and it was just the four of them in the house.
‘Babies are supposed to turn darker after a few months,’ she said. ‘But with Karabo it’s been the opposite.’
‘But Precious is not very dark either,’ Teacher said, only for Ma’ama to shriek at him in exasperation.
‘Kojo!’ she cried. ‘Karabo is lighter than a mulatto. In fact she is practically white!’
Karabo didn’t know what a mulatto was but it didn’t sound very pleasant. She turned on the bedside lamp and splayed her fingers in front of her face. How dark was she supposed to be? As dark as Teacher and Paa Kofi? Or like uMakhulu, her other grandmother? uMakhulu’s skin used to be the colour of the sweets she made from melted sugar. They came out in shades of swirling caramel that matched the colour of uMakhulu’s eyes. uTatomkhulu, her South African grandfather, even used to say uMakhulu had the eyes of an angel. But that was before Karabo’s aunt Thembeka went mad. After that, uMakhulu’s eyes turned dark and cloudy with grief. She didn’t make Karabo sweets anymore.
All this was very confusing for Karabo. Her mother always scolded her when she played outside in the dirt. She’d plant her hands on her hips and ask Karabo in a mocking tone if she wanted to be black like her. That was how her mother described herself even though she wasn’t really black at all. When Karabo drew her mother in her colouring book she always used the brown and yellow crayons. The black crayons were reserved especially for Teacher.
Karabo was her mother’s intombazana emhlophe. Her little white girl. She always said it with fondness but it didn’t make Karabo feel any better or, come to think of it, any worse. She wasn’t the only girl in school who wasn’t as dark as the others. Tracey and Joelene Jacobs were just as light skinned as her but they were Coloured and it wasn’t their fault.
At school, curly brackets were often drawn around Karabo to include her with the Coloured children. She didn’t really mind because the Jacobs sisters were fun to be with. But in Karabo’s head she was black and not Coloured. Sometimes, for the hell of it, she argued with the teachers until they threw up their hands in exasperation and reported her to Mr Jali, the headmaster. Mr Jali would sigh heavily and call her yinkathazo, the trouble maker, the moment Karabo stepped into his office.
‘But Karabo …’ Teacher began to say but Ma’ama cut him off.
Karabo imagined Ma’ama holding up an imperious hand, like the pointsmen at the intersection when the traffic lights don’t work. She called them traffic lights instead of robots because Teacher insisted that was the correct name.
‘The white man who came to the house the other day when you were at school,’ Ma’ama said. ‘Who was he? That old man in khaki shorts.’
‘That would be Bill Harrison,’ Teacher replied. ‘He lives just down the road.’
‘He was surprised to see us.’
‘Many things surprise Bill these days. That’s why he’s emigrating.’
Karabo could imagine Ma’ama tossing one end of her wrap over her shoulder right then.
‘A man shouldn’t go to another man’s house when the other man is not there,’ she retorted. ‘I’m just saying.’
Then Paa Kofi’s voice floated calmly through the night.
‘Kojo,’ he said gently. ‘Kojo. I know this must be difficult for you. After all, Precious is your wife. No man wants to believe …’
He lowered his voice and Karabo couldn’t make out the rest of what he said. It was long past her bedtime and she was falling in and out of sleep. Her grandmother’s was the last voice she heard and her words were sharp with irritation.
‘There are tests, Kojo! You can settle this thing once and for all.’
CHAPTER 2
Even when Teacher was asleep he had this look of mild astonishment on his face. It was as if he couldn’t believe what he was dreaming. Precious touched his nose and watched it twitch. Then she pressed one nostril shut until Teacher’s breathing became shallow and rapid. He woke up with a start.
She spoke quickly before Teacher could gather his thoughts. ‘How long are your parents staying?’
Teacher rubbed his eyes and groaned. ‘My parents? You know they can stay as long as they want.’
She punched him lightly on the shoulder. ‘How long, Teacher? Two weeks? A month?’ It was too early in the morning to raise her voice but she raised it all the same.
He looked at her in astonishment. ‘What’s the matter, Precious?’
It was as if he didn’t live in the same house as she and Karabo. Their house was in proportion to a high school teacher’s salary and with Teacher’s parents in the house, they were practically living on top of each other. Precious snorted in frustration. How could he be so blind?
‘Your mother.’
It sounded like an insult but she didn’t mean it that way.
‘She doesn’t like me,’ she added.
Teacher smiled at her with that easy, broad-lipped smile that had made her fall in love with him in the first place.
‘She’s your mother-in-law,’ he said gently. ‘She’s not supposed to like you.’
‘I’m serious, Kojo. She doesn’t like Karabo either.’
Now this got Teacher’s attention and Precious felt a sudden stab of jealousy. Teacher propped himself up on one elbow and waited for her to continue, but she resisted the urge and stared blankly at him instead.
‘Did she hit her?’ he asked. There was a tremor in his voice.
Precious rolled her eyes to the ceiling. ‘And what would you have done if she had?’
Teacher’s lips tightened because they both knew he wouldn’t have done anything. Ma’ama was his mother, after all, and he was the dutiful son.
‘They’ll be gone in two weeks,’ Teacher said through clenched teeth. That made Precious feel bad because it was as if she was chasing his parents away. Her parents were right here in Mthatha but Teacher only saw his very rarely. She cupped his face in her hand and could feel the tightness in his jaw.
‘Paa Kofi can stay if he wants.’
She was trying to make light of the matter but Teacher could be just like the old BMW parked outside their bedroom window. When he got stuck on something, it was very difficult to get him going again.
Precious stroked his arm, thinking that might soothe away his anger. The slightest thing set Teacher off these days and she already regretted saying anything at all.
‘Your parents are next door,’ she said in a low voice. ‘We can talk properly after they are gone.’
To look at Teacher, one wouldn’t think he ever lost his temper. Not with his glasses slipping off his nose and his mild stutter. But sometimes he could get as angry as those young men in the ANC, the ones who began every sentence with ‘Amandla!’ and a clenched fist.
Precious stroked Teacher’s arm with greater urgency. ‘Karabo is sleeping. You’ll frighten her if you shout.’
That was Teacher’s magic word. Karabo. At the mere mention of her name, the sun came out in Teacher’s world and did not go down again. He made love to Precious that morning with a savagery that was most unlike a mild-mannered mathematics teacher. It felt as if he needed to punish Precious for something and as she clung to him, she realised she wanted the very same thing.
Something had changed between them since those early days when they first fell in love. As Teacher went back to sleep, Precious was still wide awake and as she looked at her husband, she remembered when she had first seen him.
Precious and her sister Thembeka were