None to Accompany Me by Nadine Gordimer Read Free Book Online

the man looked for was to be recognizable. To be recognized was to be hunted. Didymus, he said.
    As if she had dropped up to the neck in a pit alarm for him engulfed her. She took his arm and pulled him inside, kicking the door shut. She did not need to be told that he somehow had been smuggled into the country, and that he had a purpose about which she must not ask. Her nervous amazement broke hysterically. —
Umfundisi!
You look so funny! No—no, you look dead right, that kind of Sunday suit, and the collar frayed, where did you get kitted out so perfectly—
    They were both grinning with emotion. —We have our network in the shops down Diagonal Street. One week I’m a labourer with cement on my shoes, torn overalls and a woollen cap down to my eyes, next week I’m in a three-piece blue with a white cap, a soccer promoter from Jabulani.—
    They were walking through the house, weaving about each other, she was out of breath.
    â€”Are you all right? Do you think they know—
    â€”No, so far it’s okay. But I can’t stay in the same place too long. I can’t stay with anyone who has any connection … As soon as neighbours want to be nice to me, I have to disappear. Move on.—
    â€”I’d heard you were ill, you had something awful— leukemia?—you were being treated in Moscow.—
    â€”Yes, that’s right, I’m out of action sick in Moscow. I’ve been here six months.—
    She was looking at him, head on one side, thrilled by the audacity. —Six months!—
    They were in the kitchen, she was distractedly picking up cups and putting them down, turning on her heels to rummage in a drawer for spoons, forgetting whether she had or had not switched on the kettle.
    She talked fast at him, as if the house were surrounded and at any moment there would be a hammering on the doors—and what would she say? Where would she hide him? She tugged the kitchen curtains across the window. —D’you need money— how do you manage, I mean. I haven’t much in the house, but I could go quickly to the bank—oh god, no, they close early on Saturdays—but how stupid, I can use my card at the machines—
    â€”Money is one thing I don’t need. That’s taken care of, thanks, don’t worry.—
    â€”Does Sally know?—
    â€”That I’m not dying in Moscow, yes. But not where I go. And other comrades in London believe I’m sick.—
    She was shaking the coffee jug to make the liquid drip more quickly through the filter, she didn’t know whether she wanted to get rid of him or take him and hide him away. —Ben’ll be home soon. Wonderful for him to see you. Can’t believe it! But I’m so afraid for you, what they’ll do to you if they catch you—you could just disappear, you know that, they keep infiltrators in solitary for months under interrogation, months and months before they piece together enough to bring them to trial. If they ever do.—
    He looked as if he really were an old preacher, tranquilly breathing in the aroma of coffee steam, adding another spoon of sugar like a poor man making the best of luxury. But coaxing irony surfaced from his own identity: —You’ll defend me, if I come to trial, Vera, I count on you.—
    â€”Lot of use I’d be.— What would she do if the police did come, what if they were waiting somewhere hidden in the street, sitting in a car, ready to take him as he walked out of her gate? —I hope Ben won’t be long.—
    â€”I must go before Ben comes. Vera, there is something I do need. I’ve got things here I want you to send overseas for me. But not by post. If you have someone, if you know someone who’s flying out and won’t ask questions—they can post them somewhere in Europe, doesn’t matter, anywhere.—
    She took the letters and a package, claiming trust, not necessary to add any