Agaat - Marlene van Niekerk [17]
And help you make a garden.
Like paradise?
Like paradise.
And never leave me?
And never leave you.
You pushed him away gently. You stroked his head to calm him. You wanted to drive and get to the other side. On the other side of the mountain you would lie down for him, on your property, as it had to be in your story-book.
You helped him to arrange his clothing. Breathe deeply, you told him.
I don’t have to tell him everything now, you thought, he’ll get the whole picture in time.
You were the only child and heir of your mother, and your farm was the most difficult one. Your land-hungry cousins would inherit your father’s farms. They claimed they wanted no part of the farm beyond the Tradouw in The Spout, as the area was known among the farmers. They were small deciduous-fruit farmers in the Barrydale district. They were intent on helping to put bigger and bigger sections of Pa’s farms under irrigation for peaches and vine.
No thank you, they said when your mother wasn’t around, Grootmoedersdrift is a nightmare. You’ll end up on the bones of your backside there with all the capital outlay you’ll have to make, the money you’ll have to borrow, the time it’ll take you to get the farm arable, and all the hay you’ll have to make to pay your debts on top of it all.
You were pleased that your father’s family wasn’t present the evening of the engagement. All three cousins coveted your farm above all else on earth. They could make life difficult for Jak. You’d told him that, too.
Now you want to feed me to those cousins of yours as well, Jak said when at last you got up from the table, your mother’s bad enough. The house was quiet. Your mother’s house was always filled with that dense, ominous silence. Jak stood in front of the mirror in the guest room and ran his hand over his face as if he wanted to make sure that everything was still in place after his confrontation with his new mother-in-law.
You stood behind him, flung your arms around his shoulders, you were just glad the evening was over.
I know everything about farming, you whispered in his ear, I grew up with it, I’ll help you. I’ll show you everything tomorrow. Now rest, you’re tired.
You nestled up against him, but his body was tense. There was something in his voice, in what he said then, that you didn’t want to hear, you thought you were imagining things.
Yes, he said, you’d better, I can’t wait, tomorrow’s the day, you’d better teach me and you’d better help me so that I can get the taste of it. And you’d better show me everything. I want to see where I’ll be farming. I can’t wait. Seeing that I’ve allowed myself to be set up in a golden frame here.
That was the day that you crossed the Tradouw pass for the first time with Jak de Wet, the great Tradouw, the deep Tradouw, the way of the women in the Hottentot language, as your father had explained to you when you were little.
You were a real woman now, a ring on your finger. Now the two of you just had to get to the other side. You were excited about it. So many times you had fantasised about how it would be to make love to him, to lie with him, to kiss him for endless hours, feel his back under your hands.
Oh lord, no, not again, Jak swore.
You were behind the watermelon lorry again.
That’s what you get for canoodling in a lay-by, my dearest Jakobus, you said.
Now the blue fumes of the exhaust were in your face. It was a ramshackle affair, full of dents and scratches, painted over by hand, and patched.
Just signal that you want to pass, you said, then maybe he’ll pull off at the next lay-by.
Jak hooted and gestured and flicked his lights, swore.
It happened very fast. The lorry swerved to the left. The load shifted. Watermelons over the railing, bouncing all over the road, red flesh all over the windscreen of the Spider.
You were too close. You were going too fast. You grabbed the steering-wheel.
Don’t brake, don’t brake! you yelled, you’ll skid, keep close to the mountain!
Old lessons from previous experiences, your mother’s words.
The car jerked to a halt, cut out. Jak was stunned.