Thabo Mooke, author

By
Thabo Mooke
Even after a decade, they still did not agree on how the incident occurred.
“It was an accident,” he said.
“No,” she said, “you kissed me.”
“Well, you had your face into me,” he said.
As the debate was not going anywhere, they switched the subject. In their dream world, they would lunge into each other’s arms and kiss with ferocity.
Orapeleng Morule was the son of a farm worker and, Anna-Marie de Bruin was the daughter of a maize farmer in the Orange Free State.

At least one of them was telling the truth. During the summer school recession, Orapeleng noticed that Anna-Marie had not cycled past the farm workers’ houses. She usually did that every afternoon. He worked part-time on the farm doing odd jobs, repairing a fallen fence or the tractor. He also milked cattle in the afternoons. Carrying two pails of milk, as he walked up the steps of the house’s back door, Anna-Marie emerged.
“I haven’t seen you cycling for a while. What happened?” asked Orapeleng.
Her voice conveyed pain as she talked about her broken bike.
“Where’s it? Can I look at it?”
Anna-Marie’s face lit up with a genial smile. “Yes, sure. It is in the goods shed.”
“OK, let me put the milk away and we can look at it.”
He inspected the bike. The front wheel fork had a crack and it could not keep the wheel secured. Her father had bought a new fork and told her he would fix the bike, but it never came about that.
“I will bring my father’s tools to fix it tomorrow.”
“Really? Oh… Orapeleng, you’re so sweet.”

The next day in the afternoon, they sauntered to the goods shed. She walked close to him, as his baritone voice was not loud enough. She felt her skin sizzle withgoosebumpss, the sound of his voice like an opera singer’s.
Inside the shed, he replaced the broken fork with a new one. He bumped the front wheel on the ground to test its steadiness. Satisfied and with a smile on his face.
“Here you are, it’s fixed,” said Orapeleng.
She always admired his muscular hands. Several times, she had observed how he effortlessly picked up the milk pail from the ground and placed it on the table. When he left the farmhouse, after a while, she would stand on the kitchen veranda and watch him walk away. Her eyes followed his broad figure and graceful, long strides as he threaded his way into the sunset.
Anna-Marie put her hand over her mouth and laughed, her eyes closed and her shoulder shaking. “Thank you, thank you so much.”
After a moment, she wondered how she would feel if he lifted her and held her in the air with his long and powerful hands. Her large black eyes closed slightly, and she felt his soft hands on hers as they held the bike’s saddle. Now their faces unintentionally close, their lips crushed.
They remained in awkward silence, drawn in secret thoughts. In their fuddled state of mind, they believed they had plucked the forbidden fruit from the tree in the Garden of Eden. They had not yet tasted the sweetness of the fruit and were therefore uncertain of the consequences.

However, they were bound to taste the fruit sooner. Whether the kiss was a deliberate mistake or an accident, the two fell in love, and deeply so.
Though suspicious, Bettie de Bruin, could not put a finger on the relation between her daughter and Orapeleng. But over time, she noticed her daughter was smitten by Orapeleng. Her daughter’s face beamed with attraction whenever Anna-Marie talked to the farm boy. She started watching her daughter like a hawk. She made sure whenever Orapeleng came to the farmhouse after milking the cattle in the afternoon, she would be in the kitchen. She stood still in the room and watched the boy leave. Making sure Orapeleng left the house, she followed him outside and watched him until he disappeared into the twilight.
Feeling her tactic wasn’t solid enough though to protect her daughter from Orapeleng, Bettie de Bruin came up with another means. “I don’t like the way you have become too close with that farm boy, Orapeleng. He’s not one of us. You either stop talking to him or I’ll have to report you to your father.”
Her lips were too dry, making it difficult for her to speak. “But Mama… does it matter that he’s not one of us? Orapeleng is my friend.”
“No,” her mother pitched her voice, “you cannot be friends with him.”
Anna-Marie noticed her mother’s face had reddened with irritation. She shrugged. He had thoughtful eyes, she told herself, relaxed and a look of amused friendliness and glee which aroused a feeling of warmth in her soul.
“He’s such a nice boy, Mama. He makes me laugh all the time. I’m always happy when I’m with him, Mama. He makes me happy.”
Her eyes narrowed, and Bettie de Bruin glared at her daughter with rigid, cold, and hard eyes. She slapped her daughter hard with the back of her hand. “Don’t you ever say that to me again. You hear me?”’
Anna-Marie believed love is not for the faint-hearted, for they may give up before truly understanding it. Love is brave, breaking down barriers to kindness, truth, trust, and selflessness.

