The Satanic Mechanic (19 page)

CHAPTER FORTY-FOUR

I put the malva pudding in the oven, and we sat next to each other at the stoep table and ate to the sound of crickets and frogs, and Kosie munching his celery.

The bobotie burgers with roosterkoek were delicious. We added slices of tomato and onion, and Henk also put on tomato sauce and Mrs Ball's chutney.

‘Jislaaik,' Henk said when he'd finished his third one, ‘these are the most amazing burgers I've had in my life.'

I decided now was a good time to tell him the truth. I took a deep breath.

‘Henk, there is lots we don't know about each other.'

He moved his chair closer to mine and ran his hand down my neck.

‘I wouldn't mind getting to know you a bit better,' he said.

Those burgers had made him all fresh. He slid his arms around me, tickled my cheek with his moustache and gave me a kiss that was so sweet that for a moment I forgot what I was about to say.

I pulled back and said, ‘What I mean is, you don't really know me. What if I'm not who you think I am?'

‘I know you are the best cook in the world, and that you are as delicious as your food.' He nibbled on my neck, his mouth moving to my collarbone, then further down still.

A feeling like hot honey ran along the back of my throat, all the way to my toes.

‘I need to turn off the oven and heat the malva sauce,' I said.

‘I'll heat your sauce,' he said, standing up and pulling me towards him, pressing me against his hard body.

‘Henk,' I said, ‘there are things about me . . .'

He unbuttoned his shirt and opened it to me, like he was opening his heart, and I buried my face against his warm skin and silky hair. Somehow my voice got lost in his chest.

So I let him heat me up, then I heated the malva sauce and poured it over the pudding. We fed each other warm pieces with whipped cream and then licked each other's fingers. Once or twice, I tried to speak, but he took the words out of my mouth with his kisses. Later, I would tell him later, I thought, let me just enjoy him one last time . . .

I put the leftover burgers in the fridge, and the roosterkoek in a tin, left a bit of a mess on the stoep table and headed to the bedroom. When things were getting very hot and sticky, I felt two hard things poking into my thigh. Henk was busy elsewhere, so I knew it wasn't him. I looked down to see the lamb pushing his little horns against me.

‘Nee, Kosie,' I said.

‘Ag, Kosie, voetsek,' said Henk. Go away.

The lamb bleated.

‘Voetsek,' said Henk again.

But instead of going away, he hopped onto the bed like he was a mountain goat and started butting against Henk's arm with his head.

‘Blikemmer,' swore Henk. Tin bucket. ‘It's his bedtime. I usually give him a snack now and put him to bed. I left his blanket in the car. I could lock him out, but he'll keep banging against the door and won't give us any peace.'

He sat up and kissed the tip of my nose.

‘Sorry. I'll be five minutes.'

‘You could put him in the chicken hok,' I said. ‘There's been no sign of the leopard.'

‘He'll be fine in the kitchen. He'll settle down quickly if I put him to bed properly.'

Soon I heard Henk in the kitchen: ‘Here, Kosie, a little bit of malva pudding and cream for you . . . No. No more. It's bedtime. Come lie down here . . . There's a good boy.'

Then I heard him singing:

‘Lamtietie, damtietie, doe-doe my liefstetjie,
moederhartrowertjie, dierbaarste diefstetjie!
Luister hoe fluister die wind deur die boompietjie.
Heen en weer wieg hy hom al oor die stroompietjie.'

Hush little lambkin, my dear one, sleep tight,
mother-heart stealer, sweet thief in the night!
Hear how the wind rocks the tree by the stream.
Whispering softly, back and forth in your dream.

The wind followed his lullaby, rustling the leaves in the camphor tree outside my window. The frogs in the stream sang too.

Five minutes later, Henk was back in the bedroom, taking off his trousers.

‘You sing to him?' I said.

‘Ag, it's just much quicker that way. He's asleep now.'

He climbed under the sheets and held me to him.

‘Henk,' I said. ‘I need to tell you something . . . about Fanie. There's something you should know. About me.'

He propped himself up on his elbow and looked at me with his stormy blue eyes. The whispering breeze became a strong wind, and the rustling got quite loud.

‘I want to tell you the truth, but I'm scared . . .' I said.

He stroked my shoulder with his fingertips.

‘I don't want to lose you . . .' Tears popped into my eyes, and my throat felt tight. The thought of life without Henk felt too much to bear.

‘It's okay,' he said.

‘Some bad things happened. Very bad,' I said with a tight voice. ‘I feel so ashamed. I don't know what you'll think of me . . .'

‘Come here, hartlam,' he said. ‘You don't have to tell me anything . . .'

He pulled me to him and breathed his warm breath into my hair as he stroked it. The wind dropped, and I could hear the crickets and the frogs again.

‘That's all over now . . .' he said.

