Devil's Valley (33 page)

“All she said was that the woman called Maria was buried in her coffin.”

“
Who
did the burying?” asked Jurg Water, as if I was the one accused before them.

I preferred to stay out of this post-mortem shit: and to my relief Lukas Death took charge. “Ben Owl?” he asked.

It Was Dark

Everybody turned towards the unhappy man standing well apart from us, his two wings drooping.

“I must go to bed,” he complained. “This is not the time to bother me.”

“Did you or didn’t you dig this grave?” insisted Lukas Death in a relentless tone of voice I hadn’t expected of him. Not a man to be underestimated, I suddenly realised.

“What else could I do?” whined Ben Owl. “Ouma Liesbet told me to.”

“And did you put a body in the coffin?”

“Ouma Liesbet told me to.”

“Whose body was it?”

“I couldn’t see, it was dark.”

“You always see in the dark.”

“No!” protested Ben Owl with unexpected vehemence. “In those days I was like everybody else. It was only afterwards that I started walking about in the night. Because I couldn’t sleep in the dark any more, you see. I was afraid of the ghosts.”

“What did you do then to make you so afraid?” demanded Lukas Death.

“Nothing. I saw nothing.”

“Then why would the ghosts haunt you?”

“I don’t know anything,” whimpered Ben Owl. “I swear.”

“But you did bury somebody in this coffin?”

“Ouma Liesbet told me to.”

“Where did you find the body?”

“In Ouma Liesbet’s bedroom. On the floor.”

“How did it get there?”

“I just found it there.”

“And she ordered you to bury it?”

“Yes, she did.”

“Did you always do whatever she said?”

Ben Owl shut his red eyes and didn’t answer.

“You were a big strong man,” Lukas Death went on relentlessly. “She was a frail old woman, at least fifty years older than you. Surely you could have refused if you wanted to.”

“I couldn’t. She said there were stories she would tell if I didn’t obey.”

“What stories?”

“Stories she made up. Everybody knows what a liar Ouma Liesbet was.” He turned his eyes back to me. “She lied to this man too.”

“What lies did she tell me, Ben?” I asked.

“She lied to you. That’s all I know.”

Mills of Justice

“Was it because she lied that you smashed in her head?” I asked sharply. Our crime reporter as public prosecutor.

I wasn’t sure whether the murmur from the crowd signified shock or indignation.

“Now be careful,” warned Lukas Death. “Nothing has been proved yet.”

“Why should I bash in a poor defenceless old woman’s head with a spade?” asked Ben Owl.

“This is the second time you talk about a spade,” I pointed out. “No one else has mentioned it. Why do you harp on it?”

“Pick or shovel or spade, it’s all the same,” he mumbled.

I looked at Lukas Death and shrugged.

Perhaps he was shrewder than I thought; perhaps he was merely helpless. Either way, all he said was, “Go home, Ben Owl. Go to sleep. We’ll discuss it again later.”

“Do you think it’s safe…?” I began.

“We do things our way,” snapped Lukas Death. “The mills of justice grind slowly.”

“What about Ouma Liesbet?” I asked.

“Well, she is here, and her coffin is here. We’re all of us here. We may just as well bury her.” His eyes wandered across the crowd. “Will some of the men lend us a hand to place her in the coffin?”

“Shouldn’t you examine the body first?” I asked.

“We all saw what she looked like,” he answered. “What more do we need to know? We owe the dead some respect.” He looked up. “And there’s a storm coming.”

In all the drama I had never noticed, but he was right: there were indeed dark clouds gathering. And gusts of wind. Perhaps God had finally succumbed to the threats.

A
NNIE-OF-ALWYN, as the heartbroken widow was called, was still in Tant Poppie’s voorhuis when I came home from the cemetery; but she was preparing to leave. And when she saw me she became even more ill-at-ease.

“There’s a storm coming,” she said in panic. “I must get home.”

“You can lie down on my bed for a while,” proposed Tant Poppie like a clucking old mother hen. “You need rest.”

But she was adamant. “I bothered you long enough. You already did too much for me. And I must put the children to bed.”

“I’ll walk you home,” I offered. Not for entirely unselfish reasons, I should add; a crime reporter never rests. Fucking swine.

