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Issue 16 Home
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Zebra Teeth Two weeks before Petronella's birthday, Pa, who never read The Star,
began scanning its classified section. "We can't afford lessons," snapped Ma, tossing it out. Dialing a number, Pa said he'd teach her himself. Whatever he wanted was always already gone or too expensive. Ma bit her
nails. Our butchery in Mogale City was doing badly. "Petronella might like a canary," suggested Ma. Pa continued his mysterious quest. "... she needs another orthodontic plate." Pa called Silas and Josiah to the bakkie one afternoon. "Shouldn't you hire professional transportation?" asked Ma. "Those things
are heavy!" We trekked over a bumpy road near Potchefstroom. We arrived at a farmhouse,
where a zebra skin lay underneath the jade velour couch with wagon-wheel
armrests. Pa's sausage fingers played a jolly rendition of Jan Pierewiet,
then the tender Sarie Marais. We drank bittersweet moerkoffie with
the farmer. Pa haggled another hundred off the price before we heaved the
piano onto the bakkie. Josiah strapped it firmly against the cab with thick
rope and tight knots. "Hold tight," shouted Pa hitting a donga in the dark. The lid flew open. As
the piano's cracked ivory teeth popped out, I wondered whether zebras ever
needed braces. ~Liesl Jobson
Liesl Jobson teaches music at Sacred Heart College Observatory in
Johannesburg. She is honored by the opportunity to tell some of her country'
s stories, which can be found in many fine online journals. Email. © 2004 by Liesl Jobson. All Rights Reserved.
© Copyright 2004 by Cayuse Press. All Rights Reserved. |