The African trinkets

The Lost are Found

Maarinatjie now under the name of Mary followed Rosie around the kitchen as she compiled all the comfort food that Mistress Tate had demanded.

Mary was still chained to the older woman's ankle as insurance. She hadn't tried to runaway in a month because Mary had been distracted by the grief that fogged the house.

It was contagious and claimed her being even though she had no connection to anyone that had passed in the house. Mary had never met master Tate and was glad for it because she had been informed by Penn that he was a particularly horrid sort of man.

Mary had known Victoria for a very limited time but she felt an ongoing pang of sadness when she had found out that the girl she had tutored had been found murdered.

The way in which she died was too gruesome to think upon but Mary had overheard around the house that she had been raped, tortured with snakes and left naked to die in the forest that was adjacent to the public park.

Mary was pulled out of her dwelling by Rosie's shuffling feet, "Would not this task of drowning sadness with food be made easier if that widow would live in the kitchen and devour everything."

"Mary, I have not the patience or the dark humor to tolerate you right now. All I ask is that you remain quiet and light-footed so that I may go about my tasks quickly." Rosie huffed as she multitasked.

"Really now, Rosie, I will not be spoken to as a child because I have exhibited maturity far beyond my years in the past month." Mary with an English an accent as she could manage with her naturally thick Afrikaans accent.

"Mary, you have done nothing but complain about the gloom in this house." Rosie compiled a tray of scones and generously slathered strawberry jam on each as requested by Mistress Tate who had not moved from her bed in a month.

"Well, you must understand that this is all very different and difficult for me to understand. The white man'a way of grieving is very different to anything ice I've ever seen."

Rosie decided to make use of Mary while she spoke, "Explain to me your disposition so that I may excuse your seeming insensitivity. Oh and pass me that jar of jam."

Mary sighed at the instruction but continued to speak, "Back home, in South Africa, I had been more accustomed to the ways of the natives simply because they have been more accepting of my condition."

"Your condition being?" Rosie inquired because she could not see anything physically wrong with Mary that would cause a condition.

Mary widened her eyes at Rosie because she couldn't understand how the older woman did not notice her condition, "Is it not obvious? I am a half caste."

"Should that be of particular consequence to me?" Rosie's smiled at Mary.

"That is exactly what I mean! Even back home, I was lumped together with all the black people and only half of my origin was ever acknowledged."

"If you don't mind me asking, Mary, what does this have to do with grief?" Rosie looked for a large tray to carry all of the food she had prepared.

"Before my digression, I was trying to communicate that on the farm I grew up on I become more accustomed with black African culture. What I mean by all of this is that Africans have a set mourning period in which they perform rituals and ceremonies and once that period is finished then sadness no longer looms." Mary explained this to Rosie and the older woman couldn't help but pull a bit of a face.

"Perhaps that is too idealistic for western culture." Rosie critics as nicely as she could.

"Not at all, Rosie or perhaps I should call you Rose. Hmm..." Mary mused, "No that will not do. You are my elder and to call you by name would be insolence. See, in a African culture everything is strictly structured and even grief is managed accordingly and timely."