Pieter towered over him. “If you don’t want to listen, you must feel,” he said. “That’s the only remedy for a little kak like you.”
Benjamin kept screaming as his head throbbed, not caring what Pieter did to him. He heard Matrone Jansen’s thick heels clack down the hall long before her thin body appeared in the doorway. Her white cap dangled from her stiff brown hair by a single hairpin, her white apron flapping like the morning wings of the small brown birds in the tree outside as she rushed to him.
“What is going on?” The vein over the bony bump on Matrone Jansen’s forehead bulged when she yelled.
“He did it to himself. I told him to stay on his mat, Matrone,” Pieter stumbled defensively. “I can’t help it if these dum-dums don’t listen.”
“You are supposed to be watching them.” Matrone Jansen crouched over Benjamin, her hands sliding under his armpits and lifting him to his feet. “You should do as you’re told, son,” she whispered. “Otherwise we’ll have to visit with the Angel.”
The Angel was the strap Matrone Jansen kept in her desk drawer, a thick leather belt cut in half and nailed to a plank. She called it the Angel, because it was a warrior of God, like the Archangel Michael, and would beat Satan out of you any day. When she swung her arm, the belt part made a loud “fwhop,” and licked your bottom till it felt like it was on fire. Sometimes, when she was really angry, Matrone Jansen would use the plank side. She said it was for Benjamin’s own good, that it would save his eternal soul.
“Stop crying, boy.” Pieter grabbed Benjamin’s arm, his face swollen.
Benjamin closed his eyes and held his hands to his face, waiting for the slap to come, but Matrone Jansen stepped in front of Pieter. She pushed Benjamin’s head down, her thumbs parting his hair. “No blood, just a bump. Lucky for you, Mr. Smuts.”
“It wasn’t my fault, Matrone—”
“I’ll see you in my office.” Matrone Jansen turned and walked away, her body a straight gray line.
“Witch,” Pieter muttered when she was out of earshot. He shoved Benjamin. “You stay in the corner the rest of the week for that, hear?” He turned to the rest of the room. “And nobody talks to him.” He was greeted by dull eyes blinking listlessly. Jo-jo continued his perpetual rock, his head flopping as if his neck was made of jelly. Pieter smirked.
On Sundays, Matrone Jansen took Benjamin to church with her. He sat very still during services, so that Matrone Jansen would be proud of him. Benjamin didn’t like church much. The Dominee stood behind a box and always spoke in an angry voice. He had slicked-back hair and wore a long black dress. Matrone Jansen said that when it was a man of God, they didn’t call it a dress, they called it something else. The Dominee said that their nation was chosen by God, because He led them to this land in dark Africa, and gave it to them, and it was their sacred mission to guard their Christian heritage here. The Dominee talked about God testing His people in the war. Some of the older women would wipe their eyes then and the men would cross their arms and stare at the floor. The Dominee said their suffering would be rewarded. If they truly believed, God would avenge His people. That made everyone happy again and they said, “Amen.”
After the service, Matrone Jansen always took him into the storeroom at the back of her office, where shelves ran from the floor to the ceiling filled with sheets and cleaning supplies and extra kerosene. Matrone Jansen used the storeroom to drive demons out. The other children had many demons, making them act up and yell and shake and not understand. That was why they were in the hospital, because of the demons, Matrone Jansen said. “I command you, Devil be gone!” she would shout, lifting her arms in the air. When Matrone Jansen drove the demons out, her mouth stuck to the edges of her face, so Benjamin could see all her teeth, even the ones in the back. He sometimes imagined that they were as pointy as her fingernails and that she bit demons in half as they flew out of the children. He didn’t think Matrone Jansen was very good at driving demons out, because the children would just stay the same, but he didn’t tell her that. He knew that would mean there was a demon in him and that Matrone Jansen would have to drive it out and wouldn’t believe he was special anymore. That scared him more than anything, so he tried to remember Sunday sermons as best he could to please her. Matrone Jansen would lock the door once they were in the storeroom. It was so small in there that Benjamin’s nose almost touched the shiny seams on Matrone Jansen dress.
“Who is your savior, Benjamin?” Matrone Jansen would always ask.
