Eevroen put a finger alongside his nose and winked the left eye. ‘If there wa’
ever any, heh? Masha, you tryna hoi’ ou’ on me? You go’ the jewel, and you lyin’
to you’ mo … mo … mama.’
‘No, I’m not lying!’ she screamed, all reason for caution having deserted her
quite unreasonably. ‘You fat stinking pig! I’ve had a terrible time, I almost
got killed, and all you can think about is the jewel! Which probably doesn’t
exist! Benna was dying! He didn’t know what he was talking about! I never saw
the jewel! And…’
Eevroen snarled, ‘You tryna keep i’ from me!’ and he charged her.
She could easily have evaded him, but something swelled up in her and took over,
and she seized a baked-clay water jug from a shelf and brought it down hard over
his head. The jug didn’t break, but Eevroen did. He fell face forwards. Blood
welled from his scalp; he snored.
By then the children were awake, sitting up, wide-eyed, but silent. Maze
children learned at an early age not to cry easily.
Shaking, Masha got down on her knees and examined the wound. Then she rose and
went to the rag rack and returned with some dirty ones,/ no use wasting clean
ones on him, and stanched the wound. She felt his pulse; it was beating steadily
enough for a drunkard who’d just been knocked out with a severe blow.
Wallu said, ‘Is he dead?’
She wasn’t concerned about him. She was worrying about herself, the children,
and Masha. If her daughter should be executed for killing her husband, however
justified she was, then she and the girls would be without support.