It was five o'clock in the afternoon and the yard a sweltering hollow in the forest. I was shaving; the first time in many days. It was painful because the blade was worn and the water lukewarm. There was a glass of wine in front of me on the windowsill and after every fifth or sixth razor stroke I would dab more soap on my chin and sip at the wine and the wine wasn't up to much but it was wine and it was cold. I made sure, each time, to replace the glass precisely on its little wet ring. And to take my mind off the business of shaving I tried to remember when last I'd seen a human being. Normally Vusi would be somewhere in the vicinity from early to late, but without him the house and the yard and the forest presented a lonesome aspect. Was it de Gaspri, the previous Friday, when he'd brought provisions? Or had Strydom been here after him