“The Lord Jesus Christ, Matrone.” That one was easy.
“And what happened to our Lord, Benjamin?”
“He died, Matrone.”
“Ja, but why did he die?”
“The Jews asked the Romans to crucify him, Matrone.”
“That’s how. I asked why.”
He got it wrong. A lump bulged in his throat. “F-for my s-s-s …” He closed his eyes anticipating the blow. “S-sins.”
“Stop that.” Matrone Jansen tapped her heel. “What can you do to be free from sin?”
“I have to b-b-beg f-for f-f-forgiveness. I have to f-f-ollow the rules.”
“Commandments.”
Benjamin nodded. He didn’t want to talk anymore. Matrone Jansen put her hand on Benjamin’s head, her long fingers squeezing his skull. “Beg, then, Benjamin. Beg for forgiveness, so that when His fiery wrath comes, you may be saved.”
And he did, panicked thoughts jaggedly confessing things the minister said were bad, words he didn’t know the meaning of, a liturgy of wrong, professing a legacy bestowed on him, the son of a man, birthed from the loins of a woman, the offal of the world, the product of lust and greed. When he couldn’t think of anything anymore, Matrone Jansen would make her voice soft and say, “He is the servant of God, to execute his wrath on the wrongdoer. Amen.” And then it was over and Benjamin was glad.
“You must never tell what we do here, Bennie.” Matrone Jansen smiled, the skin on her face pushing into deep grooves, like there wasn’t enough room for it.
He always promised, because then Matrone Jansen would give him fudge and call him a good boy. Matrone Jansen made the fudge at her home. Benjamin once asked what her house looked like, if the walls were glossy yellow too and if she had a family that had kept her. Matrone Jansen had laughed. She told him that she lived alone and that her parents were dead. She was an orphan, like him.
The Sunday night that everything changed, a white flash woke Benjamin. He couldn’t see Pieter anywhere. Only a single kerosene lamp stood on the shift table, bathing everything around it in a soft light circle. Outside the sky raged, making breathing sounds, growling like the caretaker’s dog when he saw black people. An invisible giant stomped on the trees, setting the sky on fire. It was the wrath of God, like Matrone Jansen had said. Benjamin panicked. What if God was there to take him? Something banged against the window above Benjamin’s head, over and over again. God was knocking, demanding to be let in.
There was another flash of lightning. Rain scraped on the glass like Lucifer’s talons on the souls of sinners. The room stirred, the sounds of the others drowned by the voice of God. Small bodies on blue mattresses squirmed, their movement growing like a sea-wave. Next to Benjamin, Jo-jo thrashed wildly. His tongue protruded from a slack mouth, saliva dripping onto his blanket. They would all go to Heaven, Jo-jo and the others, because they weren’t twelve yet, that’s what the Dominees had said. But Benjamin was different and nobody could fool God. Something banged outside. Jo-jo screamed, his body tightening into a ball. This set the others off.
Benjamin crawled over to Jo-jo, his mouth dry, his skin hot and clammy. “Stop. Quiet, Jo-jo. God’s going to find us.”
Jo-jo’s arms wriggled wild. Benjamin put his hand on Jo-jo’s head, trying to stop it from moving. The boy squirmed, kicking, rolling away from Benjamin, falling off the mattress onto the floor. A barrage of gut-wrenching shrieks followed. Benjamin put his hand over Jo-jo’s mouth, but it was too late. The sky exploded, lighting th
e distorted faces around him. Benjamin’s breath stuck in his throat, refusing to let go. He had to get away. He had to get to the light, like Matrone Jansen always said. The light would save them all. He crawled to the shift table, his hands leaving wet prints on the red tiles. His stomach retched, his dinner spilling onto the floor, a sickly yellow of squash and fudge that burned his throat. Pieter didn’t like cleaning throw-up. He would bliksem Benjamin now for sure. Benjamin struggled to straighten up, holding on to the side of the table. He jabbed at the lamp, slowly pushing it to the edge of the table. He stood on the tips of his toes, gripping the lamp’s copper base between his small pudgy hands. He would bring the light. God would see that he was in the light. That he was a good boy. The lamp perched, suspended between table and nothing. Benjamin reached up to grab its handle, but it was heavy, too heavy for him to hold, and it fell.
