The Satanic Mechanic. Sally Andrew

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СКАЧАТЬ man in khaki kept Jessie and me away with an outstretched arm. He was a policeman, not a cattle farmer. Henk was shouting into a cell phone, calling for an ambulance. The khaki man gave instructions to Reghardt and another man who was probably also a plainclothes cop.

      Slimkat lay on his back on the grass and stared up at us. He tried to speak, but his lips wouldn’t move properly. He looked at Jessie, then at me. His eyes were big, black and calm, like a kudu’s.

      This time I did not look away.

      In those moments, with the windows without curtains, so many things happened. I allowed him to see me, and he saw everything. Even the things I have kept most secret. His body trembled, but he was not afraid. I could see the courage in his eyes. And he was looking for the courage in mine. He was trying to tell me something, but I could not understand what.

      Kurt was singing: ‘Hier sit ek nou alleen, soos die man op die maan. Daar is ’n wind wat waai – hy ken my naam. Daar is ’n wind wat waai – hy vat my saam.’ Here I sit alone, like the man on the moon. There’s a wind that blows – it knows my name. There’s a wind that blows – it takes me along.

      By the time the paramedics arrived, Slimkat’s body was stiff, like it was paralysed. But his eyes were alive, looking again at Jessie, then at me. What was he saying to us? I looked into those dark eyes and listened with all my heart. It does matter, he said. It does matter if I die. His eyes darted up towards the table and back to me. You can help, he said. But I could not understand how. As they lifted him onto a stretcher, he still held me with his gaze. And then, even when he was out of sight, the whoop of the siren racing away, the look in his eyes stayed with me.

      Kurt was still singing, and even the old tannies were up and dancing. ‘Nou loop ek maar die paadjie alleen – leen – leen. Stap ek deur die storm; dit reën reën reën.’ Now I just walk the path, alone – lone – lone. I walk through the storm; it rains, rains, rains.

      I sat down on the bench where Slimkat had sat. Jessie was talking to Reghardt, and the police were buzzing all around. Uniformed officers worked together with plainclothes police and closed off an area using yellow-and-blue tape. They were getting photographs and names of everyone in that area. Henk and a man with a bottlebrush moustache, and that police tannie with the lip fluff were interviewing people at a table just outside the tent. Piet was moving around like an agama lizard, lifting his head up and down, looking over and under tables. He studied the grass here and a tabletop there.

      ‘Buite waai die windjie; die honde huil,’ sang Kurt. Outside a wind blows; the dogs howl.

      The police hadn’t stopped the music. Perhaps they didn’t want to cause panic. After all, the crowds might think Slimkat had just drunk too much. I hadn’t smelt beer on his breath when we’d leant in close to talk. I had smelt garlic. I looked down at the sticks on the table. Those kudu sticks had been his last meal. Just as I was reaching out to his Styrofoam container, Piet’s hand gently stopped me. He picked up the container in gloved hands and sniffed it. I leant forward and sniffed it too. There was a smell coming from the napkin.

      ‘Garlic,’ I said into Piet’s ear.

      He nodded, slipped the napkin and Styrofoam into a plastic Ziploc bag and sealed it.

      ‘But there’s no garlic in those kudu sosatie sauces,’ I said.

      He looked down at the bag and back at me again. Then he put the package into my hands.

      Piet said something I couldn’t hear above Kurt’s singing. Then he pointed at the packet and at Detective Kannemeyer, and I nodded in understanding. Then Piet ran, like there was a leopard on his tail, to the Kudu Stall.

      Kurt sang, ‘Sê net ja, aha aha, kom dans met my. O, bokka, ek wil huis toe gaan.’ Just say yes, aha aha, come dance with me. Oh, honey, I want to go home.

      CHAPTER FOURTEEN

      Hattie drove us to our guesthouse, The Rose, in Baron van Reede Street. Jessie would follow on her scooter.

      ‘So Piet found sauce bottles under the table at the Kudu Stall?’ said Hattie. ‘And he brought them to you to smell?’

      ‘Yes,’ I said. ‘Two yellow bottles. And one smelt a lot like the sauce on Slimkat’s napkin.’

      ‘Quite a nose you’ve got there. That sauce had garlic in it?’

      ‘Ja,’ I said.

      ‘Here we are,’ she said, as she turned into the driveway of a big Victorian house with a long narrow stoep.

      ‘Watch out!’ I said, as she headed for a karee tree. She bumped into it, but not too hard.

      ‘Don’t worry,’ she said. ‘That’s what bumpers are for. There’s a sweet old auntie and uncle that will ply you with coffee and rusks if they spot you; they’ll probably be asleep now.’

      But we were greeted by Tannie Rosa and Oom Frik van der Vyver. Tannie Rosa showed us our rooms, which were full of ornate wooden furniture, with everything covered in white and gold ruffles and lace. The pillows, the bedside lamps, the curtains, even the doorknobs – all had pretty covers. It somehow made me feel wrapped up and looked after. I hoped Slimkat was being looked after at the hospital.

      ‘Dis pragtig. Baie dankie,’ I said to the tannie. Lovely, thank you. She smiled at the praise.

      ‘Koffie en beskuit?’ she asked.

      ‘Tomorrow, thank you,’ said Hattie. ‘We really must sleep.’

      I was too tired to argue. I took a diet tablet and headed to bed.

      That night, I dreamt I was sitting on the branch of that old gwarrie tree. The veld flowers smelt like pineapples, and I heard galloping hooves. As the sound got closer, I saw it was a giant kudu with two men riding on its back. They came to a stop in front of me. The man in front called for me to climb on. It was Slimkat, and in his hand was a bow. He reached for an arrow from the quiver on his back. But it was not an arrow; it was a pen.

      The man sitting behind him wore a blue mechanic’s overall, and in his hand was a huge spanner. I couldn’t see his face. The kudu pawed the ground with a restless hoof; it would not wait for ever. I looked again at the big spanner and wondered if I was the loose nut the man had come to make right. I woke up holding onto my head.

      I was surrounded by frills and doilies, and didn’t know where I was. Then I remembered. I wondered if the diet tablets were giving me strange dreams. My mind went to Slimkat: had he made it through the night? I struggled to get back to sleep.

      In the morning, I washed and dressed. The rubbish bin and the spare toilet rolls also had frilly covers on them. It was cool, so I wore a cotton jacket over my brown dress, and socks with my veldskoene.

      I went to the kitchen, and there was Tannie Rosa. She pointed out a tin of rusks.

      ‘Mosbolletjiebeskuit,’ she said.

      ‘Jirre,’ I said. ‘I haven’t had those rusks for ages.’

      ‘I used muscadel must that I got from my brother,’ she said. ‘He makes his own wine.’

      Mosbolletjie bread is made with ‘must’, the fermented leftovers from the winemaking process: СКАЧАТЬ