The Curator

by Jacques Strauss

  Marleen comes back into the kitchen with a plaster on her finger. She pours herself a glass of wine. ‘What I am saying is: I want you to be honest, so that everyone knows where you stand. I spoke to the man from Pretoria. I asked him straight. I said: Mister, you tell me now, can the family take this money away from Johann? And he said no. He said that’s the law.’ Werner nods. ‘But the problem is, the lawyer doesn’t really know Johann. And you do. When he heard, Johann said, “This is not right. I can’t take this money. This is Werner’s money. This is the tannie’s money.” Can you imagine – a grown man saying that? The tannie’s money. A thirty-four-year-old man. But it is right, Werner. You know it. I know it. You’ve got your fancy life in Pretoria. What does Johann have? Nothing. You know – he raised Charlie.’

  ‘I know – I was there.’

  ‘You were not there. Not after. And when his father was sick, where do you think his brothers were? Out jolling.’

  ‘I know. Things were hard for us too.’

  ‘I’m sorry – it’s not like me to speak ill of the dead, but your father was a blarry madman. He was not right, Werner. And now he has done this one good thing. Don’t take that away. With this money Johann can have a bit of a life. He can have a second chance. Maybe he can give Charlie a bit of money. God knows that girl has had it rough too.’

  Now she has gone too far. Werner puts down the knife. ‘I don’t know why you are carrying on like this. As you’ve told me – we can’t get it back. And it isn’t even why I came.’

  ‘If you care for Johann, you’ll go. You just being here makes him feel guilty.’ Werner is astonished by her hostility. ‘I’m sorry,’ she adds quickly. ‘That was unfair. I’m sorry. I’m upset.’

  They hear Johann pulling into the driveway. He walks through the front door with a pack of charcoal over his shoulder.

  ‘Werner, grab me a beer and come outside.’

  Marleen opens the fridge and takes out two beers. She looks past Werner to see that Johann is out of earshot. ‘He’s a good guy.’ She passes him the beers.

  After dinner Johann offers to drive Werner back to the hotel, but Marleen objects that he is far too drunk. Instead Johann says he will walk Werner. The criss-cross of paths through the bush is an old neural network flickering to life. Here and there Werner stumbles into patches of concentrated familiarity and unleashes little bursts of memories. They avoid the old obstacle course, but walk by some of the camp’s new developments. ‘It’s changed a lot, huh?’ Johann asks.

  Werner nods, but then says, ‘Ja and no.’

  ‘I never thought I would still be living here,’ Johann says. Does he regret this or has he reconciled himself to a life here, which surely can’t be all bad? Has he found happiness in that? At the new boathouse they stop and gaze out over the water. ‘They built that about three years ago. You know, they were still using some of the old boats up until then. Every inch was patched.’

  ‘What happened to Steyn?’ Werner asks. Johann shrugs. It is difficult to understand what his gesture conveys. Is he indifferent to the man’s fate, or is this something he does not want to talk about? Johann lights a cigarette and Werner does the same. They walk in silence along the bank until they come to the path that leads to the hotel. Johann stops to gaze out over the water again. They are standing close together, still drunk, but the cool breeze that has picked up is sobering.

  Johann turns to Werner and puts his hand on his shoulder. ‘Werner, are we okay?’

  ‘Ja, of course.’

  Johann nods. ‘Just follow that path,’ he says.

  ‘You want to come up for a drink?’

  ‘Next time.’

  Werner starts walking up the path. He turns around to see Johann still standing there. He raises his hands in farewell, but Johann has his back to him and does not see.

  17

  LERATO LOOKED AT the floor and Maria glared. Petronella had summoned them both to the kitchen. ‘I’ve been thinking,’ she said, ‘that Lettie needs to learn how to be a proper maid. Lettie, you must learn how to do things nicely, like Maria.’ The two women standing in front of her did not react to this news and Petronella was emboldened. ‘This week, Maria, I want Lettie to work with me in the house and you can work in the camp.’

  ‘But, missies, I am the maid here. I work in this house for fifteen years.’

  ‘Yes, Maria – you’re a very good maid. But I need Lettie to learn about these things too. She’s not going to learn by cleaning the dormitories. And I need her to learn to make proper food.’

