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Wonderful, wonderful aromas of Grootmoedersdrift, he said, fennel and coriander, six of one and half a dozen of the other.

When he turned round, his voice was hoarse.

The man, he said, started thinking that he was not at all good enough. Not clever enough, not strong enough, not handsome enough, not rich enough. He thought he might just be the very worst farmer on earth.

And he was unhappy. But in truth he was angry. His heart was bitter.

And he, yes, sin of sins, he started manhandling his wife when she nagged. Slap, kick, shove, these three.

Jak held three fingers in the air, showed them in turn to you and Agaat.

He pushed her away when she begged that he should hold her. He scolded her, and despised himself that he could be so cruel with somebody that he loved. Ai, ai, tsk.

And guess what this man did then?

Jak, that’s enough, you said.

He ignored you, closed the passage door so that Agaat couldn’t get out there.

Guess what the wretched man did then? Here, Milla, have a little glass, don’t think I don’t know who drinks my brandy late at night.

The man trained to become stronger and farmed to become richer. The fool. He read to become wiser and bought the best clothes to look better in the mirror.

But all of this was of no use.

His heart was sore. And his wife just badgered him the more.

You’re going to leave me, she mewled, tomorrow you’re going to pack your bags and abandon me, I know it. When men turn forty, then they start cheating on their wives, all the psychologists say so.

What could he do? What does a man do with such erudite aspersions? The man protested for all he was worth.

Jak put his hand on his heart and looked at the ceiling. I shall never abandon you, what did I do to be distrusted like this? Woe is me!

And then his wife showed him her titties anew and lifted her little dress and pouted her little lips and praised him in front of the guests.

Behold, my husband, he is the best that there is and my husband says this and my husband says that and you should be glad that I’m sharing his wisdom with you.

His jacket that was hanging from a chair, Jak hooked over his shoulder, with his free hand he brushed a few crumbs from the table.

But flattery means nothing, that we all know, don’t we Agaat, your missis here also has nothing but good words, not so, about your service, and how she can depend on you, she tells it to all the neighbours’ wives, to her book club, no matter what she’s done to you in your life and how she treats you behind the scenes and all the things she suspects you of, hmmm? And you do your very best every day, don’t you, to show her how good you actually are, hmmm? Do you think you can convince her, my girl?

Jak, leave Agaat out of this, it has nothing to do with her, you said.

Jak struck himself against the forehead.

Oh dear, how could I ever make such a mistake?

When he resumed, it was softer, his eyes flickered to and fro between you and Agaat. He spoke rapidly.

But with the years the man ceased to trust his wife’s attentions. She started setting his teeth on edge. Teeth on edge, yes, finger in the sea anemone. Schlupp! Brrr! He knew that all her compliments were merely a plot to keep him with her, to get the spanner round the nut, as we say in the Overberg. And oh, the poor man, as luck would have it, he had been blessed by the good Lord with such a handy monkey-wrench. How does that poet of yours put it again, Milla? Why were we crucified into car mechanics? But that’s not the point. The point is: who else could siphon off his oil so expertly? But he knew that the siphoning was nothing other than hunger, and it froze him to the bone.

Pretty story, don’t you think? Aren’t you applauding yet? Anybody for film rights? Or an option on the material? For a learned case study? Jak made his voice deep and theatrical for the conclusion.

And so they lived. What could satisfy her hunger and thirst? His blood, his marrow, his soul? Was that what he had to give in exchange for her compliments? Compliments, yes, you heard