Agaat - Marlene van Niekerk [34]
The outcome could probably have been foreseen.
He said, well, then you farm on your own.
You said, but you’re my husband, the land belongs to both of us, you promised to farm it with me.
Next thing you knew, he’d taken a loan from the Land Bank with Grootmoedersdrift entered as security and bought a large tract of adjacent hilly land to the south.
Let’s see, he said, you do as you see fit on your precious little farm and I farm the new land.
Fortune favoured him. After he had applied new fertilisers on a massive scale, he sowed double-density, new varieties of short-stem wheat on the ploughed land. He must beware of rust on the delicately bred strain of wheat, you warned. Oh my dear little prophetess of doom, he laughed. And indeed. Only goodness and mercy followed him. No summer rain to speak of, the air dry and clean, no sign of fungus. That October you saw farmers pulling off the road and clambering through the fences to walk in Jak’s lands and to feel the long fat ears and the short thick pipe of the wheat. Never again Klipkous, they said to one another. It was the last mature land in which you saw your father standing, hand on the hip, with a faraway look in his eyes.
Congratulations, my boy, he said to Jak, you’re sounding a new note here on the farm. But you could hear his heart was not in it. ’48 that was, the year before his death.
Jak imported a big New Holland grain drier from America and made doubly sure that the wheat did not rot in the bag. He brought in five bumper crops in consecutive years, bought vehicles and implements, demolished all the old sheds from your mother’s time and built big new structures with sliding doors and shiny steel roofs, and bought new stud animals to improve the cattle and sheep herds.
So what do you say now, Milla my wife? he asked. Now it’s only you who must show that you can increase abundantly.
He tapped against your stomach as one would tap against the glass of a silent clock to see if the hands won’t move.
was that the beginning? the first tangible beginning of it? good friday nineteen ninety-three the ewes of easter in the green on mountains and in dales waiting for the dropping of the lambs the distant singing of sheep in the night while the flock increases silently and in the mornings the first twins of april are standing knee-deep in the pasture in the beneficent oats stand on first legs in the underground clover stand on tiny amber paws under a mizzle under a general muzzle of blessing muzzle of bounty huddled against the slopes of hills stand tottering along with the cranes in the vleis and what is it that pricks in my fingers? i stammer i think with being undone in the lambing time it is autumn the leaves are falling but this time it is different as if i am big with something or sick with that melancholy that sickness insinuates before it like a foot my foot is heavy i falter my hand is heavy all of my right side with my lips i want to say easter agaat it’s easter the year of our lord ninety-three let us bake a cake an easter cake in honour of the lambing time yolk and white I separate the eggs and seven fall seven eggs on the ground a general egg-fall I am unhandy senile a sign of the times a melancholy of the eastertide you break the eggs gaat let me sit at the edge of the table so that i can