| dc.description.abstract | Harriott is asleep under a jacaranda tree in her daughter's lush Escombe garden. Escombe is no longer part of the Natal Colony, the Natal Colony exists only in the minds of people like Harriott. Escombe, though still in the same place it's always been, is now part of the Union of South Africa. It is the 20th of January 1923. Harriott has lived in the Natal Colony for thirty years exactly. She has been married for only one day less. Dorothy's garden Is wonderful, but according to Harriott, not as wonderful as it could be with a little more effort. Dorothy's bougainvillea are a riot of cerise, peach and white. Her dipladenias climbing the pillars of the front veranda - a profusion of pink. The creamy day Iillies are in full bloom. The lavender is a field of purple and the plumbago hedge, where dragon-like Harriott is asleep under a jacaranda tree in her daughter's lush Escombe garden. The barometer has dropped. Harriott does not notice the thickening of the air, nor the band of
dampness spreading along her back. Her chair is covered with blankets and a white sheep fleece. It Is the day-bed of a woman whose own padding has melted away, whose bones are dissolving, whose joints have swollen over. 'It won't be long,' whispers Herbert to his bride as they lie side by side sweltering in the room next to Harriott's, the door ajar so Dorothy can hear her if she calls out. 'I'm afraid, it won't be for very much longer, my dear.' chameleons lurk, is thick with blue ... a cool blue ud at t he bottom of the garden, Dorothy thinks. Boy is hard pressed to kee~~~~~~~~~i_~~~~ go, paw-paw and avocado trees. Harriott pays little heed to t ~ e for her lawns, beds, shrubs, Harriott's book is lying on the grass. It is a very slim volume, the slimmest she owns and the latest addition to her collection, thanks to dear Rose who tracked it down somewhere in London and sent it over. Harriott cannot hold anything heavier than the slimmest of books, nor can she make. | en_US |
