Читать книгу Circus - Irma Venter - Страница 14

Johannesburg, October 1987

“Your wrist needs to be quicker.” Daisy’s hands are on her hips. “You must be like water. One smooth movement, liquid.”

She moves to my side, picks up a knife. “Remember, each throw builds on the one before. Add one, then another one, and another, until your hand trusts your eye and your brain, and you no longer have to think. We’re talking thousands of hours of training.”

The knife flies from her hand and embeds itself in the breadboard on the wall. She gives a contented smile. “Enough. Let’s eat.”

“I want to practise some more.”

“You’ve been here since three.” She looks at her watch. “What about your homework? Tiny will be mad. Your dad thinks you come here to study, not fool around.”

We practise in the storeroom in the afternoons without Oom Tiny knowing. My books lie open on the table as though I’m studying.

I take the knives out of the breadboard. “How do they know each other? My dad and Oom Tiny?”

“Don’t you know?”

“No.” I’ve never thought to ask.

“I don’t either. Tiny once said your dad lent him money. A long time ago.”

I turn the knife around and around in my hand. “I can’t imagine my dad ever had enough money for that.”

“It might have been when he was lecturing at the university. Just after he arrived here from the Netherlands to marry your mother. I think.”

I throw the knife. Just to the left of the black dot in the middle of the breadboard.

Daisy puts her hand on my shoulder. “You throw as though you want to kill someone. Leave it now. Do your homework.”

“I’ll do it tonight.”

“What’s bothering you? Is your mom okay?”

No, but I don’t say it. The Dutchman, my dad, has gone overseas and my mom has retreated into her head again. Maybe one day I’ll understand, like everyone says. Right now, it’s hard.

I draw my arm back. Thwack. Again, just to the left of the black dot.

I like the sound of the knife in the wood. Clean, solid, warm. The simplicity. You hit the mark, or you miss it. Nothing in between.

“Adriana. Come. You must study.”

Daisy isn’t going to stop nagging until I do my homework or talk about something she’s interested in. “Have you heard from Jonas?”

The Hammer disappeared three days ago without telling anyone where he’s going.

She keeps silent.

I turn to her.

“Jonas was arrested,” she says at last.

My hand, ready to throw, comes down. “What? What did he do?” Jonas wouldn’t hurt a fly.

“Something about the government. I don’t really understand. Tiny is trying to find out, but no one will tell him anything, not even where Jonas is being held.”

“Someone must know.”

“In this country people get arrested all the time without anyone knowing why.”

“I’m sorry.” I don’t know what else to say. And I know I should keep my thoughts to myself, as the Dutchman is always telling me.

For a long time Daisy gazes at her shoes. “You wouldn’t happen to know anything? Like what Jonas was busy with? He wouldn’t tell me anything.”

“What do you mean, would I know anything? How would I know?”

“Your dad. This place. Tiny.” She shrugs. “You don’t live like most white South Africans.”

I throw the knife, almost entirely missing the board. “Neither do you.”

She remains silent, then laughs. Turns so that I can’t see her face.

Thwack.

Almost there. Better.

Thwack.

Bloody balls-up of a country.

Thwack.

Of a home.

Thwack.

Of a life.