Agaat - Marlene van Niekerk [83]
But I have the feeling deep in my bones & I’m writing it down here now for the record: From the moment that precious cloth left my two hands I’ve felt there is a snake in the grass as sure as my name is Milla de Wet. Must remember to store the mothballs in a different place.
Jak was repelled by your pregnant body. He couldn’t stand being close to you, he couldn’t even hide it any more. Gone he was suddenly on that morning of the twelfth of August with the bakkie to an obstacle race with rowing and swimming and cycling at Witsand. He took Dawid along to transport his bicycle and his canoe for him to the various starting-points. You would have to look after yourself. You’d been booked months in advance into Barrydale’s clinic to be close to your mother. Your suitcase was packed weeks before. You weren’t going to be caught unprepared.
Then the first contractions came right there in the passage after the to-do with the mothballs.
You had to sit down on the telephone stool in the passage. You’d thought another two weeks. The first convulsion had made you feel faint. You phoned, who else, the omniscient.
Look at your watch, your mother said. Note how far apart the contractions are and plan your movements accordingly.
Her voice was hard, business-like, reproving.
You can get here taking your time, even after your waters have broken. The first one usually takes a long time, she said, I had a terrible struggle with you, nine hours on end. Sheer hell it was, so you might as well prepare yourself.
Ma, you said, please. She cut you short. There’s no time for chit-chat now, Milla, steel yourself and get on the road. I’ll phone the maternity sister so that they can prepare for you. And bring Agaat along so that we can teach her with the child, I have a sore hip, I can’t be running after you any more.
You called Agaat. You were scared, you could hear your own voice coming from afar.
You have ten minutes, you said, pack for a week, take your embroidery stuff along, we’re going to the Ounooi, the child is coming, he’s early, you’ll have to help . . . if necessary.
Her eyes were big. Her hands that she was holding in front of her, fell open, the little arm hanging like something that had been loose all the time, something that had broken off that she was hiding. You thought, God help me, you need two hands for a delivery. But you didn’t really think it would be necessary. Ma would know, after all.
Pull yourself together, Agaat, you said, we don’t have time to waste. Pack your suitcase.
Suitcase, she said, what suitcase, I don’t have a suitcase.
I shouted at her.
Where’s your brown suitcase that I gave you? If you can’t look after the small things, how can I ever count on you in important matters? Take pillow slips, take an onion-pocket in the store, take an apple box, take anything, just hurry up!
You started writing a letter to Jak.
Dear Jak
You tore it up. You started again.
Jakobus Christiaan de Wet, your child is being born, you know where you can look for the mother.
You crumpled it up.
Let the baas know where I am, you said to Saar, phone the hotel in Port Beaufort. Go and open the motorcar shed. Go and tell them to open the gate to the main road. If the drift is still under water, tell two boys to stand on either side on the kerb so that I can see where I’m going.
You called out orders. Agaat ran to and fro with wild gangling legs, the stiff little steps quite forgotten. Her mouth was open. You ordered her around. You remained sitting in the passage on the stool, your legs were lame. She was quick, she did what you told her to. Now it’s you and me, you thought, it’s always