July's People

The Smaleses’ hut has become a breeding ground for fleas as well as a haven for any animal that can push its way inside: cats, pigs, chickens, etc. Asking Gina about who owns a cat that dropped a litter under the bed, Maureen learns that no one in the village keeps pets; the cats just travel like vermin from hut to hut. The children make a nest for the kittens from a plastic mesh bag, but Maureen discovers that they stole it from a neighbor who uses the bags to make rope. When she makes them give it back, they’re indignant, claiming that the bags were “trash” and therefore ownerless. Victor, displaying a “white man’s anger” at being accused of theft, explodes that some Africans are “horrible” (86). Bam, feeling increasingly like a “prisoner” in a cell, seeks escape from his family and his passive existence by fishing at the river and by tuning the radio, the fuzzy reception of which yields mostly dubious reports of insignificantly small white advances.

One day, Maureen casually Bam him that she drowned the kittens to keep them from starving. He recoils in shock and pity, regarding her with a new scrutiny and disgust: He observes her unshaven legs, her threadbare clothes, and the “weathered red” neck that once inspired lust in him but now eerily resembles her father’s. Grimly, Maureen pulls off her T-shirt to shake off fleas, baring her “shallow” breasts; this parody of foreplay repels Bam, like a “castration” of their sexuality. Queasily, he asks why she didn’t get one of the villagers to drown the kittens.

Feeling guilty for eating the fruits of others’ labor, Maureen joins the village women in the fields to root for spinach and other wild edibles. The Black women accept her help somewhat awkwardly. They mostly avoid eye contact with her, but July’s wife stares openly at Maureen’s bare legs, which are shot with varicose veins, and laughs mockingly. One day, seeking a change from the drab sameness of the hut, Maureen wanders over to the bakkie. July and his friend Daniel are tinkering with the clunky exhaust system, without much success. Discussing with her the ravages of the civil war and the rumored fires in Johannesburg, July says, “We can only hope that everything will come back all right” (95), startling Maureen.

After sending Daniel away, July questions Maureen about why she was helping the village women look for food, implying that it isn’t her place. Their discourse is hampered by his rudimentary English, a service dialect not well suited to argument or expressing feelings. Frustrated by his mysterious insistence that she not join the women in the fields, she asks him bluntly if he’s afraid that she’ll tell his wife, Martha, “something”—implicitly about Ellen, his mistress in Johannesburg. Angrily denying that Maureen can report anything bad about his 15 years of service to her, July pounds his chest in rage; for the first time, Maureen feels afraid of a man. Her fear comes not from a physical threat but from what she’s finding out about herself, specifically her past treatment of July. All the pains she took to show respect for his “dignity,” she realizes, only emphasized the power disparity between them and came across as condescending, even humiliating.

July continues fiddling with the bakkie, but, despite his intelligence, he has never had any affinity for machines, and Maureen tells him to let Bam repair it. July ignores this and then tells her that the local chief has heard that a white family lives in his territory. All the Smaleses, he says, must go to the chief and “ask nice” to stay, as is customary. Maureen struggles with being ordered about by July; she has never accepted subservience, even to her husband. In response, she again orders July to let her husband service the car, adding in a quiet voice that July needn’t be afraid that Bam will steal the bakkie from him.

Bam reluctantly accepts that they must visit the chief. Preparing for this social visit, their first since leaving Johannesburg, Maureen gags at the stench that their bodies have produced in the hut: Back home, regular showers always kept it away. Now she sees the wisdom of building indoor fires, as the villagers do. The next day, Bam and Maureen, in the cleanest clothes they can find, are tense but excited about the change in their routine. Bam greatly fears that the chief will tell them to leave. Mordantly, he reminds himself that such evictions are the “civilized” way: When a white farmer “sold up, or died, the next owner would simply say to the black labourers living and working on the land, born there: go” (104).

He doesn’t share his fears with Maureen, whom he barely recognizes as his partner of almost two decades. His rapport with her is gone: Seeing that July has adorned the bakkie’s steering wheel with a fancy cover, he glances meaningfully at her but gets only a confused stare in return. July puts the children in the bakkie, giving Royce (his favorite) his choice of seats. Daniel gets in the car, and Gina insists on bringing her little friend Nyiko along. Unexpectedly, July climbs into the passenger seat, and soon Bam, guided by his directions, drives the bakkie out of the small, unchanging village through parched landscapes and to the chief’s homestead.

July has them stop at a neat brick house with a tin roof, which looks like a former utility building, perhaps a school or church. This, Daniel says, is the hubyent, where people come to be heard. When July returns, he’s accompanied by a stout man with a shaved head, mismatched clothes, and a “heavy,” pompous gait. Bam introduces himself and his family to the man, who mumbles a frosty formula of greeting. As Bam explains to him why they fled Johannesburg, July interrupts to say that the chief is ready to meet them; the stout man, it seems, is merely the “headman” (assistant) to the chief.

July directs Bam to drive a short distance to a round hut with a crude porch in the midst of a ramshackle village. After a long wait in the car, the Smaleses are finally greeted by the chief: a thin, sharp-eyed man in a snap-brimmed hat. July and Daniel fall to their knees before him. The chief knows no English, so July interprets. He asks Bam to explain what’s happening in the cities, why the police don’t arrest the insurgents as they did in 1976 and 1980, and why the white soldiers do nothing to stop the Black people and their allies (from Cuba, Botswana, Zimbabwe, Mozambique, etc.) from blowing up the cities. With a troubled air, he asks why the white men “run away.”

Hearing these unexpected questions, Maureen laughs helplessly. Bam thinks that the chief is gloating about their plight; he wonders whether, if the chief orders them to go, July will recognize his authority and give them back their vehicle. Then, leaning forward, the chief tells Bam that he’ll fight these outsiders—these Cubans, Russians, and invaders from Soweto—who are coming to take his land. Moreover, he wants Bam to use his gun to help fend them off. Horrified, Bam protests, “You’re not going to shoot your own people. You wouldn’t kill blacks. Mandela’s people, Sobukwe’s people. […] The whole black nation is your nation” (120). Matter-of-factly, the chief asks Bam how many guns he has and scoffs at the white man’s claim that he doesn’t shoot people. As the meeting winds up, the chief offers smiles and pleasantries, suggesting that he’s “open to complaints about July” (121). He tells Bam that he’ll come soon to see his shotgun and learn how to shoot it.