7. Pretoria, 1984 - Escape

In which escape means more than just a ride down the hill.

Oct 24, 2024

∙ Paid

At the Beckhams, Eleanor seeks freedom and finds a refuge. Kelebohile finds none. Some escapes are physical; others, impossible.

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Eleanor

“It seems like you spend more time at the Beckhams than you do at home,” complains Mum when I get home.

The Beckhams came back from Germany a few months back, but what with school, homework, ballet, music, swimming, and our usual regular family trips to the farm in the Drakensberg, I’ve barely seen them. Now it’s the long winter school holidays, and I’ve been biking over as much as I can. We moved to the new house over a year ago, and the Beckhams are in a different house too—so it’s more of a bike ride. But I’m 13 now and can manage the longer ride easily. I don’t mind the hills either. It’s mostly downhill to the Beckham’s anyway. The bike home is a different story. But I’m getting fitter from doing it every day.

Helen and André’s baby is due by the end of the year, and Aunty Trudy and I are knitting up a storm. She’s confined to a wheelchair now. It was a shock to see her after four years. The multiple sclerosis has progressed and she sleeps in a Lay-Z-Boy, rather than a bed now. “It's easier for Helen to lift and lower me from a chair, rather than a bed,” she explained. Her left hand is more like a claw, with just her thumb, index and middle fingers able to bend and work with the needles and wool. She tucks the tiny growing garment between her left elbow and rib cage and then moves her right arm to do all the knitting.

Mum’s had pneumonia and bronchitis again. She was even in hospital for a few days and out of school for a few weeks—which is something she never does. Her recovery is taking longer this time. When I’m at home I have to fetch and carry for her. Make her endless cups of tea. Bring the tray upstairs. Collect the tray. Bring it downstairs. When she comes downstairs, then it’s fetch her a blanket, or close the window because of a draft, or go get her book. It’s like I’m her second Becca. But Becca has far more patience and kindness. I don’t know how she does it. While Mum’s bouts of sickness are a feature of our life, I’ve come to resent her being sick. Now that the holidays are here I escape as much as possible to the Beckhams. Aunty Trudy doesn’t ask me to do anything. She can move and walk less than Mum, but she’s so much more cheerful.

“I’m helping Aunty Trudy knit for the baby,” I tell Mum.

It’s true, but it’s also not. And I know Mum knows it. I feel like the Beckhams are more my real family than my own family. Aunty Trudy never yells at me. She never gets cross or angry or impatient. Dad and Mum have been arguing a lot lately, voices raised and doors slamming after Tig and I have gone to bed. They never tell us what it’s about. Tig says it's Dad’s work, and him starting his own company, and money. It’s always calm and smiles in the morning; but I still hate it.

It’s quiet and peaceful at the Beckhams. André is at work at the Union Buildings, Helen comes and goes, or is busy in her art studio, painting.

So mostly it’s just Aunty Trudy and I. I can sit with her for hours and hours and not get bored one bit.

Kelebohile (Rebecca)

Kelebohile leans over the kitchen sink and rests her tired head on her hands, suds dripping into the sink full of dishes. After this she has the ironing to start. Then she prepares afternoon tea and takes it to the Madam upstairs. Finish the ironing. Start preparing supper, lay the dinner table, wait while they eat, then do the dishes.

The Madam has supper for 6:30pm, so she will be done by 7:30pm. But she’s up at 6am to bring in the milk, the morning newspaper for the Master, and prepare breakfast for the family. Then it’s the day's morning chores—cleaning the house, or laundry, or polishing the silver or whatever else the Madam wants. With Eleanor and James now 13 and 15 years old, she no longer also plays nanny to them. But the Williams’ new house is a lot bigger than their old one, and it's a lot more work. She has her own separate quarters, even bigger and nicer than her old ones, but the Madam is more querulous and demanding whenever she’s sick.

So she’s just tired these days. She sees Eleanor struggle with the Madam’s demands too. Eleanor will resist, and argue. She envies her that. Whatever the indignities of this job, and there are many, she just has to silence herself.

She cannot afford to lose it. The alternatives are far worse.