Flames somersaulted over shattered glass, bounding up, clasping the tablecloth. Benjamin tried to get up, get away, kerosene wet on his nightshirt. He tried to push himself up. A sharp pain shot up from his palm. When he looked, he saw a shard of glass that stuck out of his hand, reflecting the fire, as if it was growing out of him, as if he was the fire. He stared at it, mesmerized, as blood spiraled down his arm in thick black vines. Heat radiated from his left foot where the fire gnawed on it. He became the light as flames crawled up his left leg. Benjamin tried to stand up, to show the others, but his lungs burned, the pain suddenly excruciating. He didn’t want to be the light. “Make it stop make it stop make it stop,” he screamed. There was a commotion somewhere far off. Someone ran toward him and covered him with something rough and heavy, bearing down on his body, and suddenly he existed in in a world of nothing.
“Bennie?” Matrone Jansen sat at his bedside, her hands clutching the rails. “You’re awake.” Her lip quivered, her eyes shining in a way Benjamin had never seen before. He fought the numbness, the fog pushing against raw pain.
Two rows of beds lined the long colorless room. Grown-up heads with cotton-candy hair peeked above starched sheets, few of them showing any signs of life. A nurse pushed a steel cart down the middle, stopping at all the beds, forcing something down every occupant’s throat.
“It’s time to change your bandage.” Matrone Jansen pulled the sheets back, exposing Benjamin’s thin body, amber pus seeping through a thick bandage on his leg. He felt something hollow and tingling in his tummy when he looked at it.
“You are a brave boy.” Matrone Jansen unwound the gauze, revealing raw flesh. She ripped at the last piece of gauze.
“Eina!”
“There, now. The worst is over. God has spared you.”
Benjamin’s eyes teared up. He whispered the words he had been thinking. “I didn’t want Him to.”
Matrone Jansen wrapped her hard bony hands around his face, bringing it close to hers until their foreheads almost touched. “It is not for you to decide, son. Earthly pain is nothing. Your soul will burn like this for eternity if you refuse Him.” She let go. “And if you keep talking like that, I can’t look after you anymore. I’ll never see you again. Is that what you want?”
Benjamin felt a pain worse than his legs in his insides.
“You should rejoice, Bennie. You have been purified with fire. You are His now.”
Benjamin didn’t understand God, didn’t understand why God had chosen him or burned him. To Benjamin, God was even scarier than Satan.
Matrone Jansen ran her hand over his hair. She resumed changing his bandage, her mood lifted, jovial even. “I have talked to the new administrator. He said, when you are better, you can come with me to my house. Maybe for a while.”
Benjamin stared silently at her, not trusting his words.
Matrone Jansen stopped fussing with his bandage. She looked unsure of herself. “You would like that, wouldn’t you?”
Benjamin nodded. Matrone Jansen kissed him on the forehead. He felt warm inside, light. He wondered if this was why people did all these things for God, so they could maybe get to go to an eternal home in Heaven.
3
Friday
DECEMBER 10, 2010
Alet canvassed the Terblanche farm with Mathebe glued to her side. He demanded clarification for every colloquialism, taking copious notes in careful block letters. The process was cumbersome. They had to leave the van parked on the side of the road and hike up narrow footpaths to get to the houses, knocking on weather-weary doors, questioning glassy-eyed men and wary women. News of the murder had spread, and it was hard to ferret out useful information between rumor and imagination. Nobody knew anything about a missing girl.
“The workers will show up here for their wages at four,” Alet said as they neared the main gate of the Terblanche farm.
“You know the family, Constable.”
“Ja, but maybe Boet will tell you things that he doesn’t want me to know if you’re by yourself. You know. Man stuff. Besides, I still have to look into that call from the school.”
Mathebe nodded. He stopped the van at the Terblanche farm gate. “We will meet at the main house in two hours,” he said and got out.
