Job's hands twitched and his fingers ached to fondle those legs that she showed to such great effect. He had never seen a woman who could wear minis so stylishly. She could even wear corduroy skirts to work with great success. Her taste was flawless and he could term her dress decent when most people took mini skirts to be the opposite.
Instead he concentrated on his driving. This morning run always took him on this trip of admiring a woman who was his aunt, younger sister to his deceased mother. He did not even remember her face; he was told she died in giving birth to his small sister Beth. The mind took him back in time. His grandmother had taken the two of them in, a very large woman who found it difficult to walk, even in his earliest memories. She provided for their needs, but she had cruel streak. Her other daughter, named Lydia also lived with her, said to be a sister of his mother. The family of four lived on the largesse of the older woman.
Job began noticing that his aunt's steps were shorter than other people's. She therefore seemed to be taking quicker steps without actually moving any faster. He thought of them as 'baby steps'. She began to show a liking for high shoes, which her mother only bought under protest. It became better when Lydia asked for the money and chose them herself; her mother still made noises against her choice of clothes but was not able to completely force her to buy those that she herself preferred.
Lydia was in college which she had had to interrupt after becoming pregnant by a local shopkeeper. This man had denied all liability, leaving Lydia to look out for herself. Literally, for as soon as her mother found out about her pregnancy, she was chased away into the cold. Had Lydia been an easy person, she would have ended up begging on the streets. But she was made of sterner stuff.
A few mornings later she had waited at the gate, taking care to be concealed. As soon as her mother opened and waddled over to the shop opposite, Lydia sneaked in and went straight to her room after snatching whatever she could find to eat. Of course it was snacks meant for the children's breakfast, but she reasoned that her dead sister's kids (whom she presumed were still asleep) had had a better time the previous evening; they had supper, while she had spent the night in the cold. She was not going to do that again if she could help it. Hiding in her room she ate the three slices of bread (fortunately already spread with margarine), a few biscuits and an orange. This was very ripe, juicy and sweet, giving her much needed energy, which she might need, when her mother caught her.
"Where have you taken the bread, you horrible children?" she heard her mother screaming from the living room.
"We have just woken up," pleaded Job.
"Who has entered the house, and out of all these things, chose to steal chose bread and an orange?" Slaps rang out, followed by the plaintive cries of two small children who had just woken up. "Stop lying to me and bring back what you have taken." More beatings could be heard, accompanied by shrieks of pain.
In Lydia's mind the balance, which had earlier been in favour of the little orphans, now tipped the other way. "I took them, mummy!" she strode out into the living room. Her mother stared as if she had seen a ghost.
"Where have you come from?"
"I have not been far away, but I will not live in the fields like a mouse one more night!" the young woman declared. Her mother made a grab for her, knowing that if Lydia ran off she could not be fast enough to catch her. She had her foot on that of the young woman, as well as by the edge of her dress. This imbalanced Lydia so that she fell over backwards. The cane fell on her again and again. The house was filled with cries of pain, and of terror by the kids. But the older woman would not stop beating Lydia who was rolling on the ground trying to escape the blows.
"Didn't I tell you I don't want a harlot in my house? Why did you come back here?" yelled the irate mother.
"What is happening here?" a strong male voice was suddenly heard. He strode into the house without waiting to be invited. "Mama Lydia, stop please!" But she either did not hear, or did not heed.
The man, a neighbour, caught the cane as she raised in the air to deliver another blow, throwing the large woman off balance. She grabbed the side of the table to prevent a fall.
"Tell this harlot to leave my house!"
"Which harlot? Are you calling Lydia that?"
"This worthless girl dares to get pregnant before finishing college, wasting all the money I have spent on her from primary school! Let me finish her off!"
The man could now tell there was something serious afoot. "Let us talk about this. A solution has to be found."
"Will talking bring back the lost money?"
"We have to find a way for her to complete her education so that she can begin earning her own. That way you will not have lost any."
The grandmother looked at the man, a teacher in the local school through narrowed eyes. "How will you do that?"
"Not myself alone. Together. Lydia, get up." The grandmother sat heavily in the nearest sofa, Lydia choosing to sit as far as possible from her enraged mother.
"Children, come out of the corner now. Nobody will hit you. Come and sit here." Njau did not know they had already tasted the cane.
"Lydia, please tell me the whole story." Whereupon, with many sobs she unraveled the first tale of how her mother had thrown her out three days before.
"Why?" he asked. The girl continued sobbing.
"Tell him you have been whoring with boys at college instead of studying!" shouted her mother.
