Free Year of the King: An Actor's Diary and Sketchbook - Twentieth Anniversary Edition by Antony Sher Page B

myself thinking of Lion's Head and lions.
Remembering images from a trip long ago to the Etosha Pan Game
Reserve - lions lying in the sun breathing heavily, short heavy pants,
mouths slightly open. Great strength resting. I try it out discreetly as
Kinski goes interminably up the Amazon. You also see severely deformed
people do this - breathing with heavy little gasps.
Sunday 18 December
    Another family day. A barbecue (or `braai') and then a steady stream of
relations popping in for drinks and to have a look at the prodigal son.
    Granny has turned eighty-seven and has been very ill; she looks half
the size I remember, but still maintains her legendary independence.
Great difficulty walking but refuses to use her metal walking stick, carries
it instead under her arm like a brigadier. She has a problem climbing the
few steps to the patio and I'm about to help her when Joel restrains me
and whispers that her elbow jabs are lethal. She sits in the shade of a tree. `I can't run around like I used to, but you learn to accept it.' Her greatest
regret is that she's no longer fit enough to work in the Old Aged Home
where she used to help the really aged. She tells me about one old woman
whom she used to look after. They discovered they were both from the
same town in Russia, Plumyan. They'd not seen it for over eighty years
but by putting their heads together they could build up images of streets
and shops and a water pump on a corner. She looks at me very steadily
and says, `To think I should see you again.'

    Rona and Jack, a favourite aunt and uncle. Puzzling over Northern
Ireland, she wonders why the British don't just pull out. He says it's
because Britain doesn't want an enemy on her doorstep. `Be overrun with
Communists in no time, man.' The world through South African eyes.
    Dad's sister Rosie is a wonderful eccentric. Deep throaty chuckle,
oriental eyes, and a single grey streak in her hair like Diaghilev. She's
seventy-five, loves travelling, but is increasingly scared to go overseas in
case she dies there: `I'd he so embarrassed. Nobody would know what to
do with me.' As she leaves she says to me, `Well so long, probably won't
see you again, don't have much longer to go. Anyway, nice knowing you
and keep up the good work.' She goes out with a rasping chuckle.
Monday ig December
    BOSCHENDAL WINE ESTATE Cecil Rhodes started these fruit farms
about an hour's drive away from Cape Town. Now they're a beauty spot
with shops and a restaurant.
    `Feel the air,' Mum says and we all put our hands out of the car to
weigh the thick heat in our palms. The light is blinding, then you walk
under a tree and suddenly it's black and cool. The smell of newly mown
grass being watered. Pink hydrangeas in wooden tubs. The landscape
ringing gently with insects and birds.
    In the restaurant the black waiters are dressed in white with pink sashes
and caps to match the tablecloths. So humble, so eager to please. In
England, diners are terrorised by the waiters, here vice versa.
    One of them is asked to take a photo of another table. We all watch
nervously in case he doesn't know how to do it. Then, as the shutter
clicks, Yvette turns to me and says, `Easy to teach monkeys to press
buttons.' Smiling, she dares me. I smile back.
    Driving home in a slow circle round Lion's Head. I suddenly realised why
it is so compulsive - the brute force, the thickness. My acting is often described as ratty or rodenty. Richard must be a thicker, heavier animal
if there is to be a tragic dimension.

Tuesday 20 December
    Ashley has invited me to his firm's Christmas party. He is a champion of
workers' rights and of breaking down colour barriers. Thus the party
tonight is to be held in one of the Coloured townships and he has said it
will be `an education' for me to come along.
    Dad is very amused as he sees me to the car. `Well, my boy, you can't
tell me things aren't changing in this country. There was a time when one