J. Coetzee: Disgrace

As they approach the house he notices the boy, the one whom Petrus called my people, standing with his face to the back wall. At first he thinks he is urinating; then he realizes he is peering in through the bathroom window, peeping at Lucy.

Katy has begun to growl, but the boy is too absorbed to pay heed. By the time he turns they are upon him. The flat of his hand catches the boy in the face. 'You swine!' he shouts, and strikes him a second time, so that he staggers. 'You filthy swine!'

More startled than hurt, the boy tries to run, but trips over his own feet. At once the dog is upon him. Her teeth close over his elbow; she braces her forelegs and tugs, growling. With a shout of pain he tries to pull free. He strikes out with a fist, but his blows lack force and the dog ignores them. The word still rings in the air: Swine! Never has he felt such elemental rage. He would like to give the boy what he deserves: a sound thrashing. Phrases that all his life he has avoided seem suddenly just and right: Teach him a lesson, Show him his place. So this is what it is like, he thinks! This is what it is like to be a savage! He gives the boy a good, solid kick, so that lie sprawls sideways. Pollux! What a name!

The dog changes position, mounting the boy's body, tugging grimly at his arm, ripping his shirt. The boy tries to push her off, but she does not budge. 'Ya ya ya ya ya!' he shouts in pain. 'I will kill you!' he shouts. Then Lucy is on the scene. 'Katy!' she commands.

The dog gives her a sidelong glance but does not obey.

Falling to her knees, Lucy grips the dog's collar, speaking softly and urgently. Reluctantly the dog releases her grip.

'Are you all right?' she says.

The boy is moaning with pain. Snot is running from his nostrils. 'I will kill you!' he heaves. He seems on the point of crying.

Lucy folds back his sleeve. There are score-marks from the dog's fangs; as they watch, pearls of blood emerge on the dark skin.

'Come, let us go and wash it,' she says. The boy sucks in the snot and tears, shakes his head. Lucy is wearing only a wrapper. As she rises, the sash slips loose and her breasts are bared. The last time he saw his daughter's breasts they were the demure rosebuds of a six-year-old. Now they are heavy, rounded, almost milky. A stillness falls. He is staring; the boy is staring too, unashamedly. Rage wells up in him again, clouding his eyes.

Lucy turns away from the two of them, covers herself. In a single quick movement the boy scrambles to his feet and dodges out of range. 'We will kill you all!' he shouts. He turns; deliberately trampling the potato bed, he ducks under the wire fence and retreats toward Petrus's house. His gait is cocky once more, though he still nurses his arm.

Lucy is right. Something is wrong with him, wrong in his head. A violent child in the body of a young man. But there is more, some angle to the business he does not understand. What is Lucy up to, protecting the boy?

Lucy speaks. 'This can't go on, David. I can cope with Petrus and his aanhangers, I can cope with you, but I can't cope with all of you together.'

'He was staring at you through the window. Are you aware of that?'

'He is disturbed. A disturbed child.'

'Is that an excuse? An excuse for what he did to you?' Lucy's lips move, but he cannot hear what she says.

'I don't trust him,' he goes on. 'He is shifty. He is like a jackal sniffing around, looking for mischief. In the old days we had a word for people like him. Deficient. Mentally deficient. Morally deficient. He should be in an institution.'

'That is reckless talk, David. If you want to think like that, please keep it to yourself. Anyway, what you think of him is beside the point. He is here, he won't disappear in a puff of smoke, he is a fact of life.' She faces him squarely, squinting into the sunlight. Katy slumps down at her feet, panting lightly, pleased with herself; with her achievements. 'David, we can't go on like this. Everything had settled down, everything was peaceful again, until you came back. I must have peace around me. I am prepared to do anything, make any sacrifice, for the sake of peace.'

'And I am part of what you are prepared to sacrifice?' She shrugs. 'I didn't say it, you said it.'

'Then I'll pack my bags.'

Hours after the incident his hand still tingles from the blows. When he thinks of the boy and his threats, he seethes with anger. At the same time, he is ashamed of himself. He condemns himself absolutely. He has taught no one a lesson - certainly not the boy. All he has done is to estrange himself further from Lucy. He has shown himself to her in the throes of passion, and clearly she does not like what she sees. He ought to apologize. But he cannot. He is not, it would seem, in control of himself. Something about Pollux sends him into a rage: his ugly, opaque little eyes, his insolence, but also the thought that like a weed he has been allowed to tangle his roots with Lucy and Lucy's existence. If Pollux insults his daughter again, he will strike him again. Du musst dein Leben дndern!: you must change your life. Well, he is too old to heed, too old to change. Lucy may be able to bend to the tempest; he cannot, not with honour.

That is why he must listen to Teresa. Teresa may be the last one left who can save him. Teresa is past honour. She pushes out her breasts to the sun; she plays the banjo in front of the servants and does not care if they smirk. She has immortal longings, and sings her longings. She will not be dead. He arrives at the clinic just as Bev Shaw is leaving. They embrace, tentative as strangers. Hard to believe they once lay naked in each other's arms.

'Is this just a visit or are you back for a while?' she asks.

'I am back for as long as is necessary. But I won't be staying with Lucy. She and I aren't hitting it off. I am going to find a room for myself in town.'

'I'm sorry. What is the problem?'

'Between Lucy and myself? Nothing, I hope. Nothing that can't be fixed. The problem is with the people she lives among. When I am added in, we become too many. Too many in too small a space. Like spiders in a bottle.'

An image comes to him from the Inferno: the great marsh of Styx, with souls boiling up in it like mushrooms. Vedi l'anime di color cui vine l'ira. Souls overcome with anger, gnawing at each other. A punishment fitted to the crime.

'You are talking about that boy who has moved in with Petrus. I must say I don't like the look of him. But as long as Petrus is there, surely Lucy will be all right. Perhaps the time has come, David, for you to stand back and let Lucy work out solutions for herself. Women are adaptable. Lucy is adaptable. And she is young. She lives closer to the ground than you. Than either of us.'

Lucy adaptable? That is not his experience. 'You keep telling me to stand back,' he says. 'If I had stood back from the beginning, where would Lucy be now?'

Bev Shaw is silent. Is there something about him that Bev Shaw can see and he cannot? Because animals trust her, should he trust her too, to teach him a lesson? Animals trust her, and she uses that trust to liquidate them. What is the lesson there?

'If I were to stand back,' he stumbles on, 'and some new disaster were to take place on the farm, how would I be able to live with myself?'

She shrugs. 'Is that the question, David?' she asks quietly.

'I don't know. I don't know what the question is any more. Between Lucy's generation and mine a curtain seems to have fallen. I didn't even notice when it fell.'

There is a long silence between them.

'Anyway,' he continues, 'I can't stay with Lucy, so I am looking for a room. If you happen to hear of anything in Grahamstown, let me know. What I mainly came to say is that I am available to help at the clinic.'

'That will be handy,' says Bev Shaw.