Marlene van Niekerk - Triomf

Treppie said he was even tempted to go and join the Inkathas — that was at least a kaffir party whose doors were wide open to white people. At least then you knew you were dealing with a kaffir who was sick to death of being used by the NP, someone who kept to his own path, even if he did still dress in skins sometimes. Served them right, Treppie said, he wished old Mangope and Oupa Whatshisname and that cocky little Bantu from the Transkei and all the others who sold out would also bite the NP’s hand. Its backside too. Would the NP never learn?

Treppie was so worked up he started getting the shakes, and Lambert wanted to knock him sideways with a piece of firewood. On the very eve of the holy Christmas. But she told them that unless they calmed down she wouldn’t ‘marinade’ their T-bones, not a damn. The closer Lambert gets to his birthday, the fancier his words get. She said if they didn’t stop, she and Pop would go across the road and ask the police to take Lambert in a straitjacket to the nuthouse. Treppie too, ’cause she didn’t want to sit through another Christmas with people who were full of the horries, never mind the election. That was if they ever made it to the election. Pop said he agreed. He begged them, didn’t they want to try getting through just one Christmas without another big hullabaloo. Maybe this would be his last.

That shut them up nicely. It was the first time they’d heard Pop say anything like that.

So, she almost didn’t stick around for Lambert’s fire practice.

But it would’ve been a great pity to miss the giving of presents. And that business with the presents was a jolly affair, from start to finish.

They worked out that if they bought in groups of three for the fourth one, they’d save money and they could give each person a nice present. And they could also make sure everyone’s present was worth the same money. In other years, someone always cheated, and someone else always felt done down, and that’s where the Christmas trouble always started. The new plan was Pop’s idea. Treppie said it sounded to him like a real New South Africa idea.

It worked like this: she and Pop and Treppie had to give Lambert something, and she and Lambert and Pop would give Treppie something, and then Lambert and Pop and Treppie had to give her something. Then she and Lambert and Treppie could buy something for Pop. And all of them gave Toby a packet of soup bones. Ag shame, why couldn’t Gerty also be here this Christmas?

A proper negotiated settlement is what Treppie called it. That’s now what he called transparency. And she said yes, transparent, that’s the way she’s always known Pop to be.

On the Thursday before Christmas they all went to Shoprite. They reckoned Friday would be too busy, but it was busy on Thursday too — so busy you could hardly swing a cat in there, never mind a trolley. So they took baskets instead.

The one whose present was being bought had to stand around at the magazine rack at the entrance with his back to the shelves, and the other three were given fifteen minutes to find something. Those three paid for it at the farthest till and took it back to the car. After that they could come back for the next round.

They worked out beforehand where each one’s plastic bag would be kept to avoid a mix-up, ’cause all the bags looked the same. Pop’s bag had to go in the bonnet, Lambert’s in the dicky, hers behind Pop’s seat and Treppie’s in the front, at her feet.

Lambert was the youngest, so he had to wait first. She and Pop and Treppie bought him a new pair of shorts and a packet of Gillette blades for his razor. That’s when she saw the passion meter. Treppie said it was rubbish, Made in Taiwan, but she said, no, this was really just the thing for Lambert, and in the end they all agreed. For Treppie, she and Pop and Lambert bought a short-sleeve shirt, a golf cap with Michael Jackson written on it and a packet of peppermint humbugs.

Lambert said the humbugs were for the smell, ’cause nowadays Treppie’s Klipdrift breath was so bad it was enough to get the lawn-mower started.

For Pop, she and Treppie and Lambert bought a pack of four hankies. White ones with curly blue P s in the corners. They also bought him two pairs of socks and a new set of braces. His old ones were so stretched they couldn’t hold anything up any more, neither his pants nor his bum, although his bum’s been shrinking to nothing lately. And a big tin of Ovaltine, just for him, so he can build up his strength. For strength you need more than braces.

As for her, she knew there was at least one thing she’d find in her bag from Pop and Lambert and Treppie. And she was right, too. It made her happy to see Pop could still make his influence felt.

It was a new housecoat. The same kind Pop always gave her for Christmas. But this time it was a yellow one, golden yellow, her favourite colour. With two packets of cigarettes in one pocket and a surprise in the other — a new cat for the sideboard, to replace the one with no head, which has been like that for more than three years now.

Treppie and Pop and Lambert all stood there and smiled at her. She still doesn’t know whose idea it was, but it was a good one.

The best present of the night, by far, was Lambert’s passion meter. She wished she could’ve taken a picture of him as he stood there, reading what it said on the box. Something to do with demonstrating the ‘principle’ of being hot and how it relieved stress and boredom in just three seconds. ‘The perfect gift’.

Lambert hardly had that glass ball with the red stuff in his hands before it began boiling all the way up the little neck, and of course Treppie couldn’t keep his mouth shut again. He said, no, instead of messing around with his paintings all day, Lambert should spend his time sitting quietly in the Tedelex so he could cool down a bit before his girl came. Otherwise he was going to crack her radiator, for sure.

But Lambert was so happy about his temperature that he just laughed and forgot about Treppie.

The practice fire also worked out well in the end, and the next day’s T-bones were almost okay — they had to be cooked one at a time on a loose piece of bathroom burglar-bar. When Lambert looked for the old Austin’s grid to use for the braai, he remembered it was one of the things he’d burnt up in his Guy Fawkes fire.

They had some potatoes and baked beans to go with the meat. Treppie bought a two-litre box of wine for the occasion. Drostdy Hof Stein. They polished it off in two ticks. It made them all so mellow that in the end they didn’t cut the watermelon. They went and lay down in the shadow of the fig tree instead, with those five silver balls glittering and twirling among the dark green leaves.

Now Mol finds herself standing in the kitchen. She can’t remember why she went there. Oh yes, to throw away the Christmas cards. Ja-nee, things are on the move here in Triomf. She reads on the back of Aribal Catalao’s season’s greetings:

It’s true! A new force has erupted in the West. For an instant market evaluation or free advice on the sale of your property, phone 477-3029 (home) 837-9669 (bus).

The FOR SALE signs are going up all around them. But the sellers are struggling. The only people who’ve sold are those two across the road. Their sweetpeas are so pretty. Fort Knox’s been on sale for months now. They painted their black iron gates and their other stuff light blue, with everything else in white. Treppie says they look like Triomf’s Peace Secretariat now. But blue or not, they’re not triumphing, not a damn, he says.

Treppie says if the prices go up after the election they can maybe think of selling, but they must first paint. Then she asked him: sell and go where? He said he felt like going to Ten-Elephants-in-a-Row-Ville. Where was that? she asked, and he said it was in the heart of the country, but she mustn’t come and ask him exactly where, ’cause he didn’t think he could find a place where elephants were so well behaved.