Marlene van Niekerk - Agaat

You gathered the empty glasses.

So this child got her kicks in the other place already, Kleinnooi.

Lys scraped her chair across the floor as she turned it round to the sink to get your attention.

And then later when they started kicking her so, they just waited for her to start walking, to get the foot in under nicely, Hekkie and Dakkie both, then I said, if you wanted her dead, you should’ve kicked and have done when she came out, then she didn’t know of anything. Now she’s a person. Now you must have respects. The Lord made her like that. She also has a right.

You waited for the Lord’s appurtenances, the devil, the angels, three crows of the cock.

But they won’t listen and I get the kicks if I try to get in between and our ma she turns her back on it and says nothing, she’s scared of them. Those two, they’ve become like savages under their new pa. Looks to me they want to be like him, kick harder and hit harder and curse harder. .

Lys worked herself up for the climax.

As if they want to go Satan one better with fire, with blows coming down so that you smell sulphur and hear a screaming like pigs down in the poplars, and more I’d rather not say, the Lord is my witness. . So it will be a deliverance, it will be a mercy, that’s what I’m saying, if the kleinnooi. . if. .

If the kleinnooi what, Lys?

Actually you wanted to scream at the woman and throw her out of the kitchen by the scruff of her neck.

Lys had a firm grip on the child’s thin arm, but she was a bit calmer now and stood there, one foot over the other, the glass of cooldrink untouched in front of her on the kitchen table. She started trembling and once, twice, looked anxiously from face to face.

You caught her eye and tried a smile, sent her a wordless message: Come, we must be brave now you and I, now we have to help each other here!

The child’s look just grazed me, she started squirming ferociously. Her glass of cooldrink fell from the table, shattered on the floor, a chair capsized.

Never mind, you said, it doesn’t matter.

Your mother appeared in the doorway, small and old there in the door.

Sorry, Ounooi, excuse, Ounooi, Lys said, on her knees with the scoop and the broom and the floor-cloth, very subservient, but with a venomous set of the mouth. I’ll clean everything nicely, Ounooi.

You put an arm around your mother’s shoulder and accompanied her some way down the passage.

Sorry about the ruckus, you said.

Ai Milla, my dear child. .

My dear child, you thought, must I figure in a Greek tragedy before you can call me your ‘dear child’?

She turned away and opened the linen cupboard in the passage.

You’d better clean up that little one before you load her into the car.

She fished out a little worn towel from the cupboard and with a sharp yank tore it in two and pressed the two halves into your hands.

One for washing, she said, and one for drying.

When you got back to the backyard you found them standing outside next to the water tank.

You talked past Lys who was waiting arms akimbo.

Maria, I’m taking the child to Grootmoedersdrift and I, my husband and I, we’ll look after her. What’s her name?

You felt Lys’s eyes sliding over your face. You didn’t want to look at her, but she was the one who replied.

She doesn’t really have a name, we call her Gat, Asgat, because she sits with her arse in the ash in the fireplace all the time. She won’t wear a panty.

She won’t want for anything, you said. Either you give her over into my care or your days are numbered here on Goedbegin. There’s quite enough reason to fire the whole lot of you. You squat on the ounooi’s back and mess with one another and don’t pull your weight. You go home now and leave her here, the ounooi and I will manage from here on and the kleinbaas will be here just now. I’ll phone the police and report that Joppie beats his wife so that they can be prepared if there’s trouble again. The ounooi knows what’s going on and she now knows what to do if he or Dakkie or Hekkie misbehaves any more. Is that clear?

It’s right like that, Kleinnooi, we’re only too grateful.

With your hand you signalled to Lys to be quiet.

Maria, have you understood me well here?

Maria stood there with her chin on her chest.

I want to hear a clear yes out of you, Maria, look at me.

Lys smirked.

A dull sound came from the older woman. Her lips stuck out, but she said nothing more. She didn’t look up.

We brought her things, said Lys, picked up the little hessian bag from the ground and held it out to you.

That’s good, Lys, just put it down, I’ll have a look.

She can talk too if she wants. She eats porridge with sugar.

That’s good, Lys, I’ll see to that.

You put your hand on the child.

Kleinnooi must watch out, she’s wild, she’ll pull free and run away, here, take the bad arm, it’s the rein.

That’s enough, Lys, you can go home now, all of you.

You took the child’s good hand.

Maria’s hand came up feebly next to her body, her head was hanging.

Bye bye, Asgat, Lys said, behave yourself, you hear. Tonight you’ll have meat and bread and sweets, you’ll see, and a snow-white bed to sleep in, all to yourself. I put your wheel in the bag and your stick and your moleskin.

You left the dirty bag full of bumps and lumps on the ground.

Cool down, you thought, cool down first. Both of us.

Let’s walk to the dam, then we look at the ducklings, there where I’m taking you there’s also a dam like that with ducks, just prettier, with green heads, and you can swim in our dam, can you swim? I’ll teach you to swim, first with a little tube around you, till you feel you can do it yourself and then I’ll hold my hands under you so that you can feel you’re floating, and then I’ll show you how one does like a little dog, round and round in a circle while I’m holding you, and then little bits on your own till you’re nice and strong and then one day we’ll swim to the middle or we’ll go rowing on the drift with a picnic in the boat just for you and me and a coloured blanket to sit on and then we’ll spread it in the shade and then we’ll eat, nice fresh bread spread with thick butter and apricot jam, just like the sandwiches that I brought you yesterday, you remember, they were nice weren’t they? And red cooldrink. And a sausage and cheese and hard-boiled eggs, and blood-red slices of watermelon. Do you know watermelon? And when we’re finished, then I’ll sing you a song.

You looked at your shadows in the footpath, a woman in a hurry with a jibbing child. You sang.

The bottom of the bottle, the bottom of the bottle

the bottom of the bottle fell out.

Open your mouth open your mouth

open your mouth nice and wide,

so the syrup can flow inside.

You were walking much too fast, dragging the child behind you. She strained back, pulled to one side, looking for an escape route.

I’m walking a bit too fast for you? And I’m talking so much! Let’s walk a bit slower, it’s not far now.

The dam wouldn’t get any closer and the house seemed too far away to turn back. It was very hot. You felt shaky. It hadn’t been a good idea just to set off like that without a plan. Time was short. You looked on your watch. Quarter past ten. In an hour’s time Jak would be there. He was always punctual when he had to come and fetch you from your mother’s.

Your knees started knocking. Nausea welled up in you. You gulped to swallow it down. Once you looked back. The front door was closed and the shutters fastened against the heat of the day.

Come let me carry you the last little bit.

You bent down and lifted the child onto your hip. You felt the pelvic bones against your waist, the wiry body straining away from you. And then. A twist, a slip, a duck, under your arm, a sinewy thing slithering down your side. She left you standing, swiftly, swerving, between the bushes and the tussocks aiming for the cottages to the left of the dam.