Agaat - Marlene van Niekerk [226]
Fist in the mouth, fist out of the mouth she sits there, sits weighing and wondering, an eternity it felt like. Hand creeping cautiously to the lip of the sack. Gauging with the fingertips the hessian fringe, then the ravels of the sack between thumb and forefinger. Then she pulled in her breath sharply. Open is the hand, in slips the hand, mole wriggling in the sack! Deeper and deeper up to the elbow. Further still up to the armpit. Then the other hand, the weak one, like an outrider. Feel feel feel. There! Got it! Then both hands are working. Wrapping off. Teeth apart. Quickly she slips it into the mouth-hole. Lump in the cheek. Sucks. Smoothes flat the bit of paper, folds it, can you believe it! with quick precise little fingers, and puts the paper back into the bag!
I trembled. I couldn’t believe it. But that wasn’t all.
Then she took the moleskin and the little wheel and the stick out of the sack. Mole in the neck, stick in the wheel. Head at an angle. Fur against the cheek. Point against the rim. One, two, three, small revolutions she makes with the little wheel on the cover. Everything together again, from the beginning, breathe in and once more. Mole in the neck, stick in the wheel, roll! Bull’s-eye! Her own game! I told Jack when he came home.
Fantastic! he shouted, bravo! He clapped hands loudly. His face was ugly. Now you’ve broken her in. Clay in your hands. A blank page. Now you can impress anything upon her. Just see to it that you know your story, Milla. It’d better be a good one. The one that you fobbed off on me didn’t work so well.
Lord, he can be so terrible.
So phoned Mother instead. She just listened. Right at the end she said what I suppose I could have expected: You’re making yourself a bed, Milla, but it’s your life, you must do as you see fit. She did though ask whether I’d taken her to a doctor. Suppose I must do something about it.
4 January 1954
Took her today for a once-over. Don’t know if it was a good thing. She’s terrified all over again. Ai, it breaks my heart, after all my trouble the last few days to tame her. While I was about it I had all the milk-teeth drawn at the out-patient’s clinic for the coloureds there next to old Kriek’s rooms. Set up a commotion, certainly not mute. They don’t give anaesthetic there. Blood on the new frock in front. Had to apologise to the next doctor because I didn’t want to drive back all the way to the farm then to go and get clean clothes on her. Ramrod-rigid and wild and convulsive she was all the time, threw her little hat as far as she could. It took two sisters to hold her down on the trolley bed. The internal examination showed exactly what I’d suspected. Multiple penetration, says the little chap, Leroux’s holiday partner. He’s too young, looks pretty inexperienced to me, but on top of that he was arrogant as well. He doesn’t know if she’ll ever be able to have children. All the better, we both of us thought. Apart from that there’s nothing wrong. The flat black moles are not malignant, be can burn off the one on her cheek, he says, but he thinks it gives her face a bit of character—I think he’s making fun of me. There are, though, signs of malnutrition. Weak right hand and arm probably an ante-natal injury. Eyes, ears, throat, nose, pooper, examined all the holes. Tonsils will have to go. She was fairly upset by all the shiny instruments. The squeaking noise again. Inoculations high up on the little deformed arm. Took blood samples. Pale gums and rim of eye suggest anaemia, but that can be put right. She has to be fed lots of liver and spinach. Doctor can’t say if she’s mentally in order. Looks to him like a state of shock. I must bring her again when she can talk, then he’ll be able to form an opinion. He stares at me with such blunt eyes, the little doctor. How do I get her to talk? I ask. I must decide how much I want to spend, he says. Remediation is