Читать книгу The Satanic Mechanic - Sally Andrew - Страница 16

CHAPTER TEN

The drive to Oudtshoorn is beautiful. Wild green hills and mountain passes with lovely patterns of red rock. But I kept my eyes closed for a lot of it because Hattie was driving. I was crazy to have agreed to go in her car. But I really was tired. I’d packed quickly and hoped I had everything I needed. A change of clothes, my diet lunch in a Tupperware (boiled egg and salad). I’d asked my neighbour, Rita van Tonder, to come and feed my chickens and put them in their hok at night. I’d said she could help herself to their eggs. She’d tasted them before and knew they were worth the drive from her apricot farm to my house.

I opened my eyes as we wound our way down the Huisrivier Pass, and I saw a nice picnic spot under a pepper tree, with a view of the valley and hills.

‘Shall we stop here for lunch?’ I said.

Hattie looked at her watch, and the car wiggled. ‘I don’t think we have time. Jessie wants to meet us at 3 p.m. in the beer tent.’

I didn’t think I’d be able to eat in Hattie’s car and keep my lunch, so I swallowed two diet pills.

‘Now, you will see the doctor in Oudtshoorn, won’t you?’ Hattie said, turning towards me, the wheel turning too.

‘Mm . . .’ I said. ‘Do you mind if we talk later? I feel a bit car sick.’ I felt okay, really, but when she spoke to me, her eyes left the road, and I was worried we might end up with the worst kind of car sickness: the one that leaves you dead in a wreck.

As we got close to Oudtshoorn, we passed some ostrich farms, and I thought about the Ostrich Supper Club. I’d phoned Annemarie to say I was coming, and she’d sounded so friendly. I wondered what they’d be serving for dinner.

In town, we drove down Voortrekker Road. The pavements were full of people strolling along, and the lampposts were covered with bright posters and banners. I could see some big tents, a Ferris wheel and a Computicket stall. The traffic started getting thick. Hattie glanced at her watch and brushed against a banner by the side of the road. Then she hooted and overtook a Volkswagen Beetle.

She parked the car on a yellow line, and we had to walk the last few blocks towards the big tent with the blue and white stripes; the streets were closed to cars.

We passed art galleries and bookshops. A small crowd of people watched a man juggling ostrich eggs in the street, and from a yellow tent came the sound of someone singing. On the other side of a low fence were the Ferris wheel and bumper cars, and those rides that throw children about and make them scream. We walked past a food stall making roosterkoek, and another selling kudu sosaties. The griddle bread and kebabs smelt wonderful. I saw a stall with a sign saying Ostrich Supper Club, but there was no one there now. Hattie was trying in a polite way to get me to hurry, but I don’t believe in hurrying. Well, my legs don’t. I did the best I could and was a bit out of breath by the time we got to the beer tent.

Jessie was sitting on a bench at one of the long white tables. She jumped up and waved when she saw us. Her dark hair was in a ponytail. Half the tent was made up of those long tables, then there were rows of plastic chairs facing a big wooden stage. Nothing was happening on the stage, and no one sat on the chairs, but there were quite a few people at the tables. A nice mix of coloureds and whites.

On the far side of the tent were beer and food stalls. There was a caravan selling those kudu sosaties, and a queue in front of it. Two black men in T-shirts were preparing the meat on a grid over a fire. A young white woman in a yellow apron was taking orders and making the kebabs at a wooden trestle table.

‘Haai, Tannie Maria,’ Jessie said, giving me a hug then turning to Hattie. ‘I’m so glad you guys came.’ She glanced at her watch. ‘I must go now-now. I promised to do a review of Wie’s Bang vir Virginia Woolf? Who’s Afraid of Virginia Woolf?’ she translated for Hattie.

‘So Slimkat is okay?’ I said.

‘Yes, I went to his book launch; so did an army of plainclothes police.’ She leant forward so our heads were closer together. ‘Someone tried to kill Slimkat yesterday.’

‘Goodness gracious,’ said Hattie. ‘What happened?’

‘No one will tell me the details,’ she said. ‘Reghardt won’t talk, and Slimkat’s cousin pulled him away before he could answer all my questions. But Slimkat told me they’d tried to kill him. And he agreed to another interview with me; we’re meeting here this evening.’

‘Well, I’m jolly glad they’ve got Slimkat well guarded,’ said Hattie.

‘Ja, well, the Oudtshoorn police want to make sure nothing messy happens at the KKNK. They’ve roped in lots of help. Once the festival’s over, they’ll leave him to his fate.’ She handed us each a festival programme. ‘There are a few events in English, Hattie. And of course there’s art and music.’

‘I do understand some Afrikaans, you know,’ said Hattie.

‘And some nice food events, Tannie M,’ said Jessie. ‘I must run.’

‘Now do be careful, Jessie,’ said Hattie. ‘You’re a journalist, not a policewoman. Leave the police to investigate this attempted-murder business.’

‘I’m an investigative journalist,’ said Jessie, flicking her ponytail as she hurried off. ‘See you later.’

Hattie looked at the programme and said, ‘Ooh, there’s a talk on the art of Pierneef. If I hurry, I might catch it.’ She jumped up. ‘Do come along, but do you mind if I go ahead? I’d hate to miss the beginning.’

She could see I wasn’t going to jump up and rush anywhere. I watched her leave the tent, trot across the grass and out of sight. I glanced at the programme; I would study it in a moment. First I had an appointment with a kudu sosatie.