Marlene van Niekerk - Triomf

They spent whole days in front of the TV, watching all the parties after the election and listening to the speeches and things at the Union Buildings. If Pop had been here he would’ve wanted them all to go to Pretoria together, just for the occasion. That’s what she told them. But Treppie said they’d be able to see everything much better on TV. And, they should remember, there wouldn’t be any bullet-proof glass for the likes of them. But as far as she was concerned that wouldn’t have been necessary. Heathens, Jews and Mohammedans were gathered there together, and everyone was quite jolly, without bullet-proofing. Even the aeroplanes didn’t shoot. They flew over with rainbows of smoke coming out of their tails. The cannons were shot off, yes, but that was just into the sky for the new president. And, mind you, if she had a cannon she would also have shot off a cannonball here out of the heart of Triomf for old Mandela, ’cause he walks so upright and he took everyone’s hands and he said, what was past was past, everyone must roll up their sleeves and look to the future now.

Treppie said, ja, well, no fine, with or without rolled-up sleeves, but he wasn’t so sure about Marike. She looked even more like a missionary in Africa now with that bandaged hat of hers. If she didn’t watch out, they’d throw her into a three-legged pot and make pot luck out of her. But that wasn’t the most important thing, Treppie said. The most important thing was that they should never again say the word ‘kaffir’. Not in their own house and also not outside. What was past was past, he said, and it applied to them too. Lambert said he wasn’t so sure about that, but it was fine with her.

Black people are living across the road now, too. And they’re okay on the whole, except they grow mielies on the pavement. Treppie says it’s an excellent development. He says he wishes those two dilly dykes would come and see their old house so they could take a lesson or two from its new inhabitants. In times like these no one can afford to buy fertiliser for sweetpeas.

Ja, Treppie. He also just stays the same, except now he’s unfit for work, ’cause of his fingers. He doesn’t work at the Chinese any more. So, no more toilet seats or free crackers for them. And just one bottle of Klipdrift a month. Lambert’s in any case not allowed to drink so much any more. It doesn’t go well with his new pills.

Just look at all the stars. Big, wet, runny stars. Old stars. And now she’s also almost a whole year older.

After Pop’s ashes were put to rest she took the rose bush that Pop bought for her on her birthday last time, shame, and she planted it on top of his and Gerty’s grave. It was Treppie who said it would be a good place. Ash is supposed to be good for roses. She told them that’s where she also wanted to be buried one day. Scattered under the rose.

‘Hey, Ma, stop staring into the sky like that, or next thing you know a Martian pisses into your eye,’ says Lambert.

‘I’m looking at Orion. Look, a man of stars with three jewels in his belt.’

‘Where?’ asks Lambert.

‘There,’ Treppie points for Lambert to see.

‘Light blue, my beloved, for ever and ever. Orion washes my feet.’

‘What shit you talking now, Ma?’ says Lambert.

‘It’s not shit, it’s what you said last time, when you fitted out so badly and you were lying there in the den with a matchbox between your teeth. Pop also heard it. If he was here he would have told you.’

‘Lack of breath,’ says Lambert.

‘Multiple skull fractures,’ says Treppie.

Let them think what they want. He was her warhead, through thick and thin.

‘Pheeew-doof!’

She sees Lambert and Treppie look at each other. She knows what they’re thinking. They think she’s losing her marbles. But they can think what they like. And she thinks what she likes. And it’s okay that way.

‘In Orion,’ she says. That’s all she thinks about.

‘What?’ says Lambert.

‘I think Pop’s taking a rest up there, in Orion’s belt, in a hammock that hangs from the two outside stars.’

‘And look, Toby,’ she says to the dog, who’s come outside now to see what everyone else’s doing. ‘Look, Gerty’s resting between the two stars on the other side. All you can see is her tail sticking out.’

‘Ma, do you think you’re a whatsitsname or something who can see what’s going on in the stars?’

‘Astrologer,’ says Treppie. He’s smoking a cigarette with his crooked fingers. The bones grew back all crooked. Now he looks even more like the devil.

‘You think Pop checks his postbox every day?’ she asks. ‘I send my letters express, every night, in my dreams. Nice fat letters. Dear Pop, were you in the Spur today, and how was your T-bone? And did you and Gerty enjoy playing ball? The one that tastes like sherbet in your mouth? Now you’re out of the beast’s belly, hey, Pop, and you’re not looking from afar through a hole in his head any more. Now you’re nice and jolly, every day, hey! Not much longer, Pop, then I’ll be with you. Then I’ll feed you pieces of toast with honey. You and Gerty!’

She shows them with her thumb and index finger how big the pieces will be.

‘And you needn’t worry, Pop, I won’t forget my driving lesson. Flossie’s over the hill now, but I practise the gears every night in Molletjie, here under the carport while the others watch the news. First, second, third, fourth, reverse. So I won’t be stranded one day if there’s a crisis here. For my head, so it won’t go rusty. And for my eyes, so they’ll stay sharp, okay?’

All three of them look at the stars. They look at the big aeroplanes flying overhead, and the small ones too. Treppie points to a sputnik. It dips, on-off, on-off, through the sky. They talk about this and that. She talks along, with them, even if it is about other things. They’ve learnt by now to leave her alone.

They stay there for a long time as the crackers get fewer and fewer.

Until Orion tilts over to the west. He begins to dip, head first behind the roofs of Triomf. After a while you can’t see the jewels in his belt any more. All you can see are his heels sticking out above the overflow.

Treppie points.

‘No more North,’ he says.

Before heaven’s gates. As she predicted.

North no more.

Aikona — South African vernacular for ‘no!’, ‘not on your life!’, ‘forget it!’

AKs — AK-47 automatic guns used by ANC guerillas during the liberation struggle.

Ampie — name of poor-white, backward character from the Ampie trilogy by Afrikaans writer Jochem van Bruggen ( Die Natuurkind , 1924; Ampie: Die Meisiekind , 1927; and Ampie: Die Kind , 1942). Van Bruggen received the Hertzog Prize a record four times.

AWB — Afrikaner Weerstandsbeweging (‘Afrikaner Resistance Movement’). Extremist militant and right-wing movement known for its struggle for territorial autonomy for the right-wing sector of the Afrikaners.

Backvelders — poor Afrikaner whites of rural descent or who still live in the country.

Beeld — name of a daily Afrikaans newspaper published in Johannesburg.

Biltong — dried, salted and spiced fillet of meat (mutton, beef, venison, either in strips or grated); South African delicacy first developed by the Boer pioneers.

Boer — white farmer; denotation for white farmer male; vernacular for police; a pejorative label.

Boerewors — spiced sausage, usually barbecued on an open fire.

Braai, braaivleis — (n) barbecue; (n) barbecue meat; (v) to have a barbecue. Common element of South African lifestyle.