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Updated: June 19, 2025
"I'll run home and fetch some, Zalia." "Yes, Mite, do." And Mite went off. "Well, Zeen, no better yet?" Zeen did not answer. She took a pail of water and a cloth, cleaned away the mess from beside the bed and then went back to peel her potatoes. Mite came back with the English salt. Treze Wizeur and Stanse Zegers, who had heard the news, also came to see how Zeen was getting on.
"I'll go and tell my man: I'll be back at once." "Tell Free as you're passing that I'm staying here too," said Stanse. "We must eat, for all that," said Zalia; and she hung the potatoes over the fire. Then she went to milk the goat and take it its food. It was bright as day outside and quiet, so very quiet, with still some of the heat of the sun lingering in the air, which weighed sultrily.
He saw Zalia look askant because he did not go on working and, to account for his resting, drew his whetstone from his trouser-pocket and began slowly to sharpen the sickle. "Zalia, it's so hot." "Yes, it's that," said Zalia. He worked on again, but slowly, very slackly. The sweat ran in great drops down his body; and sometimes he felt as if he would tumble head foremost into the corn.
And he turned his face to the wall. Then they all went back to the kitchen. The goat's food was done. Zalia hung the kettle with water on the hook and made coffee; and the four women sat round the table telling one another stories of illness. In the other room there was no sound. A bit later, Mite's little girl came to see where mother was all this time.
"I'm here," said Zalia, "I've done, I'm coming at once." They stood talking a bit outside in the moonlight and then went in. "Perhaps my man'll come on," said Treze. "A man is better than three women in illness; and Virginie's coming too: I've been to tell her." "Well, well," said Barbara, "who'd ever have thought it of Zeen!" "Yes, friends, and never been ill in his life; and he turned seventy."
Stanse mashed the potatoes; Zalia poured a drain of milk over them and hung them over the fire again. "Have you all had your suppers?" she asked. "Yes," said Treze and Barbara and Mite. "I haven't," said Stanse. Zalia turned the steaming potato-mash into an earthen porringer and she and Stanse sat down to it. The others drank a fresh bowl of coffee. They were silent.
Zalia heard his breath come short and fast; she looked at him and asked what was the matter. His arms dropped feebly to his sides; and the hook and sickle fell from his hands. "Zalia, I don't know ... but something's catching my breath like; and my eyes are dim...." "It's the heat, Zeen, it'll wear off. Take a pull."
"Zalia could come with me," said Barbara. "And leave the house alone? And who's to go to the priest to-morrow? And to the carpenter? And my harvest, my harvest! Yes, yes, Warten, do you get into the goat-house and help me a bit to-morrow. I shall sleep: why not?" "Alla , come, Fietje; mother's going home." A corruption of the French allez! They went; and Zalia came a bit of the way with them.
"Well, perhaps I've come at the right time, if that's so." "You can help sit up." "Have you had your supper, Warten?" "Yes, Zalia, at the farm." "And how's trade?" asked Stanse. "Quietly, old girl." They heard a moaning in the other room. Barbara lit the lantern and all went to look. Warten stayed behind, smoking.
Zalia lifted him under his armpits and they crawled on like that into the other room, where the loom stood with the bed behind it. She helped him take off his jacket and trousers and put him to bed, tucked him nicely under the blanket and put his night-cap on his head.
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