am so happy Matty now we are both married. I hope you will be very happy. I am going to have a baby in January. The doctor says February, they think they know everything. I hope it will be a boy because Dirkwants a boy. I don’t mind what it is, but for my sake I hope it’s a girl really, but who would be a woman in this world. Ha. Ha.
Affectionately, your old pal,
Marnie
The fourth was from Solly Cohen, and from the moment Martha opened it she knew she would find in it everything Joss had refused.
Well, well, Martha Quest. I’m not surprised, you are a born marrier, and I always told Joss so when he insisted something might be done with you. I hear high civil service prospects, pension, and no doubt a big house in the suburbs. If not yet, it will come, it will come. Well, well, you’ll have to be a good girl now, no naughty ideas about the colour bar - no ideas of any kind, for that matter. If there is one thing you can’t afford, dear Matty, in the station of life into which you’ve chosen to marry, god help you, it is ideas.
Well, as you will see from the address, I’m not in Cape Town any more. The higher education, being nothing but sh—, is not for me, though Joss is apparently prepared to go through with it. I’m making an effort towards communal life in the Coloured quarters of our great metropolis, a small light in a naughty world. All the boorjoys are very shocked, of course. I shall naturally not be allowed to have visitors of your sort, but if at any time you feel like dropping a line from your exalted world of tea parties, sundowners and sound incomes, I shall be pleased to read it.
Yours,
Solly
(I am not supposed to have letters unless the whole group approves, but I shall explain that a certain amount is due to you as a victim of the system.)
At first Martha allowed herself to feel angry and hurt, but almost at once she laughed, with the insight of fellow feeling. She read it again, isolated the word ‘god’, with a small g, and then the word ‘boorjoys’. That’s what you are doing it for, she thought maliciously. At once Joss seemed infinitely better than his brother; Solly was nothing but a child beside him. But at the same time she was thinking of this communal household as a refuge for herself. She had decided she would go there at once, that very morning, and ask if she might join them. She yearned towards it - a life ofsimplicity, conversation and ideals. And in the Coloured quarters, too … she was about to leap out of bed to pack a suitcase which would be the most final of arguments against being married, when she saw there was another letter lying among the folds of the bedclothes. It was from her mother.
My dear Girl,
I do hope you enjoyed your honeymoon, and are not too tired after it. I am just writing to say that we have finally decided to sell the farm, we have had a good offer and shall settle in town. Somewhere near you, so that I can help you now that you are married and … (Here a line was carefully scratched out, but Martha made out the word ‘baby’, and went cold with anger.) At any rate, perhaps I can be of use.
No more now, affectionately,
Mother
This letter affected Martha like a strong drug. She threw herself on Douglas.
‘What’s the matter?’ he jerked out, as he woke. He looked at her closely, and at once sat up. He yawned a little, warm and easy with sleep, then he smiled and put his arm around her.
‘Douglas,’ she announced furiously, ‘do you know, I’ve had a letter from my mother, and do you know, they’re moving into town after me, just in order to run my life for me, that’s all it is, and—’
‘Hold your horses,’ he demanded. He absorbed this information, and said at last, ‘Well, Matty, they were bound to move in sometime, what of it?’
She froze inwardly; and after a pause, moved away again. He moved after her, and began patting her shoulders rhythmically: he was calm, matter-of-fact, sensible.
‘Now look here,’ he went
Affectionately, your old pal,
Marnie
The fourth was from Solly Cohen, and from the moment Martha opened it she knew she would find in it everything Joss had refused.
Well, well, Martha Quest. I’m not surprised, you are a born marrier, and I always told Joss so when he insisted something might be done with you. I hear high civil service prospects, pension, and no doubt a big house in the suburbs. If not yet, it will come, it will come. Well, well, you’ll have to be a good girl now, no naughty ideas about the colour bar - no ideas of any kind, for that matter. If there is one thing you can’t afford, dear Matty, in the station of life into which you’ve chosen to marry, god help you, it is ideas.
Well, as you will see from the address, I’m not in Cape Town any more. The higher education, being nothing but sh—, is not for me, though Joss is apparently prepared to go through with it. I’m making an effort towards communal life in the Coloured quarters of our great metropolis, a small light in a naughty world. All the boorjoys are very shocked, of course. I shall naturally not be allowed to have visitors of your sort, but if at any time you feel like dropping a line from your exalted world of tea parties, sundowners and sound incomes, I shall be pleased to read it.
Yours,
Solly
(I am not supposed to have letters unless the whole group approves, but I shall explain that a certain amount is due to you as a victim of the system.)
At first Martha allowed herself to feel angry and hurt, but almost at once she laughed, with the insight of fellow feeling. She read it again, isolated the word ‘god’, with a small g, and then the word ‘boorjoys’. That’s what you are doing it for, she thought maliciously. At once Joss seemed infinitely better than his brother; Solly was nothing but a child beside him. But at the same time she was thinking of this communal household as a refuge for herself. She had decided she would go there at once, that very morning, and ask if she might join them. She yearned towards it - a life ofsimplicity, conversation and ideals. And in the Coloured quarters, too … she was about to leap out of bed to pack a suitcase which would be the most final of arguments against being married, when she saw there was another letter lying among the folds of the bedclothes. It was from her mother.
My dear Girl,
I do hope you enjoyed your honeymoon, and are not too tired after it. I am just writing to say that we have finally decided to sell the farm, we have had a good offer and shall settle in town. Somewhere near you, so that I can help you now that you are married and … (Here a line was carefully scratched out, but Martha made out the word ‘baby’, and went cold with anger.) At any rate, perhaps I can be of use.
No more now, affectionately,
Mother
This letter affected Martha like a strong drug. She threw herself on Douglas.
‘What’s the matter?’ he jerked out, as he woke. He looked at her closely, and at once sat up. He yawned a little, warm and easy with sleep, then he smiled and put his arm around her.
‘Douglas,’ she announced furiously, ‘do you know, I’ve had a letter from my mother, and do you know, they’re moving into town after me, just in order to run my life for me, that’s all it is, and—’
‘Hold your horses,’ he demanded. He absorbed this information, and said at last, ‘Well, Matty, they were bound to move in sometime, what of it?’
She froze inwardly; and after a pause, moved away again. He moved after her, and began patting her shoulders rhythmically: he was calm, matter-of-fact, sensible.
‘Now look here,’ he went
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