  ‘Missies, this is not right, missies. This is my job, missies.’ Lerato shuffled uncomfortably and Maria muttered something in her native tongue.

  ‘Maria,’ Petronella said sharply. ‘I’m not asking you – I am telling you.’

  ‘But missies wants to give my job to this one. I tell the baas this girl is not good. This one she is not right.’

  ‘What are you trying to say, Maria?’

  ‘This one she is too young. She know nothing. She is a little girl. And she make big trouble there.’

  ‘Where? Big trouble where?’

  ‘There. Missies knows.’

  ‘At Moedswill?’ Maria said nothing. ‘Now you listen here, Maria – I won’t have any of your bantu nonsense here. If you have something to say, say it.’ Maria shook her head and muttered something under her breath. ‘Maria, I don’t like your attitude. You’re getting a little white, huh? You’d better not forget who is in charge around here. And if you don’t like it, you can pack your things. Do I make myself clear?’

  ‘Yes,’ Maria said.

  ‘Yes, who?’

  ‘Yes, missies.’

  As Maria walked out through the kitchen door to join the other camp cleaners, Petronella called out, ‘And, Maria, if you see Johann or any of those other children around, I want you to come and tell me.’ Maria said nothing and Petronella turned to Lerato. ‘So, what would you like me to call you. Lettie or Lerato?’ The girl shrugged and looked at the floor. ‘How can we carry on like this? Every time I ask you something you just shrug. I want to settle this business once and for all – is it Lettie or Lerato?’

  The girl spoke so softly that Petronella had to lean in to hear her. ‘Whatever missies want.’

  ‘Whatever missies want,’ Petronella repeated. ‘I think Lettie is a lovely name. We should call you Lettie. Are you okay with that? If I call you Lettie?’ The girl nodded. ‘Now, I’ve been into town and bought you some proper maid’s outfits. Some nice overalls and a nice kopdoek. We are going to make you look like a proper servant – not some little piccanin running around barefoot in the veld.’ She opened the cupboard where the cleaning materials were kept and handed the girl a bag. ‘Now there are two sets in there – a blue one and a pink one. You see,’ she said, removing one of the dresses, ‘it’s got proper white trim and everything. Now – I want you to wash these every day. Blue one day and pink the next – neh? And I want it clean. Every day.’ The girl nodded. ‘What do you say?’

  ‘Thank you, missies.’

  ‘You are really going to have to learn to speak up, if we’re going to get on. I can’t have you whispering the whole time. Well, go and put one on – let’s see what you look like. You can wear those tekkies for now, but we will have to get you new shoes at some point.’ Lerato didn’t move. ‘Well, what are you waiting for, girl?’

  ‘Which one, missies?’

  ‘Well, whichever one you want. Did your old missies dress you every morning? Lord, Lettie! Whichever one you want – pink or blue: you decide. Come, hurry up now. We have lots to do. And you can tell Maria that if I see her skulking around the house, and not cleaning dormitories or cooking food, there will be hell to pay. Neh?’

  Petronella placed the ingredients for the morning’s cooking lesson on the counter: pumpkin, flour, eggs, sugar, milk, cinnamon and vegetable oil. Marius stood in the kitchen door watching his mother.

  ‘Good morning,’ she said to her son.

  ‘Mor
ning, Ma,’ Marius said. It was his second day at home since the fight with Werner.

  ‘You look better,’ she said. ‘Come here.’ His face was less swollen than it had been yesterday. She lifted his shirt and looked at his back. The bruises were yellowing. ‘I think you can go back to school tomorrow,’ she said.

  ‘What are you doing?’ he asked, pointing to the ingredients.

  ‘I’m teaching Lettie how to cook.’

  ‘Why?’

  ‘Because she’s a maid and needs to know how to cook. You’re worse than your father. Blarry ridiculous.’

  ‘Sorry, Ma.’

  With her fingers she brushed her son’s hair off his forehead. ‘I’ll need to give you a haircut.’ He shook his head. ‘Don’t be silly,’ she said. ‘Are you ever going to tell me what you and Werner fought about?’

  ‘It was nothing, Ma. We were just fighting.’

