The Monster's Daughter Read Online Free

alone with that thing, hey. And the
baas
he says we cannot just leave it there. But me stay alone and that black thing checking me? No ways! It’s bad,
Mies
. I feel it. The
baas
, he feels it too, that’s why he wants to get away. So I say, “No,
Baas
, man, not that. I go with you.” Then the
baas
hits me, see? Square in the eye.
Baas
Boet, he’s a big man. It was like my eyeball went poosh! Like there’s too many things trying to be in my head and there’s no room no more.”
    â€œ
Baas
Boet hit you?” Alet frowned. This didn’t meld with the Boet Terblanche she knew.
    â€œ
Ja, Mies
, like I said, but don’t tell him I told you. I don’t want no trouble.”
    â€œHas he done this before?”
    â€œNo ways. Never did the
baas
hit anybody that I know of,
Mies
. Maybe when he was a small
boytjie
did he rumble with the other
laaities
. Boys do that you know, but not when he got to be boss. He’s okay. Just had a fright. I don’t want no trouble with him.” Jakob pulled a book of matches from his pocket and lit his cigarette with a shaky hand.
    â€œAnd then?”
    Jakob hesitated, as if he had forgotten. “My eye hurt like
mampoer
on a raw sore,
Mies
, but I run till I get on the truck. I say, I’m sorry,
Baas
. I’m sorry, my
Basie
. I just say it over and over again until the
baas
starts driving and then I feel better. ’Cause I’m away from that thing, see? That thing lying there, bad, dead, like a hole in the world.” Jakob looked back at the body again, his eyes wet.
    â€œAnd you waited at the bottom. You didn’t come back up here, right?”
    â€œJa, Mies.”
    Jakob ran to the pickup as soon as Alet told him it was okay to go. He huddled in the back, clinging to the guardrails, shaken about by the truck backing up and turning around. He lifted a weathered palm to her as the pickup descended, no bigger than a child’s toy in the distance.

1901
Andrew
    Pritchard sprawled sideways over the train tracks, black lines of ants pulsating across his pale face like throbbing veins. His khaki helmet lay next to him, useless against the bullet hole in his forehead. Large curved tree branches, piled in as levers to dislodge the rails, stuck in the air like the ribs of an animal carcass.
    â€œMaundin is going to have a
bleddie
fit,
ja
,” Jooste, one of the joiners, shouted from down the line, his English crippled by a thick Dutch accent. He was a big brute with yellow hair, eyes that sat too close together, and a ruddy complexion. He kicked at one of the erect branches, trying to dislodge it. The sound rolled across the dry open veld.
    Andrew noticed the ghost of a smile on Jooste’s lips. He wondered again if they had been wise to trust the man. Jooste was too slick, too easily converted to their side, too eager to participate without a hint of guilt when he sabotaged his own people. But he knew the land and spoke the language, making him a valuable asset to the British forces. And they were desperate. After two years, they were still stuck in this Godforsaken country, the easy victory promised to them made elusive by the Boers’ guerrilla tactics.
    Andrew dusted the red dirt from his knees. “I don’t envy you, then, Mr. Jooste.”
    â€œWhat do you say, hey?” Jooste walked closer to Andrew, dragging one of the tree branches, a snakelike trail waking the dirt behind him.
    â€œYou have to go report to the lieutenant. Oudtshoorn needs to be notified that the tracks are out before the supply run.”
    â€œWhy don’t you do it?” Jooste looked back at the damaged track, his distaste for the task at hand clear. Andrew felt a whisper of satisfaction at seeing his distress.
    â€œIt’s an order, Mr. Jooste.”
    The corner of Jooste’s mouth lifted, exposing crooked teeth. “Sir.” He unzipped his pants. “After this,
ja
.” His eyes challenged Andrew as he