The Quarry Read Online Free PDF Page A

‘Bly stil, liefie,’ she said.
    He drove on. She receded into the gloom behind, holding her struggling white dog.
    The road that she had pointed out to him ran to the northern end of the town and then went on. The houses with their grey rectangles of lawn disappeared behind. The road was untarred. The car
was jolting on ruts and he couldn’t see anything in the headlights except grass leaning and flowing in the wind. He was looking for a place in which to turn around when a figure took shape
ahead. He stopped and hooted. The figure turned. It was a man.
    ‘Is this the road to the township?’
    ‘Ja. Ja. Ja.’
    ‘Can you tell me how to get to the church?’
    ‘I can show you the church.’
    ‘Get in.’
    He did. There was a strong smell of drink in the car. They drove on. A little way ahead the road came to the township. There was debris. He saw people sitting here and there in doorways or
standing in groups on corners. They turned their heads to look at him.
    He felt a strange uneasiness. ‘Why are they staring?’
    The other man laughed. ‘They’re looking at the car,’ he said.
    ‘There aren’t a lot of cars?’
    ‘No, my broer ,’ he said. ‘Turn here.’
    In the centre of the township there was a huge cement plaza with cracks and flaws running through it and at one end of it there was a prefabricated building with sandbags piled up in front. On
the other side, facing it, the church. It was squat and low with holes gaping in the brickwork and only by a dislodged cross canted skewly on its summit did he know it for what it was. He
parked.
    ‘Thanks,’ he said. ‘What’s your name?’
    ‘Valentine.’ He was looking at the cassock. ‘Are you a minister?’
    The man shifted. ‘No,’ he said. He didn’t know why he’d said it. They got out.
    ‘What about my luck?’
    Holding out his hand.
    The man shook his head. ‘I’ve got nothing,’ he said.
    ‘ Ag , brother. I showed you the church, my brother.’
    ‘I’ve got nothing,’ he said. It was true.
    ‘Goodnight, my broertjie .’
    He said nothing. He stood next to his car and watched Valentine go diagonally across the plaza. When he reached the far side he disappeared between a café and an empty lot.
    The man turned. There were no lights in this church either, no sign of anyone nearby. He went to the wooden door and pushed, but it was locked. He went to the side of the church. There was a
house here and he went to the door and knocked. It was opened in a moment by a woman. They looked at each other.
    ‘I’m Reverend Niemand,’ he said.

 
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    She was wearing a long flannel bathrobe with tiny faded flowers on it. It was tied at the waist but it looked to him as if there was nothing underneath it. Fine bones and
shadows and skin.
    She stood aside for him to enter and he came in and she closed the door. He was at the head of a passage that went off towards an open door at the end. There was another door, closed, halfway
down. To his right he could see a room that seemed to be a kitchen. There was a table with a plate of half-eaten food on it and a glint of knives and forks lying around.
    ‘We’ve been waiting for you,’ she said.
    ‘Yes. I was… delayed. On the way.’
    He followed her down the passage. There was linoleum on the floor and there was wallpaper on the walls that had faded till it was almost invisible. His room was the one at the end of the
passage, so small that if he had fallen in it his head would have struck the far wall. There was a window that looked out on the plaza. There was a bed, a small desk, a chair. There was a wooden
crucifix on the wall.
    ‘I hope it’ll be all right here,’ she said.
    Her voice was cool and polite but felt empty to him as if it were nothing but words. He sat down on the bed. He hadn’t seen or touched a bed or a blanket for three and a half weeks now and
he ran a hand slowly over the fibres, feeling them. He heard her voice speaking again and it said you have blood on your