Fiela’s Child

The day the child disappeared the fog came up early and by midday it seemed as if the Forest was covered in a thick white cloud.

‘Listen here, woman, you know as well as I do that there’s something very strange going on here. This can’t be your child but you gave out that he was yours. Where did you get the child from?’

‘He’s my hand-child.’

‘Will I still know him?’

‘He’s the forest woman’s child.’

‘I’m your pa! That’s who I am! Say it! Say who I am!’ He was as tough as a piece of ironwood. ‘Say who I am!’

‘Pa.’

[…]

For every answer he gave him a lash. ‘And who are you?’

‘Benja— Lukas.’

‘Lukas who?’

‘I don’t know.’

‘Lukas van Rooyen. Say it!’

‘Lukas van Rooyen.’

‘The child is back with his rightful parents,’ he said and it seemed as if his jaw had grown stiff. ‘What he had on the day he got lost can make no difference. You can put anything on him now and swear by it in the hope that I will believe you.’

The year moved slowly. Christmas came. New Year. And as he grew out of Benjamin Komoetie, he also grew out of his cloths and had to wear Willem’s old trousers and a shirt of his pa’s.

‘Go home and tell pa I’m not coming back. I’m finished with the Forest.’

He was shocked and guilt-ridden. For a moment, his body had forgotten that she was his sister.

The one wearing the blue shirt.

The pilot pulled the needle through the thick white cloth. Somewhere in his beard a smile seemed to be lingering. ‘Of course,’ he said.

The day the child disappeared the fog came up early and by midday it seemed as if the Forest was covered in a thick white cloud.

‘Listen here, woman, you know as well as I do that there’s something very strange going on here. This can’t be your child but you gave out that he was yours. Where did you get the child from?’

‘He’s my hand-child.’

‘Will I still know him?’

‘He’s the forest woman’s child.’

‘I’m your pa! That’s who I am! Say it! Say who I am!’ He was as tough as a piece of ironwood. ‘Say who I am!’

‘Pa.’

[…]

For every answer he gave him a lash. ‘And who are you?’

‘Benja— Lukas.’

‘Lukas who?’

‘I don’t know.’

‘Lukas van Rooyen. Say it!’

‘Lukas van Rooyen.’

‘The child is back with his rightful parents,’ he said and it seemed as if his jaw had grown stiff. ‘What he had on the day he got lost can make no difference. You can put anything on him now and swear by it in the hope that I will believe you.’

The year moved slowly. Christmas came. New Year. And as he grew out of Benjamin Komoetie, he also grew out of his cloths and had to wear Willem’s old trousers and a shirt of his pa’s.

‘Go home and tell pa I’m not coming back. I’m finished with the Forest.’

He was shocked and guilt-ridden. For a moment, his body had forgotten that she was his sister.

The one wearing the blue shirt.

The pilot pulled the needle through the thick white cloth. Somewhere in his beard a smile seemed to be lingering. ‘Of course,’ he said.