about bail conditions?”
“Yes, she won’t oppose bail. The one thing that she does feel very strongly about, though, is that Anna should not be permitted to leave the city boundaries.”
“She is not a flight risk, and she has a business in Knysna. Did you explain that to her?”
In response the lawyer just raises his eyebrows.
Uncle Retief smiles weakly. “I’m sorry, obviously you would have.”
“All we need,” Joubert van Heerden looks at me, “is a sworn statement from Miss Bruwer.”
“I have already given a statement to the superintendent.”
“This is something else, Anna,” Uncle Retief explains. “This statement declares where you are going to live, that you will not try to escape, that you can look after yourself, and so on.” He turns to Joubert. “Can we do this right now?”
“Already done. I got her details from the police statement. She just has to read through it and sign.”
Why doesn’t he talk to me? I hold my hand out for the form, but it’s Superintendent Webber who takes it from the lawyer. He indicates that I must follow him.
I walk meekly behind him to the charge office. He beckons to a constable.
“If there are any mistakes, draw a line through them and correct them.”
I jump slightly at the voice behind me, I had not realised that the lawyer had followed us. I read through the statement quickly, look up at the constable as I swear the oath and sign in the designated space.
Back in the superintendent’s office, Auntie Miriam hands me some clothes. Jeans, tackies without laces, underwear, a blouse, light jacket. Soap, no shampoo, deodorant, toothbrush, no toothpaste, towel.
“They took the shampoo and the toothpaste, worried that you might drink it or eat it. Also your laces.”
I nod.
“Superintendent Webber says you may have a shower before you go back.”
“You can shower in the cell.” The superintendent talks to me for the first time. “I’ll see to it that you get toothpaste.”
I stand still outside the door. I turn around so that I can stare at the three faces. So that I can burn every detail into my memory. Am I doing the right thing? Shouldn’t I . . .?
No, I mustn’t. I am doing the right thing.
The constable locks the first gate carefully, leaves the door open. “Shower and get dressed, I don’t have much time.”
I turn on the tap, the water is cold. Stand shivering and naked under the meagre trickle of water, wash my hair, soap my body. Hold the toothbrush out to the constable so that she can apply some toothpaste. Brush and brush to get the sour taste out of my mouth.
She hands me the towel. I dry myself, pretend that I do not feel her eyes on my body. Spray deodorant. Dress.
“Thank you, Constable.”
She takes the redhead’s gym clothes, holds out her hand for the toiletries and the towel. “I’m going to need them tomorrow,” I protest.
“Not allowed to keep them. I’ll see that you get them back. Come.”
She unlocks the cell door, the gate. When she wants to shut the door behind me, I stop her by placing my hand on her arm. She does not draw back, she does not draw her service pistol, she just looks at me with something like sympathy.
“Are the lights switched off at night?” I ask to make sure.
“No,” she answers softly. “Here it never gets completely dark.”
That’s good, I don’t like the dark.
When I lie down on the mattress again, this time with everything, even my tackies, on, I allow myself to cry for the first time. Allow myself to hope for the first time. Tomorrow the lawyer is going to apply for bail.
Auntie Miriam said, “This time tomorrow you will be home.”
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