“No, no.” As if I’d made an obscene proposal.

But Tant Poppie unexpectedly supported me. “Now come on, let Neef Flip go with you. You can’t walk out in this wind alone. And he’s just in the way here.”

Thanks for nothing, I thought. And with the woman still rigid with fear, perhaps resentment, I picked up two of the children—the smallest clung to Annie-of-Alwyn like a baby baboon to its mother’s belly—and stepped out on the stoep.

All the way to her home she didn’t say a word. Only when we reached it, in the bottom row and set far back as if shy to be seen with the others, she stopped and glanced at me through her dishevelled hair. “Thank you for helping me in the graveyard. I nearly passed out.”

“I can’t understand why those bastards didn’t move a finger to help you.”

“It’s every man for himself now,” she said wearily as she opened the door and stood back to let me pass with the two children. “I think they know that what happened to Alwyn can happen to them next, as the water runs out. They’re all scared to die.”

“They were like a pack of wild dogs.”

She shook her head; perhaps it was the memory she was trying to shake off. “They’re not all like that.”

“There aren’t many exceptions.”

“Tant Poppie may be difficult, but she’s a good person,” she said wearily. “She already saved my life once.”

“When was that?”

“I had breast cancer,” she said nervously. “Without her I’d never have made it.”

Almost reluctantly I asked, “What did she do then?”

She avoided my eyes. “She does strange things. This time she tied up eight frogs in a cloth and pressed it to my chest. They started sucking, like leeches. But you know, the strange thing was I didn’t feel any pain. They just clung on until they got convulsions and fell off. Then she brought new frogs. And so she went on for eight days. After a hundred and twenty frogs—I kept count all the way—the cancer was sucked out.”

“You could have died. If not from the cancer then from the remedy.”

“It would have been better if I did,” she said in a strangled voice. “That would have spared us all a lot.”

“You shouldn’t talk like that, Annie. You’re still young.”

She paid no attention. “Thank you for coming with me,” she said, closing up again. “I’ll be all right now.”

Hysterical Woman

Outside, gusts of wind were tugging at the roof. It was getting dark. Black clouds were gathering at an alarming speed.

“Let me help you put the children to bed.”

“They’ll sleep now. Tant Poppie gave them something. For me too.”

“Will you be able to sleep?”

“No.”

I carried the two children to the bedroom. The youngest, already limp with sleep, lay down in the double bed. As I bent over to cover the two with a blanket, something from very far away stirred inside me. Louise. Marius. In the time when, perhaps, they’d still been mine. Jesus.

The wind was getting worse.

“Won’t you be scared on your own?” I asked.

“One must just get used to it.”

“I’m not in a hurry. I could have a cup of coffee with you. If you’re sure you don’t want to lie down.”

“No,” she said. “The moment I close my eyes Alwyn is there.”

I pulled out a chair and sat down at the dining table. For a long time she remained standing with her back pressed to the jamb of the bedroom door, but at last she came past me to the kitchen to make the coffee.

“Tant Poppie told me you lost your child too,” I said awkwardly.

She kept her back to me as she worked at the hearth. Then, flaring up unexpectedly, she said, “I suppose I must thank the Lord for it. How could I bring another child up alone?” She swung round to me. “It’s my punishment for not wanting it.”

“Don’t say such things. You’ll be sorry later.”

“Why?” She pointed at the closed bedroom door. “There’s already three I never wanted.” She trembled. A hysterical woman, I anxiously told myself, is better not contradicted. She came to the table and leaned on her outstretched arms. “I’m not saying I don’t love them. But my God, do you think that’s what I wanted? Bringing babies into the world to the end of my fertile years? I’m not Bettie Teat.”

“Annie, you don’t know what you’re saying.”

“That’s right,” she cried through a storm of snot and tears, “that’s what they all say. How can I know? I’m mos just Annie-of-Alwyn. And before he took me I was Annie-of-Job, because my father is Job Raisin. Where was he this morning when I needed him? And where was Alwyn? Is there anybody left to help me, to be with me? Am I just a rag for others to wipe their feet on? Don’t I count for something too?” She went on blindly, without check or reason or anything. “It’s always others who take the decisions and give the orders in this place. What must be done, who must do it, why, when, where. Who must live, who must die. And all I’m expected to do is to scrape and bow and praise God, my Lord and Master!”

