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was a deep and desperate sense of disgrace. Where she had spent the
night shouting at a stuffed bag, they had gone home and tried their
hardest with the homework. Gone home to an endless hunger and
solved equations written on dirty paper, the dirty paper that was
now so neatly placed upon their desks waiting correction. Over the
weeks her kids had grown touchingly determined to get their
questions right, and on those occasions when they made a mistake
they were abashed with contrition. Once the students entered the
classroom they were untiring and persistent, as if, in this jail-like
room, they could suspend their grievances, their extreme poverty
and dream of a future.
It was on the bus ride home that Olivia finally recognised why the
bratty Gwendolen Harleth intrigued her so; it was her! It was her,
Olivia; here in this remote state with children she could not bear to
teach. The shame from earlier washed over her once more.
What am I to do now? She asked herself and the answer came
back to her soundlessly. She knew what she had to do. She had to
endure. She had to tolerate the sand, the flies, the dirt, the tears, the
famine, and try to give Moree and the others the best possible
chance to get out of this grave; the grave that had been so neatly dug
by her white ancestors. Back in the rolling tin can the tires spat up
great plumes of dust behind them. In her seat Olivia vibrated along
with the road and breathed in the recycled bus air. The landscape
outside her window quickened into a red blur and for the first time
since she had arrived, Olivia felt at peace. The decision was made.
‘
She spent most of the following week in a happy daze. During the day
she would help the children, listen to their stories and grade their
homework. Content with the monotony. At night she would lounge
on the veranda and watch the setting sun paint the sand vibrant pink
or brooding purple. She did not know the kind of peace she would
find sitting for pleasure and waiting for nothing. Olivia almost didn’t
want to go home.
But all good things must come to an end.
It was the empty desk that told her something was wrong, the
desk that had not been occupied for two days now. Teachers told her
it was perfectly normal for the children to skip school for days at a
time, sometimes even weeks. But not Moree, she wouldn’t do that.
Oh, how Olivia wished she were wrong. The principal had come.
Of Dust And
Dirt And Other
Godly Beings
12