The Satanic Mechanic (9 page)

CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

Our arms were wrapped around each other as we shuffled from the stoep into the house. He was walking backwards, pressing me against him with one arm and stroking me with the other. His fingers moved slowly over my neck, my arms, my back, my bottom. I turned out the kitchen light as we came in. There was still the stoep lantern, so it was not totally dark. But Henk was moving backwards, and his attention was on me.

‘Watch out,' I said, as he bumped into the kitchen table. In steadying himself, he knocked the lid off the soup.

I tried to put it on again, but his grip on me was too tight, and my arms weren't long enough. There were not many insects at that time of year, so I let it go. I ran my hand over his warm chest, feeling the hardness of his muscles and the softness of his fur.

We moved past the kitchen area, to the lounge, where he stopped and cupped my face in his hands and looked into my eyes. Then he bent down and gave me the longest, slowest kiss. His moustache was silky and friendly. Pleasure moved through my body, and the strangest sounds came out of my mouth. Happy sounds.

Henk lifted me up and laid me down on the couch, and smiled and slipped off my shoes. He stroked my thighs where they met the bottom of my dress, and stroked the swell of my breasts where they met the top of my dress. And then he stroked the bits in between.

When the happy sounds of my body got quite loud, he undid the buttons on his cotton shirt and took it off. I could see the shape of him, and the coppery hairs on his chest. He took off his shoes and big leather
belt and his trousers, and knelt beside the couch and worked on me a little more. I stroked his head and the muscles on his shoulders. It was the right kind of lighting not to make me feel too shy. I heard a clopping sound, and there was the kudu standing at the kitchen table. It had beautiful dark markings under its eyes, and big spiral horns. It started lapping at the pot of soup. My body stiffened, and Henk sat up and looked at my face.

‘Okay?' he said.

‘Just thinking I should put the lid on the pot,' I said.

‘Later,' he said, working my dress up and my lace panties down.

Henk was very convincing, so I closed my eyes and let my body get happy again. Henk moved me into an interesting position and started to lower his whole body onto me. But then, just as he got close, in the most intimate way, I had a flash of Fanie, even though my eyes were closed. When I opened them, I still saw Fanie's face, red and puffy, instead of Henk's. And I had memories of things that had happened. Not a memory, a flashback – like the doctor said – as if it was actually happening. All over again.

I was years away from Henk. I shouted and pushed him off me, my whole body shaking.

Henk knelt beside the couch and pressed my head to his chest while I trembled against him.

‘I'm so so-so-sorry,' I said.

‘It's okay,' he said. ‘It's okay.'

Slowly Fanie's face dissolved, and I could see Henk again. And the kudu. It was still there. It walked a few steps closer. I saw the thin white lines on its grey coat as it looked down at us; its big ears were pricked up like it was worried.

‘It's okay,' said Henk again.

My shaking turned into tears. The kudu twitched its ears in a kind way, and I let the tears flow.

The kudu gave a little snort and turned away. It flashed its white fluffy tail and trotted out of the front door.

‘I'll get you some brandy,' Henk said, when the crying had stopped.

He went to the kitchen and turned on the light. Everything was much
too bright. While he stirred a spoon of sugar into a small glass of brandy, I wriggled myself into a sitting position and adjusted my dress. I hid my panties under a cushion and put my shoes back on. I joined him at the kitchen table and put the lid back on the butternut soup. The kudu had not eaten much.

I drank the brandy Henk gave me, and it made a hot line to my belly button. But I still shivered a little. I starting cleaning up, collecting the dishes. Henk joined in and did the washing up. Every now and then, he put a warm hand on my arm, but I did not respond.

When it was all tidy, I made us coffee, and we sat down at the kitchen table. Henk sat opposite me, leant towards me and cleared his throat.

‘I'm sorry,' I said, ‘I'd hoped . . . I've been doing better, really—'

‘It's all right,' he said.

