Agaat - Marlene van Niekerk [211]
M·O·C·K, I spell.
Mock turtle, says Agaat.
D·I·D Y·O·U D·R·O·W·N·T. K·I·D T·H·A·T E·V·E·N·I·N·G O·F T. F·I·R·E, question mark. + W·H·Y, question mark. B·E·H·I·N·D M·E·S·A·T·A·N, exclamation mark.
You’re really jumping around this morning, says Agaat, I can’t keep up.
She pulls her cap lower on her head, she stands alert for my next instalment.
W·H·Y D·I·D Y·O·U D·I·G‧U·P‧T. L·A·M·B E·A·R F·R·O·M T·H·E‧B·I·N, comma, W·I·T·H W·H·A·T S·U·P·E·R·S·T·I·T·I·O·N·S D·I·D Y·O·U I·N‧F·E·C·T J·A·K·K·I·E, question mark.
It was my own hanslam, says Agaat, her voice uninflected. She looks out of the glass door.
What hanslam? Agaat always had nurslings, lambs, pigs, meerkat, every kind of nursling.
Sweetflour, says Agaat with her back to me.
Sweetflour? I remember Sweetflour. Discarded. One of a triplet. Full-milk Agaat fed her with extra cream and a teaspoon of clean slaked lime, from the bottle, eighteen times a day, at blood heat as her book says, reduced to six times a day, until she started eating oats and lucerne by herself. She was five months old and she came when Agaat called her. The one we slaughtered that day was a nursling wether with a fat belly.
Agaat turns back from the door. Her eyebrows on question marks. I blink at the board, show I want to spell something. She takes her stick.
Y·O·U L·I·E, exclamation mark, I spell.
I would surely never have made her slaughter her own hanslam? I would have checked up first. But did I? That ear wasn’t marked. That I remember, and Dawid had called I should come and have a look when he’d caught the lamb, but I didn’t go, I wanted to keep an eye, Agaat was busy ironing her first double sheet on her own that morning, I showed her how one folds it along its length on the ironing board, how one sprinkles water on it.
And, says Agaat, on top of that it was my birthday, twelfth July, you’d very kindly taught me that that was the day on which the Lord gave myself to me as a present. So then you forgot it in your hurry to get me out of the house. Then you pretended the outside room was heaven.
Agaat stuffs the knuckle of her small hand into her mouth as if she wanted to push in a stopper so that nothing more can come out of there. She regards me over the hand, for a long time. I see the entreaty in her eyes: Please, Ounooi, don’t force me to get angry, I’ve long since given up being angry, I don’t want to be angry, you provoke me, what is it you want from me? Tell me and I’ll give it to you, whatever you ask, if it’s within my power.
She stands ready with the stick.
H·Y·P·O·C·R·I·T·E, exclamation mark. D·O·N·T M·A·K·E T·H·O·S·E S·O·P·P·Y E·Y·E·S A·T M·E, exclamation mark. H·O·W M·A·N·Y T·I·M·E·S M·O·R·E A·R·E Y·O·U G·O·I·N·G T·O C·O·N·F·R·O·N·T M·E W·I·T·H I·T, question mark exclamation mark.
It’s going too slowly. I think too fast. I only get the odd word out.
W·H·Y A·R·E Y·O·U O·N T. S·C·E·N·E S·O S·O·O·N A·T E·V·E·R·Y D·I·S·A·S·T·E·R W·O·N·D·E·R A·B·O·U·T Y·O·U·R T·R·U·E C·O·L·O·U·R·S S·I·C·K·C·O·M·F·O·R·T·E·R F·I·R·E E·X·T·I·N·G·U·I·S·H·E·R S·L·I·M·E·K·N·O·C·K·E·R D·I·S·T·R·U·S·T D·E·V·I·L.
Agaat composes her own sentences from the words. I compose mine. They’re quite different, the versions that emerge.
That’s enough now, Ounooi, you’re just upsetting yourself. I can’t understand you. She puts down the stick.
I insist.
She picks it up again.
Y·O·U D·O·N·T W·A·N·T T·O U·N·D·E·R·S·T·A·N·D M·E, exclamation mark. Y·O·U P·L·A·Y D·I·R·T·Y, exclamation mark. D·O Y·O·U T·H·I·N·K Y·O·U A·R·E G·O·D W·I·T·H Y·O·U·R S·T·I·C·K, question mark exclamation mark.
By nature utterly indisposed, disabled and made opposite to all good, and wholly inclined to all evil, says Agaat.
H·O·W D·I·D Y·O·U G·E·T T·O T. D·A·M S·O Q·U·I·C·K·L·Y T·O P·U·T T. P·A·R·C·E·L W·I·T·H T. C·H·R·I·S·T·E·N·I·N·G R·O·B·E T·H·E·R·E, question mark. W·H·Y S·O D·E·V·I·O·U·S, question mark. Y·O·U K·N·O·W I C·O·U·L·D·N·T D·O A·N·Y·T·H·I·N·G A·B·O·U·T T·H·E W·H·O·L·E M·A