Agaat - Marlene van Niekerk [235]
I understand if you’re too busy to write back, Captain, in that case just send a card to say that you’re still alive, or make the phone ring three times to say you’re thinking of me, your mother and I will know it’s you.
To that there was in fact a reply, over Christmas, 1983 it was.
It was quite a thick letter delivered by hand by a fellow-pilot of Jakkie’s passing through on leave. On the front it said only Gaat. It had a blob of red sealing wax on the back. For Mr and Mrs J.C. de Wet there was an envelope with four photos with writing on the back, swift hard scribbles with a ballpoint pen. Over and over you switched the photos and read, over and over Agaat took them from you and read. What were the two of you supposed to do with it? Fierce was the writing: Rambo de Wet next to his Impala after he’d bombed FAPLA positions at Mulondo on 23 December ’83. Could see f-all of the cumulonimbus almost came a cropper. Sh-tting myself with the SAM’s left and right round my head, one Impala shot in the tail but landed safely at Ondongwa, your own little Rambo also hit by a SAM-7, had to land at Ongiva, fortunately they’d fixed the landing strip there a few weeks earlier otherwise he’d definitely have seen his arse.
On the second photo the pen had started to slip.
Schwarzenegger of the Overberg with infected eardrum (left, note the plug) with his Mirage F-I after the photo-recce of Cuvelai. Had to fly under the radar, just about heard the thorn bushes scraping his belly.
Photo three was damaged, so hard had he pressed on the pen. What could it mean, the references to himself in the third person? That’s not how you knew him.
de Wet after his sufficiently hard-arsed command of two Alouettes through ack-ack to cover the troops on the ground at Cuvelai. It’s the only position that really saw its arse. The FAPLA is as cosily as ever entrenched at Cahama, Mulondo and Caiundo. The SADF top brass are making a glorious b-lls-up. They think we’re bats with radar in our heads. Overhead the moon is beaming, ha!
Photo four was a group photo of pilots in front of their sleeping quarters, clearly reluctant to pose.
We now hear here that the Caiundo attack had never even been properly approved at Ops HQ. Hence the sulks. Military & national strategy are non-existent we scheme. Regional conflict my arse, it’s a full-on international f-ck-up! It could have been prevented. Pik & Magnus are sitting on their brains down there in Pretoria. Sorry, Pa, but that’s my story and I’m sticking to it! Hope to see you at the survival parade in February!
You showed Jak the photos only at supper.
He took them away from you quickly.
You didn’t see them, he said, you don’t know anything about this. What else? was there a letter? I want to see it, now on the spot!
He held out his hand to Agaat.
Ash, in my fireplace, she said.
You went to buy yourself a new blue dress and a matching hat with a turn-up brim and a new handbag at De Jagers in town. The dress was too short and Agaat let out the hem for you.
It could be a long day, you said to Jak, I’m taking Gaat along for company.
Over my dead body, said Jak, in that Agatha Christie outfit of hers, it’s a gala occasion and we’re guests of honour of the Air Force, she won’t be allowed, we’re going to eat with the VIPs in the mess, what do you want to do with her then? There aren’t any amenities.
I’ll eat, Jak, and then I’ll excuse myself, it’ll have been a whole morning’s to-do and then I’ll want to rest, then I won’t want to look at a lot of aeroplanes.
You said it casually, so as not to upset him.
We can look for a shady tree, you said to Agaat, also as if it were the most ordinary thing on earth. Then we’ll be out of the crush, we can read magazines, you can pack a picnic for yourself, take the cool bag, I take my knitting, you pack your embroidery-basket, then at