At home my mother and grandmother had retreated from the garden to the family room, where they sat in semi-darkness. All the doors and windows, including the burgundy velvet curtains, were drawn shut to keep the sun away.

“Ah, we’re going to die this summer, Ntombinkulu,” Grandmother moaned when I entered. She called me Ntombinkulu, big girl, a title I treasured and planned to retain. She referred to everyone else simply as ngane, child.

The ceiling fan spun wildly. The twins delighted in throwing pieces of paper into the air, watching them scatter and chasing them around the house. Rex lay sprawled on the floor in the hallway. He wasn’t allowed in the family room; he shed too much fur. The television was on, but nobody paid attention to it.

“You didn’t eat your food.” Grandmother spoke with her eyes closed.

“I had to run to Thembi’s, Gogo. I forgot my book there.” I moved across the room and kissed her forehead. It was damp and salty. I smoothed her grey hair and removed her thick glasses, placing them on the table next to her Bible. My grandmother was a devout Christian who never missed church or the weekly prayer meeting with the Women of Prayer. The group met Wednesday afternoons at a member’s house. Besides her involvement with the Women of Prayer, my grandmother’s job was to tend to the house and all its inhabitants: us. Though petite and frail looking, my grandmother’s strength was unsurpassed. Her husband, my grandfather, had died unexpectedly in a cattle stampede accident years ago, leaving her with seven small children. Grandmother single-handedly reared them.

“Where is the book you went to get?” my mother asked, lifting her head sluggishly off the couch where she rested. The book she was reading, Things Fall Apart, sat on the floor in a pile with other books she intended to read that summer.

“I didn’t leave it there after all. It must be here somewhere.” I advanced towards her, and slumped beside the book pile. “You need a new coat of nail polish.” I pointed at her overgrown, chipped nails.

“I’m on holiday,” she said, lifting her arm and reaching for my head. I tilted it forward, and let her run her fingers through the lines of my braids. “And you’re in you sleepwear.”

“I’m on holiday,” I said, and we both laughed. “I’ll paint your nails later, Ma.”

“What would I do without you, my baby,” she said, closing her eyes. My mother taught second grade at Sibaya Elementary School. After Joe left, she never remarried.

In our family room, my stomach growled. I stood, and started to make my way towards the kitchen where I could see the twins teaching Rex to balance on one foot.

“Does Joe write to us?” I asked midway through the room. Until Thembi mentioned the possibility that Joe might have tried to keep in touch with us, the thought had never crossed my mind.

Except for the buzzing fan overhead, which appeared to have picked up speed, the room went silent. I remained erect in the centre of the room, darting my eyes from my mother to my grandmother, hoping for a reaction. It was the first time in over two years I’d spoken his name in front of them. The last time, it was because my sisters had asked me why our father didn’t live with us.

“Does he work in the mines far away like Sipho’s?” Phumi asked.

“Yeah, he works in the mines, and won’t be coming home for a long time,” I told them. They seemed satisfied and didn’t press for more information. I was relieved. Later, I told my grandmother, who simply patted my shoulder and sighed.

“Does Joe write us?” I asked again, bolder this time.

“We heard you, Lena,” Grandmother retorted. I recognised immediately that the question was a mistake.

I stood, waiting for more, but she said nothing. Instead, she pursed her lips as if to restrain herself. Her eyes were still closed.

“Why do you ask, baby?” my mother asked in her unnaturally sweet voice that she reserved for parents who let their children come to school with dirty school uniform, or incomplete homework.

“I don’t know,” I said, consumed with guilt for raising a subject I knew too well was not welcomed. “Never mind,” I added, already shuffling towards the kitchen.

“Well…” my mother began to say, but Grandmother interrupted.

“No,” she said with a sharp tone, and pushed her eyes open. “He doesn’t. Go eat your breakfast.”

I glanced at my mother and she smiled at me with resignation.

***

What do you think? Would Lena’s mother want her to look for Joe?