Читать книгу Queen of the Free State - Jennifer Friedman - Страница 4

‘Tell me a story, Ma.’

‘A story? Come here …’

Ma’s sitting in the lounge on the big rocking chair. The sun is pooling on the polished floor and the air is sweet with the smell of orange peels heaped on the coffee table beside her. Ma leans forward, takes my hands and pats the small space beside her.

‘Squeeze in here next to me. I’ll tell you your very own story, shall I?’

Her hands smell of oranges. I wriggle my bottom between her hip and the soft green corduroy armrest. My three-year-old legs are straight on the seat in front of me, my hands on my knees.

Ma pulls me up close. Her mouth is against my hair. I can feel the faint warmth of her breath as she briefly rests her lips on my head. I lean the side of my face against her and rub my cheek against the scratchy wool of her jersey. I can only see the side of her face. I turn, perch on my knees. The toes of my red shoes kick against the armrest behind me. I rest my head in the palms of my hands and look up into her face. She looks down at me, smiling and tender as she tries to smooth the cowlick in my fringe. She puts her hand on my feet.

‘Don’t kick the chair, sweetheart,’ she says. ‘It’ll get dirty … Well,’ she begins, ‘once upon a time in a magical place called the Free State, in the Union of South Africa …’ She pats my arm.

‘I know that, Ma!’ I shout. The red ribbons around my pigtails swing down to my chin.

‘The best place in the world!’ she continues. ‘Well, on a special day – it was a windy day in autumn – a big white stork flew in through the open window of a room where I was waiting for you. It dropped you off right into my arms. Pa and I had been waiting for you for a very long time and we were so happy to see you, especially because you arrived on Our Queen’s birthday.’

Ma’s smile is tight with pride. Ma loves Our Queen.

‘I was so proud my daughter and Her Majesty shared the same birthday,’ she says. ‘I also share something special with Her Highness – look.’ She pats her hair, her fingers shaping the two kiss-curls framing her forehead. Ma likes to wear silk scarves like Our Queen; she pins them to her jerseys with the gold and rose quartz brooch Pa gave her when I was born. Pa gave it to her because he was so happy. Ma’s devoted to Her Majesty, committed to all things royal. That’s why I’ve got the same name – Anne – as Our Queen’s little princess. Jennifer-Anne. That’s my whole name.

Ma’s wearing my favourite tweed skirt, the one with lots of coloured knobbles and bumps and flecks. Ma says Our Queen loves tweed. I rub a fold of her skirt between my fingers. Look deep into the colours. I can see the hills on Grandpa’s farm and blue specks of fountain. Behind the little flecks, willow-green, golden-orange and the hills’ rusty red shift into focus.

‘Your skirt looks just like the veld on Grandpa’s farm, Ma!’

‘Does it? You’re a funny little girl. More?’

‘Yes please, Ma!’

‘Pa came to fetch us in the Studebaker and took us home …’ Ma smiles. Her fingers are stroking my back.

‘Was Marta waiting for me at home, Ma? And Sandy-my-dog and Isak?’

Ma opens her eyes wide. ‘Of course they were, sweetheart – they couldn’t wait for you to arrive.’

Sandy and Willie-Venter, who lives in the sideboard in our dining room, are my best friends. Only Sandy and I can see Willie-Venter. Isak’s my friend too. He works in our garden and he can fix anything. He rolls brown-paper cigarettes and smokes them until they’re flat. Then he throws the soggy ends into Ma’s flowerbeds. I picked one up once and tried to smoke it, but it made me cough. I know Isak’s my friend because he doesn’t mind if I talk to him when he’s working. He told Ma he planted all the flowers in the garden just for me, to welcome me home.

I look down at Sandy lying against the side of the chair. His ears are pricked up, his sleepy eyes half-open. He doesn’t move his head, just swivels his eyes around until they meet mine. I lean down to stroke the smooth dome of his head.

‘You’re my best friend, Sandy-my-dog.’

His stubby tail beats his love for me against the floor.