Take Care

Not even a virus can stop Anna from carrying out her duties at the old-age home

- YOLANDE LOFTUS

SHE tore up the wedding photo with swollen, stiff fingers. Finally, when the pieces were to her liking, she released a handful into the air, as high as her bird-like arm allowed. The shiny confetti rained down on her sheepskin slippers.

“No, Ouma. Tonight you’ll cry for that photo!” Anna’s voice was sharper than usual. Tears clouded the pale, almost seethrough eyes gazing up at her.

Normally Ouma’s antics amused her. It was all this worry, the strained whispers in quiet corridors, made more ominous by the plastic visors guarding weary faces. They said it was just a precaution, nothing to worry about . . . yet.

She bent down, careful to scoop up all the pieces. Ouma’s face had remained intact on one of the little shreds. Her grey hair like a permed mane around her beaming face. The bride, one of her granddaughters, had her arm around Ouma’s shoulder. Her face was severed in half. Ouma loved to tear things up. To-night Anna would have to tape it together, eyes straining, only the candle for light.

Tomorrow things would be better. She gathered her belongings – her handbag, an umbrella, and the beautiful crocheted blanket. She draped the soft mint-green throw around her shoulders. Ouma had made it for her.

ANNA stared longingly at the taxi hooting as it whooshed past her – it would be a much shorter trip home. Instead, she joined the long, snaking line for the bus. Eventually, with a sigh of relief, she took a seat in front. She listened to the bus driver’s phone conversation.