Below Luck Level - Softcover

Über die Autorin bzw. den Autor

Barbara Erasmus is a writer and journalist living in Cape Town. Having grown up in Zimbabwe, she spent twenty-five nomadic years following her husband’s career, which sparked an award-winning career in travel writing. Barbara has published three novels in South Africa: Kaleidoscope (Penguin, 2004), nominated for the Commonwealth Best First Novel; Even with Insects (Penguin, 2005); and Below Luck Level (Penguin, 2012). Her crime novel, Chameleon, was published in installments on the blog Crime Beat, which she edited for three years. This is her North American debut.

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The drinks evening was Daniel’s idea. He said both my mother and I were in need of a diversion. “I’ll ask some people round,” he said in his most persuasive manner. “They all adore Chloe. They know our situation. I’ll bring some snacks and you can focus on gin and conversation.” 

I must say it sounded tempting. I washed my hair and put on some make-up. I washed my mother’s hair too and put some makeup on her face as well. I shoved the debris out of sight in the lounge while Daniel answered the doorbell. My mother tried to put her best foot forward when our friends arrived, laden with wine and good intentions.

“And what do you do for a living?” she asked Brian brightly. She’d known Brian for about a decade. He was a photographer she’d worked with on some of her magazine articles but we all pretended it was a perfectly kosher question for her to have asked.

“I’m a photographer,” he told her.

“Oh yes,” said my mother, as brightly as before. She’d obviously decided that brightly was going to be the tone for the evening. “Tell me about it!”

Brian launched into a brave account of his studio and his equipment. 

“Oh yes,” said my mother as he paused for breath. Because she continued to look expectant, he soldiered on with further photographic details. A silence fell as he ran out of details. 

And then my mother asked him what he did for a living… 

Everyone breathed a sigh of relief when she said she was tired and I led her off to bed. I went straight into the kitchen to pour myself a glass of wine. I was tossing a few herbs onto one of the snack platters when Daniel sidled into the kitchen. I could see he didn’t know whether to laugh or hide under the stove. The drinks evening had been his idea after all.

“Oh God,” I said. “What’s happened now?” 

“She’s back."

“And?” I demanded. 

“And there’s a problem with her nightie,” he admitted.

“Oh Christ,” I said. “I suppose it’s upside down or inside out. What does it matter, for God’s sake. Just ignore it.”

“She’s not wearing a nightie,” said Daniel baldly. “I tried to take her back to bed but she’s got this fixation with Brian. She refuses to get off the couch. She wants to know what he does for a living …”

I was swamped with despair as I heard what he was saying. I felt like a drowning man when I got back into the lounge. My mother was perched on the couch next to the luckless Brian who was trying to look nonchalant and say something else about cameras while avoiding confrontation with my mother’s breasts. Daniel should have been warned when he saw my mother almost in the raw that night. Large breasts don’t age well. There’s nothing perky about them after six decades. Old women expose their sagging breasts on beaches all over Europe but my mother’s looked totally out of place in our lounge that evening. 

They had been a haven of comfort for me throughout my life and I couldn’t bear to have them so cruelly exposed. My face was streaked with tears as I draped her with the cloth from the side table and led her back to bed. I got into bed with her and held her close. She kept repeating random words related to photography until she fell asleep. All the guests had gone except for Daniel by the time I went back to the lounge. 

Daniel smoothed my hair and wiped my face. “Everyone understands, my darling,” he assured me. But it wasn’t enough that everyone understood. I couldn’t bear the thought that she’d made a spectacle of herself. I knew how much she would hate it.

She was used to being in the limelight - but never as a clown.