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336 pages, Paperback
First published January 1, 2003
"Aren't you going to return home?"
Home? If only I knew where home was.
Chance had it I was born in Guadeloupe. But nobody in my family is interested in me. Apart from that, I have lived in France. A man took me to Africa, then left me. Another took me to the United States, then brought me to Africa, and he too left me stranded, this time in Cape Town. Oh, I forgot I've also lived in Japan. That makes for a fine charade, doesn't it? No, my country was Stephen. I shall stay wherever he is.
10.00am, Patient No. 7, David Fagwela, Age: 73, Particularity: one of the few South African clients, Profession: retired miner
What did frighten her were the men. White men. Guides, game wardens, local visitors, foreign tourists. All wearing boots and safari hats, sporting double-barrelled guns, playing in a Western without a hint of a bison or an Indian now massacred or defeated, herded toothless into their reservations. Stephen, on the contrary loved dressing up in a bush jacket and canvas shorts in camouflage, a flask clipped to his waist and sunglasses perched on his nose.
"You don't know how to enjoy yourself," he reprimanded her, manly grabbing the wheel of the Land Rover.
Not her fault if she suffered from the complex of a victim and identified with those who are hunted.
"Fiela, you've settled into my thoughts and dreams. No bother at all. As discreet as an alter ego. You hide behind everything I do, invisible, like the silk lining of a doublet. You must have been like me, a solitary child, a taciturn teenager....Fiela, what have they got against him? He has always been by my side.Thoughtful.Considerate. Patient to my moods...Fiela, he always forgave me, I who was not beyond reproach, who, I confess, had been unfaithful before."
"The author demonstrates how one's entire sense of self gets swallowed up by trauma and its dislocating aftermath." - New York Times