Agaat - Marlene van Niekerk [259]
No, you’ll find someone, you’re such a handsome chap, and so learned, a chip off the old block.
Yes I will. I always think of you. I pray for you.
No, Jakkie, you mustn’t talk like that.
No, go and read your Bible like a good boy. To every thing there’s a season, a time to stay and a time to go. In Ecclesiastes, you go and read it, it will comfort you.
Do you still have your bookmark?
The one I sent with your mother when you got your medal? In a white envelope?
Oh well, then I don’t know, I’ll just have to make you another.
If I was there? No, but they told me it was a very swanky affair, only your mother’s new shoes hurt her.
No, I’ll ask her about the bookmark. You must bring along your cross of honour so that I can see it, your father says it’s eighteen carat gold.
Then you could stand it no longer. You emerged from behind the door.
Agaat held the receiver away from her ear, glared at you.
You wanted to take the receiver from her hand. Without a goodbye she got up off the stool and smoothed her apron. You grabbed at the telephone in her hand. Agaat let go, the receiver swung against the wall. When you got hold of it at last, there was only a dialling tone.
You followed her to the kitchen, grabbed her by the front of her dress and shook her back and forth.
Who are you? How many thousands of devils are you? For what do you pretend to be a holy angel of light? Dear, good Agaat of Grootmoedersdrift who doesn’t grumble and doesn’t grouse no matter what! Who’ll take care, who knows her place, who doesn’t interfere! Who’s only too grateful! Who’s so very religious! Who are you trying to bamboozle? You’re a Satan! It’s my child! Mine! Mine! Do you hear me! So why don’t you just tell him what’s happening here? Or do you want to entice him away further and further? With your milksop of mealy-mouthed flattery? Is that your plan? He knows you’re lying! He knows! He knows! You think up a different story for each of us here according to your convenience. Witch! You’re a witch and you’re witching us here! If I’d only known, if I could only have known what I was doing that day when I took you in here. A curse you are. I hate you.
You struck her through the face. You remember your hands plucking at the collar of the uniform, a button popping, your fists hammering, on her breast, on her shoulders.
She stood stock-still absorbing the blows without moving a muscle, without retreating by a single step, without any retort.
Until you lowered your hands and averted your face.
You sank into a chair, with your head on your hands on the kitchen table. A whimpering came from you. You couldn’t stop moaning. Vaguely you were aware of movements, a kettle being filled, cups rattling, water starting to boil.
There was only the sound of rubber soles on the linoleum, then the smell of tea before your nose. You lifted your head. Agaat’s strong hand was adding sugar to the cup. One, two, and a little bit more. With great assurance. Sweeter than you ever took it. She stirred it. There was something specific about the stirring. It wasn’t impatient and it wasn’t fast. It was businesslike. It was reassuring. Did that signify peace? The teaspoon was back in the saucer.
Then, from the fingertips of the small hand, two disprins.
And then she was out by the back door.
There was a rumbling in the yard of the lorry delivering the marquee tent and the clanking of poles and ropes and pegs being unloaded.
And amongst the male voices, Agaat’s voice issuing orders:
Put it here! Here! Put it up, there!
Her voice warning. Not through my flowerbeds! Careful with the little trees, their tips! It’s their growth points! If you injure one of them!
Her voice threatening: That one, he’ll get the horsewhip!
You were shaky for days after the falling-out. Migraine, a pressure on the chest, a muscle twitching in your eye.
Agaat carried peppermint extracts to your darkened bedroom, cloths with mustard for your headache, eucalyptus extract for steaming over a bowl of boiling water.
For days after the