That night, Anna-Marie slid out of her bed and wrote Orapeleng a letter.
Let us meet tonight under the Morula tree when the moonlight shines bright on the green grass and the soft breeze sweeps across our faces. Let us meet when it shall be muted except for the distant howling of a hungry jackal. We shall hold hands and listen to the tender and sweet melody of our heartbeats.
Peering through her bedroom window, the sky was cloudless and blue; the stars gleamed. The night was tranquil. Barefoot, holding her shoes, she opened the kitchen door and sneaked out. Under the moonlight, the shadows of leaves danced on his face. She waltzed towards him; they held in a tight embrace like they would never let go.

After dinner, Anna-Marie continued to sneak out of the house to meet Orapeleng behind the sheep kraal. They enjoyed every moment of their secret meetings. They stood under the tree and watched with glee the shadows of the tree under the moonlight dancing on their faces.
But their stolen moments would come to an abrupt end. She always suspected that her mother would one day likely follow her outside, so she hid behind a large fig tree in front of the kitchen door. As she guessed, that evening, her mother followed her outside.
“Anna-Marie, where are you?” Her mother called out for her.
“What’s mistaken, Mama? I’m here. I needed some fresh air.”

Laying on her back in the bed, Anna-Marie tossed and turned in sleeplessness. Her mother had thwarted her plan to meet with her lover.
Both Orapeleng and Anna-Marie acknowledged they were in a forbidden relationship. The laws of their country forbade people of different ethnicities from falling in love. They also acknowledged the backlash they would face from people who held racial prejudices. Regardless, their love for each other intensified.
Feeling an unbearable longing for him, Anna-Marie dared her parents. She sneaked out of her bedroom window every night to meet her boyfriend under the tree they had now christened ‘our meeting place’.
Dark rain clouds gathered on the horizon that evening. Soon after her parents had gone to bed, she peered through the window at the light showers pelting the ground. She would not dare brood over a natural occurrence. Now wearing her raincoat, Anna-Marie knew Orapeleng was waiting for her. She crept out of the window. Her oval face glistened with rain water, and she found Orapeleng waiting at their ‘meeting place’. Rainwater cascaded down her thick black hair. He explored her well-carved body and could feel her long and well-shaped legs trembling with exhilaration. It was before midnight when the lovers parted and went to their homes.
Her raincoat still dripping water, she hung it behind the bedroom door. A knock sounded at the door. In a start, she turned to look as her mother barged in. Bettie de Bruin’s eyes danced with curiosity as she noticed her daughter’s wet hair entangled and her shoes soaked.
“Where the hell have you been to?”
“I was outside in the rain.” Anna-Marie’s voice lacked conviction.
“You better tell me the truth, young lady. Did you sneak out to see him? The farm boy?”
Anna-Marie cast her gaze downwards, twirling her fingers. What else could she do? She asked herself. Fear was at the back of her mind. But she wondered what her mother would do, now that she was convinced she was seeing Orapeleng.
“I saw,” Bettie de Bruin threw her arms into the air in exasperation, “the way you looked and smiled at him. Damnit! I knew there was something between you and that Morule boy. Your father is coming back on Sunday. I’m going to tell him everything. How you’ve been sneaking out to see Orapeleng.”

Considering her mother’s threat, she imagined how her father would react. A sickening fear swirled through Anna-Marie’s body. Jaapie de Bruin had an explosive temper. And this did not surprise her. She knew her father was a member of Die Afrikaner Weerstandebewiging, AWB. Afrikaner Resistance Movement. A neo-Nazi and white supremacist political party. Having a relationship with Orapeleng, according to her father’s beliefs, was not only forbidden, but it was a cardinal sin.

On Saturday afternoon, she stuffed her denim trousers into her handbag. Even though stressed by the fear of her father, she relished the humorous moment churning inside her. She recalled her mother describing her panties as ‘nothing but a minute piece of cloth that only covered the V-shape of the frontal. She smiled, and she tucked her two panties in the handbag.