‘But don't you . . .' My body was shaking now, tears falling down my cheeks.

‘It's not your fault. You don't have to feel ashamed.'

He held me tightly in his arms. I was trying to tell him that I killed Fanie, I really was, but my words just got sucked back into my mouth as I cried.

‘Maria, it's him that was the criminal,' said Henk. ‘You must never feel guilty about what he did to you. You are good and pure, and I love you.'

We heard a jackal calling close by and the answering cry of its mate, and then the clacking hooves of Kosie as he galloped from the kitchen, down the passage and jumped onto the bed.

Henk sang:

‘Lamtietie, damtietie, doe-doe my liefstetjie.
“Doe-doe-doe, bladertjies, slapenstyd nadertjies.
Doe-doe-doe, blommetjies, nag is aan't kommetjies,”
so sing die windjie vir blaartjies en blommetjies.'

Hush my lambkin, sleep tight, my dear.
‘Hush little leaves, sleepy-time is here.
Hush sweet petals, the night is ours,'
so sings the wind to the leaves and the flowers.

Henk sang about the stars keeping watch and singing lullabies, so that the clouds and streams and trees and animals and people could all sleep in peace:

‘Bo in die bloue lug flikker die sterretjies,
hemelse brandwaggies, lampies van verretjies,
wakend oor windjies en wolkies en stroompietjies,
wakend oor mensies en diertjies en boompietjies:
‘Wees maar gerustetjies, slaap maar met lustetjies!'
So sing die sterretjies, stilletjies, verretjies,
vuurvliegies, lugliggies, ewige sterretjies!'

Before he could finish his song, Kosie and I were both asleep.

CHAPTER FORTY-FIVE

Henk and his lamb left early the next morning, before breakfast, after a long kiss from him and a short promise from me that I would go to the police station. There was a chill in the air, and I put on my dressing gown before I let the chickens out of their hok and helped myself to some eggs. I tidied the stoep and the kitchen, and then I scrambled eggs, which I ate at the kitchen table. Instead of malva pudding and cream, I had my diet and antidepressant pills. It wasn't the same, but a man who sings lullabies can motivate a woman to do strange things.

I got ready for work, and then I called Ricus.

‘Tannie Maria,' he said. ‘I was going to call you. I'd like to bring the meeting forward to tomorrow, Friday afternoon.'

‘That's fine by me.'

‘How have you been doing?'

‘I want to know about the privacy thing in our group.'

‘Ja.'

‘My boyfriend is a policeman, and he heard about those . . . uninvited visitors. He wants me to report what happened. But I'm remembering how we agreed that what we say in the group, stays in the group.'

‘I hear you. The privacy of the group is about the things people share. But these were outsiders violating that privacy. I don't expect you to cover up a crime. If you want to report it, it's up to you.'

‘Okay.'

‘Good. Then I'll see you tomorrow.'

‘Ja. Hang on. We forgot to talk about food last time.'

‘No, it's my turn. I'm making something for the braai.'

‘Ja?'

‘You'll see.'

‘Okay. I might bring some pudding.'

‘Lekker.'

So, I went to the police station on my way to work. Kannemeyer was busy, but I reported to Warrant Officer Smit, who'd heard it already from Dirk. He wrote quite slowly, so I tried to make the story short.

The biggest problem was that those people had all been wearing masks, so I couldn't identify them. Smit showed me a picture of a woman with blonde hair, and it might've been her, but I couldn't be sure. There wasn't much to charge them with, because no one was hurt, nothing was stolen, and the weapons were toys. Smit said that Ricus could press trespassing and harassment charges. A policewoman came and told Smit about a stabbing that had just happened in the township. I think the police had more important things to do than chase toy weapons. But I'd made my report, like I'd promised.

I parked my little blue bakkie in the shade of the jacaranda, and walked up the path between the pots of vetplantjies towards the office. I was met at the door by Jessie and an old man, both of them grinning. The man had fewer teeth in his smile than Jessie.

‘Here she is,' said Jessie.

They stepped out into the sunlight to greet me. Jess wore her black vest, and her thick dark hair was in a ponytail.

The old man shook my hand with both of his. His hands were rough and dry. And he was wearing a waistcoat made of little furs. I'd seen his photograph – he was the rabbit man. Jan Magiel. He had high cheekbones, and his eyes wrinkled as he smiled.

‘Hello, Oom Jan,' I said. Uncle Jan.

‘Dankie, Tannie Maria, thank you,' he said.

There was something different about his waistcoat from the one I'd
seen in his photo. It had a collar made up of long thin curved strips. You could see the light shining through the pale leather.

He saw me looking, and stroked his collar. ‘Ja. Rabbit ears,' he said in Afrikaans. ‘I found what to do with them.' He held his fingers to the sides of his head, like an animal pricking up its ears. ‘And these long ears, they got people listening.'

