Ivan Vladislavić - The Folly

At the last moment he bounced on the balls of his feet — he was warm as toast by now, he was doggerel in motion — and leapt onto an overhanging branch. It was a pin-point landing, and he sustained just one superficial scratch on his shin. He quickly located the launching site and, hanging upside-down from his heels, was able to position the sixth nail (IIA) before dropping down to dispatch it with a few assertive blows. Fireworks!

When it came to lucky number seven, he was bold enough to attempt a backflip with a half-twist over the tent, nearly pulled it off, belly-flopped, and consoled himself with a catnap.“Mr!”

Mrs Malgas, whose turn it was to make the morning coffee, was filling the kettle at the sink when Nieuwenhuizen came to her attention. The sight of him on an empty stomach all but robbed her of the power of speech.

Mr shuffled through in his towelling dressing-gown. “Where’s the fire?”

All she could say was: “Him!”

Mr looked out of the window. He saw Nieuwenhuizen going round in circles. This was something entirely new. What in heaven’s name was he up to now?

Mr sat Mrs down at the table and poured the coffee. Once she was clutching her favourite mug Mrs managed to get a grip on herself as well, and within a minute had recovered well enough to give a full account of the incident.

“It’s unspeakable,” she said, “but I’ll do my best. I was standing where you are now, yes there, and I happened to look out of the window, which is only to be expected, one can hardly help it, and what do you think I saw?”

“Him?”

“That’s right. At first He was just standing there with His back to me, in His usual impolite way. But without warning He flung Himself down face first, and started to heave and thump this way and that in the throes of an ungovernable lust, as if He meant to penetrate the very earth upon which we stand.”

“He was doing some P.T. He’s building himself up for Phase Two.”

“He was thrusting and thumping nineteen to the dozen! You can still see the dust.”

“Probably push-ups.”

“Afterwards, He hurled Himself to His feet again, and strutted up and down as immodestly as ever.”

Nieuwenhuizen was still waddling in circles, with his chest puffed up and his feet turned out.

“I don’t see anything untoward,” said Mr.

“It’s too late now. If you’d come when I called you, you’d have seen it with your own eyes, and you wouldn’t be so quick to defend Him.”

“There’s more to this than meets the eye. I know for a fact that he’s afraid of sinking through the crust of the earth. Yet you say he forced himself upon it. It’s a contradiction.”

“Don’t patronize me.”

Nieuwenhuizen lay down on his back with his arms flung wide and his feet crossed. He stared into the streaming eye of the sun. Then he flopped over on his stomach, spread-eagled his arms and legs, and put his ear to the ground.

“I’m sure there’s a perfectly simple explanation,” said Mr.

“My word counts for nothing in this house.” Mrs flounced to the lounge to finish her coffee.

Nieuwenhuizen raised his head and squinted at the topsoil under his nose. His ear pressing against the sand had created a small relief map, a flat-topped mountain surrounded by whorled hillocks and vales. He peeped through his eyelashes. Some pebbles assumed the appearance of boulders piled at the foot of the mountain; then his nostrils stirred up a dust-storm; and that blew over, leaving in its wake a dry blade of grass that looked just like a wind-wracked palm-frond.

He stuffed a hand into a crack in his side and pulled a nail from the bandoleer. He pressed it into the mountain, just deep enough so that it would stand upright on its own. In this prone position driving the nail in was no easy task. He flailed his arms like a drowning victim.

“Tsk! I might have known!” Mr exclaimed. “He’s making a plan!”

He stomped through to the lounge. “I’ve cleared up the mystery, Mrs: he’s making a plan. For the new house. Remember?”

“Bully for Him.” Her coffee was cold, but she took a sip anyway so that she could exchange a knowing look with the mug-frog.

“Did I mention the nails?”

“Monsters.”

“All along I’ve been thinking he wants them for the actual construction — and here he is, making a plan with them. It goes to show that you can’t take anything for granted with him. He’s so crafty.”

“He’s a show-off.” She went to her room.

Nieuwenhuizen walked backwards and sat down.

“I think I’ll pitch in,” said Mr. He pursued Mrs to the bedroom. She was lying on the bed with the candlewick bedspread pulled up to her chin. He said to her: “I think I’ll pitch in.”

“What on earth for?”

“He needs me.”

“He’s doing just fine on His own. He told you He didn’t need your help. He spurned you.”

“Don’t be petty. You’ve seen for yourself what a struggle it is for him. Another pair of hands will make all the difference, but he finds it hard to ask, because he prides himself on his independence.”

“I can see the two of you, lying there thumping like a couple of gaffed barbels.”

Malgas donned his overalls and went next door. He found Nieuwenhuizen lying on his side in the shade under the hedge. He appeared to be sleeping, but as Malgas drew near he raised his head and opened his eyes.

”Father.”

“Malgas.”

“Making a plan, I see.”

“Trying.”

“Ingenious, if you don’t mind me saying so.”

“Not at all. Thanks.”

“Plans are interesting. Fascinating, actually. I suppose I’ll always

have a soft spot for materials, it’s in my blood, along with packaging, but as I get older I find I become more and more curious about the planning side of things.”

“Stop beating about the bush,” Nieuwenhuizen said, sitting up and dusting off his sleeve. “What do you want?”

“To give you a hand here, if you’ll have me.”

Nieuwenhuizen looked dubious. “I don’t know. Are you ready for

it, I wonder? I don’t want to rush you.”

“I’m as ready as I’ll ever be. I can’t see the new house yet, but it goes

without saying that you can. And I’m eager to learn. I have a great hunger and thirst for knowledge of the house. If necessary I’m prepared

to start at the bottom and work my way up. You’ll teach me everything

you know, and in the mean time I’ll fetch and carry the tools and so

on. I took the liberty of bringing this mallet — with rubber you don’t

damage the heads.”

“I’m not sure. .”

“Look at it this way: I have my own field of expertise, or ‘know-how’

as we call it in the trade, and one day I’ll be able to repay every little

kindness shown me in these difficult times. Just shout: Mr Hardware,

A World of Materials under One Roof.”

Nieuwenhuizen sprang to his feet. He stuck one of his skinny fingers through a loop of the bandoleer and said, “You’re just in time to

reload me. I didn’t want to ask, but since you’re offering. .” They walked towards the camp, where the boxes of nails were

standing one on top of the other, and Malgas ventured to walk at

Nieuwenhuizen’s side.

With Malgas’s enthusiastic assistance, the mapping out of the

ground-plan proceeded apace. A less elaborate drafting procedure

was called for now, and the acrobatics of the early morning therefore

gave way to more conventional pacing and pointing; and while before there had been as many different marks as there are parts of the human body, now there was one standardized sign, a plump full stop made

with the heel, so that the apprentice could not fail to recognize it. Malgas politely commandeered the bandoleer and took charge