She was folded double over the table in the rage of her fit of crying. And when I tried to take her by the shoulders she broke loose and swung a blow at me with such violence that she nearly lost her balance. But the action seemed to jolt her back to her senses. She stared at me in horror, her greasy hair in a tangle over her tear-streaked face.

“Oh my God, I’m sorry,” she whispered. “I don’t know what came over me.”

“Let me make the coffee,” I said.

“No. No, it’s my work.” But she was too unsteady on her legs to let go of the table. I pulled out a chair and made her sit down, then went through to the kitchen to pour the coffee into the mugs she’d already set out. Atrocious coffee. But it was hot. And we both needed it.

Large Animal

“How was it between you and Alwyn?” I asked. Perhaps it was ill-advised of me; but I got the impression that there was a hell of a lot she just had to get out of her system first.

“Not good, not bad. Do you think the life of a chair is good or bad? As long as someone sits on it, it does what it’s supposed to do. That’s all.”

“No, Annie.”

“In the beginning one tries to resist,” she said, her eyes in a fixed stare. Outside the wind was like a large animal lowing and straining at its tether; but I doubt whether she was even aware of it. “You keep thinking it won’t go on like this forever, one day something will happen, this can’t be all there is.” She slurped at her coffee and gulped it down. “But then you find out that’s just how it is. It’s never going to be any different. The few who tried…” She closed her eyes as if the memory was too much for her.

“Who were they?” I asked.

“The last one was the girl Emma,” she said. The name made me sit up, but I tried not to let her notice. “She wanted to go and study. They said no. Dalena-of-Lukas and I and a few others tried to speak up for her. We knew what it’s like to want to get out of here. But we missed our chance, so all we could hope for was for Emma to go. Like on our behalf, you might say. The men told us to mind our own business, and when I came home Alwyn beat me up.” She moved her hands up to her bony shoulders. “He could never understand what was up with me. He said if my father couldn’t beat it out of me he would.”

We were silent for a long time.

Then I asked, “So that was that for Emma?”

Annie nodded. “She tried to run away, but she was given a terrible hiding. Tant Poppie called in some of the men to help her. Ben Owl. Hans Magic. Lukas Death. She was left for dead. It was a miracle that she survived.” She sighed. “But that broke her.”

“You think she’s broken?”

“She won’t ever try again, if that is what you mean. Not ever.”

I sat listening to the raging wind. What hadn’t been blown away two days ago, I thought, would be off to fucking hell and gone this time. If only it would bring some rain too, but so far there was no sign of it.

Grew a Moustache

“You said something about ‘the few who tried’,” I said quietly. “So there were others too?”

She looked past me. “I suppose they were all mad, one way or another. But at least they tried. Someone like Talita Lightfoot. They said that when she danced it was like she wasn’t a woman, she turned into wind, or water, or clouds or something. A wild one. When there was a feast, and in the old days I think there were more feasts than nowadays, she would dance everybody from their feet. But in the end all she was good for was to catch the fancy of the two rebels that came to hide here in the Devil’s Valley during some war or other. She had to make sure they stayed. Shame, the poor girl thought they’d take her away with them. But the menfolk who planned it had other ideas. They wanted to keep the rebels here, we needed new blood. No one even remembers what became of her afterwards. I suppose she just did her duty and that was that. She probably had twelve children and became as fat as Tant Poppie, perhaps she grew a moustache.” She made a brief pause. “Only when the moon is full she still gathers all the ghost girls of the valley to dance naked in the bluegum wood.”

A small bunch of leaves brushed lightly down my spine.

But without paying attention to me she went on, “My great grandmother also tried to get out. For her it must have been even worse, because she was used to a better life, she came from outside, she had no idea of what was waiting for her here. The men called her Katarina Sweetmeat. In our family she was Katarina-the-Angel. One of Isak Smous’s forefathers brought her in and sold her to the Lermiets. They’d sent him to find them a woman, and he got a good price for her.”

I could feel myself breathing faster. “What was her story?”

“Why do you want to know?”