Prime Time 6, Coursebook mit Audio-CD und DVD

them now pale and naked, but in summer they form a green canopy over the pavement. How I used to jump from shade to shade on my way to the café, barefoot, trying not to get my foot burnt by the cement. My heels were almost as rough as Becca’s. My mother had bought me a grey stone to scrape my feet so¥ at night in the bath, but I never used it. I wanted to have feet like Becca’s, soles that don’t hurt on the cement, heels that can step on pieces of glass and thorns. We stop in front of the house, the one on the le¥-hand side, on the corner. We stare at the high white wall and the red signs of two di‘erent security companies. e black steel gate that opens with a remote from inside the house. e driveway gate which also opens with a remote. My mother’s shoulders are shaking. She is crying. My gran takes her hand, turns around and gives me a worried smile. As if concerned that I too will start crying. I get out of the car. I am hot and I don’t want to watch my mother cry because I can’t bear the expression in Gran’s eyes – as if she has forgiven me everything, will always love me, even if I never say another word. I stumble across the pavement, all along the white wall, around the corner where they can’t see me. My eyes are „lled with tears, my ears are „lled with the familiar sounds of the street, the sound of a lawn mower and the so¥ hum of the pool cleaners and the barking of the dogs behind the gates – not friendly dogs, not here. Voices from the radios in the kitchens, usually Zulu or Sesotho, sometimes English or Afrikaans. Screaming sirens in the distance, in another suburb, or the highway. I had forgotten about all the sirens. On the farthest side of the property there is a smaller iron gate that Rebecca used to get to her outside room. I hold onto the gate and press my face against the bars as if I want to press right through this barrier. I look at the kitchen window, the back door and the washing line full of baby clothes. Little white vests and pink jackets. I didn’t know that the new people had a baby. I wonder if they know that my father was shot dead in their lounge. It’s probably not the type of thing that an estate agent tells you when she wants to sell a house. e back door opens and my heart breaks into tiny pieces as I see Rebecca walking towards the washing line. Impossible. But it is Becca’s thin black body. Becca’s tough feet in her slops. Becca’s familiar light pink overall. It can’t be. Becca doesn’t work here any more. My mother helped her to „nd other work before we went to England. We had sent her postcards the „rst year and then … we had lost contact. Someone had let us know that she no longer worked at the same address. And now she is here standing at the washing line, of course it is she, the woman who looked a¥er me when I was a baby. e body that I know better than my mother’s, busy packing the clothes of a stranger’s baby into a plastic basket. I shake the gate to get her attention. It has to be her. But she is too far to hear anything. “Rebeccaaa!” e voice that burst out of my throat frightens me. It doesn’t sound human. More like a dying animal, a cow bellowing, or something like that. e woman turns around, comes closer, uncertain. “Becca?” I try again. A hoarse rattle. Once when my dad had laryngitis it sounded like that. “Is it you?” “Noekie?” her face bursts open with joy. She drops the basket with the baby clothes onto the lawn and comes running towards the gate. Pushes her rough hands through the bars, cups my face in her hands, laughs in amazement. “Noekie! It’s you!” I laugh and cry at the same time. She takes a bunch of keys out of the pocket of her pink overall and unlocks the gate. Her hands are shaking. She pulls me close to her and presses me against her. I didn’t know how much I had missed this body, the smell of clean washing and spices and … potatoes? Nobody in England smelled like this. No one in the whole world smells like this. “Anouk?” my mother calls as she appears around the corner. “Anouk? Rebecca? ” “It’s me, Madam.” She wants to let go of me, but I cling to her. “ e child is very happy to see me.” “But … what are you … are you working here again?” My mother’s voice is high with profound surprise, her face overwhelmed. My gran stands behind her, her mouth wide open. “ ings didn’t go too well with the other people, Madam.” Rebecca sounds embarrassed, like when she had burnt the food, as if she is scared that Mom will be cross. “And then I heard that these people were having a baby and they were looking for someone to help them. I missed having a child in the house …” My mother hugs Rebecca, but all the time she is looking at me, at my tearstained face and at my laughing mouth. 255 260 265 270 275 280 285 290 295 300 305 310 315 320 325 330 335 340 345 350 355 360 85 Nur zu Prüfzwecken – Eigentum des Verlags öbv