Читать книгу The Satanic Mechanic - Sally Andrew - Страница 18

CHAPTER TWELVE

There was an autumn chill in the air when Hattie and I left the Supper Club, but we felt all warm inside.

‘What a delightful evening,’ said Hattie. ‘Let’s go and check on Jessie, before we head to our guesthouse.’

‘She should have spoken to Slimkat by now,’ I said.

As we walked back towards the beer tent, we could hear a band playing in the distance. Then there was the sound of live singing, chanting and stamping behind us.

‘Goodness,’ said Hattie, gripping my arm. ‘A riot.’

It was a crowd of people toyi-toying in the darkness. A lead voice sang out in Xhosa, and the chorus chanted, ‘Hai! Hai!’ You could feel the ground shake as the whole group lifted their knees high and stamped down on the earth. ‘Hai! Hai!’

We stepped back, beside a biltong stall, and I peeped out from behind the big jars of dried meat. The heart that was beating in my chest came from my father and my mother. My mother’s heart felt the fear of the Swart Gevaar – the Black Danger – which approached us, fists raised high. My father’s heart felt the excitement of the people taking power into their own hands. When he died, I learnt he had been an underground member of the ANC.

‘Hai! Hai, Hai!’ called the crowd as they were almost upon us.

I wondered whether this was a protest against the Klein Karoo Nasionale Kunstefees itself. The KKNK was mainly a white Afrikaner event and might be seen as symbol of the old apartheid government.

The group was very tidy in the way it was toyi-toying, and they wore berets and a camouflage uniform. ‘Hattie,’ I said. ‘It’s not a riot; it’s the army.’

They paused a few steps beyond us and did an about-turn, to face us, and sang the national anthem. It starts with the ANC song ‘Nkosi Sikelel’ iAfrika’ (God Bless Africa) and ends with ‘Uit die Blou van Onse Hemel’ (From the Blue of Our Heavens), which used to be the Afrikaner national anthem.

I have heard it many times before, but in the dark of the night, standing by that biltong stall, with my mother’s and father’s heart drumming inside me, it gave me goosebumps over my whole body and filled me with feelings I cannot name.

Then a conductor introduced the army choir, and they started on a beautiful Xhosa song. Some sang high, others low, with choruses answering each other. They moved in time to the music. The voices wove a hammock of sound that held me and rocked me. I found my body swaying, and then I was aware of Hattie beside me and felt embarrassed because I am no dancer.

‘Oh my,’ said Hattie when the song was over. ‘How beautiful.’

We headed towards the thumping music of the tent. It was Kurt Darren singing, ‘Meisie meisie’, and although there were a few old tannies sitting on the plastic chairs, most of the people were up and dancing.

‘Meisie meisie, prinses van die dansvloer,’ he sang. Girl girl, princess of the dance floor.

We looked around for Jessie. Hattie, who is so much taller than me, spotted her. The tent was now thick with people, so we walked around the outside and then worked our way in towards her. She was sitting with Slimkat at one of the long tables that were on the other side of the tent, away from the stage. Slimkat’s cousin, Ystervark, was beside him, glaring at a man who stood nearby and was wearing khaki shirt and shorts and muddy veldskoene. The man had a big belly and cross eyebrows and reminded me of someone. I also saw Warrant Officer Reghardt at the neighbouring table. He was dressed in a T-shirt and jeans and sipping a Coke. He’s a tall young man with beautiful eyes, dark and soft like a Karoo violet; his hair flopped over his eyebrows. He seemed to be ignoring his sweetheart, Jessie, but was looking around as if waiting for someone. Then I saw Constable Piet Witbooi, who’s also part of Kannemeyer’s team. I had to blink twice to see him because he was standing so still. His body was relaxed, but I could tell he was taking everything in, like a mongoose on the lookout for a jackal in the veld. Piet’s an ace tracker, with all the skills of his Bushman ancestors. I saw him make a small movement with two of his fingers, and soon after I felt a hand on my shoulder.