The house was dead silent and holding her handbag; she tip-toed out of her bedroom. She peered in the living, her mother was sitting on the couch knitting. She hurried out. The last orange rays of the setting sun painted the horizon with its magnificent colour.
She took her bicycle and paddled towards the farmworkers’ houses. Behind his parents’ mud house, Orapeleng was chopping. With the axe mid-air, he turned to look as she leaned the bicycle against the wall.
He dropped the axe on the ground and rushed towards her, his eyes opened wide in shock. “What are you doing here?” He noticed her face was ashen. What’s…?”
There was an indefinable smile on her face. She placed her finger on his lips to quieten him. “Listen,” her voice trembled, “we’ve been caught out. We’ve been caught eating the forbidden fruit in the Garden of Eden”.
His forehead furrowed with curiosity. “What do you mean we’ve been caught out? Stop speaking in riddles, what’s happening?”
“My mother has found out about us, about our relationship.”
His mind raced with a mix of anger, confusion, and concern. He stomped his feet on the ground. “No, no, no. Please tell me you’re not serious, Anna-Marie.”
“I’m serious, that’s why I’m here.”
The fear and anxiety curled in his stomach. He felt the tips of his ears burning and wrapped his hands around them.
“Hell, no.”
Her eyes opened wide in bewilderment. “What? You think I brought this unto you?”
“No, that’s not what I’m thinking.” He took her hands and squeezed them. “You know your father. He’ll kill me. I must get away from this place.”
“Yes, the Garden of Eden. But I’m coming with you.” There was a conviction in her tone.
“No, that would make matters worse for you.”
Her voice trembled but was firm. “We’re in this together. Wherever you are going, I am going with you. I don’t care where long as I’m with you.”
“Come, let’s go.” He grabbed her hand, and they dashed into the nearby bush.

It was a while after the two lovers had left when Orapeleng’s father, Gideon Morule, arrived home. He called out for his son when he entered the house.
There was no response, and he hurried out. Behind the mud rondavel, he noticed Anna-Marie’s bicycle was leaning against the wall. He drew a long breath in wonderment. Where could she be, Gideon Morule asked himself. On the ground, he noticed chopped wood and an axe. As he cursed under his breath, on the hedged two lanes, he noticed the green Bedford van speeding towards his house. The vehicle left a red cloud of dust behind it.
Mrs Bettie de Bruin parked her vehicle under a thorn tree and sprinted towards Gideon Morule. “Did you know about it, Gideon?”
He stared at her, his eyes coated with curiosity and amazement. “Knew about what? What’re you talking about, Mrs de Bruin?” He noticed the bags under reddened eyes.
“The relationship. Did you know that Orapeleng and Anna-Marie have a relationship?”
“How do you know that?”
She ignored his question and glanced at the bicycle leaning against the wall. “Where’s she?
Are they in your house?”
He shook his head. “I’ve just arrived from work, I didn’t find anybody here.”
“Oh…my goodness, do you think they’ve run away together?”
“I wish I could be of help, Mrs de Bruin. We should report them missing to the police.”
“ No, we cannot do that. Listen, Gideon, nobody must know about this. Am I clear?”
He nodded and watched Bettie de Bruin wobble towards her car.

Pain and fear intensified at twilight, and the lovers came out of their hiding place. A wild boar hole was dug under a thorn tree. The hole was covered in shrubs. They set out on foot, avoiding busy roads in case they drew attention unto themselves. They arrived at Orapeleng’s aunt’s home in Thaba Nchu before midnight.
They were exhausted, their sweat-drenched clothes clung to their bodies like their second skin. The three of them sat at the table in the kitchen. Anna-Marie kept staring at Orapeleng as if she were seeing a masterly piece of art crafted by the goods of art. He reciprocated her appreciation with eyes beaming with love. Rakgadi Mmule did not bother to ask about the relationship between the two.
Rakgadi Mmule listened intently at Orapeleng. She wagged a finger at him. “Orapeleng, you know how her father will hunt and kill you like an animal.” She glanced at Ana-Marie with sympathetic eyes. “And you, your parents, and their folks will disown you.”
“I know that,” said Ana-Marie, her voice pained. She glanced at Orapeleng a genial smile moved across her face. “But I don’t care, I love Orapeleng, that’s all that matters to me.”
Thaba Nchu was a territory of the quasi-independent Bantustan of Bophuthatswana. The Bantustan did not prohibit interracial relationships. However, Rakgadi Mmule was concerned about the area’s proximity to Bloemfontein, an Orange Free State town. The area was conservative, with severe racial prejudices. Thaba Nchu, a semi-rural place, was still unaccustomed to interracial relationships.
News travels fast, she feared Ana-Marie’s parents may get a hint of where their daughter was hiding. They would not only come for their daughter. Rakgadi Mmule feared Anna-Marie’s parents would also come to harm Orapeleng.
“You cannot stay here,” said Rakgadi Mmule. “I’ve got a friend who comes from here in Thaba Nchu, but now lives in Mafikeng. Her husband is a kind person, I’ll talk to them and ask if they can find a place for you to stay.”
“Thanks, auntie, I appreciate that,” said Orapeleng.

