Who Wants to Look Like the Frenchman?
CATHERINE-ESTHER COWIE
Mummy dumps a bucket of water over my head. I heard only her footsteps, my back toward the open verandah door, my face toward the sea. My freshly pressed hair shrinks, coils. I can taste the oil sheen as the water rushes down my face. But I had done it, with Grandma’s help. Just for today, I looked like Mummy.
Mummy dumps a bucket of water over my head. I heard only her footsteps, my back toward the open verandah door, my face toward the sea. My freshly pressed hair shrinks, coils. I can taste the oil sheen as the water rushes down my face. But I had done it, with Grandma’s help. Just for today, I looked like Mummy.
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