Agaat - Marlene van Niekerk [215]
And you? What could you ask this child about whom you felt your knowledge was of the second order, of the third, after Jak with whom he had had his baptism of fire in the mountains, after Agaat on whose bosom he’d grown up?
She was the one to whom he handed his laundry bag every time he came home, and who packed his suitcase for him when he left again.
What could you respond, what add, to the smile, the poker faces exchanged with the handing over of the bag, the handing back of the suitcase?
You knew of the little surprises with which from childhood they’d spoilt each other. Quartz pebbles, mouse skulls, tanned moleskins, under a pillow, in a shoe. Later, Agaat’s jerseys and pullovers for Jakkie, a bow tie and a new shirt that she went to buy him in town with her own money, cellophane packets of fudge and taffy and fennel cookies that she hid amongst his clothes.
And Jakkie’s gifts to her, boxes of fine chocolate, sachets of saffron and cardamom from the spice stores of the Boland, story books, Croxley writing-pads and envelopes, magazines, headscarves and fragrances.
Not that she ever used the perfume. The little bottles stood untouched, like an exhibition of trophies, on the shelf above her washing-table. The scarves she used as wall decorations for her room. She scrutinised them for new designs that she could embroider.
Your attention and interest you felt passed Jakkie by, unheeded. Was it for your sake that he joined the Air Force choir? He sent you their record. Side one, The Lord is My Shepherd. Side two, Oh for a gun in my strong right hand. He was more attuned to his father’s ideals, to Agaat’s favour than to your concern. From the sidelines you watched things develop.
As a member of the Permanent Force’s elite corps of highly trained personnel Jakkie made rapid progress, just as Jak had predicted. He could study and earn a salary at the same time. He obtained a degree in aeronautical engineering. In case he won’t be able to fly all his life, he said, then he can design machinery for the Air Force.
Like what? Jak wanted to know.
The plans are there, but it’s classified information, Jakkie sent word. All that you got to know in that time, was that the Bureau of Mechanical Engineering at Stellenbosch was a kind of front for Armscor. You had some misgivings about this, but Jak said why could the Afrikaner’s cultural headquarters not also be his arms factory, it goes without saying, that’s how all honourable nations consolidate themselves.
You both knew that Jakkie wasn’t really interested in politics, all he wanted to do was fly the Air Force’s modern fighter planes. That was Jak’s great dream. At supper table he read you and Agaat extracts and showed you pictures of aeroplanes from Paratus and Jane’s Defence Weekly, to which he subscribed.
You knew that Jakkie was flying Impalas and Mirages. You and Jak knew that it wasn’t child’s play in South West. You knew that it was the supreme game of heroes, that those who took part in the war against the Cubans in Angola were awarded the highest honours. You had the right to be proud, he was the child of all three of you.
But what was it that you felt there at the supper table when Agaat received a thick letter from him, thicker than that to his parents, and you and Jak asked her to read it aloud? It wasn’t pride, it was loss that united the two of you there under the lamplight. As united as you could ever be. Because you and Jak were suspicious of Agaat whose eyes sometimes glided rapidly over the lines, over the bits she left out. Jakkie’s letters to her you didn’t dare open or intercept.
You were dependent upon each other’s fictions about Jakkie. You were his family, but he belonged to the war, to secret operations. Later when it leaked out in the press, Jak bloodthirstily speculated about Jakkie’s part in the preservation of country and nation.
Oh please just shut up! you shouted at Jak when it became too much for you.
You locked yourself in your room, went to lie down on your bed, crying. You couldn