Sitting in his old chair, Ben thinks of times long past. And once again he is back there, and re-living those experiences of years gone by.
He is back standing on the platform of the railway station. His old suitcase, packed full of his clothes, standing forlornly next to him. The dry air clogs his lungs as he looks out over the expanse of the Karoo and notes how the sun beats down on the hard earth.
“If only it would rain," he thinks. Rain, rain, wonderful, priceless, refreshing rain. But there is not a cloud in sight.
Blowing its hooter, the train pulls into the station. He is tired and wearily picks up his suitcase as he climbs through the old dusty door into the train. He finds a seat between all the others who are travelling to the Cape, and reflects on how many different stories these people could tell, where they have come from ... where they are going to and why?
“They are probably wondering about me too," he muses.
Such a long and unhappy story. The job offer at the local hospital which did not materialize, struggling to find another job, battling to work for the sheep farmer where he eventually found employment ... and Sarie, oh that beautiful, dear, lovely girl, Sarie. Strange, her surname was Marais, and he ends up singing to himself, “My Sarie Marais is so ver van my ....”
“Oh no, I have to stop this and get on with my life.”
But then he recalls a moonlit night and the little dam with the thorn tree, where he and Sarie said their goodbyes, such a sad story. He also ponders on his qualifications as a medical doctor and how in desperation he had had to work for the farmer, tending his sheep, treating them for strange ailments. Foot rot, worms, eye problems ... oh no, he does not want to re-visit these memories.
He touches the letter of appointment to Groote Schuur hospital, nestled in his pocket.
Not my ideal, but at least I will be able to continue with my career.
And now, years later sitting in his academic study he has a letter from Sarie ... Sarie Marais now Sarie Strydom.
A photograph falls out of the letter and he stares into the face of a beautiful young woman. The letter reads: Sorry I did not tell you . . . meet your daughter.
Written by Julie Hattingh