White Dog Fell From the Sky by Eleanor Morse Read Free Book Online Page A

dismissed it as an impossibility.
Nowhere could a black man marry a white woman, surely. But here it was, the two of them,
their hands touching. He folded the paper carefully and put it in his pocket to study
later. He felt dazed and disoriented. Not only Sir Seretse Khama and his European wife,
but a newspaper full of the news of African people.
    The trees grew larger down here in the Old
Village. Vines spread over shaded patios. The servants’ quarters were larger, with
stoops to sit on. Chickens scratched in a yard. He turned down a small road, where three
huge jacaranda trees grew beside an old colonial-style house with whitewashed walls and
a wraparound porch. An odd noise, like an untuned radio, came from the rear of the
house. He walked farther down the road to see what the noise was. Birds babbled in
vine-shaded cages that hung from the back and side of the house and from the shade
trees. Bee eaters in blues and yellows and greens sat in cages, parrots behind bars
shrieked into the trees, parakeets twittered next to their mates. It was a carnival of
birds, an amazement, although truth be told, it was sad to see them in cages. What is a
bird if it can’t fly? It might as well be a cockroach.
    A gardener toiled in the yard, and Isaac
walked on. Three houses farther up the road he asked for work and was turned away. At a
fourth house, he was met by a barking Alsatian. White Dog put her tail down and slunk
off to the side of the road. There was no fence or gate around the yard, and he saw no
gardener. He put his hand out to the barking dog, thinking, she’ll either bite it
or sniff it. She did neither. He walked past her into the yard, wondering whether she
was one of those stinkpot dogs who make you think they’re your friend and then
bite you on the ass. He wouldn’t turn around. He’d make her think he
wasn’t scared, even though a little animal scurried up and down his backbone,
yelping in fear. Alsatians had always spooked him.
    A white woman came out of the house. She was
dressed as though she was going to work.
    “I am looking for gardening work,
madam.”
    “Have you any experience?”
    “Yes, madam.” It was the truth,
if it was life she was asking about.
    “Do you have references?”
    “No, madam. A thief took my suitcase
on the train, but in any case, I am an excellent worker.”
    “Your English is not bad. You’re
from South Africa, aren’t you?”
    He nodded.
    “Are you here illegally?”
    He thought it best not to answer.
    “Well, I don’t mind either way.
Our gardener left this past week—his mother took sick in Francistown. I’ll give
you a try and pay you in food today. If you do well, you can come back
tomorrow.”
    “Thank you, madam.”
    She led the way to the side of the house.
“I’d like a bed of flowers here.”
    “Marigolds?” It was the only
flower name he knew in English.
    “Not marigolds. There are already too
many marigolds in the world. I don’t know what kind yet.”
    “Yes, madam, thank you.”
    She handed him a spade, and he set to work.
White Dog sat solemnly near the road, her paws crossed. Isaac dug, squaring the corners
of the garden carefully, turning over the dirt and breaking up the clods with his hands,
sifting it through his fingers so the smallest seed could survive. He worked steadily,
not stopping for anything. When he finished, he paused. The woman came out, as though
she’d been watching him.
    “Why did you make it square?”
she asked.
    “I thought this is the way you would
like it.” White people were always making square corners.
    “Don’t think about what I like.
Think about what’s beautiful. Straight lines look like a cemetery.”
    “Yes, madam.”
    “Please don’t call me madam. Have
you eaten today?”
    “No,
mma
.”
    “What do you like?”
    “I beg your pardon?”
    “What do you like to eat?”
    To be asked such a question. “I like
meat,” he said quickly, then thought he might have sounded too bold.
    She didn’t look