It was Kannemeyer. He stepped past me and in front of us, blocking our path between the long tables.

‘What are you doing here?’ he said to me, his eyes grey-blue like a storm cloud. He was wearing jeans and a faded blue cotton shirt, the top buttons open.

‘Meisie meisie, ek sien jou, ek bewe,’ sang Kurt Darren. Girl girl, I see you, I tremble.

‘I’m not following you,’ I said, loudly, over the music. ‘We’re meeting Jessie here.’

Hattie waved at Jessie, who’d now seen us and was calling us over.

‘Excuse me,’ said Hattie, turning sideways so she could slip past Henk.

That sideways thing wouldn’t work for me.

‘Excuse me,’ I tried. But he didn’t move.

‘It’s dangerous,’ he said.

‘It’s a festival,’ I said.

‘That man she is with . . .’

‘Slimkat’s dangerous?’

‘You know him?’

‘Someone tried to kill him, didn’t they? What happened?’

Henk shook his head. I saw movement behind him: that big man with the muddy veldskoene was walking towards Slimkat. Ystervark blocked his way.

‘That man!’ I said. ‘The one in khaki with the cross face. I think I recognise him. From a photograph on the Supreme Court steps. He’s a cattle farmer, angry with Slimkat for winning the land.’

Henk glanced behind him then looked back at me. ‘Stay out of it,’ he said, his eyes now the colour of rain against the mountains. ‘Please, Maria.’

This time I didn’t say excuse me, I just stepped forward. Henk moved out of the way; he is a gentleman after all. The man in khaki walked right past Ystervark and Slimkat towards a Windhoek Lager beer stall. Ystervark followed him.

Jessie grinned when she saw us. Slimkat stood up and shook hands.

‘Hand aan hand dans ons saam in die reën,’ sang Kurt. Hand in hand we dance together in the rain.

When Slimkat looked at me, that window with no curtains thing happened again, so I studied the table. In front of Slimkat was a Styrofoam container with a used napkin and four clean sosatie sticks.

‘Delicious,’ I said, pointing to the sticks and giving my fingers a kiss to show what I meant. We could hardly hear each other over the music, but we spoke with our hands. He nodded like a wagtail and made the spiral movement of kudu horns above his head.

‘What sauce did you like best?’ I asked, making a squeezing movement as if I was holding one of those big plastic bottles.

‘Honey-mustard,’ he said, showing the humming movement of a bee’s wings with his fingers. He offered me and Hattie his seat, but Hattie told him that we were leaving. She mimed a sleep movement with her hands and head. We smiled and nodded our goodbyes, and Jessie walked with Hattie and me to the outside of the tent where it was a little quieter. Kurt was now singing ‘Kaptein’, and the crowd was going crazy.

‘Kaptein, span die seile. Kaptein, sy is myne.’ Captain, prepare the sails. Captain, she is mine.

‘It was his car brakes,’ Jessie told us. ‘Someone cut them, right here at the festival. He nearly had a bad accident.’

‘Heavens above,’ said Hattie. ‘You’re sure it wasn’t a mechanical failure?’

‘No, they were cut. With wire-cutters.’

‘Oh my,’ said Hattie.

‘He’s asked that I only print the story after the KKNK. The organisers don’t want the crowds to panic.’

‘But what’s he still doing here?’ said Hattie. ‘Surely it’s dangerous?’

‘He says he won’t let fear make him run. He also thinks there’s safety in numbers. And there are a troop of policemen watching out for him.’

The man in khaki was heading back now. Ystervark was close behind. I looked over at Henk, who stood not far from Slimkat. Henk’s arms were crossed, and his gaze was doing a slow sweep of the beer tent.

‘Daar was ’n eiland vol meisies in bikinis,’ sang Kurt. There was an island full of girls in bikinis.

The expression on Henk’s face suddenly changed, his jaw dropped, and he started moving towards Slimkat.

Slimkat was bent over, clutching his stomach.