Agaat - Marlene van Niekerk [94]
With a grandiose gesture he removed the plastic cover. Beneath the bravado, you could see, he was tense.
It’s turned out well, you said. From a distance, under all the lights, the toy did in fact look impressive.
It was painted silver with orange and blue stencilled on the fuselage and on the wings. Jakobus de Wet, Jr., was written on the one side and a black outline represented the five points of the castle. On the wings were rings and dots and crosses.
It’s a Spitfire, said Jak, and now we’re going to get it going.
Will it make a noise? you asked, because the child had just calmed down after a long struggle with feeding.
Not too much, Jak said, otherwise you just cover his ears.
Agaat looked at you. She stepped back. You put your arm around her shoulders.
Are you ready? Jak asked, it may move a short distance but it’s not working all that well yet, I must still adjust the propeller’s angle. You felt half sorry for him, so clumsy, and you didn’t want him to make a fool of himself in front of the farm children, because by now there was a whole cluster of them who’d come to see, trampling one another at the open end of the backyard.
He pushed in the plug. The propeller creaked, turned once, twice. Jak twirled it by hand. Then the propeller took suddenly with a high keening sound so that he had to jerk back his hand and jump back.
Jak called something and gesticulated with his hands behind the grey haze of the propeller. You couldn’t hear. The little plane moved forward fitfully, then it looked as if something got stuck in its throat. It dipped forward, heaved backward, and exploded.
A grey object flying loose, whirring blades.
You saw slow wavelike movements. First you saw Agaat turning round and growing. Her back ballooned out backwards and grew up into the air lengthwise, a mast. The cross of her apron bands white over her shoulder blades. She bent her head low over the child. Her white cap descended over his little pink face like a keel. Pieces of wood flew around. The propeller came straight at her. It struck her a glancing blow on the back of the head and bounced up into the air and broke the window of the nursery and was left dangling in the steel frame of the panes.
Agaat slowly sank down with the shards of glass shattering around her head. Her arms were locked around the little bundle. Her shoulders were hunched forward like shelters. At the nape of her neck a stream of blood coiled out from under her cap. Everywhere on the ground wrenched-loose wires smoking. The dashboard on which two little red lights were blinking, lay at your feet. Then there was another explosion, three, four more in short succession and more glass tinkling. Short circuits in all the rooms around the backyard where lights were on. The whole house blacked out from front to back. The backyard was pitch-dark. You couldn’t utter a word. Your knees collapsed under you. You sat down on the ground. It was dead quiet.
He isn’t hurt, Agaat said after a while out of the darkness. He doesn’t have a scratch.
Her voice was matter-of-fact.
You saw the white cap coming upright slowly.
The child started crying frantically.
Jakkie! Jak called, his voice high with anxiety. Give him to me!
You crawled over the splinters of plank and glass to Agaat.
You’re not laying a hand on my child, Jak de Wet, you said. You’re not getting anywhere near him.
I’ll put in new fuses quickly, he said, his voice rising higher all the time, I bought new ones.
You’re not touching anything further around here, Jak. You keep your hands to yourself, and you go and sleep in your canoe in the shed, you said. You were quite calm and collected. You were furious. Your words issued from your mouth dispassionately.
I’ll have in an electrician tomorrow, we should have had new fuses installed a long time ago. And don’t worry about us, there are lamps and candles and the