Agaat - Marlene van Niekerk [152]
It was Jakkie’s eighth birthday. Agaat gave him a knife as a present. On special order. A real Rodgers penknife from England, Sheffield, with two blades, bought from the Malay in Suurbraak. You baked cakes, Agaat and you, cupcakes, sponge cake cut in cubes for the party. People had been invited, lots of children. He was shy but you made him sing for the guests and accompanied him on the piano. Heimwee, by S. le Roux Marais. The adults were amazed. Beatrice listened wide-eyed. The children stood giggling, with glasses of cooldrink in their hands and cheeks bulging with cake. Jak was embarrassed.
A boy who wants a knife, he said, when Jakkie had finished singing and he was given his presents, must be able to dock a sheep’s tail. Then we can also see at the same time if that so-called English coolie knife is worth anything. Then Jakkie ran away.
Agaat, go and look for your little baas and bring him here, on the spot, Jak ordered.
You signalled at her with your eyes, look for him but don’t find him. She looked back at you with blunt eyes. It didn’t take her very long. Then you heard the crying. Across the yard she was dragging him by the ear with the little hand, by the arm with the strong hand, Jakkie straining back.
My goodness, but will you walk up straight and behave yourself on your birthday, Agaat scolded.
Where was the little blighter? Jak asked.
In the lucerne shed, right on top of all the bales. I had to drag him down there. Then he bit me, look.
Agaat held out her arm to Jak. Self-righteous. An open bite it was. Swollen, the tooth-marks still visible.
Well I never! Jak exclaimed, the choirboy, if he can bite a coon, he can dock a sheep as well! Bring the little bugger round the back, not through the sitting room, look how dirty he is. Where’s his knife? Bring his knife!
You can still see it in front of you. There Jakkie is standing in the backyard with the knife shut in his fist. There you are standing, bent over with the lamb’s head clamped between your legs. There is Agaat. She is pushing Jakkie forward by the neck.
Open, come on, open the blade, the big one, have you got porridge in your little hands then, my lad? Jak pretending it’s the most usual thing on earth.
The children came closer. Great louts some of them, with voices like geese.
Glass-head, they shout. Sissy! Sing high false notes to mock him.
Why did you not stop it then? You could have stopped it. But you helped with it. You wanted to get it over and done with. You didn’t know how else.
Jak’s eyes were on you. Agaat’s eyes were on you. Did they recognise each other’s reasons? You did. You recognised everybody’s reasons.
Jak had bought Jakkie a little motorbike to go for rides with him and you’d said over your dead body, he’s too small, he’ll get hurt. You’d quarrelled about it at table after dinner the night before.
He’s a child, you’d said. Let him be, he’s still collecting birds’ eggs, he’s still shooting his bow and arrow, he swims in the river, he plays hide-and-seek with Agaat, it’s his life, now you want to come and spoil him with dangerous things that make a noise and smoke up a stink here in the yard.
You and your skivvy, you mollycoddle him, you talk your women’s twaddle into his head, I can’t get close to him or you surround him.
Agaat had come in with the coffee.
He’s a child, you’d said, he’s still only eight little years old. You can’t expect from him now already . . .
Agaat had plonked the coffee pot down hard in front of your nose.
Not too much, she’d said to you, it’s strong.
Her voice was direct. You were silent. She had silenced you. You knew the tone, for your own good you