Agaat - Marlene van Niekerk [223]
Pox. Diphtheria. Polio. Can’t have an infection erupting here on the farm.
Made her bed in the back room. No window, door can be locked. Immediately fast asleep. In old pyjama jacket of Jak’s. Quite lost in it. Gave her another double dose of tranquillisers so that she can sleep for a long time. Suffering from shock it seems. Suppose to be expected.
Still 16 December half past eight
It’s dead quiet but a different kind of quiet to the usual. As if the house has acquired an ominous charge. Went to see, she’s out like a light.
Have brought something huge upon myself here. Feel exhausted/weepy/ angry with myself or something.
Jak goes about grinding his teeth chronically. Selfish, he mumbles, what about me? I wait for the explosion. I’m trying to think of a name that will suit her, that she will take as her own, something not too far from what she’s used to. Agnes, Aggenys, Anna. Perhaps then Aspatat provisionally, it’s better than nothing and it’s better than Asgat, ash-pit, ash arse, good Lord above!
18 December ten o’clock
I must force her to eat, clamp her between my knees, force open the jaws with one hand, push spoon between the teeth, tip, quickly press the mouth shut. With the other hand rub the throat to make her swallow. Only thin milky porridge, lots of sugar. Won’t chew anything. Put down a bottle with teat next to her, she doesn’t even look at it.
I’m scared she’ll take to her heels again, I keep her locked up in the back when I can’t be with her. I feel bad about it but what else can I do? A lead? Perhaps not a bad idea for the first while. Dog lead with harness? Perhaps she doesn’t even want to run off.
When I put her up straight, she won’t stiffen her legs. Falls over, plays dead when I get close. What wild animals do, insects, when they feel danger threatening. Fall over. Protective colouring. Try not to be seen. Instinct.
Today she’s sitting in the corner in a little heap with her knuckle in her mouth. A sign of progress already, I suppose, that at least she’s sitting up. Yesterday she crawled in under the bed. I had to drag her out of there three times. Clung to the bed-leg with the good hand. Surprisingly tough, the little monkey, that hand I just about had to prise open to get her to let go. The third time I gave her a sharp slap over the buttocks. She must learn, my goodness. She can’t come and play her tricks on me. Showed her Japie. A good old-fashioned duster with a solid wooden handle.
How old could she be? Four? Five? Could be anything, she looks badly undernourished and underdeveloped to me.
I must first get her into condition a bit before I take her to the doctor. Don’t really want to hear what all he’ll have to say. Mother says I’m off my rocker. Who put it in my way? I ask. You, Mother, as you put everything in my way.
Jak paces up and down scolding. Do you think you’re a saint? he asks. Who are you going to wear yourself to a rag for now? Whose victim are you going to make yourself now? All I need to concern myself with is becoming a real mother, he says. Better that he insults me than that he says nothing.
19 December ten o’clock morning
Must simply go and sit and write down how it came about, the whole story, right from the beginning. The dam, the whirligigs round and round, the door creaking open. But it feels too long, too much. Where does something like that really begin? I must make time, before the details of it fade. I must supply the background, put into words the commission. Perhaps that will help me to look beyond the trees and see the forest.
19 December half past two afternoon
Dense as a stone. Not a peep. Close, black, dense, light, like coal. Won’t talk. Won’t eat. Clenches her hands in fists, one knuckle in the mouth, it’s all pink and raw already.
She refuses absolutely to look at me. Her eyes just scamper