Pink-Palmed Black Hands

I fell upon the phrase not in the most unlikely places. After all her voice rings through these pages as cold and removed as the apartheid she writes of. And the phrase fits perfectly in the world she creates. Where Claudia and Harald, the disjointed couple operate in different spheres. Where Black and White meet only at the fateful moment of crisis and chaos. A world turned upside down by the unspeakable act of the only Son. He did it, no question in the writer’s cold, businesslike tone. Only the two parents question. He/she. The House Gun in his hands; this is the world I step in; this is the context in which I encounter the phrase: Pink-palmed Black hands. The way she writes it reminds me of the confusion my own used to raise in the questioning eyes of my whites friends. “How come” they used to say, “How come your palms are pink?” And for those who didn’t dare ask, I knew what the rest of the question was: “How come your palms are pink, but your skin BLACK?” Pink-Palmed Black hands that was the surprise that annoyed me. Such an unlikely combination it jumps off the page at me, leaving me surprisingly startled. I can’t seem to remember whose hands she was referring to, if it was Khulu’s hands or Motsamai’s. But I do remember staring at my own, for these hands are mine too. Pink-palmed Black hands. The beautiful alliteration belongs to me. Pink-Palmed, Pink- Palmed; Pink-Palmed Black hands.