Standing at the sink, Bettie de Bruin rinsed the coffee mug, and her mind shut down, unwilling to think anymore. She glanced at the clock hanging above the refrigerator, 9:30 a.m. And she dreaded the thought that her husband would be home at 1 pm or thereabout.
Jaapie de Bruin had lost the race for the branch chairmanship of his organisation during the AWB conference. Bitter and angry, he left soon after the conference announced the results. He parked his Ford bakkie in front of the veranda and slammed the door.
Her eyes narrowed with astonishment. Bettie de Bruin peeped through the kitchen window and noticed her husband ambling towards the house. She pressed her eyes shut, wishing it was not for real.
Already, a heavy tension hung around the room. He walked to the bedroom to put away his luggage. When he emerged, he stood in the middle of the kitchen door.
“Where’s Anna-Marie? He asked.
Her eyes puffed, and Bettie de Bruin avoided eye contact with her husband. She waddled with her fingers. “She ran away, Jaapie, I don’t know where she is.”
“What do you mean she ran away?”
She felt drained of blood, and her heart beat erratically. She informed him how she suspected Orapeleng had attracted her daughter. And that she threatened Anna-Marie that she would report her to her father.
His eyes blazing with fury. “Damn it, Bettie,” he slammed the door frame with his open hand. “How long have you been suspecting that?”
“Not long…”
“Where’s Orapeleng?”
“He’s not at his home, I think they ran away to…”
“Shut up! Just shut up. ” He pointed a threatening finger at her. “You failed to protect our daughter. You’re nothing but a useless mother.”
He later reported her daughter missing at the local police station. Embarrassed, he omitted reporting she ran away from home together with her Black boyfriend.

Late in the afternoon, Jaapie de Bruin found Gideon Morule seated on a bench under the tree shadow. There was a bottle of beer next to him on the bench. He sauntered towards his master.
“Gideon,” his chest heaved like a bullfrog. “Please tell me the truth. Did you know your son is having an affair with Anna-Marie?”
He noticed his behaviour was uncharacteristic. His demeanour had mellowed, his voice was soft and restrained. “Mr de Bruin, I’m as surprised as you are. I swear, Orapeleng never gave the slightest suggestion that he was in love.”
“Would you know where they had run to? Your relatives?”
Given Jaapie de Bruin’s erratic behaviour, there was no way, he could disclose where his son could be hiding. He assumed Orapeleng had no other place to go but his aunt in Thaba Nchu. His hoarse voice trembled. “I don’t know where he could be.”
“Listen, Gideon, nobody must know about this. It is a secret that must remain between us, me you, and Mrs de Bruin. Have I made myself clear?”
“I promise.” He waved at his master as he drove off.
Mmabatho, the capital of Bophuthatswana, had made significant strides in accepting mixed relationships. Mixed couples were common on the town’s streets and public amenities.

