sorry for her because she started working for us the very next day. Paulina stayed with us for many years. She sometimes used her own bus fare to buy me ice cream, especially when my mom had shouted at me. I’d lie on the mat and lick one side of the ice cream while Snowy, the white cat my mom bought me after we moved in, licked the other.
“Why do you buy me ice cream, Paulina? This afternoon you’ll have to walk home, and it’s far,” I asked.
“My children live with my sister. If I’m good to you, then the Lord will make sure that she’s also good to my children.” She stood with her hands folded across her stomach, which was slightly pushed out, a smile at the corners of her eyes and mouth. Paulina always stood that way. I loved her very much.
I had my cat, Paulina during the day, ballet twice a week, my mom at night and my father every second weekend. I was happy.
It was only later that I realised why they had to get divorced. I never blamed them for it – they were chalk and cheese. My mother was hyper-neat, a pain actually. She didn’t smoke, drink or throw parties. She hated all that. Mom went to church every Sunday, while I went to Sunday school. My dad drank and smoked – a lot. He was crazy about women and parties. My mother believed alcohol and parties were a lethal combination, and as usual she was right. My father had met Alta at a party. He’d jumped into bed with her after drinking too much, and ended up moving in with her and her three children, into a house paid for by her ex-husband. Just like my mother had always predicted.
Before I was born, my dad, who was a deacon in the church, had had an argument with the dominee. After a service, he hadn’t wanted to say a closing prayer in the vestry, but the dominee had forced him to. My father had vowed that he would never set foot in church again.
“People, Anna,” he once told me, “believe God lives in the church. That the dominee talks to Him for us. But they’re wrong. He lives here,” he said, pressing his hand to his chest. “If you don’t have Him in here, you won’t find Him in a church.”
My father only went back on his word once, and that was when I was christened. I suspect my mother threatened him with something terrible if he didn’t accompany her to the ceremony. Even at his funeral, we weren’t allowed to take his coffin into the church.
No, I never blamed them.
School was everything I’d dreamt of. I learnt to read and write and do sums. I loved all of it, but most of all I loved to read. With reading, there were no limits to my world. I really only began to see other children, the way they really were, in primary school – playful, fun-loving. Boys fascinated me. Maybe because I didn’t really know much about them. What was it that made them different? That’s why I didn’t hesitate when a boy in my class asked me during a break if I’d like to see his willy. We scuttled away from the other kids and stood in the shade of a tree. He pulled down his pants and gave me a quick flash. A little worm, I thought.
“I showed you mine, now show me yours!” he demanded.
I pulled my dress up and dropped my panties – but pulled them up again quickly when I saw the shocked expression on his face as he stared at something behind me.
Standing in Mr Van Pletzen’s office, at age seven, while he phones your mother to tell her what you’ve done is a terrifying experience.
She didn’t speak to me on the way home. “I can’t bear to look at you,” she said when we got there. I’ll never forget the disappointment and disgust in her eyes as she ordered me to my room. I couldn’t forgive myself for doing this to her. I knew that what I’d done was naughty, but I hadn’t realised it was so terribly naughty.
My mom phoned my dad. She told me I wasn’t allowed to leave my room when he arrived and that she wanted to talk to him in private. That night an entire conversation, not just disjointed words, drifted into my room. It was a one-sided monologue, as usual.
“Where did she learn to do that?”
Silence.
“It can’t be normal. Not all children do that.”
Silence.
“She gets it from you.”
Silence.
“It must be genetic.”
Silence.
“It’s not a joke. You’re not the one who had to face the school principal. What kind of child are we raising, you and me? A slut! It’s because you never stand your ground against her. She’s got you wrapped around her little finger.”
Silence.
My father had to take me to school the next day, because my mother still couldn’t bring herself to look at me. “Daddy,” I asked him as we stopped at the school gates, “what’s a slut?”
“Where did you hear that word?”
“I heard when Mom –”
He held up his hand, stopping me. “Anna, what you did yesterday isn’t a sin. You were just curious, and that’s normal. I know you didn’t mean to be naughty. And that’s all that matters, isn’t it?”
I nodded, still not sure what “slut” meant.
“Anna, no matter what you do, I want you to remember that I love you.”
“Mom says I’m a rotten apple. She says I have to listen to her and then our life together will be better.”
“Your mother says lots of things. I wouldn’t take any notice if I were you. Come on, run, the bell’s already gone.”
My mom didn’t speak to me for a long time after the episode at school. She was too angry. But one day she thawed, called me to the dining room and told me to sit down at the table.
“Anna,” she said, “I want you to listen to me carefully. Will you?”
I nodded.
“It’s just you and me now. Your father doesn’t want us any more. From now on I have to work harder and so must you. I want you to do your best at school. I want you to work hard. Do you understand?”
I nodded again.
“Anna,” she said with a deep sigh, “I’ve never spoken to you about that day at school.”
I hung my head. She needn’t have said anything else. I knew which day she was referring to.
“I just want to tell you that I’m not angry with you any more. But,” and she wagged her finger in my face, “you must never do it again. Do you hear me? What you did was dirty. Your hands will fall off if you fiddle down there. Do you understand?”
“Yes, Mom,” I replied timidly.
“Good.” She got up. “Then we understand each other. Anna, this is our chance to start over.”
Our lives took on a peaceful routine. We learnt to live with each other’s moods. Mom was less strict, more tolerant – even though she still forced me to wear dresses, which I hated. In the summer, my classmates would play in shorts while I sat around in frocks. I had two pairs of jeans and two tops that I left at Dad’s
