Wrens are rich to an extent. Thus you must work to perfection, she said. I should have coveralls provided and accommodation up to a sleeping-room, but no shower-place or toilet to myself, of course. She said This Rra Wren is high director of your nation’s bank and shall stay this side some five years until returning back to London, so you can be full grown. She said As well, he can sponsor you for Capital Continuation night studies if he likes you well enough, but I am not too sure.
She advised me all kind of things, over again. Never must I purge my nostrils in my fingers. Always I must guard on bearing tales. One thing above others she said many times: I must befriend that woman, because she was verystrained with bad fortune. If at all Batswana might tease or so, they were only misled. She was nice, Mma Jarvis said. She was American. Mma Jarvis bought me varied new clothing, with shoes. She said I was bonny. Every day she gave me presents such as half-remaining foods as chutney, sunflower oil,
tamatie sous
, maizena, bread crumbs in packets, some tins of lichees, jelly, dry soup.
Rra Jarvis brought me there. That place was risen from the dreaming brains of a thief. All about was wealth. You must enter by two gates in order. You must give in your name and reasons. You can see one man with no duties beyond tending on dogs. Another is hunting over and forth along the walks to pinch out any spear of grass to come amongst the pavements. You pass hedges made as balls and boxes throughout, many lawns, many bowers growing. You see Waygards always two and two, so that if one should chance to sleep, his comrade shall report on him. Everything in that place, you must crave for. The air itself must be made sweet, by women with spray-canisters, at times.
At once Bastiaan brought me to sit withinside. He commanded tea. Bastiaan was headservant there, or captain, a Xhosa, very fierce, to me. He was like Ken Gampu. His head was shaved. He wore fine suits. He took away my letter of reference, leaving me. Those carpets were soft, to make you wish to spring about. My plate was gold-ringed. My serviette was in a bracelet.
I saw this master was one for fish and the sea. All on the walls were caught fish, as thick-through as dogs, made hard and shining. Save for pilchards, we Batswana do not trust in fish. Far in the north, the Mmukushu are fish-eating, but we do not know them well and they are from Angola, really.
At once I was brought farther, to Mma Wren. It was by day, yet she wore dark glasses. She was white-haired andwhite-dressed. She discussed with Bastiaan about my letter, a time, discerning me through those dark glasses. She said Are you quiet? Because here we are quiet. It was true, because that staff was quiet-spoken, differing to the shouting and ragging staffs of houses roundabout Jarvises. She said she regretted as to my mother. She pressed my hands. She wore gold finger rings and gold hair clips. She was little. Then it was fixed. I may come and toil amongst all those treasures.
Those maids were as cruel as nurses. I alone of all Batswana in that place refused to laugh against Mma Wren in secret. They would speak insults of her in Setswana at any time, if only Bastiaan was not nearby, of course. They said I must think what fanciful meaning I can say for my surname when she shall ask me. They said she was well-pleased when Bibiana Matlhapeng told that her name meant “There are too many rocks in this place,” and as well when Kebonyetsala Gaolekwe told that her surname says “You cannot do anything to God.” But I said those were true meanings. They said You are just argumental. They said You must be fanciful and please her, she is like a child. They said Others have done so. They said She is ever saying we Batswana are too mean at times with naming our children, as when Bibiana named her son Molebi, “He who is ever staring at you.” They said She says it is not fair on children and she bothers us on this, extremely.
She advised me all kind of things, over again. Never must I purge my nostrils in my fingers. Always I must guard on bearing tales. One thing above others she said many times: I must befriend that woman, because she was verystrained with bad fortune. If at all Batswana might tease or so, they were only misled. She was nice, Mma Jarvis said. She was American. Mma Jarvis bought me varied new clothing, with shoes. She said I was bonny. Every day she gave me presents such as half-remaining foods as chutney, sunflower oil,
tamatie sous
, maizena, bread crumbs in packets, some tins of lichees, jelly, dry soup.
Rra Jarvis brought me there. That place was risen from the dreaming brains of a thief. All about was wealth. You must enter by two gates in order. You must give in your name and reasons. You can see one man with no duties beyond tending on dogs. Another is hunting over and forth along the walks to pinch out any spear of grass to come amongst the pavements. You pass hedges made as balls and boxes throughout, many lawns, many bowers growing. You see Waygards always two and two, so that if one should chance to sleep, his comrade shall report on him. Everything in that place, you must crave for. The air itself must be made sweet, by women with spray-canisters, at times.
At once Bastiaan brought me to sit withinside. He commanded tea. Bastiaan was headservant there, or captain, a Xhosa, very fierce, to me. He was like Ken Gampu. His head was shaved. He wore fine suits. He took away my letter of reference, leaving me. Those carpets were soft, to make you wish to spring about. My plate was gold-ringed. My serviette was in a bracelet.
I saw this master was one for fish and the sea. All on the walls were caught fish, as thick-through as dogs, made hard and shining. Save for pilchards, we Batswana do not trust in fish. Far in the north, the Mmukushu are fish-eating, but we do not know them well and they are from Angola, really.
At once I was brought farther, to Mma Wren. It was by day, yet she wore dark glasses. She was white-haired andwhite-dressed. She discussed with Bastiaan about my letter, a time, discerning me through those dark glasses. She said Are you quiet? Because here we are quiet. It was true, because that staff was quiet-spoken, differing to the shouting and ragging staffs of houses roundabout Jarvises. She said she regretted as to my mother. She pressed my hands. She wore gold finger rings and gold hair clips. She was little. Then it was fixed. I may come and toil amongst all those treasures.
Those maids were as cruel as nurses. I alone of all Batswana in that place refused to laugh against Mma Wren in secret. They would speak insults of her in Setswana at any time, if only Bastiaan was not nearby, of course. They said I must think what fanciful meaning I can say for my surname when she shall ask me. They said she was well-pleased when Bibiana Matlhapeng told that her name meant “There are too many rocks in this place,” and as well when Kebonyetsala Gaolekwe told that her surname says “You cannot do anything to God.” But I said those were true meanings. They said You are just argumental. They said You must be fanciful and please her, she is like a child. They said Others have done so. They said She is ever saying we Batswana are too mean at times with naming our children, as when Bibiana named her son Molebi, “He who is ever staring at you.” They said She says it is not fair on children and she bothers us on this, extremely.
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