They were waiting for the bus from Port Elizabeth. It was the same bus that had taken their youth away and was now, supposedly, bringing a piece of it back. Hennie’s grandson, a boy who had learned to speak in the sharp, polished tones of the city, was arriving to "settle the estate"—a polite way of saying he was going to sell the land and bury the memories.
Pieter looked at his hands, clean and soft. He picked up a handful of Karoo red earth and let it sift through his fingers. It stained his skin. athol fugard
"I’m here to help you, Oupa. To move you to the city. There’s nothing left here but the heat." They were waiting for the bus from Port Elizabeth
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