  ‘Has your brother made up with you?’ Marius nodded vaguely. ‘I suppose not,’ she said. ‘I don’t know what I’m going to do with the two of you.’ She poured breakfast cereal and milk into a bowl and put it on the kitchen table. Lerato appeared at the door, wearing the pink uniform. ‘Look at you,’ Petronella said. ‘Mmm? Much better. Don’t you think?’

  ‘Yes, missies.’

  ‘Maybe it’s a little big, but you will grow into it. Have you got the kopdoek?’ Lerato held the headscarf up in her hand. ‘Put it on. I don’t want to see you without the kopdoek. It’s part of your uniform. Now, we’re going to make some pumpkin fritters. Every Sunday we eat roast lamb, pumpkin fritters, roast potatoes, beans and cauliflower with cheese sauce. Come here, girl – don’t stand around like I’m going to bite you.’

  Marius ate his cereal as he watched his mother instruct her new charge in the art of making boerekos.

  Petronella was not one for a great deal of introspection, but as they waited for the pumpkin to cook she wondered what exactly she hoped to achieve by taking this young girl under her wing. It had been so long, she told herself, since she’d last instructed a maid that there was pleasure to be had in doing it again. Besides, when she taught Maria she was barely a woman herself; newly married and wet behind the ears. With Maria, older then herself, she worried that the woman would think her a fool. Back then she was too free and easy with servants. In the early days of their marriage, Maria had seen her cry from loneliness or boredom, or after a quarrel with her husband. Perhaps this was why Maria was not as good a servant as she could have been. Now to start again, to be able to tell someone – without fear of what they may think – that you like things just so, was satisfying. It was good to have a project again. But Petronella knew it was unlikely she’d be doing this, if Werner had not said to her that Hendrik was outside with his kaffirmeid. And when she went outside and saw the way Hendrik was standing there talking to Lerato, so gently, imploring her to come back, there was such tenderness in him – tenderness the like of which she had not seen for many years – it made her frightened. She thought, No, my boy, not his kaffirmeid – my kaffirmeid, because she had a way with bantus that Hendrik didn’t and, if he felt something for this girl, she would draw her in close and twist it and make it something else completely.

  Steyn was barely concentrating on the young girls learning to row on the dam. One of their teachers, a pretty woman in her mid-twenties, came to sit next to him.

  ‘Can I bum a cigarette?’ she asked, pulling her hair back and retying the elastic around her ponytail.

  ‘Sure.’ He took the packet out of his pocket and offered her one. She put the cigarette in her mouth and leant forward, waiting for him to light it. She crossed her legs and ran her fingers over her thighs. She was probably a netball or hockey coach at school.

  ‘I shouldn’t really smoke in front of the girls, but I saw you there and I knew I was just dying for a cigarette.’

  Steyn had not been sleeping well. The fight between Werner and Marius was keeping him up. He was shocked when he saw the evidence of Werner’s rage towards his brother. It was only a matter of time, he thought, until he was exposed. He needed to get Werner onside again.

  ‘So how come you live at the camp?’

  ‘Sorry?’

  ‘I said how come you live at the camp?’

  ‘It’s part of the job. Someone needs to be next to the dormitories.’

  ‘And what about your girlfriend?’

  ‘I don’t have one.’

  ‘Someone said you had a girlfriend.’

  ‘Who?’ he asked.

  ‘Oh, I don’t know,’ she laughed. ‘Must have been one of the other teachers, I guess.’

  ‘Your friends are looking at us,’ he said, indicating with a slight nod of the head some of the staff by the water’s edge, who had turned to watch their colleague.

  ‘Let them look,’ she said. ‘You’ve never come across such a lot of old prudes in your life.’ Steyn laughed. ‘Listen here – you wouldn’t have any booze, would you?’

  ‘Ja, in my room. Would you like to come round for a drink tonight?’

  ‘Is it a date?’

  ‘It’s a date.’

  She got up and walked back to the other teachers. She smiled at them and they knew she’d got what she wanted. The ugly teachers shook their heads dismissively.

