Marlene van Niekerk - Agaat

We must crucify our old selves and live in fear of God. If sometimes through weakness we stumble into sin, we must not doubt the mercy of God or remain wallowing in sin.

Then first a prayer. Close your eyes, I whisper to Agaat, I peep at the elder who’s rocking forward and back and gulping back the sleepiness. Therefore we pray thee to show mercy also to this thine adopted child and to initiate her through the Holy Ghost into Jesus Christ thine son so that through the baptism she may be buried with Him in death and may be resurrected with Him in the new life. Grant that she will shoulder her cross cheerfully in the service of her guardians and her masters, follow Christ daily and adhere to Him in sincere faith, firm hope and ardent love, until eventually she will meekly leave this life that inevitably issues in death for your sake and so that she may on the last day appear fearlessly before the judgement seat of Christ thine Son.

Open your eyes, now you must answer yes to all the questions, I whisper to Agaat. So Dominee peers at Agaat from under his eyebrows. Do you believe in the only true God who created heaven and earth and everything in it out of nothing? Do you believe that nothing in heaven or on the earth happens without His Divine Will? Do you acknowledge that by nature you are wholly incapable of any good and inclined to all evil? Do you profess that through faith you receive forgiveness of your sins in His blood?

Agaat utters just one little peep on an in-breath. I squeeze her in the neck so that she should say yes nicely. But no! She takes the handle of the bellows, she squeezes out a little bit of wind, pffft, hey you! I have to nudge her. The organist catches my eye, suppresses a smile. Then I have to prod her in the back to make her step forward. Come, the Dominee beckons, pushing up his gown a little over his right hand, Agaat pulls back, I take her by both her shoulders and steer her to the front, because by now I can feel she’s preparing to run away, I prod her until she’s standing properly. A cloud moves over the sun, the church goes dark, I feel superstitious, as if the mark of Ham is falling on me as well, hold your head forward, I say, I pull the bonnet backwards, I pinch her in the neck so that she can keep her head up straight, because she keeps on pulling it in as if she’s scared she’ll be slapped.

Agaat Lourier, I baptise you in the name of the Father and of the Son and of the Holy Ghost. He sprinkles water on Agaat’s forehead three times. I can feel her stiffen in my grasp, strain back with her head, eyes tightly shut as if it the water were corrosive.

Then another prayer with Dominee’s hand on Agaat’s head. I grip her by the neck so that she can’t pull away. Feel her veins pulsing under my thumbs. Grant that she will live in all justice under our only Teacher, King and High Priest and courageously do battle against and vanquish sin, the devil and all his cohorts and that she will honour and praise the only true God, Father, Son and Holy Ghost for ever and ever. Amen.

Then the organist goes up into gallery again, we few sing for Agaat.

Jesus takes our little children

To himself with a heart of love;

No one ever shall us hinder

That we freely to him move.

Jesus hears our weakest prayer

Wherever on earth we roam.

Day or night, we know he’s there

And we’ll never walk alone.

Jesus Lord so far above us

Leads us on, his willing band,

And we know that he will love us:

He himself has ta’en our hand.

Praise the Lord, in all etern’ty!

Hallelujah! Amen!

The organist had to play loud chords to make up for our meagre sound. A. looks up with staring eyes at the organist up there in the organ cage in front of the mirror amongst the bundle of pipes thick and thin. They’re flutes, I whisper in her ear, they sound like harps and trumpets. Listen well, it’s the voice of the angels of the Lord, they’re calling you to his flock.

Go in peace, says the dominee, and lifts his arms for the blessing. Agaat starts back from the wide black sleeves of the gown.

Then there was only the baptism register to be signed. The stamp already stuck to the certificate. The light had to be switched on in the stuffy side-room because it was already thick twilight. Agaat stands chin on the chest and goes pfft-pfft with the bellows. You see, I say, it didn’t hurt at all. She can now be put through her catechism later in the mission church and become a full member there, says Dominee. Old Groenewald solemnly rummages in his trouser pocket, produces a toffee for A. The elder gives her five rand. For your piggy bank, he says. There’s a whole cake waiting at home, I say, if anybody would like to come over tonight. Thank heavens nobody accepted the invitation. We’d had drama enough for one day, really not in the mood for everybody’s comments and Jak’s attitude.

The organist left the church with us. In the old days, she says to Agaat, they had to produce wind for the organ to play, with a bellows like yours, only a big one. She fiddles around in her bosom, emerges with a lace handkerchief, holds it in front of Agaat’s nose. Smell, it’s got a nice smell, it’s for you so that you can remember your christening. What does one say? I had to prod again. Agaat just moves her lips slightly. I can’t hear, I say, you’re acting really sheepish today. You look a bit pale around the gills, says the verger, eat your toffee so that you can liven up. Never mind, says the organist, it’s over now, must be mighty strange for such a poor little hotnot, where did you find her?

I was bitterly relieved to drive away from there at last.

She didn’t want to eat her evening meal. Had to make the fire that I’d promised her, in the fireplace, she remained sitting there while we ate. Heard her every now and again blowing with the bellows. Went to sleep right there in a little heap. When I picked her up to put her to bed, she opened her eyes. Out of the blue. Straight-out breath, own wind, loud and clear, full sentence: Where is the cross I have to shoulder? Jak heard it. Just you wait, it won’t be long now, he sneered. What in God’s name can he mean by that? Nowadays he looks at me with such an expression of revulsion.

Took her a slice of orange cake and tea to her room. She looks at me with wide eyes while she’s eating it. Full of questions. I’m quite surprised at how much of it she’s remembered. What’s the judgement seat? Why the blood? It’s a fine time to get your voice back, I say, you disgraced me very nicely there in front of the people. Am I bad? she asks, no I say, your name is Good, but you’re inclined to evil like all of us. Why? Because we’re sinful creatures. Is Même also sinful? she asks, so what does Même’s name mean then?

Milla, Kamilla, I’ve never yet wondered about it myself.

It’s the name of a white flower my mother gave to me, I said for want of a better answer. She looks at me as if she doesn’t believe me. Little children like you shouldn’t be bothering their heads with such difficult questions, I say, but I can see she’s not satisfied.

My neck is sore, she complains when I blow out her candle. That’s from pulling your neck in between your shoulders in front of the pulpit, just like a donkey that doesn’t want to be yoked, I say, and I thought I’d seize the opportunity, see, that’s what I mean by sinful, you were very jibbing there in front of the pulpit. That Uncle Tokoloshe’s hand was heavy on my head, she says, and Même’s hand was pushing into my neck. Lord, the child, she’s very precocious.

2 October 1954

Drove to Malgas today with Agaat. Wanted to cross the Breede River by punt, but she refused. Punt, she says over and over, she does it with every new word that she learns. Punt, shunt, cunt, I had to put a stop to it, she’s getting far too forward, but I taught her to rhyme myself and there I have it now! I’ll scrub down your tongue with Sunlight soap, I warn. Really not a good tendency these word games at any time, suitable or not. In the end just shut my eyes and sat with the screaming child in the car till they’d hauled us across. Then went through to Witsand. Rainy there. Picked up shells, pebbles. Taught her all the colours of the sea and the beach. Mother-of-pearl lustre, slate-grey, silver-grey, gull-white, mussel-black, stone-grey. Agaat holds everything against her skin and then against mine. White looks whiter against my skin and grey greyer, she announces solemnly. Just like that. The river mouth lagoon was stormy with waves. Later went to sit by the fire in the hotel to dry out. Fortunately no people in the middle of the week, otherwise she would have had to stay in the car. Can see trouble ahead in public places, but she’s still a child. They brought her hot milk in a tin mug.