely these people inside would take me for a madwoman. Would they recognize me? I was only in my early twenties then, but I knew that my plain and careworn self was that of someone much older. How could Junie claim me? It struck me for the first time that day: what if she didnât want to? What if she refused to come with me? What if she simply said no and closed her face? During the miserable journey to get there, I had not once thought about that. In the world I occupied, as it was then, children had very little say about what they did or didnât want. Their job was to obey adults. But in my heart of hearts I knew that obedient and polite though she might have been, her own wishes would matter terribly to me. She had to want to come.
I felt so overwhelmed by everything my entire being began melting away, becoming insubstantial and faint. I knew I couldnât go through with it. I dropped the stone and held on to the gate, my head bowed, trying to gain control of myself. It took a while, but I finally pulled myself up from that abyss and turned back to the street, with no consciousness of where I was, with no plan in mind. It took me a while to focus. When I did so, I was surprised to see the taxi parked on the grass verge on the other side of the street. It was a dead end, and I suppose the driver had merely gone to turn around. I cringed with shame at the thought that he must have been watching me. How long I donât know. I had lost track of time. I walked towards him, still with a sense of remoteness, still outside of myself. As he reached behind and opened the back door I got in automatically.
âDe I-an-I not dere then?â he asked as I got in and shut the door.
âNoâ, I said.
âWhere the Dawta want to go to now?â He had turned around and was looking at me.
I stared
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