is back home.
Before File can respond, her mother places a hand on her shoulder. “This is all very nice, catching up and all, but there are people waiting for us,” she says to the two young women, who nod.
“Sandra,” MmaItumeleng continues, “please take the tray of glasses through; we’ll bring the food and drinks.”
Sandra nods, picks up the tray and heads out.
MmaItumeleng turns to her beautiful daughter. “Do you at least have a scarf that you can tie around your waist? The king and his son are out there, for heaven’s sake!”
“Ma! I don’t have a scarf! I don’t have another skirt! And I don’t have a petticoat! Let’s go, please, the people are waiting.” Orefile picks up the tray of juices and heads out to the veranda.
Like the well-raised girl she is, she places the tray on the long plastic table and then walks around the table bobbing before everyone and giving them a warm handshake.
File turns to find her mother with a pleased smile, looking over at a handsome young man who is staring at her daughter as she goes around greeting the people. She clearly remembers Odirile as the heir apparent whom all the young ladies wanted to marry so that they could be bahumagadi of the small village.
Being a bit younger than him, File used to watch Odi from a distance when they were growing up. She found him impassioned and even handsome, but the thought of the responsibility of running a village and dealing with the rules and dictates of being a “proper” woman placed on the king’s wife were too restrictive for her free spirit.
Looking at him now, she is surprised when her stomach lurches with feminine excitement. She bites her lip as she heads towards Odirile, hoping her breathing will even out so that she won’t embarrass herself. She is acutely aware that her father is watching her closely, and she can already hear the wedding bells ringing in her mother’s head.
Everything seems to be happening in super-slow motion and File has a sense of heightened reality. Although she can’t claim to be innocent when it comes to relationships, she has never before felt this way about a man she has never actually met or even talked to.
Odi is still as handsome as she remembers him. She wonders whether her childhood thoughts about him were born out of an instinct of self-preservation as she feels herself go hot and her breathing get even faster. She hopes he will do something to put her off him, and thereby save her, but Odi looks at her like a lion considering a gemsbok for its next meal.
File’s stomach continues to do somersaults as she steps closer to shake his hand. A warm, work-roughened hand closes around hers and she gasps in disbelief. The earth seems to drop away from under her feet as her light-brown eyes meet his dark-brown ones.
Odi feels as if someone has hit him in the solar plexus when their hands finally touch. He has been watching her as she walked around the table, acting for all intents and purposes like any other village girl, but clothed like an exotic butterfly, an enchantress who has fallen from the heavens.
He gapes at her dark-brown skin, glowing with good health. She has large, almond-shaped eyes, framed by the longest eyelashes he has ever seen and lightly outlined by black eyeliner; her luscious berry-black lips shimmer as she nervously bites them. He can hardly believe it; the last time he felt like this, it had led to a humiliating end and terrible heartbreak. This thought makes Odi frown, and File responds with a confused look. He realises that he hasn’t responded to her greeting, nor has he introduced himself, and to top it all, everyone congregated around the table is staring at him.
Quickly he clears his throat and says, “Dumela, Mma, I’m Odirile Mokgatlha. Pleased to meet you.”
His deep baritone voice makes the butterflies in her stomach dance even faster as she stares into his soulful eyes. She nods, because her throat has closed up and she knows she won’t be able to speak. She quickly pours herself some of her mother’s famous granadilla juice and takes a long swallow to calm her nerves, vowing not to look in Odirile’s direction again unless absolutely forced to.
The meeting passes in a blur, with her paying very little attention, until she realises that there seems to be tension at the table all of a sudden, and the prince is sitting with a stormy look on his face.
“My son,” Kgosi Mokgatlha says, “while I understand and appreciate the difficulties associated with this request, we have no choice in this matter and no avenue other than the one we have raised with you. We feel that direct contact with someone in authority is the only way to stop Viljoen.”
Odi releases a frustrated sigh and says through half-clenched teeth, “Yes, but there’s no guarantee that she’ll even see me, or take our request seriously.”
“It’s worth a try,” Sandra says, with everyone around the table concurring. File feels lost and wishes she had listened more carefully.
“Fine, but I’m not going alone,” Odi states testily, at which his father pats him on the shoulder.
“Of course not, son; of course not. But unfortunately none of us is capable of assisting you.”
“Well, File’s here for a while and she’s off work,” MmaItumeleng says to File’s dismay. “I’m sure she can go with the prince,” she adds, looking at her daughter, whose eyes are wide with horror.
It takes a very strict look from her mother before File replies testily, “Okay, fine.”
“Wonderful! Wonderful! Dankie, ngwanake. We’ll win this battle yet with such concerted effort,” exclaims the king.
After some further discussion Sandra gets up and says, “To reiterate the action points: Rre Seganka, Odirile and Orefile will meet to draw up this document to the MEC, and File will type it up and print it. I will ensure that she drops the document off during the week sometime, and Odi is to try his very best to organise a prompt meeting with the MEC regarding the matter of this land claim. Is that all? Did I forget anything?”
Nobody replies and Sandra sits down.
“Well, if that’s it, then this meeting is adjourned. Thank you, everyone, for attending,” Kgosi Mokgatlha concludes.
As the small group disperses, File hastily stacks plates and glasses on trays and takes them into the house, while Sandra shuts down her laptop.
In the kitchen, File leans against the wall, closes her eyes and wonders how it could have happened that the take-it-easy holiday she planned has been turned into a foray into the world of politics. She shakes her head in disbelief and opens her eyes to find Odi in the kitchen door, staring at her with a closed, hard-to-read expression.
Immediately the nervous butterflies start fluttering in her stomach again. File swallows hard as they stand looking at each other, saying nothing. The tension in the room can be sliced with a knife. She bites her lip nervously, drawing Odi’s eyes to her mouth. File draws a deep breath to calm her nerves, raising her chest and drawing his eyes down her graceful neck to her bosom. She tries to fight the urge to fold her arms over her chest, but soon loses the battle. You haven’t acted like this since high school, she thinks to herself in exasperation.
“What can I help you with?” she asks briskly, trying to look Odi in the eye.
He blinks slowly, looking at her like a predator, barely moving. “When shall we meet?”
“Well,”
