Marlene van Niekerk - Triomf

Then it was suddenly so quiet in the lounge that she sat in her chair with nothing but fear in her heart. You could say she sat for days on end, ’cause the only time she ever got up was to give her rose some water, or to put her ear to Pop’s mouth to see if he was still breathing. She’d once heard about people who sink into a state of near-death, and that’s exactly what Pop looked like. It was from getting so worked up and tired and drinking three times more Klipdrift than he was used to. When she held that old piece of mirror to his mouth she could see only the merest wisp of breath. It was the last piece, the one she hid in her housecoat pocket when she saw Lambert was about to smash the new mirror to pieces.

Never before had there been such deathly quiet in the lounge. It felt eerie, sitting in silence like that.

It was also very quiet at the back, but that was a different kind of silence.

Every now and again terrible bangs or shots went off, with big chunks of quiet inbetween. Or things fell over so hard all the walls in the house started shaking.

It was almost like a big, wild thing was busy waking up in his cage after being shot with a dart, like those darts they shoot into the backsides of rhinoceroses when they’re put to sleep.

The problem was, she knew Lambert didn’t have a dart in his backside, and if something didn’t happen fast he was going to break out of his cage and come get them all, one by one, tearing them up piece by piece until there was nothing left.

So, under the circumstances, it was like mercy from above when Treppie came out of his room with his thick refrigeration book in both hands, looking terribly formal and serious.

Treppie’s treated that book like the holy scripture all his life. He bought it when they first moved to Triomf, when he still had plans to get rich from fridges.

No one was allowed to look in that book and no one except him could touch it. If Pop or Lambert or a customer wanted to know something about fridges, then Treppie would go into his room and, behind closed doors, look in his book. He’d come out a bit later and tell them exactly what the book said, on page this or page that, about this, that, or the other thing.

There Treppie stood, with that book in his hands. He said Pop must wake up now so he could go fetch Lambert. He wanted to say what he needed to say in front of witnesses.

It was for everyone’s sake, Treppie said, and for the sake of the spirits too.

Pop rose out of his deathly sleep and shuffled like a sleepwalker with eyes that stood stock-still in their sockets, while sickening bangs and crashes came from Lambert’s den.

She still thought, ja, there was Pop rising from one kind of death and walking with open eyes into the jaws of another.

Treppie held the book to his chest and stood there with his head cocked to one side so he could hear Pop walking down the passage.

Toby was also in a state. He went and sat in the lounge doorway with pricked ears, shifting his front paws excitedly. First he’d turn round to look at her, and then he’d look at Treppie again, his mouth opening and closing all the time. That Toby was so scared he almost began talking right here in the lounge that day.

Pop came back and sat down in his chair.

‘He’s coming. Get ready.’

She saw Treppie take the empty Klipdrift bottle by the neck. Pop felt under his chair for the small toolbox, pulling it out in front of his feet, and she took cover behind her chair, holding on to the back-rest. She told Toby he must come stand next to her. Toby came and sat down with his head turned up, as if to say, what now?

And then Lambert entered. He was black with oil and grease, and he had open wounds all over his body. It looked like something had burnt right through his T-shirt. His eyes were swollen and red. His one hand was trembling slightly and his feet looked like they’d been boiled. And he stank to high heaven. It was an odour like burnt hair and pee, along with that sharp, sour smell that floats over from the factories.

‘Compressor burn-out,’ said Treppie, walking slowly around Lambert with the bottle in one hand and the book held tightly to his chest. Shame, he looked that poor Lambert up and down the way someone would inspect a broken engine in a scrapyard.

‘Sour oil,’ he said, fanning his nose.

He plucked at the sleeves of Lambert’s T-shirt. ‘Blown-out windings,’ he said.

Then he cupped his hand behind his ear and put his head to Lambert’s stomach, as if he was listening to the sound of his insides. Lambert just stood there, dead still, with those mad eyes of his.

‘Rattles and hums and harmonic vibrations,’ Treppie said.

Then Treppie knocked himself a shot on the head with the bottle and rolled his eyes. He looked very strange, like he was on stage and he wanted to start crying or something.

‘Not a muffler in sight,’ he said. ‘Not on the intake stroke, nor on the exhaust. No gas, no pressure, bugger-all.’ And he looked at her and Pop as if they were mechanics who knew exactly what he was talking about.

‘How do you save a fridge,’ Treppie asked, ‘with a condenser that won’t condense and an ice-box without ice? God’s own evaporator. One big heavenly leak.’

But, he said, there was always hope.

‘There’s still hope, Lambert, there’s still hope,’ he said, tapping his book with his fingers.

Lambert just stood there, saying nothing. He went completely dumb when he saw that book. He’d heard a lot about it, but he’d never been allowed anywhere near it.

He even stuck out his hand, the one that was shaking, as if he wanted to touch it.

But Treppie turned away, pressing the book even closer to his chest.

‘Uh-uh,’ he said, ‘first wash handies. Handies and footies, and while you’re about it you can wash the rest of you too. Then you must put on some clean clothes.’

Treppie stopped talking and looked around him to see if everyone was listening.

That’s when she allowed herself to take another breath, ’cause she saw Treppie was about to make one of his speeches again. And when Treppie starts making speeches, you know he’s okay.

‘This here is the family Bible. This is where you’ll find the writings of the prophets and the law, and everything else you need to inherit the earth, be blessed and live in eternal glory with your Fuchs and your Tedelex. But for that you must first do your catechism, my boy, before you can be accepted into the bosom of the congregation. The congregation of Triumph Electrical Appliances. Without the knowledge of pressure and gas, and without an insight into the temperatures of the high side and the low side, you’re not worth a straw. The holy Electrolux be my witness!’

He held the book in front of his face and blew on to it, and then he put it down on the sideboard and wiped his hand over its hard, shiny cover.

He’d give Lambert a week, he said, after which he’d conduct an examination. If Lambert studied properly, to his satisfaction, he’d have a look at those two antiques of Lambert’s. ‘Then we’ll fix them,’ he said, ‘you and me. So help me God!’

Ag shame, the next thing Lambert’s mouth began twitching into a smile, right through those spots of oil, like he wanted to start crying or something. And that smile just got bigger and bigger. He smiled at her and Pop, and then they smiled much better back at him.

Only then did she come out from behind the chair. And Pop shifted the toolbox back under his seat.

‘Go wash yourself now,’ Pop said to Lambert.

Yes, go take a bath, she also said, not that it worried her whether Lambert bathed or not, but this was a different story.

Treppie suddenly got all concerned about Lambert. No, he said, they must immediately go buy some ointment for those burns of his. It was too late for Prep. They must tell the chemist it was burn-out oil from a fridge. He’d know what ointment to give them. And something for his eyes too, Treppie said. She thought, hell, this was too good to be true, Treppie must be joking. But he saw what she was thinking and he said: ‘Honestly, it’s no joke. It’s chemistry, this.’