J. Coetzee - Disgrace

She does not meet his eyes, but points languidly toward the building site. Her movements are slow, heavy. Her time is near: even he can see that.

Petrus is glazing windows. There is a long palaver of greetings that ought to be gone through, but he is in no mood for it. 'Lucy tells me the boy is back again,' he says. 'Pollux. The boy who attacked her.'

Petrus scrapes his knife clean, lays it down. 'He is my relative,' he says, rolling the r. 'Now I must tell him to go away because of this thing that happened?'

'You told me you did not know him. You lied to me.'

Petrus sets his pipe between his stained teeth and sucks vigorously. Then he removes the pipe and gives a wide smile. 'I lie,' he says. 'I lie to you.' He sucks again. Tor why must I lie to you?'

'Don't ask me, ask yourself, Petrus. Why do you lie?'

The smile has vanished. 'You go away, you come back again -why?' He stares challengingly. 'You have no work here. You come to look after your child. I also look after my child.'

'Your child? Now he is your child, this Pollux?'

'Yes. He is a child. He is my family, my people.'

So that is it. No more lies. My people. As naked an answer as he could wish. Well, Lucy is his people.

'You say it is bad, what happened,' Petrus continues. 'I also say it is bad. It is bad. But it is finish.' He takes the pipe from his mouth, stabs the air vehemently with the stem. 'It is finish.'

'It is not finished. Don't pretend you don't know what I mean. It is not finished. On the contrary, it is just beginning. It will go on long after I am dead and you are dead.'

Petrus stares reflectively, not pretending he does not understand. 'He will marry her,' he says at last. 'He will marry Lucy, only he is too young, too young to be marry. He is a child still.'

'A dangerous child. A young thug. A jackal boy.'

Petrus brushes aside the insults. 'Yes, he is too young, too young. Maybe one day he can marry, but not now. I will marry.'

'You will marry whom?'

'I will marry Lucy.'

He cannot believe his ears. So this is it, that is what all the shadow-boxing was for: this bid, this blow!

And here stands Petrus foursquare, puffing on the empty pipe, waiting for a response.

'You will marry Lucy,' he says carefully. 'Explain to me what you mean. No, wait, rather don't explain. This is not something I want to hear. This is not how we do things.'

We: he is on the point of saying, We Westerners.

'Yes, I can see, I can see,' says Petrus. He is positively chuckling. 'But I tell you, then you tell Lucy. Then it is over, all this badness.'

'Lucy does not want to marry. Does not want to marry a man. It is not an option she will consider. I can't make myself clearer than that. She wants to live her own life.'

'Yes, I know,' says Petrus. And perhaps he does indeed know. He would be a fool to underestimate Petrus.

'But here', says Petrus, 'it is dangerous, too dangerous. A woman must be marry.'

'I tried to handle it lightly,' he tells Lucy afterwards. 'Though I could hardly believe what I was hearing. It was blackmail pure and simple.'

‘It wasn't blackmail. You are wrong about that. I hope you didn't lose your temper.'

'No, I didn't lose my temper. I said I would relay his offer, that's all. I said I doubted you would be interested.'

'Were you offended?'

'Offended at the prospect of becoming Petrus's father-in-law? No. I was taken aback, astonished, dumbfounded, but no, not offended, give me credit for that.'

'Because, I must tell you, this is not the first time. Petrus has been dropping hints for a while now. That I would find it altogether safer to become part of his establishment. It is not a joke, not a threat. At some level he is serious.'

'I have no doubt that in some sense he is serious. The question is, in what sense? Is he aware that you are . . . ?'

'You mean, is he aware of my condition? I have not told him. But I am sure his wife and he will have put two and two together.'

'And that won't make him change his mind?'

'Why should it? It will make me all the more part of the family. In any event, it is not me he is after, he is after the farm. The farm is my dowry.'

`But this is preposterous, Lucy! He is already married! In fact, you told me there are two wives. How can you even contemplate it?'

'I don't believe you get the point, David. Petrus is not offering me a church wedding followed by a honeymoon on the Wild Coast. He is offering an alliance, a deal. I contribute the land, in return for which I am allowed to creep in under his wing. Otherwise, he wants to remind me, I am without protection, I am fair game.'

'And that isn't blackmail? What about the personal side? Is there no personal side to the offer?'

'Do you mean, would Petrus expect me to sleep with him? I'm not sure that Petrus would want to sleep with me, except to drive home his message. But, to be frank, no, I don't want to sleep with Petrus. Definitely not.'

'Then we need not discuss it any further. Shall I convey your decision to Petrus - that his offer is not accepted, and I won't say why?'

'No. Wait. Before you get on your high horse with Petrus, take a moment to consider my situation objectively. Objectively I am a woman alone. I have no brothers. I have a father, but he is far away and anyhow powerless in the terms that matter here. To whom can I turn for protection, for patronage? To Ettinger? It is just a matter of time before Ettinger is found with a bullet in his back. Practically speaking, there is only Petrus left. Petrus may not be a big man but he is big enough for someone small like me. And at least I know Petrus. I have no illusions about him. I know what I would be letting myself in for.'

'Lucy, I am in the process of selling the house in Cape Town. I am prepared to send you to Holland. Alternatively I am prepared to give you whatever you need to set yourself up again somewhere safer than here. Think about it.'

It is as if she has not heard him. 'Go back to Petrus,' she says. 'Propose the following. Say I accept his protection. Say he can put out whatever story he likes about our relationship and I won't contradict him. If he wants me to be known as his third wife, so be it. As his concubine, ditto. But then the child becomes his too. The child becomes part of his family. As for the land, say I will sign the land over to him as long as the house remains mine. I will become a tenant on his land.'

'A bywoner.'

'A bywoner. But the house remains mine, I repeat that. No one enters this house without my permission. Including him. And I keep the kennels.'

'It's not workable, Lucy. Legally it's not workable. You know that.'

'Then what do you propose?'

She sits in her housecoat and slippers with yesterday's newspaper on her lap. Her hair hangs lank; she is overweight in a slack, unhealthy way. More and more she has begun to look like one of those women who shuffle around the corridors of nursing homes whispering to themselves. Why should Petrus bother to negotiate? She cannot last: leave her alone and in due course she will fall like rotten fruit.

'I have made my proposal. Two proposals.'

'No, I'm not leaving. Go to Petrus and tell him what I have said. Tell him I give up the land. Tell him that he can have it, title deed and all. He will love that.'

There is a pause between them.

'How humiliating,' he says finally. 'Such high hopes, and to end like this.'

'Yes, I agree, it is humiliating. But perhaps that is a good point to start from again. Perhaps that is what I must learn to accept. To start at ground level. With nothing. Not with nothing but. With nothing. No cards, no weapons, no property, no rights, no dignity.'

'Like a dog.'

'Yes, like a dog.'

TWENTY-THREE

IT IS MID-MORNING. He has been out, taking the bulldog Katy for a walk. Surprisingly, Katy has kept up with him, either because he is slower than before or because she is faster. She snuffles and pants as much as ever, but this no longer seems to irritate him.