‘I see things,' I said, running my hand across my eyes. ‘Things that aren't there. Bad things from long ago, happening again right in front of me.'

Henk nodded and opened his mouth to speak.

‘I know, I know,' I said. ‘I must get counselling.'

‘I spoke to the woman at the police station who does crime-victim counselling. She says you can go see her anytime.'

I took a big sip of my coffee although it was too hot for big sips. When I'd swallowed, I said, ‘Henk . . .'

He held both hands around his coffee cup as he looked at me.

‘I am okay after the kidnapping,' I said.

He frowned and shook his head, saying, ‘Maria . . .'

‘Really I am. It's not that which is causing the trouble . . .'

Outside the frogs and toads were calling to each other, but in a careful way, as if they weren't sure if there was a snake around.

I sighed and said, ‘I didn't want to bring him into our relationship. But I guess he is here anyway.'

‘Who?'

‘Fanie. My late husband, Fanie.' I took a sip of my coffee.

‘Are you still in love with him?' asked Henk.

I snorted some of the coffee out of my nose. ‘Sorry,' I said, cleaning up. ‘No, no, it's not that.'

Henk sipped his coffee and waited for me to speak. He's an experienced policeman. He knows how to interview a suspect.

I heard the rustling of the leaves of the trees outside, then felt a cool breeze come in the window, and I shivered. I was the suspect. I could not tell him everything, but I had to tell him something in my defence.

‘Fanie was not a good man. He was not good to me.'

I didn't want to tell him the whole truth about Fanie. To speak of Fanie to Henk felt like pouring dirty oil into a clear pool.

‘Did he hurt you?' said Henk.

I nodded, looking at my coffee.

‘Did he hit you?' he asked, and as I glanced up at him I saw anger in his eyes.

I knew the anger was for Fanie, but I took it for myself and felt ashamed.

Henk gestured towards the couch.

‘Did he . . . rape you?'

I didn't answer him. There was just one toad now, making a strange croaking sound, not a happy mating song.

‘I shouldn't have told you,' I said. ‘I feel so . . .'

But I couldn't tell him what I felt. Dirty. Ugly. Scared. Guilty. I didn't have words for all the feelings. All the feelings I wanted to keep out of my relationship with Henk. The toad was quiet now. And the wind was still. The silence was hurting my chest. I was holding my breath.

‘Maria,' he said. I still wouldn't look at him, and I still wasn't breathing. ‘Maria.' He leant forward and tilted my face towards him and looked me in the eyes. ‘It's not your fault.'

Then my breath escaped from me with a big sob.

We slept together in my bed. Well, he slept, and I lay in his arms, not sleeping much. Me in my nighty, and him in his white boxer underpants. I did not have nightmares, but my mind was thick with bad memories, and my heart full of difficult feelings. There was still some of that citrus liqueur pudding, Henk's Favourite, in my freezer, and I knew it was just what I needed. But when I moved to get up, his arm tightened around me, held me closer to him. So I stayed there, tasting this new kind of comfort: a warm body, strong arms, furry chest, the soft sound of his
snoring. I let him hold me while the muddy pool of feelings was churned up by that long-ago storm. Outside my window, the wind was blowing, rustling the leaves. A warm breeze pushed through the gap in the sash window: the kind of wind that brings rain. I lay in Henk's arms until the early birds started to sing. I waited for the churned pool to settle, to get clear and calm, but it did not.

Henk had to leave early, no time even for coffee.

As soon as he was gone, I dressed and prepared my breakfast, which I ate at the stoep table. I hardly noticed the soft falling rain, and the way the veld and the gwarrie tree disappeared in the grey drizzle, because my attention was on my food. I didn't take my diet pills, because I wanted to eat up it all up: a big plate of warm Henk's Favourite.