Both Orapeleng and Anna-Marie exchanged glances, astounded when a mixed couple welcomed them into their home.
After a while, Anna-Marie observed how the couple held hands with affection like they never got enough of each other. She wondered how love and happiness could be such a luxury in that part of the world. She asserted love had no barriers; it was blind to the colour of one’s pigmentation.
Tony Vermeulen and his wife, Tsholofelo, lived in a five-bedroom house in one of the posh suburbs of Mmabatho. Later, when they were having dinner, Tony encouraged the young couple not to be disheartened by what happened to them.
“Your situation is not unique,” he said. “My parents disapproved of my relationship with Tsholofelo. There are worse situations, people being arrested and others going into exile because they loved people who differed from them.”
Tsholofelo wiped her mouth with a paper serviette. “Tony’s parents did not come to our wedding.”
Anna-Marie glanced at Tsholofelo, her eyes dancing with curiosity. “So sad. And your parents, didn’t they have qualms about your relationship with Tony?”
“No, not at all,” Tony cleared his throat. “Batswana people do not have racial hang-ups. Her parents accepted me with open hearts when I visited Tsholo for the first time in Thaba Nchu.”
Tony Vermeulen was born in the small and rural town of Naboomspruit in northern Transvaal. It was a conservative area inhabited by Afrikaner farmers. Unlike Orapeleng and Anna-Marie, they never disagreed on how they met.
“I was an administration clerk at the University of Bophuthatswana,” Tsholofelo would always tell her friends. “The university had just appointed Tony as a lecturer. He came to my office looking for some documents. Our eyes locked, yes, as they say, the rest is history,” she would burst into a pearl of amused laughter.
When it was her turn, Anna-Marie informed their host how she and Orapeleng fell in love after he had fixed her bicycle in the goods shed.
“It was a kiss of love,” said Tsholofelo. “Look at you now, you’re so in love.”

They felt at ease living in Mmabatho. Not fearing to be arrested or harassed by people who held racial prejudices, Orapeleng, and Anna-Marie found employment. She worked for an American-based Non-Profit Organisation. Orapeleng worked for a newspaper publishing company as an advertising sales representative.
That evening, they lay on their bed, each in thoughtfulness. Anna-Marie turned to look at her boyfriend. “We’ve been living off the Vermuelens for too long. Now that we’re both employed, paying for our share of household responsibilities would be right. What do you suggest?”
He sat up and leaned his body against the headboard. “Girl, have you been reading my mind?”
“I don’t think we’d be here if we did not have that special thing between us, telepathy”. She remembered the time Orapeleng confided in her about his fear of her father’s potential reaction to their affair. When she expressed her willingness to elope with him, they didn’t argue. She was ready to follow him wherever he went.
A month later, the Vermuelens travelled to Thaba Nchu, to visit Tsholofelo’s parents, leaving their guests behind. With nothing much to do, Orapeleng sat in the living room watching TV, and Anna-Marie sat at the desk in their bedroom, studying.
Suddenly, a genial smile stretched across his lips as he recalled the conversation they had the previous night. He leisurely walked towards their bedroom, positioned himself in the centre of the doorway, and grasped the door frame with both hands.
“When are you sending the letter to your mother?”
She lifted her head from the book she was reading. “Thanks for reminding me, I’ll send it later, today.”
He smiled at her and walked away. Orapeleng resumed his position in the living room and continued to watch TV. In the bedroom, Anna-Marie closed the book she was reading and started writing the letter.
‘I cannot say I am sorry for what I did, Mama. I hope you understand how powerful love is. It has the power to unshackle the chain of love as it did with me. Please do not worry too much about me, Orapeleng and I are well.
Anna-Marie paused, her face beamed with a smile as she ran her hand down her stomach.
I hope one day, and that day will eventually come, you and Papa will come over to see your grandchild. I will love you eternal, Mama, give my unconditional love to Papa.’
She sealed the envelope as she emerged from the bedroom. She slumped next to Orapeleng and tossed the letter on the coffee table in the living room. She glanced at him. “If you had not kissed me that day in the goods shed, I wouldn’t have to write this letter.”
“If you had not kissed me, I don’t think you would have had to write the letter.”
“Orapeleng, when are you going to admit that you were the one who kissed me?”
He took her hand, squeezed it and smacked her on the mouth. “I can now admit that I kissed you, unlike that day in the shack.”
She reciprocated the kiss and noticed he was about to say something. She placed her finger on his lips. “Shsh…Don’t say nothing.” She lay her head on his lap and they watched television.

