Agaat - Marlene van Niekerk [27]
3
The morning sun lights up Agaat’s cap from the back. Full of embroidery holes it is, densely edged with shiny white thread. The points of light in the weft flicker as she approaches. She hesitates over my bed, inclines her head, feels along the high peak with both hands, touches the base on both sides, whether it’s well pinned, whether it’s properly seated. If the cap is on as it should be, she’ll be empowered to walk through fire. Her crown of glorified cotton, her mitre, her fire-barrel specked with light, that gives her dominion over the underworld. She deliberately touches it in such a way that there should be no doubt in my mind regarding her intention. She is mustered, she is prepared, I mustn’t give any more trouble, she’ll sort me out here, she’s the commander of my possibilities.
She’s going to list them for me, the options remaining to me, without skipping anything. As the Spirit moves her, with allusions to my incapacity.
The list gets shorter all the time.
She revises it ever more frequently.
At night on her camp stretcher she ponders what she should delete.
Three years ago the list was full of interesting variations.
Shall we ride to the lands with Dawid?
Would you like a picnic in your wheelchair next to the dam?
Must I take you rowing on the drift? Joke.
Do you want to walk up and down on the stoep in your walking frame?
Do you want to write with the splint on your hand?
Do you want to do exercises?
Do you want to sit on your own in the garden, next to the lavender hedge, next to the rambling rose, under the honey-bread tree?
Do you want to read notes and hum?
Do you want to go for a swim in the reservoir?
Shall I make you some custard with apricot jam and bananas?
But that’s all in the past now.
I close my eyes.
I have a life beyond your lists, is what it wants to say. I have needs that you cannot imagine, even if you were to cast your cap in bronze.
It maddens her. That she can’t meet my every need, that she doesn’t know everything I think, that frustrates her beyond all measure.
To peer into my head at what is playing there, that’s what she desires. There’s protest in her voice when she speaks, but I know that’s only the upper layer, that’s what she can afford to have me hear.
Shall I draw the curtain a bit?
Do you want to listen to the morning service?
A tape?
Wine women and song?
The pan for number one?
The pan for number two?
Too cold?
Too hot?
Sit up straighter?
Lie down flatter?
Eat a bit more porridge?
Fruit pulp? There is cold melon? With a bit of salt?
Water?
Tea with honey and lemon?
After every question she waits for me to reply, but I keep my eyes shut. That means you’re cold, you’re far out, you don’t have a clue, my need is a subtle one.
I open my eyes. I seek her gaze. I widen my eyes.
No! No! and again no!
Everything is swimming before my eyes, but she carries on. She coerces me, I must comprehend the extent of her goodwill. Nothing she wouldn’t do for me. Anything within the bounds of justice and reason.
I close my eyes again.
Her voice rises by a whole tone. Slightly faster it comes now.
Read? Must I set up the reading stand and page for you?
Must I read to you?
Genesis?
Job?
A psalm of David?
Revelations?
The Bible according to Agaat. God’s delirium and man’s tremblement.
I open my eyes but I give no sign, I fix my gaze straight ahead of me. That means: Go