“Come in out of the sun. Sit on the porch,” I said, surprised at the frankness of mymand. “I’ll get you something to eat.” Emotions had a way of getting mixed up these difficult days and I couldn’t trust mine, just as I couldn’t bear the shame-faced look of gratitude in his eyes. As I climbed the steps to the house, I became angry at myself, at my helplessness, at my empty cupboards, at the unrelenting drought, at the whole damned suffering country.
I sliced a loaf of bread with vicious swipes of the knife, jerked open the ice-box for milk, twisted the lid off a jar of home-made jam, as though my frenzied actions would wipe out the feeling of guilt at offering him so little. When I carried the food to the porch, I saw the boy near the garden, rinsing his shirt in one of the pails. I beckoned to him, left him my scanty offering, and returned indoors.
Despite the drawn blinds, the house had trapped the heat and had be an airless box of yellow light. My flowered print dress clung to me in wet patches. On each patch, the faded daisies4 dared to bloom. I dropped into an armchair and swung my swollen feet up on a hassock.
When the sharp slap of the screen door awakened me, I was startled.
“Mama, where are you?”
I struggled to my feet and found Alice sitting at the kitchen table, her head and shoulders bowed in dejection.
“Mama, Acme Stores are hiring next week.” She raised her head and stared into my face. “The employment officer said girls would be hired only if they were