Marlene van Niekerk - Agaat

17 December ’66 evening

Tonight after Agaat left I went and asked Jakkie what the ‘last story’ is he says it’s his & Agaat’s secret he’s not allowed to tell it. Agaat will bewitch him if he does. Bewitch how bewitch? I ask. White and black into a flycatcher says Jakkie ask Pappa. How does Pappa know? I ask. He also knows all the stories that begin with once upon a time doesn’t he says Jakkie. Heaven knows what J. puts into the child’s head but if I as much as write a little play for Jakkie he says I teach him attitudes. Jakkie has attitudes enough of his own. A. and I split our sides laughing at how precocious he is with his cloak and his sword as the prince in The Magic Flute. Wrote a simple version with songs for the children’s concert. Also to help get him to play with other children. Jakkie says he’d rather be Papageno alone in the forest because the prince & all the other children are too wimpish. Jak walks out in the third act in front of all the people when they put it on in the little hall last night. That husband of mine does have the knack of embarrassing me.

Witsand 18 December ’66

Here in a drawer dug up an old black bathing costume old-fashioned with the little frill round the edge & wire in the bust must still be Ma’s. It’s much too big but I thought I’d give it to A. perhaps she wants to swim. Please just at a time and place where she won’t offend because the beach is for whites only. Not that I needed to say it. She knows hr place. She will most probably never even dare it but then I’ve at least given her the opportunity to enjoy herself I feel. She flattens her gaze and takes it without thank you.

Witsand 20 December 1966

Woke up early this morning not even light yet just a little moon then the gate squeaked and it was A. barefoot with her embroidery basket & with a purpose in mind I could see from her bearing. So waited for a while first before following in hr tracks. Far away on the beach she was walking a little black dot with white braces & then I followed hr duck-ducking behind the first row of dunes for almost an hour then it was quarter to 5 & day breaking & windless but the sea roaring so that if I were to call she wouldn’t hear me. So there she went & stood with hr face to the water upright on parade & she makes the same odd gestures as that evening on the mountain with hr arms extended in front of hr as if she’s indicating points of the compass or explicating the horizon. The sea was high with the springtide & a rank of black musselcrackers was also in attendance peering oceanwards & I smell kelp & clamour their legs are so red the creatures. Next thing there she is taking off hr apron and hr black dress & they fly te-whee-te-whee, off, off with their red beaks over the black water & she folds her clothes slowly neatly item by item I thought if there’d been a hanger she’d have hung them from the break of day but not the cap that’s pulled extra firmly over the forehead & there all the time I couldn’t believe my eyes she’s wearing Ma’s old bathing costume under hr clothes it hangs on her like the skin of a bat & she takes the white crocheted jersey out of the basket & she puts it on over the rest. Who is she scared will see hr kettle-spout arm hr legs hr shins the nail-clipping of a moon? & she walks over the sand deep washed-out pools of water straight into the sea straight ahead into the waves without hesitation or turning back or lifting of arms a prow. The possibility that something could happen to her. That she wants something to happen. My heart that starts beating & the taste of blood in my mouth. More than halfway in before she stopped. The waves bow down high before her & break & bubble white foam walls & the cap is only just visible & the crooked brown shoulder is high & she leans back slightly against the backwash & she stands firm & the bathing costume balloons black bulges around her body first to this side then to that & she settles her cap & she stands so rock-solid in the midst of the wild waves probably ten minutes. How high, how strong would the wave have to be that could flatten hr? Then she came out. Backwards-backwards she didn’t take hr eyes off from where it was coming from & I thought who does she think she’s preserving herself for? & then I was ashamed of myself & I sank down behind the dune & I cried I don’t know why & before I’d finished I had to leave & I step on sticks & sharp shells because I can’t see through my tears but I know I’d better be home before hr & in my bed when she brings the coffee. Then I must pretend to wake up & say hmmm I smell the sea & ask have you been outside yet what does the weather look like today?

21 December ’66

Oh dear heaven must really be more careful. Was too sleepy again last night to put away the diary so then J. this morning saw the bit about A. who’d gone for a swim. He’s bored at home because the wind blows too much to go out. Lord he said if you could only write something that made sense but it’s just one long string of ramble as if you’re bloody mixed-up in your head what’s the matter with you? It’s just getting worse all the time the yammering over bugger-all do you think you can make time stand still when you write such strung-together sentences? And then wouldn’t he take it to the kitchen & read it out loud to A. fast in one breath. She ignored him but I’m sure she heard it all. Then I grabbed the booklet from his hands. Kettle-spout arm! Break of day! Bat-skin! Nail-clipping moon! Wild waves! Jak exclaimed. Forty-five rotations per minute! For those who have ears to hear! Then in comes Jakkie and asks what’s happening. In her deepest being my son your mother is a great poetess. What’s a poetess? It’s somebody with a pain in the otherplace & there’s no medicine for it says J. What about Brooklax? Jakkie asks in all innocence & fortunately that saved the situation because then everybody laughed uproariously & couldn’t stop. A. has been walking around all day with such a little smile an odd expression in the eyes. Better left right there. After all didn’t libel her or anything.

24 December 1966

Seems to me Jakkie has perfect pitch. He’s been singing since infancy all the songs that he hears from A. and then tonight at the children’s Christmas tree in the little hall he sang all alone and without accompaniment O Star of Bethlehem o wondrous light while they pulled the star jerkily through the air on a wire. Oh my heart! What would his grandfather not have said! To the very highest notes of the chorus O Star of Bethle-h-em, Wondrous st-a-ar Thou lead’st to Jesus the little soprano voice clear & pure. A. listened at the door we can’t believe he sings so beautifully & then he can sometimes be so shy in front of people. Must get him to singing lessons. I believe there’s a Mrs Naude in Swellendam who has a way with musical children.

1 January 1967 Witsand

New Year’s message from the new Prime Minister on the radio SA the polecat of the world is performing excellently economically the power-house of Africa with mineral wealth we’ll make it to the top. Bought A. a new blue bathing costume for this year’s holiday with firm sponge cups because she’s pushing a stout pair of cans there. I listen but I haven’t heard hr go out in the early morning again. The bathing costume is still lying there in its box as I gave it to her & the old black bathing costume is nowhere to be seen doesn’t matter old anyway & out of fashion.

A. stands in her uniform halfway in the water on one side & I on the other side & then we teach Jakkie to swim. He’s managing very nicely indeed. J. wants to teach him but he’s far too rough with the child & then he arrives home crying and choked with salt water. That’s just going to make him scared of water I say. J. says he must toughen up the child there are hard bones ahead I ask what bones he says the bones of our fathers their battle which we must fight further our enemies are legion. He sits here every evening with his holiday pals & drinks red wine on the stoep and hatches plans for the party branch in Swellendam in the new year. Very worked up he gets could rather concern himself with the draining of the river-lands. We can’t carry on like this it was the second wet year in succession & the cows develop fungus on their hooves.