More gardening

I was mowing the lawn when someone shouted for my attention on the other side of the wall. It was a black man who smiled, revealing a gap in his mouth where the front teeth should be.

"Hello, my name is Joseph," he said, revealing the Western name forced to him during the apartheid times. "I'm looking for a job. Do you have something for me to do?"

"No thanks, we're not looking for anyone," I said to this third man who was asking me for a job since the start of the week.

"But who will take care of all this?" he said making a circle with his hand to point out the garden.

"Well, me. I need something to do, too."

His jaw dropped, as if he was a cartoon character. "So you're just the housekeeper?" he asked in amazement.

"Yeah, I am," I lied as it was the quickest way to end the conversation and to get me back to mowing.

He left, walking up the road. I watched him walk clear of the car I'd parked on the street, trying to remember if there was anything in the car that would catch his attention. He turned twice as if to check he had just talked to a real person.