Hennie looked at the fire. "Because here, I am not a 'case file' or a 'demographic.' Here, I am the man who planted that lemon tree when it was a twig. If I leave, the tree forgets who gave it water. And a tree that is forgotten dies of thirst, even in the rain."
"They are coming back today," Hennie said, his voice like dry grass rubbing together. Elias didn’t look up. "The ghosts or the children?" "In this valley, Elias, there is no difference." athol fugard
On the final night, sitting around a small fire of thornwood, the silence became a character. It sat between them, heavy and demanding. Hennie looked at the fire
"I’m here to help you, Oupa. To move you to the city. There’s nothing left here but the heat." And a tree that is forgotten dies of
When the bus finally groaned to a halt, a young man stepped out. He wore a suit that was too heavy for the heat and carried a briefcase like a shield. He looked at the vast, empty sky and shivered. "Grandfather," the boy said, standing before Hennie.
Pieter looked at his hands, clean and soft. He picked up a handful of Karoo red earth and let it sift through his fingers. It stained his skin.