When I had finished, I sat there for some time, feeling a little sick but at the same time much better. The fear and the shame were gone, buried by sweet citrus pudding. The smell of the wet earth was wonderful. I was grateful to the rain for falling. I didn't need to cry any more, the sky would do it for me. After a while, the rain cleared and the veld looked bright. The gwarrie tree was a fresh dark green, and birds were flying around in its branches. With the air washed clean, I could see far into the distance. Past the big red slopes of the Rooiberg, to the long blue line of the Langeberge.

When I was ready to stand up, I went to my chicken hok. My hens were fluffing their wings and scratching at the ground, and they came rushing out as I opened the hok door. I threw a handful of crushed mielies onto the lawn for them. Then I went inside and fished in my handbag until I found a little piece of paper with a number on it.

I sat down beside the phone table in my lounge and dialled the satanic mechanic.

CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

His voice was heavy and warm, like coffee with thick grounds at the bottom of the cup. Moerkoffie.

‘Goeiemôre. Ricus.' Good morning. His Afrikaans accent gave a soft hiss to the ‘s' in Ricus.

‘Um . . .' I said.

‘Hello?'

I nearly put down the phone, but instead I said, ‘It needs fixing. My car. Is this the mechanic?'

‘It's him, ja.'

‘I got your number from my friend, Annemarie, in Oudtshoorn.'

‘Annemarie,' he said. I could hear he was smiling. ‘How is she?'

‘Fine. Happy.'

‘Good. Good. Please give her my best.'

‘She told me about your group.'

‘Ja.'

‘My doctor thinks . . . I think . . . I have PTSD,' I said.

‘You're welcome to join us,' he said. ‘We meet twice a week, usually Saturdays and Tuesdays. Come today. We're meeting this afternoon.'

‘Today?'

‘Ja, four o'clock on my farm. Then something to eat afterwards.'

‘Oh.' Today felt so soon. ‘What do you farm?'

‘Some sheep,' he said, then he laughed. ‘And also panel vans.' His laugh was rich and from his belly. ‘You can bring your car too, if you like, but I'll only work on it on Monday.'

‘No, my car is okay, really. It's me that needs fixing.'

‘Fine. Fine. I'll see you later.'

‘Maria. I am Maria,' I said, my name feeling strange in my mouth.

‘Maria,' he said in that warm coffee voice of his, then he explained to me how to get to his farm.

I put down the phone and let out a big breath. Jinne, was I really going to counselling? With a satanic mechanic with a moerkoffie voice who farmed panel vans?

I took a Rennie tablet, put on some lipstick and headed in to the office.

Hattie's car was there, but no sign of Jessie's scooter. She was probably still at the festival. Hattie always came in on Saturdays. Jessie and I weren't expected to work weekends, but we sometimes did.

‘Maria!' said Hattie. ‘How nice to see you.'

She was not really seeing me, however, because her tall thin body was bent over some papers on her desk. She held a long sharpened pencil and looked like a heron hunting in a shallow pool. Now and then, she dived down to catch a mistake on the page.

I made myself coffee and took Hattie a cup of tea. She looked up at me.

‘Goodness. You haven't slept again. Are your pills not helping?'

I didn't answer. She shook her head and carried on working while I looked through the pile of letters on my desk. One of them had spidery handwriting that I recognised, but it was another letter that called more loudly for opening. On it was written: ‘MAMA MARIA' in capital letters. It wasn't square block capitals, but flowery, with a little curl on each of the ‘M's.

I drank some coffee with a buttermilk rusk before I opened the envelope. It was nice to be eating beskuit again. Like seeing a good friend I hadn't visited for a while.

The introduction to the letter was written in the same flowery capitals:

MAMA MARIA!

QUEEN OF THE LOVE ADVICE AND RECIPE COLUMN OF THE KLEIN KAROO GAZETTE

You have much help for the people who write to you and I am glad.
I can give help for love and other problems. I have herbs and powers from God that can help with:

*Love remote control *Bring back lost lover in 1 hour *To lock lover not to fool around and to be at your feet and listen to you only *Evil spirits, tokoloshes and other naughty goblins *Sexual problems in all sizes you want *Big and strong manhood enlargement 20 or 30cm – results in 40 minutes *Powerful lotto and casino lucky ring *Short boys/rats to bring money into your account *Magic stick to finish unfinished job *All diseases and pregnancy *Pig lice *Magic wallet attracts money and jobs *Clear debt in 1 hour *Sendwana oil protection *Rainbow water for luck *Bad dreams and bewitching from the dead *All other problems and wishes

Come to Mama Bolo and you will be helped
.

