Marlene van Niekerk - Triomf

First just move away this rubbish a bit. Under the bed with this lot! He sees her putting her hands over her ears. Bit of a nervous girl, this one. But she’ll still learn, they make a lot of noise around here sometimes.

‘So you, er, patrol?’

‘I patrol, man, I patrol. These days you can’t leave anything to the police, you know, they’ve got their hands full, man, they don’t have time for open manholes and that class of thing. In any case they’re a noisy lot, they drive like maniacs.’

‘But I mean do you patrol for a living, like, I mean for Springbok Patrols or such?’

‘Over my dead body, I’m my own boss. I patrol as a, um, concerned citizen. Free and for nothing. I service the whole of Triomf. But mostly Gerty and Toby.’

‘So, er, what do you do for a living, like?’

It’s high time. Now she’s nice and mellow. Looks like she’s going to dip herself a chip at the counter.

‘Well, um, we’ve got a little fridge business. Triumph Appliances. But these two here I fixed on my own, just for you. Shit, you should have seen the bubbles, man. Just so big as my head, hey. My whole room was in it, heaven and Africa and everything. Looked like magic, I must say. Not like I painted it myself, I mean like a masterpiece it looked. Like the Lost City. My uncle is not from this world, hey, he gave me an exam with Brylcreem on his face. Multiple choice with a red nose. It was very funny. My uncle’s an operator, you know. He sings when the Ding-Dong passes. And he taught me to make the dogs go funny, I’ll show you one day. But I passed with distinction that time. Do you want to hear the dogs go funny?’

Is she getting cold or something now? It’s a nice little coat that. There’s more to life than a housecoat, if you ask him. But what’s she doing now with that bag of hers? Over her head, around her neck goes the strap. And then under the one arm!

‘Ag no, man, Mary. Where are you going now? Everything is going so nice now, man. Let me show you my penny-whistle. It’s from the kaffir hole. It has ar-chae-lo-gi-cal value, my uncle said.’

‘Penny-whistle, my foot!’

What’s she pointing to now, here under his belt? She’s pointing this way but she’s walking that way. Christ, has his zip been open all this time! No, it’s closed. What was that pointing all about then? No manners.

‘I figure you got a French horn or something in there. Out of tune. From playing solos all the time!’

‘French horn, ha-ha! But you’re full of sports, girly!’

‘Time’s up, mister! You’ve had your chance. A woman must eat, you know.’

Shit, where does she want to go and eat now? What’s she doing at the outside door with her hand on the handle? And it’s not locked!

‘There’s all this food to eat here, man. I spent all my money, every fucken last cent, chips, dips, drink, everything. Why don’t you stay, man, my family’s not so bad, man! My old man can play the mouth organ like you won’t believe. I swopped the beds, I took the sheets from the windows, we washed them. And there’s a mirror in the bathroom and a toilet seat, light blue, for a shit in peace, and lampshades from China. It was a lot of trouble, man, the pelmet is panelbeaten straight as hell, and there is a hole in the front door but it’s for Toby, he’s really a decent dog, I promise. Pedigree don’t count, that’s what I say, just decency. Decency, do you know that word? Decent? I’ve got a passion meter too, you want to see it? Educational value, relieves stress and boredom. Give me your hand!’

‘I’m leaving, Rambo, you sit here nicely and relieve yourself like a good boy. I’m getting out of this fucken madhouse, before it’s too late!’

Let her just fucken try. Now she’s twisting her hands, trying to slip them out of his! Quite strong, for a Coloured chicky like this.

‘Listen to that nice song they’re playing, man. Let’s have a shuffle, what do you say? Come, wrap your arms round me, like just now. Let’s sing along, come on!’

Rock me gently, rock me slow

Take it easy, don’t you know

That I have never been

Loved like this before

‘Jesus, Lambert, what have you done to your hand, man?’

His hand? Okay. If she wants to know. His tongue feels like it’s moving in slow motion as he tells her. About time that zings, about how all your birthdays tick past, about how Treppie told him you can make that tick go tick once more, about how he wanted to show Treppie a thing or two, but his hand went right through the dresser, and what a big joke that was, a big hole, and his mother pissed herself from all the laughing and everything.

‘But what’s a little hole, after all? Now things can breathe a little.’

‘And that other hand, Lambert, what happened there?’

The plaster-hand? That plaster still looks fine to him.

Christ! How did she get his belt loose and his zip open so quickly?

‘Ooh, Big Boy, and all in red, too!’

‘You mean my fingertips? That’s nothing, man. My uncle pushed me, by accident of course, got stuck in an escalator.’

‘No, I mean that plaster, man.’

She must go nice and easy with his plaster-hand, but she grips it too hard. Ouch, fuck! What does she know, anyway? Does she really want to know? Okay, let him tell her then. Does she have any idea how hard it is to file open a compressor, does she know how poisonous the oil is, would she know what to do if she got it on to her hand one day? He knows, he’s an old hand with fridges. But that still doesn’t mean you won’t get hurt if people grab too hard. Not that that’s the point, the point is there’s nothing these two hands of his can’t do. Look! She must look at his hands!

‘Maybe you’re handy with fridges, honey, but your hands are a bit too rough for women. Have you ever had one at all, hey?’

‘Of course! Plenty! There’s this girl from the Jehovahs. She gets the hots from Exodus, from the frogs that jump, in the lounge here, and the pillar of fire, that kind of thing. She fancies me, that one, and I give her quite a go, but she isn’t my type, she’s too, um, how shall I say?’

Too what? Where’s the word he’s looking for? Just in front of him in the air here.

Fuck! Here go his pants now. Speedo and all! Down, over his knees!

‘Your uncle’s advice if it gets too hot. Sorry, man, but you’re also not exactly my type!’

All he sees is patent leather. Flash! Out! Hey!

Tackle her! But his feet stick to the ground. Just a bush of shiny hair in his hands. Without a head. Fuck! Trying to run away, hey! Just wait!

Ouch! He feels blood. He’s flat on his backside. Ow, Jesus!

‘Fucken whore! Fucken rotcunt. Fucken cheapskate! Stupid Swiss roll of a slut!’

He feels his nose. It’s still bleeding. He wipes the blood on to his naked leg. Flossie doesn’t want to go any further. Nor does he. He can’t. He’s fucked out of his mind. Klipdrift and beers and Blush. Out of the bottle, out of the cans, out of the box.

He took the stags and smashed them, mountains and all, one by one against the ceiling. He stashed the Fuchs full of sheets and papers and then he set the whole lot on fire. He stoked the fire in the fridge till it made a soft ‘boof!’ sound. And then he sat for a long time, watching the long, thin lines of blue smoke coming out of the seals. ‘Tip-tip-tip’, he heard as something dripped out of the condenser pipes at the back. One down, one to go. He must still sort out the Tedelex.

But he didn’t forget the postbox. He ripped it out of the pole and swung it round and round, like a slingweight, until it was going nice and fast. Then he lobbed it, one shot, through the lounge window. Ting-a-ling! Boom! Crash! Sail on, silverbird.