Marlene van Niekerk - Triomf

What else does she want to hear? She just says, ‘Hmm.’ She must still be feeling a bit strange here in his den.

‘Well, and I’ve burnt the Watchtower s, the whole lot of them, and I jump-started the Tedelex, for you, from a car battery, even. Hey, can you believe it? That was nearly a big fuck-up. But it was a miracle, afterwards. And over here’s chips and dips and peanuts. You like peanuts, Mary? Like I said, everything I’ve got. Even a Swiss roll for breakfast. And I have a party trick as well, you look like you will make him cook, I say, but that’s for later.’

She pulls a face. But she needn’t worry. When he puts his hand over hers that thing will really start boiling.

‘And I got music too, specially for us tonight. Listen.’ He points with his finger, but his finger feels funny. He takes it away again.

Now he must get to the music, quick, but his body doesn’t want to move. He mustn’t start tripping over things now. He turns the little dial. He tuned the radio already, earlier this afternoon, setting it to FM, 94, 95, where Radio Orion used to be, and where Highveld Stereo is now. Christ. Now it’s too loud. Turn it down! Quick! Keep smiling, like Treppie says. It keeps your customers happy.

‘Did you get a fright? Nice little radio, hey?’

He knows she’s just standing there looking at him. She’s still not in the mood for smiling. He turns the dial, first this way and then that, playing for time. Just a little time. What do you say to a girl who just stands there and looks at you like you crawled out of a fucken hole or something?

‘Nice romantic background music.’ He tries a wink, but both eyes close at the same time. Now he can’t even wink here tonight! But it doesn’t matter, she’s turned around again. Now she’s standing there with folded arms. She’s checking his service counter. Eat, that’s what, eat something nice. He must get in front of her so he can be next to the snacks and offer her some.

‘Like I say, anything you need, anything you want, you name it, I’ve got it. Late-night snacks. Dip a chip, Mary, man. Here you are.’

Which one? Make it two. A dip and a chip. Avo and a crinkle cut. He holds them out for her.

She shakes her head. No thanks. But he stands firm. She shakes her head even harder. Now it’s more than just no thanks. He puts down the bowls. Maybe she’s not hungry. Maybe she’s thirsty.

‘What about a drink, hey? I got everything.’ Let him open the Fuchs a bit so she can see.

‘Everything to please a queen!’ He points to the things in the fridge. He packed and repacked those drinks so you could see them all at a single glance. His beers and his Cokes, all in tins so they won’t go flat like in the bottles. His Drostdy Hof Blush, right through to the orange juice, for just in case.

‘You see, enough for a week.’

No see? Okay. Later. Why’s she saying fuck-all now? All she does is put down her handbag and take off her black jacket. She hangs the jacket over his mother’s chair.

‘Well, maybe enough for two days, hey? What do you say? Then we can go get some more!’

Now he sticks to his spot, here next to his fridge. His hands are opening and closing from not knowing what to do next. Things must start clicking here. Fuck! This night must get a move on!

‘For the rest, everything’s right. You missed the bubbles man, Mary, just bubbles, bubbles, bubbles. Everywhere. But now this old thing even makes ice, hey, I swear. I couldn’t believe it. Check here, man, just check this!’

He takes out the ice-trays. Now look, woman! Fucken rock-hard ice! No dice. Put it back again. Maybe she’s a bit raw. Not used to things. If your audience is asleep, Treppie always says, try another angle.

‘And the postbox is fixed. Did you see it? I made him myself, quite a tricky one, that one, kept falling off. Can’t tell you what trouble I had with that piece of shit. But now it’s even painted the colour of peace, thanks to my old man, he’s got a knack for the finishing touches, for sure! And tomorrow they come to paint this whole house, white as snow, good as new, you won’t recognise it. And when they paint, we go, you and me, to get the petrol. I checked all the bags for leaks, two times. And I’ve got a hole!’

Now he’ll show her something! She needn’t keep her face so straight. There’s only one hole like this in the whole of Jo’burg, that’s for sure!

Lift up the plank. Shift it away nicely, so she can look inside. Come now, woman!

‘Come, come here, Mary, come look! Now this was the biggest job of all, hey, nearly broke my back here, just rubble, rubble, rubble. There was another town here, a black one, just bricks, bricks, bricks, kaffirs didn’t live under plastic and cardboard in those days, hey! But now it’s big enough for the petrol, for an emergency, you know. You never know, that’s what I say. And my uncle agrees. A person must be ready, hey? What do you say? For when the shit hits the fan. You know what I mean, hey? Then we hit the great road to the North. I checked on the map. In the CNA. Will take a day or so. Then we’re over the border. First we make a picnic and then we make a new beginning.’

She doesn’t look like she’s making the connections. His hole is open, his fridge is open and he’s wide open. All his stuff is lying here, open. But she’s not looking. Maybe she wants to look at the painting again, at his map.

‘Check, here’s our route, in red, here, here, here.’

Christ, she must be able to see a dotted line! The line’s in red, too. It goes over the lawn, the molehills, the black arrows, the yellow arrows, his mother’s body and the tennis ball in her mouth. He points it out to her.

‘Tennis ball in the mouth. Didn’t have enough space here. Dog’s games, you know? But it’s my mother, this one. Nice lady, full of sports!’

He feels too big, standing here next to his painting. His body doesn’t want to shrink. He tries to grin but his mouth doesn’t want to. Grin! That’s his mother, she’s enough to make anyone laugh. Fuck! Let’s try the mermaid. Maybe she’ll think it’s cute. That mermaid is actually her!

‘And this is you on the car here, Mary. I dreamt of you, long before you even knew me.’

Maybe she doesn’t like laughing at herself. Well then, let her laugh at him then, him with his big ears and his sideburns, sitting in the driver’s seat.

‘And that’s me, ready to take you wherever you want to go, to the wild open spaces …’

At last! A smile! About fucken time too. Just a half-smile. But that’s all he needs. Take the gap, Lambertus, take it!

‘… to the sleepy villages, where the lion roars tonight! Hawhimbawe! Hawhimbawe!’

His mother always laughs when he sings that song. Ever since he was small. But now the smile’s gone again. Maybe she thinks his plan isn’t good enough. Maybe she doesn’t like the sound of his lions.

He points, north, north, north , he points where he wrote in the names this afternoon. Those are not petrol stops. The petrol’s been sorted out. They’re just piss-stops. Pretoria, Nylstroom, Naboomspruit, Messina. He wrote Messina in big letters. Across the border. His plan is fine. There’s nothing wrong with his plan.

‘And she’ll make it, Mary, don’t you worry, she’ll make it. I tuned her, I checked her points, I tapped off her oil. And in any case, we’ll take Flossie with us, the beach buggy, for spares, for in case. As we say in Afrikaans, there’s always a light at the end of the wagon-trek. Hey, old Mary, man, even if it’s a long way to Tipperary, hey? You know that song?’

Fuck, he’s really doing his very best here. Maybe he should sing instead, he’s in any case singing for his smiles tonight. It’s a long way to Tip-perrar-reee! She’d better open that red mouth of hers for a change. He can’t do all the fucken talking all fucken night long!