100% GUARANTEED. PAY ONLY WITH SATISFACTION

She gave a cell phone number.

My own problems were covered by ‘Sexual problems of all sizes' and ‘Bad dreams and bewitching from the dead'. If I had not already phoned the satanic mechanic that morning, who knows? I might have called her.

I carried on reading the letter. She didn't have a love problem of her own, but she did want recipe advice . . .

Mama Maria
,

I am asking your help to cook pudding with milk. I did get a cow as payment from a very satisfied customer. I gave the cow rainbow water to drink and it makes too much milk. I can make nice sour cream and cream cheese, but I want some sweet things also. You Afrikaans mamas know how to make nice milk and cheese puddings. Tell me some
.

Thank you and God bless you

MAMA BOLO

EXPERT AND QUEEN OF MUTI

I gave the Queen of Medicines Tannie Kuruman's melktert recipe. I've tasted many milk tarts, and Tannie K's is the most excellent. And I also
gave Mama Bolo the recipe for the best cheesecake in the world – which my friend Candy from New York had sent me. Just thinking about it made my tongue want to melt in my mouth.

‘Jessie!' said Hattie.

I looked up, but there was no sign of Jess; Hattie was talking to the page on her desk.

‘Are you trying to get us sued for libel?' She turned to me. ‘Jessie is insinuating that Slimkat was poisoned by the diamond miners.' She shook her head. ‘We don't even know if he
was
poisoned.'

‘Well, actually the tests now show he was,' I said.

‘Really?' said Hattie.

I put my hand to my mouth, but it was too late, the words were out.

‘That is off the record, though,' I said.

‘Well, off the record means
off
the record,' Hattie said, diving down with her pencil.

‘When's Jessie back from Oudtshoorn?' I was a little nervous about going to the satanic mechanic's farm and wondered if Jess could be my back-up.

‘Sunday. She'll be in the office Monday morning.' Hattie made short sharp marks all over the page in front of her. ‘Honestly, Jessie. Are you off your rocker?'

‘Hattie. I'm going to a meeting this afternoon. A therapy group. It's a bit out of town . . .'

‘Goodness gracious,' said Hattie. ‘That's jolly good.'

‘I'm a bit worried . . . um, about my car.'

‘I'll take you then, no problem.'

‘No,' I said. I couldn't handle any more of her driving. ‘No, thank you. I'd rather go alone. But I just want to give you the address of the place.' I wrote it down and handed it to her. ‘I'll call you when I get home. If you haven't heard from me by, um, eight o'clock, send Henk, Detective Kannemeyer, out to come and get me.'

‘I do wish you'd get a cell phone,' she said. ‘We are in the twenty-first century, you know. And why don't you tell your hunk yourself?'

‘I don't want him to worry.' I looked at the office clock. Cheesecake takes a while to bake and then ages to cool to the right texture.

‘Hey,' said Hattie, as she read the address I'd given her. ‘Isn't this the farm bought by that new mechanic?'

‘Um, yes. He's also a counsellor.'

‘I've heard,' said Hattie, looking down again at her editing, ‘that he's a psychic mechanic. He can diagnose what's wrong with your car before you tell him. Will he fix you and your car for the price of one?'

I stood up and put some envelopes in my bag, saying, ‘I'm taking my letters home with me.'

Hattie made a final pencil stab onto Jessie's page, then put it in her out tray and picked up her cup of tea. She looked surprised that it was cold.

‘I'll hear from you later,' she said as I left.

I hope so, I thought.