Magda Kok’s house was half a kilometer inside the farm border, where the distance between the small houses grew larger as the road followed the rise of the mountain. Alet pulled to the side of the road, partially blocking a dirt walkway that led to a small rectangular building with a red zinc roof and narrow windows. Water stains crawled down painted brick. An outhouse leaned against the outer wall of the house like a cancerous growth, its slanted metal door rusty, an air hole gaping above the frame. A brown mutt with a white chest was tied to a post in front of the door. The dog growled, its chest heaving with punctuating barks. He bared his teeth, his short muscular legs straining.
A young coloured woman leaned against the door frame, perched on one leg, her hands behind her back. She wore a short black dress, her droopy breasts visible through its keyhole. Her shiny round face peeked out from under a floppy yellow hat. Alet only knew Magda Kok by reputation. The women of the valley talked about her as if she was a necessary evil, rather than competition for their husbands’ affection. Amid the moral condemnations, Alet had often heard notes of sympathy.
Alet got out of the van. “Magda?” She had to raise her voice to be heard above the barking.
Magda nodded. “Miesies.”
“I’m Constable Berg. I need to talk to you for a bit, okay?” Alet took a step closer. The dog lurched forward suddenly, pulled back in midair by its chain. Magda didn’t move. Alet smiled at her. “You think you can get the dog?”
Magda looked at Alet with hooded brown eyes. “Hey, Voetsek! Sharrap man!” The dog quieted down, pacing as far as its chain would allow, keeping small black eyes trained on Alet.
“Can we talk inside?”
“I don’t know, Mies.”
“Just talk. I promise.”
Magda grabbed the dog’s collar behind his neck and pressed his hindquarters down, crouching beside him. The animal’s body shivered with a low growl. She nodded in the direction of the door. “You can go now.”
Alet stayed close to the wall as she slipped into the house. Sparse furniture lined the front room: a worn couch, a low, rickety table, a vase with red plastic roses on top of a boom box. A faded rug with a paisley pattern partially covered the rough concrete floor. In the corner, an old baby cradle was covered in blankets and clothes. Panels of thick net curtains covered the doorways that led to the other rooms of the house. A single silver garland, intertwined with fairy lights, draped over two nails on the wall.
“You’re getting ready for Christmas, hey,” Alet said when Magda walked in behind her.
Magda’s eyes scrunched to slits, her mouth opening to expose the gap where her two front teeth used to be. She covered her smile with her right hand. “It’s for the little one, Mies.”
“Nonnie, right? That’s her name?”
Magda’s smile faded. “Ja.” She eyed Alet suspiciously.
“I’m sure it’s v
ery pretty when you turn the lights on.”
Magda nodded, her hand still over her mouth. She bent down in front of the garland and flipped the plug’s switch, a slight tremor in her hand. The fairy lights flickered on, their reflection dancing in the silver of the garland. “Like they do in the stores.”
“It’s beautiful, hey.”
“Every night we put it on and sing a Krismis song. Nonnie teaches me the ones she learns in school.”
Alet imagined the intimate scene, mother and daughter sitting together under the lights, talking about their day. “Is Nonnie home?”
Magda’s body tensed, her fingers digging into her fleshy upper arms. “Just now, Mies. She goes to a friend’s house after school for a bit, see?”
“Magda, the school called us. They said Nonnie was talking about the Thokoloshe coming here.”
“Ai!” Magda shook her head. “That child!”
“What was she talking about?”
Magda’s eyes trailed to the doorway. “I don’t know, Mies.”
Alet sighed. “Magda, I need you to be honest with me, okay? I know what you do here.”
Magda backed away from Alet, waving her hands emphatically in front of her. “It’s not true. Those bitches in the valley, they all lie.”
“It’s all right, Magda. I told you, no trouble. I just want to know if Nonnie is here when you do it. When the men come.”
Magda dropped her head. After a moment she shook it slowly. “Never when Nonnie is here, Mies. Never.”
“They only come in the day?”
Magda looked at the doorway again. “Ja, Mies.”
“You’re sure?”
“Nonnie goes on sleepover to her ouma on Saturdays. Sometimes then.”
“Nonnie has never seen the men? She’s never been here when they come around?”
“They know not to come then.”
“Have there been ones who you don’t know? New men?”
“No. Only if I know them. Too much trouble otherwise.” Magda’s eyes started to water.
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