BESIG OM TE LAAI

Tik om te soek

Karabo & Deborah

Deel

“Krappie!”

“Yes, Ma’borah?”

“Come here” Deborah muttered, struggling with her stick and broken foot to the big stone.

To understand Deborah, you actually have to be Deborah – from birth.

Everything is her mom and dad’s fault. Why was it necessary for Mom to die when she was born? And then followed Dad’s eternal longing for the boy he could never have. She promised herself that she would exclude everyone just as Dad did with her. And then Dad died too – at about the same time as old Mary’s youngest daughter left her baby here and returned to the city after the weekend. It wasn’t her choice to take him. She was difficult and did not want to open her heart and home to him, but it is strange how one does not actually have control over the goodness that God puts in you if it is His will that you should be receptive and hospitable to strangers. The baby first had to grow up in the kitchen with old Mary, but since he was three years old she could not walk anywhere or the child was on her track. And now he’s already ten.

“Tell me, have you ever seen what I do in all this time you walk on my track?” She asked supposedly angry. She does not want to be dependent, but needs his hands today.

“Yes, Ma’borah.”

“Now run off and go milk Blom.” She still wanted to say … but he had already turned around and all she could see was his soles of his feet. She watches him as he deftly catches Blom – tying her behind her legs – propping himself down on the small chair – and Blom’s teats begin to work like a waffle Deborah.

The milk swirled wildly in the bucket as he approached and stood in front of her.

“Well, then, are you still a smart little Krappie, right?”

“Yes, Ma,” Karabo said, watching his big toe drill a hole in the ground. Sometimes he has a way of truncating her name and softening her soul.

For the first time in years, the plains of Welgevonden heard Deborah’s laughter. It giggled up from her stomach and cackled from her throat. It melts her heart and the emotion bursts into tears, over everything – and everything else. She felt embarrassed when his little dirty hand rubbed her hair and he said softly: “It’s okay Ma’borah, I’ll walk with you – every day. It’s okay. ”

She wipes dirty streaks across her face as she wipes her tears. Then she makes a decision and puts her hands in her lap and lifts her chin. “Well, today I just leave this stick here, because my Krappie is here, after all!” She says, realizing that Karabo has the whitest teeth she has ever seen in one person.

And then he hooked his arm around her body, because to understand Deborah you actually have to put your steps down next to her’s – every day from birth.

Mier

Author: GASVRY

“Krappie!”

“Ja, Ma’borah?”

“Kom hier” mompel Deborah en sukkel met haar kierie en gebreekte voet tot by die groot klip.

Om Deborah te verstaan, moet jy eintlik Deborah wees – van geboorte af.

Alles is haar ma en pa se skuld. Hoekom was dit nodig dat Ma moes dood met haar geboorte? En toe volg Pa se ewige verlange na die seun wat hy nooit kon hê nie. Sy’t gesweer sy sal almal uitsluit nes Pa met haar gemaak het. En toe is Pa ook dood – omtrent dieselfde tyd as wat ou Maria se jongste dogter haar baba hier kom aflaai het en na die naweek weer terug is stad toe. Dit was nie haar keuse om hom in te neem nie. Sy was moeilik en wou nie haar hart en huis vir hom oop maak nie, maar dis eienaardig hoe mens nie eintlik beheer het oor die goedheid wat God in jou kweek as dit Sy wil is dat jy ontvanklik en gasvry teenoor vreemdelinge moet wees nie. Die baba moes maar eers in die kombuis saam met ou Maria groot word, maar vandat hy drie jaar oud was kon sy nêrens heen loop nie of die kind is op haar spoor. En nou is hy al tien.

“Sê my, het jy nou al in al hierdie tyd wat jy so al op my spoor loop, gekyk wat ek doen?” Vra sy kamma kwaai. Sy wil nie afhanklik wees nie, maar het die mannetjie se handjies nodig vandag.

“Ja, Ma’borah.”

“Nou toe loop melk vir Blom.” Sy wou wou nog sê… maar hy’t  klaar omgedraai en al wat sy sien is voetsole. Sy hou hom dop waar hy behendig vir Blom aankeer – haar agter pote vasbind – homself wydsbeen gaan neersit op die klein stoeltjie – en Blom se spene begin bewerk soos ‘n wafferse Deborah.

Die melk skommel wild in die emmer rond toe hy nader gewaggel kom en voor haar gaan staan.

“Nou toe, dan’s jy nog ‘n slim klein Krappie ook, nê?”

“Ja, Ma’,” sê Karabo en kyk hoe sy groot toon ‘n gat in die grond boor. Soms het hy ‘n manier om haar naam af te kort en haar siel sag te maak.

Vir die eerste keer in jare hoor die vlaktes van Welgevonden Deborah se lag. Dit giggel van haar maag af op en kekkel by haar keel uit. Dit smelt haar hart en die emosie borrel oor in trane, oor alles – en nog alles. Sy voel skoon verleë toe sy klein vuil handjie oor hare vryf en hy saggies sê: “Dis oraait Ma’borah, ek sal saam jou loop – elke dag. Dis oraait.”

Sy vee vuil strepe oor haar gesig soos sy haar trane afvee. Dan neem sy ‘n besluit en plak haar hande in haar skoot neer en lig haar ken. “Wel, vandag los ek hierdie kierie net hier, want my Krappie is mos hier!” sê sy en besef dat Karabo die witste tande het wat sy nog ooit aan een mens gesien het.

En toe haak hy sy armpie om haar lyf, want om Deborah te verstaan moet jy eintlik jou treë langs hare neersit – elke dag van geboorte af.

Mier

Outeur: GASVRY

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