Читать книгу The Satanic Mechanic - Sally Andrew - Страница 9

CHAPTER THREE

Kosie was lying on his blanket in the chicken hok, and I sat on the edge of my bed, my feet on the floor. Henk knelt in front of me, ran his hand through my untidy brown curls and kissed me softly on the lips. Then he kissed harder. He looked into my eyes and smiled as he undid the top button of my dress. That smile that turns my heart upside down. Those eyes that are blue and grey like the sea on a rainy day. They made me forget about the dead man, and the woman locked up in prison. They even made me forget about my own problems, locked inside of me.

‘Wait,’ I said, and got up to switch off the bedroom light.

There was pale starlight coming in through the sash window.

‘I want to see you,’ he said, standing up to turn on a bedside light. ‘There, that’s not so bright.’

He unbuttoned his shirt and took it off, then put his big arms around me and held me against his warm furry chest. He smelt like spice cake and nutmeg. His waist pressed against my belly, and I could tell he was ready. I felt ready too, but not ready to be seen. Parts of me needed to stay in the shadows.

‘I’m a bit shy,’ I said. ‘The light . . .’

‘I just want to see your face,’ he said.

‘That’s okay,’ I said, ‘it’s the rest of me that’s shy.’

‘Hmm,’ he said, leaning down to kiss my ear. ‘How about . . .’ His hands travelled down the back of my dress and onto my round bottom. It was a bit too round, but his hands didn’t seem to think so. ‘How about we keep your dress on?’

His hands moved down a little further, and he edged the skirt up a little. Then a little more. His fingers followed the edge of my white lace panties.

I made some noises that I didn’t really mean to make; they just came out.

‘I’ll take that as a yes,’ he said, his finger hooking into my panties, pulling them down.

We heard Kosie bleating, a lonely sound. Henk undid the leather belt on his jeans. It was a big belt, with stuff attached to it, including a gun holster. Everything about Henk was big; I tried not to stare as he took off his jeans.

Kosie bleated again. And again. Baaa. Baaaa. Baaaaaaa!

‘Sorry,’ said Henk. ‘He sometimes does that, even in the kitchen. Just a second. Or else he will get worse.’

I sat down on the bed, and he walked to the sash window and shouted, ‘Kosie! Go to sleep, little lammetjie. Lamtietie damtietie. Doe-doe doe-doe.’

Kosie went quiet. Henk came back to me, and I got a front-row view of him putting on a condom. Then he stood me up again, kissed the top of my head and bent down to nuzzle my neck, while his hands moved my dress up over my hips. He held me firmly by the waist and lifted me up and kissed me on my throat then on my lips. I am short, but I am not a little lady, not at all, but he made me feel small and light.

Then Kosie made a real racket, bleating like crazy. We heard another sound: a rough sawing call. Then the noise of chickens kicking up a big fuss.

‘Leopard,’ said Henk, lowering me onto the floor.

I felt let down. But I loved my hens, and that hok might keep out a rooikat, a lynx, but it was no match for a leopard. Henk pulled on his jeans and headed for the door.

‘Take a weapon,’ I said, looking around for something, finding only my hairbrush.

‘Leopards are very shy.’

‘Not if you get between a leopard and her lamb.’

‘I have my gun,’ he said, patting the holster on his belt, but he took the hairbrush from me anyway.

‘Be careful, Henk,’ I said as he left, suddenly realising he meant more to me than my hens. Much more. Although I really loved those chickens.

The lamb and the hens were still shouting for help. I leant out of my window into the darkness and shouted, ‘Go away, Leopard! Voetsek!’

A beam of light lit up the wild camphor tree outside my window, and Henk ran past with his torch, gun and hairbrush.

Soon Henk came back to the bedroom with a shivering lamb in his arms.

‘It’s okay, Kosie,’ he said, ‘it’s okay, lammetjie. The leopard’s gone.’

‘Did you see it? Are my hens okay?’

‘Ja. Its tracks were by the hok, but it didn’t get in. There was rustling in the bushes; I threw your hairbrush, then heard something disappear into the veld.’

He laid Kosie’s blanket on the floor and tried to settle the lamb on it, but Kosie bleated hysterically when separated from Henk, so he picked him up again and held the shivering lammetjie in his arms. It nuzzled its head under his armpit. Henk sighed and sat down on the bed. I sat down next to him and leant my head on his shoulder.

But Henk is not a man who gives up easily. He managed to slip Kosie off his lap and me onto it. Then I was lying on the bed, and Henk was slowly lowering himself onto me.

He looked into my eyes and said, ‘My hartlam.’ My heart lamb.

Then, suddenly, I saw Fanie on top of me and remembered things I didn’t want to remember. A wave of black nausea washed over me, and although the rest of my body disagreed, my arms pushed Henk away, and my mouth cried out.

‘What did you say?’ Henk asked. ‘Did I hurt you?’

‘I feel sick,’ I said, wriggling out from under him. I was shaking. ‘I am so sorry.’

I rushed to the bathroom. The pictures I didn’t want to see, the secrets I didn’t want to tell, were bashing about in my head. I knelt down and threw up into the toilet. Until I felt completely empty.

Henk was at the bathroom door, knocking.

‘Maria . . .’

‘Just leave me,’ I said. ‘I’ll be fine.’

The words I’d said, when I’d pushed him off me, were: ‘I’ll kill you.’

When I was finished in the bathroom, Henk offered me a tot of brandy, and I shook my head. We lay down, and he held me tight against his chest. I was still shaking, and he pulled the blanket over me. After a while, he started snoring. The frogs were singing, but quieter now, like the party was over. I carefully climbed out from under his arm and made my way to the kitchen. I knew what I needed. It wasn’t brandy; it was Venus Cake.

I took the lid off the tin and saw the cake glistening inside.

‘Jislaaik, you look good,’ I said.

I ate until the bad taste was gone from my mouth. I ate until the shivering stopped. I ate until every corner of the emptiness was filled with peanut-butter coffee chocolate cake.

But even though it was the most satisfying cake I had ever made, and I’d eaten almost half of it, I did not feel complete. I wanted something else. And then, there he was, standing in the kitchen – the man I wanted to love and make love with.

‘Maria . . .’ he said.

He looked at me and at the cake. The tears started leaking from my eyes. I looked away; I didn’t want him to see me covered with icing and tears. But he touched my chin and turned my face towards him.

‘I’m sorry,’ I said. ‘I’ll try . . .’

But I didn’t know what I could try.