  It was easy to be normal. Tonight the pretty young teacher would come round and they’d drink. It would be good. He thought about calling his wife. For the first time since he arrived, he wanted to go home, away from Werner and Marius. He regretted ending the thing so decisively. He wanted to go home to her, so that she could hold him and tell him that everything would be okay, and that this would pass, and that it was not his fault. It might still be possible to convince her that he’d changed. He’d said the army had unleashed in him perverted desires and that he didn’t trust himself. He could tell her that it was better now, that he was returning to normal. But then he thought about what he’d done the previous day with Marius and became aroused. He started thinking about who, if he could choose, he might spend one night with. His wife? Perhaps. A night with his wife would be more restorative than anything he could imagine. They could drink and smoke and talk until the sun came up. She would try to wrap both hands around his biceps and talk about how much she missed his body. She’d bite his nipple and run her fingers through his chest hair and nuzzle him. There was succour in a woman’s desire. And Werner? No. He could not imagine Werner spending the night in his bed. The boy’s desire was unsettling; as unnatural as his own. And his haughtiness, when the thing was done. Unbearable. He looked at you with those pale-blue eyes as if you’d suddenly revealed yourself, as if he had in no way participated in what had just happened. He’d be demanding and stroppy. He’d ask for beer and cigarettes. His every word and gesture would be blackmail. To spend the night with Werner would be to spend the night captive; pleading, begging, cajoling, bribing.

  ‘Steyn!’ someone shouted, but he didn’t hear. He thought about spending the night with Marius, his arms wrapped around the warm naked body of the boy, drawing him in tight, gently caressing him and kissing him until they fell asleep. But if he could choose, above all it would be Johann.

  ‘Steyn! Steyn!’ A teacher was running towards him. His date for the evening had waded into the dam and was making her way towards a capsized boat.

  ‘Fuck!’ he said. He took off his shirt, ran into the dam and started swimming towards the boat. He quickly overtook the blonde teacher. When he reached the boat there was no sign of the girl who’d been rowing. He dived under it, to find the young girl holding onto the side of the boat, crying.

  ‘Are you all right?’ His voice echoed. The girl sobbed. ‘Don’t worry – it’s fine. I’m going to take this life jacket off, so that you can go under. Okay?’ The girl, still frightened and sobbing, nodded. Steyn undid the buckles of her life jacket, which cut across her budding breasts. This is what people worry about, he thought. Moments of intimacy like this with young girls. Perhaps, if the girl wasn’t crying and she didn�
��t have snot all over her face, he might have felt a flicker of desire. ‘Okay, I’m going to count to three, and then we’re going to duck under, okay? One, two, three.’ They surfaced on the other side of the boat. ‘Now hold onto the boat. I’m going to get your life jacket.’ A few seconds later Steyn returned with the life jacket and strapped her back into it. The boats were old and heavy. It would take a lot of effort to right it in the water. The blonde teacher had nearly reached them.

  ‘Lourien!’ she shouted. ‘Lourien! Are you okay?’

  ‘I’m fine, miss,’ she said. ‘Oom Steyn saved me, miss.’

  The teacher’s relief gave way to fury. ‘I told you! I told you not to get up and mess around – didn’t I! You could have knocked yourself out and drowned!’

  ‘I’m sorry, miss.’

  ‘You are going to be very sorry,’ she said.

  ‘Let’s get everyone back to shore and we can talk about it there,’ Steyn said. He helped the girl get on top of the capsized boat. He gripped the rim of the bow and started paddling awkwardly back to shore.

  ‘Let me help,’ the teacher said. Holding opposite sides of the bow, they made their way back to shore, occasionally kicking each other underwater. At first they apologised to each other, but halfway back they were too exhausted to speak. By the time they reached the bank, their chests were heaving. They dragged the boat onto shore and the girl jumped off and ran to her friends. Steyn looked at the woman.

  ‘I’m so sorry,’ he said. ‘I was distracted.’

  ‘It’s okay. She’s fine.’

  His arms and legs were aching. ‘I’m sorry.’

  ‘It’s fine.’

  ‘Still on for that drink tonight?’

  ‘Of course.’

  Werner didn’t even bother to go home any more. He told Petrus to drop him and Johann at the turn-off and from there walked straight to Johann’s house. Petrus argued with him. ‘Kleinbaas, this is not right. The missies will ask me where you are.’

  ‘She knows where I am,’ Werner said.

  ‘You make big trouble for me.’