Agaat - Marlene van Niekerk [87]
point that cunt of yours
nowwe’regettingthere!
now now now push the womb
blow on the bellows
throw this wombbeast of yours out of the crate
throw over the rowers of dattem
throw out the iron
push him
give him
give him littlecalf to me
give the bluegumbloom
give him in the nest the shitling
ai!
You couldn’t any more. You were depleted.
He’s stuck he’s stuck his head is stuck in the hole.
Agaat was in panic, you could hear.
Take the scissors! you screamed. You felt it, the cold steel against you, it felt too slow, she was hesitating.
Cut, God! you screamed, cut open all the way to the hole!
You felt the sharp incision, one blow, another blow. There was a spurt of blood out of you all the way up to the upholstery, it dripped back onto you.
You felt a slipping, you tore, you were open, you screamed, you called, bitterly, you listened to, held your ears like. Like tarns, like eddies, like echo-bearing chasms, like wind-winnowed waterfall, you held them till you heard what was neither of you nor of Agaat.
The sound.
You strained upright, heard the scissors clatter to the ground, saw the strings dangling, slime and threads of blood out of you.
A bundle was put down on you, a bawl swaddled in cloths, your arms were gathered together from where they were dispersed, the arm from the river first and then from the mountain, from left and from right your arms were placed around the bundle, a tiny white cocoon with red palm-prints, a big one on one side, an unfurled fan, and on the other side the bloody forepaw of an otter. Agaat’s mismatched hands that had performed the deed for you.
Blood drenched it, Agaat’s apron was red all the way to the bib, Agaat’s cap a cockscomb, there was a plashing in your ears, a poppling, your heart was open. Full and shiny, far and near. A waterfall. From the highest cliff a down-feather twirling on the foam, a little lily bobbing after the haze of your body, a patch of scarlet in black moss, a throat, a tongue, a gong in the dripping sparkling jet.
There was a ride on an open vehicle, the wind was cold on you. You bled on cabbage leaves. You came to every now and again and sank away into a faint again. The mountains fell on you. Agaat was in front with the driver. That you still knew, that she came and told you, close to your ear.
Everything is fine, she said, my même, she said, I’ve got him with me, he’s safe, I’m holding him for you, we’ll be there now-now!
We drive like the wind with you and your child, we ride, we ride, round curves wild and wide, snip-snip went the scissors, snip-snip, and my cap, my cap, how red is its tip.
You came to in the hospital and cried. Where is Jak, you cried, where is Agaat?
Jak’s in his canoe on the Breede River. Agaat’s sitting in the fireplace, she won’t come out.
It was your mother. You did not want to see your mother.
It’s a boy, she said, a fast boy. A real De Wet. All its toes and fingers and a handy spanner. His father’s pretty mouth. You tore badly, along the cut to the top.
She indicated with her thumb and forefinger.
That servant-girl of yours got hold of you a bit roughly. They still have to sew you up.
Your mother’s smile was strange. Was it fright? Shock? Schadenfreude? Judgement? You didn’t understand it. You cried. They brought the bundle, you didn’t want it, you cried.
Bring me Agaat, bring her here, go fetch her, bring her to me, you cried, bring Agaat, I want Agaat.
Blew snot, your hands over your mouth, your hands on your collarbones. You wanted to choke, you wanted to die, you wanted to get back in under the mountain, trail your heart behind you, drag it in, a bloody trail, a fist on bloody cords.
They dosed you with medicine. They said you were suffering from shock. They sewed you up. They brought the bundle and took it away, brought and took away. Your milk wouldn’t come. You were taken to your mother’s house.
Agaat was there in her white apron and her white cap, at the garden gate.
She’d come out of the fireplace.
Not a stipple of soot, not a spot of blood, you heard yourself say, from