‘My photograph,' said Jessie. ‘Nature Conservation identified Donga. She is a rare riverine rabbit! There's a fat private fund for the protection of the riverine rabbit. They're coming out to make a study, and if the riverine rabbits really are in this area, then they'll fund Jan's project.'

Hattie stepped out from the office and said, ‘Isn't that super? Excuse me, I must pop to the bank. Goodbye, Mr Magiel. Congratulations.'

She hurried past us, down the path to her car.

‘That is wonderful, Oom Jan,' I said. It was getting warm standing out there in the sun. ‘Come in and have some coffee and beskuit.'

‘No, I must go, thank you. I am meeting them now-now to show them the tracks down by the river. And they want to meet Donga. I just came to say thank you. Very much. And for the recipe too. It was very good.'

‘I am glad.'

He shook my hand in both of his, then took a little leather hat out of his pocket and pulled it down over his ears.

‘Thank you,' he said, shaking Jessie's hand.

We watched him walk away, in his ear-collared waistcoat and his hat. He was a small man, who walked lightly on the ground. But he seemed very tall, as if his head was being pulled up to the stars.

CHAPTER FORTY-SIX

I told Jessie I'd made my report to the police and gave her Henk's story about the Hotazel car racing along Route 62. The one that used to be owned by Ricus.

‘Bat out of hell,' she said. ‘Ja, it fits. So Kannemeyer reckons these are the same people who came to scare your group?'

‘Yes. And he thinks they're dangerous. The one guy's on parole for kidnapping and is a satanist high priest.'

‘Be careful, Tannie M. Lots of weirdos out there.'

I settled down to my letters, with my coffee and mosbolletjie rusk. I decided to start the day with my friend, the Scottish lady.

Dearest Tannie Maria
,

I know you will hardly have had time to read my last letter, but I can't wait to tell you my news. The laddie gave me a bath! I know that may sound very forward to you, but he was so very gentle, and I confess I have not had hands on this old body for a while. But even more exciting than that (if that is possible), is that I have asked him to move in with me! He has not given an answer yet, but I think he wants to. He has some practicalities to sort out
.

I would like to celebrate (when he says yes) with a tot of homemade Van der Hum liqueur. A dear friend once gave me a bottle she had made. It was ambrosial. Even better than (may my ancestors forgive me) Scottish whisky. Alas, however, the bottle is long finished and my friend passed away. There may be many things to celebrate in times to come. Do you perhaps have a fine Van der Hum recipe?

I include my personal address, because things are moving rather fast, and this letter is a tad too private for the
Gazette.

Yours
,

Excited Lassie

I did have a wonderful recipe to give her (I'd used this Van der Hum liqueur to make that orange pudding: Henk's Favourite). Brandy with a bit of rum, as well as nutmeg, naartjie peel, cinnamon and cloves. I wrote:

Like many things, this liqueur improves with age. It is most tasty if you can let the spices steep for at least a month. But if there are things you need to celebrate sooner, there is no harm in sneaking an early mouthful
.

‘I am going to Oudtshoorn,' said Jessie. She stood up and packed her camera into one of the pouches on her belt.

‘The Slimkat story?' I asked.

‘No,' she said. ‘I'm doing a feature on free-range meat and visiting some ostrich farms.'

‘Can I tell you something off the record?'

‘Ja.' Her fingers stroked the tail of the gecko tattoo on her arm.

‘The police are getting a search warrant. They want to find that old woman who disappeared.'

‘A search warrant?! Why don't they leave those families alone? Catch the diamond miners?'

‘But it is strange she's disappeared, don't you think? Isn't it possible she knows something?'

‘I guess anything is possible.'

‘It would be really stupid of the Hardcore diamond miners to kill Slimkat after the case.'

‘But they
are
stupid. They were forced into this agreement by the courts. They don't care a rat's bum about the Bushmen.'

‘But bad publicity, they do care about that,' I said.

‘I suppose . . .'

‘The Bushmen you interviewed, did they tell you anything about the old woman?'

‘Not much; we were talking about Slimkat. They just said the police were asking questions about her.'

‘After the police have gone in there with a search warrant, Slimkat's family may not talk to us again.'

‘Ja, they already feel like they're being treated like criminals.'

‘So, I was thinking it might be good to chat to them soon.'

‘Well, some of them will have gone back to the nature reserve by the Kuruman River. But there's still family in Oudtshoorn.'

‘Maybe you can find out something about the old woman.'

‘Shall we go visit them today?'

‘No, no, not me. You're the investigative journalist. But I have a few ostrich burgers and roosterkoek at home that I could give you.'

‘Mmm. Bushmen love that streepmuis roosterkoek.' Striped-mouse griddle bread. ‘And ostrich meat.'

‘The burgers might help get them talking.'

Jessie winked at me and said, ‘Of course, yes.'