Mrs de Bruin was both at ease and astonished by her husband’s changed attitude. His volatility had disappeared, and he always wore a brilliant smile on his face. She attributed the change to his resignation from the AWB. And that week, for the first time, she was delighted her husband had not touched alcohol in the past two days. He made himself useful by helping her with household chores and washing dishes after meals.
As he was about to put away their coffee mugs in the cabinet, he turned around and glanced at his wife. He flashed her a remorseful smile. “You know, Bettie, life has mysterious ways that can change from what you used to be.”
“How so?” There was an element of surprise in her tone.
“You remember how your parents were against our relationship.”
“How can I forget that? It was traumatic.”
Bettie’s father, a major shareholder in a mining company in Welkom in the Orange Free State, and the family also had a car dealership in Bloemfontein. Japie de Bruin came from a working-class family and Bettie’s parents could not imagine their daughter marrying a man of inferior status. The couple eloped and were married without her parents. But soon after the birth of Anna-Marie, Bettie’s parents were elated and accepted Japie as their son-in-law.
“Don’t you think the same thing is happening to our daughter now?” He glanced at his wife as if he was reading her mind. “I know you’re probably thinking the relationship between Anna-Marie and Gideon Murule’s son is not the same.”
“You’re right, our situation can never be the same.”
“What’s the difference, Bettie? We also loved each other, didn’t we? Our daughter is also in love with Orapeleng. I don’t think she would have run away with him if that was not the case.”
“But the difference here is that…”
“He’s black and that she’s white, that’s all to it.

For months, Bettie de Bruin had not informed her husband about the letter she received from her daughter. She kept it in the pocket of her apron. When her husband was not around, she would take out the letter and read it with fondness. Now, convinced her husband had changed, she took out the letter and gave it to him.
After reading the letter, he glanced at his wife with keen brown eyes. There was a stealthy grin on his mouth. “We can now visit them, Bettie. Don’t you think so?”
Their eyes locked in astonishment as a knock interrupted their discussion. The surprise on Jaapie de Bruin’s face disappeared like dew under the sunlight as Gideon Morule entered.
“We know where they are, Gideon.” He waved the letter at him. “We, and you too, are going to be grandparents. I think we must visit them someday.”
Gideon Morule’s eyes light up with excitement as he realises that they now have a lead and a potential opportunity to visit their children in Mmabatho.
“Thanks, God,” said Gideon Morule. His voice trembled with emotion. He expressed enthusiasm and agreed with Jaapie de Bruin’s suggestion. “I can’t wait to see them… and oh… Yes, my grandchild.”
Anna-Marie had written another letter to her mother, that she was now in the advanced stages of her pregnancy, but her health was not perfect. But it was nothing serious. Anna-Marie’s health affected Orapeleng.
The doctors had diagnosed a lump on her left breast. And they were concerned she did not respond to treatment. His customary pleasantness evaporated. He kept still as an iceberg. His focus wandered.
Like he did for the past two weeks, Orapeleng visited his girlfriend at the hospital every afternoon. That afternoon, things were different. Anna-Marie was not in her bed. He stared at the empty bed, his mouth hung with lips slightly parted and his eyes were as wide as they could stretch. A cold and chilling sweat ran down his spine.

Three beds away, he noticed a trainee nurse administering medicine to a patient.
The nurse strolled towards him, there was a beaming smile on her face. “She has been taken to the maternity ward.” She directed him to the ward.
Walking on the passage to the maternity, Orapeleng told himself that this place was not run by risk-takers. There were hand sanitisers hung on the wall, to prevent the spread of germs. After all, it was a temporary domicile for the new-borns. He stopped outside the maternity ward door, he wasn’t sure why.
He turned to look as he heard familiar voices coming along the passage. Tony Vermeulen and his wife, Tsholofelo, were accompanied by Gideon Morule, Jaapie de Bruin, and his wife, Bettie. His father held him in a tight embrace as if he would suffocate him.
Though his embrace was not as tight as that of his father, Jaapie de Bruin, disengaged his arms around Orapeleng. And his eyes sizzled with curiosity. “Where’s she, are they all right?”
At that, the maternity ward’s double doors swung open, and a doctor, his stethoscopes dangling from his hand, emerged. He did not mask his poignant expression. The doctor stared at Orapeleng.
“I guess, you must be the father?”
Orapeleng nodded.
His voice measured, and the doctor held Orapeleng’s shoulder. “The baby is fine. I’m sorry we could not save the mother.”
They all remained in a deathly silence. Overwhelmed with grief, they exchanged robotic glances. Brick, by brick, Orapeleng’s world came down crumbling on him. Moments later, gazing at the bundle of joy in the crib, a cocktail of feelings, joy, sadness, and sorrow swirled inside him.
“I’ll tell her that her mother was wonderful, the goddess of love.”
Jaapie de Bruin dug his fingers into Orapeleng’s shoulder. “Life has never offered us any guarantees. But only love has the power to wash away our sorrows.”