The World Beneath Read Online Free PDF

Malherbe’s that had been put aside to be thrown out. His mother had always taken these clothes, made them good, and put them to one side for any of her relatives who might need them.
    “Waste not, want not,” she said as she packed them away, something Mrs. Malherbe always declared whenever she decided they would have leftovers for supper.
    As he went back along the path, he considered how he could keep the shed hidden. He would make the path look unused by pulling fallen branches across it; he would pull down strands of the bougainvillea. But as he got to the gap in the hedge, he had a better idea: behind the new shed, he found an old wheelbarrow with a broken wheel and tipped it up, as if it had just been propped against the hedge to get it out of the way.
    He stepped back and looked. Now there was no gap. Or you couldn’t see it, anyway.
    He went on his way, pleased with himself. Of course Goodman would notice; but Joshua would explain it to him. Joshua knew he would be happy to help a brother.
    He remembered the baby frog and went to look for it. It was back in the filter basket, clinging to the side, its little chest pumping with the effort of breathing through the chemical fumes. He picked it out gently and found a big cardboard box. He could make a little pool out of a bowl and put leaves in it.
    The little frog shook in his hands, terrified. Joshua paused for a moment. It might not be good for it to be kept in a box. He decided to keep it in there until he could take it across to the common and release it into the pond.
    The trouble was that the frogs thought the swimming pool was a beautiful blue pond. But once they jumped into it, they found it was toxic and couldn’t get out. Then the filter system drew them in, and they ended up in the filter basket, dead or dying.
    He thought of Tsumalo, who had escaped, and wondered how long he would stay, and whether the police would come and find him.
    Not if he could help it.

M ama . . .” Joshua was sitting at the kitchen table, kicking the metal legs, drinking milk out of a tin mug. A question was forming in his brain, but he hadn’t quite decided what it was when she gave him a sharp kick on the shin, whisked the mug out of his hands, and leaped to her feet.
    Mr. Malherbe walked in. Joshua kept his eyes fixed on the floor. He was breathing fast. Had he conjured him up? He’d been thinking about him, had been about to ask his mother . . . and he wasn’t supposed to be in here . . .
    He felt himself being raised off his seat like a puppy, by the scruff of the neck, his shirt bunched and choking. Mr. Malherbe’s breath was hot on his ear.
    “
What
is this boy doing in here? Drinking our milk? Eating our food? What have I told you, Beauty?”
    “I’m sorry, Master. I’m sorry.” Her voice was light with fright.
    The man moved to the door, his grip tightening, and with one swift movement he threw Joshua into the yard, as you might throw a cat or a bowl of water.
    Joshua landed silently, heavily, a choking in his throat as his knees and elbows skinned in the yellow grit.
    “I don’t want to see him in here again — understand? Otherwise he goes. And that’s it.”
    The kitchen door slammed. The baize door swung and swung on its heavy hinges. Joshua scrambled to his mother’s room and jumped into the bed, pulling the covers over his head.
    In the kitchen, Beauty silently washed the dishes.
    Upstairs, in the house, another door banged.
    Presently, Joshua ran to find Tsumalo, who held him at arm’s length, looked grimly down at the grazed knees, then hugged him. They walked slowly to the far end of the yard, where the pool lay quietly limpid behind its high hedges, Tsumalo leaning on the walking stick. They sat on the steps, and he washed Joshua’s knees and elbows off with the water. It stung. The blood floated away in spiral whispers. Joshua watched, distracted; he wanted to make more of them. They went too quickly.
    Tsumalo made him some hot sweet tea over