ZACHARIAH. I’m thinking.
MORRIS. Out with it. Let’s hear!
ZACHARIAH. You ever had a woman, Morris?
[Morris looks at Zachariah blankly, then pretends he hasn’t heard.]
MORRIS. What do you mean?
ZACHARIAH. Come on, you know what I mean.
MORRIS. Why?
ZACHARIAH. Have—you—ever—had—woman? Why have I never thought of that before? You been here a long time now, and never once did you go out, or speak to me about woman. Not like Minnie. Anything the matter with you?
MORRIS. Not like Minnie! What’s that mean? Not like Minnie! Maybe it’s not nice to be like Minnie. Or maybe I just don’t want to be like Minnie! Ever thought about that? That there might be another way, a different way? Listen. You think I don’t know there’s women in this world, that I haven’t got two legs and trousers too? That I haven’t longed for beauty? Well, I do. But that’s not what you’re talking about, is it? That’s not what Minnie means, hey! That’s two bloody donkeys on a road full of stones and Connie crying in the bushes. Well, you’re right about that, Zach. I am not interested. I touched something else once, with my life and these hands . . . just touched it and felt warmth and softness and wanted it like I’ve never wanted anything in my whole life. Ask me why I didn’t take it when I touched it. That’s the question. Do you want to know why, Zach? Do you? Zach? [Pause, then softly.] Zachariah?
[Zachariah is asleep. Morris covers him with a blanket.]
SCENE THREE
A few days later.
Morris is at the table counting their savings—banknotes and silver. The alarm-clock rings. He sweeps the money into a tin which he then carefully hides among the pots on the kitchen-dresser. Next he resets the clock and prepares the footbath as in the first scene. Zachariah appears, silent and sullen, goes straight to the bed, where he sits.
MORRIS. You look tired tonight, old fellow.
[Zachariah looks at him askance.]
Today too long?
ZACHARIAH. What’s this ‘old fellow’ thing you got hold of tonight?
MORRIS. Just a figure of speaking, Zach. The Englishman would say Old boy’ . . . but we don’t like that ‘boy’ business, hey?
ZACHARIAH. Ja. They call a man a boy. You got a word for that, Morrie?
MORRIS. Long or short?
ZACHARIAH. Squashed, like it didn’t fit the mouth.
MORRIS. I know the one you mean.
ZACHARIAH. Ja, then say it.
MORRIS. Prejudice.
ZACHARIAH. Pre-ja-dis.
MORRIS. Injustice!
ZACHARIAH. That’s all out of shape as well.
MORRIS. Inhumanity!
ZACHARIAH. No. That’s when he makes me stand at the gate.
MORRIS. Am I right in thinking you were there again today?
ZACHARIAH. All day long.
MORRIS. You tried to go back to pots?
ZACHARIAH. I tried to go back to pots. ‘My feet’, I said, ‘are killing me.’
MORRIS. And then?
ZACHARIAH. He said, ‘Go to the gate or go to hell. . . Boy!’
MORRIS. He said ‘boy’ as well?
ZACHARIAH. He did.
MORRIS. In one sentence?
ZACHARIAH. Prejudice and inhumanity in one sentence!
[He starts to work off one shoe with the other foot and then dips the bare foot into the basin of water. He will not get as far as taking off the other shoe.]
When your feet are bad, you feel it, man.
[Morris starts helping Zachariah take off his coat. At this point Morris finds an envelope in the inside pocket oj Zachariah’s coat. He examines it secretly. Zachariah broods on, one foot in the basin.]
MORRIS. Zach, did you stop by the Post Office on your way back?
ZACHARIAH. Ja. There was a letter there.
MORRIS. I know there was. [Holding up the envelope.] I just found it.
ZACHARIAH. Good.
MORRIS. What do you mean, ‘good’?
ZACHARIAH. Good, like ‘okay’.
MORRIS [excited and annoyed]. What’s the matter with you?
ZACHARIAH. What’s the matter with me?
MORRIS. This is your pen-pal. This is your reply from Ethel!
ZACHARIAH. In Oudtshoorn.
MORRIS. But Zach! You must get excited, man! Don’t you want to know what she said?
ZACHARIAH. Sure.
MORRIS. Shall we open it then?
ZACHARIAH. Why not!
MORRIS [tears open the letter]. By God, she did it! She sent you a picture of herself.
ZACHARIAH [first flicker of interest]. She did?
MORRIS. So this is Ethel!
ZACHARIAH. Morrie. . . ?
MORRIS. Eighteen years . . . and fully . . . developed.
ZACHARIAH. Let me see, man!
[He grabs the photograph. The certainty and excitement fade from Morris’s face. He is obviously perplexed by something.]
Hey! Not bad. Now that’s what I call a goosie. Good for old Oudtshoorn. You don’t get them like this over here. That I can tell you. Not with a watch! Pretty smart, too. Nice hair. Just look at those locks. And how’s that for a wall she’s standing against? Ever seen a wall like that, as big as that, in Korsten? I mean it’s made of bricks, isn’t it!
MORRIS [snatching the photograph out of Zachariah’s hand and taking it to the window where he has a good look]. Zach, let me have another look at her.
ZACHARIAH. Hey! What’s the matter with you! It’s my pen-pal, isn’t it? It is!
MORRIS. Keep quiet, Zach!
ZACHARIAH. What’s this ‘keep quiet’?
[Morris throws the photograph down on the bed and finds the letter, which he reads feverishly. Zachariah picks up the photograph and continues his study.]
ZACHARIAH. You’re acting like you never seen a woman in your life. Why don’t you get a pen-pal? Maybe one’s not enough.
MORRIS [having finished the letter, his agitation is now even more pronounced]. That newspaper, Zach. Where is that newspaper?
ZACHARIAH. How should I know?
MORRIS [anguished]. Think, man!
ZACHARIAH. You had it. [Morris is scratching around frantically.] What’s the matter with you tonight? Maybe you threw it away.
MORRIS. No. I was keeping it in case . . . [Finds it.] Thank God! Oh, please, God, now make it that I am wrong!