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again.
    Six months ago she had come home late from work. Stephanus Cronje’s unpaid overtime. Pule decided there and then that she was late because she had been sleeping with white men. “Stories are told of black maids who sleep with their white masters,” he said. “You must be one of them.”
    She pleaded her innocence. She tried to hold him in her arms to assure him that she would never do such a thing. But he violently pushed her away and slapped her, shouting, “Get away from me! You smell of white men!”
    She was Johannes Smit in Pule’s eyes. She saw the uncontrollable yellowness of the sunflower fields. There was the overwhelming smell of Johannes Smit in the shack. Tears swelled in her eyes as she packed her clothes and Viliki’s into a plastic bag. She then left with her son to live with relatives in Thaba Nchu.
    Pule remained stewing in misery. He really loved Niki and he missed her. He went back to the mines of Welkom. And then returned to an empty shack. He sent his relatives to Thaba Nchu to plead with Niki to come back. He made endless promises and undertakings that he would never hit her again.
    Niki finally decided to go back to her husband. Till death do us part. There was no one at home. She had her own key. Deep in the night he came home singing spiritedly. A drunken female voice accompanied his song. A woman he had picked up at some shebeen as his provision for the night. Take-aways. One-night stress-relief. Balm to a hurting soul. He opened the door without wondering why he had left it unlocked. He struck a match and lit the candle. He uttered one sharp curse. Niki was sitting at the“kitchen scheme” table. Viliki was dozing on the bed. He was up in no time.
    â€œI am leaving you, Pule, and this time it is going to be forever,” cried Niki.
    â€œPlease, Niki, don’t go,” Pule pleaded. “There is nothing between this woman and me. I don’t even know her name.”
    â€œBut you were going to sleep with her, weren’t you? On my bed too!”
    â€œYou scoundrel you!” the other woman shouted at Pule. “You didn’t tell me you had a letekatse—a whore—waiting for you at home!”
    Niki grabbed Viliki’s hand and made to go. Pule closed the door with his huge frame and begged her not to go. The other woman, sensing victory, added her own view that she should indeed go.
    â€œI’ll stay only if you hit your girlfriend,” Niki finally said.
    Both Pule and the other woman looked at Niki in astonishment.
    â€œCome on, beat her up,” Niki demanded.
    â€œBeat her up? But she has not done anything.”
    â€œI had not done anything either when you slapped me,” said Niki calmly.
    â€œI can’t just beat her up, Niki,” protested Pule.
    â€œYou just try to beat me up, you’ll see the eyes of a worm,” threatened the other woman. She was nevertheless reversing towards the door.
    Pule slapped her twice. She ran out screaming that people were trying to kill her for nothing. She stood outside, a safe distance from the shack, and hurled insults at the couple, for all the neighbourhood to hear. She was emphatic that it was Pule’s loss, because not even in his dreams would he ever taste what she had been going to give him. When it seemed no one was paying her any attention, she finally walked away, still yelling things about their private parts that would render the innocent deaf.
    Pule had on that night promised he would stop blaming her for things she knew nothing about. And so she and Viliki had stayed.
    But Pule did not keep his promise. Here he was again assigning motives.
    â€œNow you tell me that I have boyfriends. Did you give them to me?” asked Niki in a sarcastic tone.
    Viliki led Tjaart into the house, enticed by the prospect of war.
    â€œThey are going to fight,” said Viliki to Tjaart.
    â€œWho is going to win?” asked Tjaart, looking forward