by Sally Andrew
‘Is there anything you’d like to ask before the others arrive?’ he said, raising a furry eyebrow. ‘There is another new member coming, so I’ll go over all the basics anyway.’
‘Oh, I’ll wait then,’ I said. ‘Though, I was wondering . . . about payment.’
‘This is not my job,’ said the mechanic. ‘It’s something I do for my own healing. But if you find these sessions help you, and you want to make a donation to the snake conservation organisation of South Africa, they can always do with funding.’
‘Ja, I heard you liked snakes.’ I cleared my throat, patted the Tupperware on my lap and said, ‘I brought some cheesecake.’
‘Wonderlik,’ he said. Wonderful. ‘We like to feast as part of our session. I’ll explain that later too.’
I was glad he didn’t take the cheesecake away from me; I was feeling more relaxed, but it was still nice to have the cake close by.
Ousies fiddled with burning twigs under the enamel kettle. I heard a soft purring sound; a car was heading our way. When it became a loud roar, I saw a shiny black Alfa Romeo (shinier even than Tata Radebe’s shoes) pull up neatly next to my car. It somehow made my bakkie look extra dusty.
A woman with loose blonde curls, tight black jeans, and heels stepped out. She walked carefully across the rough ground, avoiding some sheep droppings, and stopped before entering the panel-van laager. I smiled to make her feel welcome, and she came into the circle. Her small black top showed off tanned arms and cleavage. She wore gold and turquoise bracelets and a bright turquoise belt, and carried a fancy leather handbag.
Ricus stood up to greet her. There was a loud clunking sound; as it got louder I saw a white 4x4 bakkie rattling towards us. It sounded like something was loose. As it pulled up, a puff of black smoke came out from underneath the car.
‘Am I in the right place?’ asked the blonde woman.
‘Yes, yes,’ said, Ricus, smiling, shaking her hand. ‘Lemoney?’
‘Lemoni,’ she corrected him, ‘with the accent on the “i”.’
‘Come in. Sit down.’
She looked around at the chairs, the panel vans and all those messy car parts.
‘Fok,’ said a voice behind her. Fuck.
If I hadn’t recognised him by sight, I would have known him by his swearing. It was Dirk. He kicked the back tyre on his 4x4 and stomped towards Ricus. He was the husband of Martine, the woman who was murdered a while back. He’d abused her, and he’d been our first suspect. But we went through a lot together and in the end had almost made friends. Even so, I wasn’t sure if I could talk easily about Fanie in front of a man like Dirk.
‘My blerrie car’s going up in smoke,’ he said to Ricus.
I felt relieved; he was there to complain about ‘his bloody car’ to the mechanic, not to join the group.
Ricus patted Dirk on the shoulder, then went to his 4x4 and patted it on the bonnet. He walked to the back of the bakkie and peered underneath.
‘Your exhaust’s broken,’ he said. ‘I’ll ask Johannes to wire it up for you now, but come back on Monday and we’ll fix it proper.’
Lemoni sat between Tata and me, and smiled a pretty smile. She had hazel eyes with long lashes and looked about thirty. She arranged her handbag on her lap. The label read Louis Vuitton. On her one arm were the bracelets, on the other was a gold watch and a thin leather band with blue glass beads that looked like eyes.
‘I’m Tannie Maria. You’re not from here, are you, Lemoni?’ I said, with the accent on the ‘i’.
Lemoni was watching Ousies, who now stood with a broom – a thatching-grass witch’s broom – in front of the Land Rover. Defender was written on the bush-bar in front of the van, and Ousies did look like she was some kind of guard.
‘Sorry?’ said Lemoni.
‘Where are you from?’
‘Jo’burg,’ she said. ‘But staying here for a while, visiting my sister. And recovering.’
‘Are those evil-eye beads on your bracelet?’ I said.
She nodded and said, ‘They ward off evil.’ She leant towards me. ‘Doll, do you think those snake bracelets are a satanist thing?’
I shrugged and said, ‘It’s my first time here too.’
Dirk came and sat down on the other side of the small circle. So he was joining us after all.
‘Tata,’ Dirk said to the old man, who nodded a greeting. Then he saw me and said, ‘Tannie Maria!’
Then he looked at the pretty blonde, and his mouth fell a bit open and he went quiet. She was rubbing the strap of her handbag with her thumb and watching the fire.
An old Peugeot station wagon pulled up beside Dirk’s 4x4, and Ricus went to greet a woman who got out of the car. She was wearing a long blue dress, and a headscarf with pink flowers on it that covered much of her round, chocolate-brown face. Her skin was smooth, although I guess she was middle-aged. She gave Ricus two aluminium pots to carry. She was carrying a silver tin, which she handed to Ousies at the fire, and then she sat down on the chair on my left. The woman smiled at me from inside her headscarf then looked down at the ground.
I was going to introduce myself, but Ricus stood in the circle and cleared his throat. The fur on his face and arms caught the afternoon light, and he looked like large friendly beast.
‘Welcome!’ he said, in his rich warm voice. Then he laughed from his belly. He reached his arms wide, and it felt like all of us were being held in a big bear hug.
CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE
Ricus sat down and introduced himself and Ousies. She was pouring water from the black kettle into a smaller red teapot. She added ingredients from the silver tin: cinnamon sticks, cardamom pods and other spices. Ricus said he and Ousies had met years ago in Hotazel in the Northern Cape.
‘Is it really as hot as hell in Hotazel?’ Dirk asked.
‘In summer it is, ja,’ said Ricus. He rested his hands on his hairy knees. ‘This is a private space, where we must all feel free to speak. Everything we say here stays here. Please tell the group your name, but you don’t need to say your full name, or even your real name. Just what we can call you while we’re together.’
We each said our names and where we came from. The woman in the headscarf spoke quietly. Her name was Fatima, and she was from Somalia but had lived here for a few years. The old man was Tata Radebe, from the Eastern Cape. Lemoni was a Greek South African, visiting from Johannesburg. Dirk was Dirk, and I was Maria. We had both always lived in the Klein Karoo.
‘One of the things I have found with PTSD,’ said Ricus in his big deep voice, ‘is that we become disconnected. Our trauma is in our bodies, and we try to escape it by cutting off from our bodies.’ Then he lowered his voice, so we had to listen more carefully. ‘This means we cut off from ourselves, from our senses, from our surroundings. An important part of our healing is to feel our senses again. That’s why I like to do these groups outside.’ He reached his arms out, spreading his fingers wide. ‘Where you can feel the sun and the wind on your skin, and smell the smoke from the fire.’ He closed his eyes a moment, taking in a big sniff of air. ‘It’s also why we eat and drink as part of our sessions.’
As Ricus spoke, Ousies poured from the red teapot into white enamel mugs, and Fatima handed them around.
The hot drink had a strong, spicy smell. Fatima must have seen the question in my eyes, because as she gave me my cup she said, ‘This is shaah, the tea we drink in Somalia.’
Her voice was soft, close to a whisper. The tea was milky and sweet, and I could taste nutmeg and cloves.
As we drank our tea, Fatima used a match to light what looked like a piece of plastic on a small silver dish. It started smoking and gave off a lovely smell.
‘So, let’s just sit for a while,’ said Ricus, ‘and enjoy the taste of the shaah and the smell of the frankincense.’
It was delicious and comforting: the flavour of the tea together with the sweet smell. I closed my eyes, and my nose and mouth took the comfort into my belly and lungs.
‘En
joy the feel of the air, the sun and clothes on your skin,’ said Ricus.
The air was still but fresh. The afternoon sun was low and warm, like Ricus’s voice.
‘Notice what you see around you,’ he said.
I opened my eyes. Lemoni’s left hand was stroking her handbag. She wore turquoise nail varnish, and there was a white line on her tanned ring finger. I wondered why she’d taken off her ring. I noticed all our shoes. Fatima’s were smart and clean; so were Tata’s and Lemoni’s. But the veldskoene that Dirk, Ricus and I wore were dusty, like the ground. The dry earth was seasoned with red, white and brown stones, and had well-nibbled patches of green and gold grass.
The light was sparkling on the panel vans that surrounded us. The shade of one of the thorn trees cut across our circle and made sharp patterns on the Renault van. The big white thorns on the tallest tree were a lot like horns, but of what kind of animal I did not know.
Then I saw the spiral black horns. The kudu walked from behind the thorn tree, between the panel vans, towards us. It came to the fire and stood in the line of frankincense smoke, next to Ousies. She was squatting beside the fire, staring into the flames. The kudu turned its head towards her, and she looked up at it, right into its eyes.
I sucked in my breath in surprise, and Ousies glanced at me. I took a sip of tea and closed my eyes. I opened them again; the kudu was still there. Maybe all people with PTSD saw the same strange things . . . But no one else in the group was looking at the kudu.
Something moved at Ricus’s feet. The copper anklet had come to life. There was a thin snake curling its way around his veldskoen. I sighed and had another sip of tea. My hallucinations were getting worse. I didn’t mind the kudu, but now, with snakes too, it could get out of hand.
‘Panagia mou!’ shouted Lemoni, pointing at Ricus’s feet. ‘Mother Mary! A snake!’
She jumped up, spilling her tea onto the ground. She was trying to climb onto her chair, but the chair was not a strong one. Dirk came forward to steady her, and Tata Radebe stepped towards Ricus and the snake, ready to swing his wooden knobkierie.
Ricus held up his hand to stop Tata and leant down to pick up the snake.
‘Ag, Esmeralda, my liefie, you are skrikking the people here.’ When I realised the snake was real, I wasn’t scared, but Lemoni certainly was.
Ricus stroked Esmeralda gently on her head, and the snake wrapped herself around his hairy arm and entwined with the spiral of his metal bracelet. She had patterns of golden brown and pale olive. Her little tongue was shooting in and out of her mouth as if she was tasting the air and, in her tasting, was learning everything about us all.
‘It’s only a skaapsteker,’ said Dirk to Lemoni. A sheep-stabber.
‘Ja, but the name isn’t fair,’ Ricus said. ‘These snakes couldn’t harm a rabbit, let alone a sheep. Mice and frogs, yes.’
‘Johannes,’ he called, then to the snake he said, ‘Don’t worry, hartjie, they won’t hurt you.’
Johannes popped up from underneath the yellow Combi panel van.
‘Esmeralda got out again,’ said Ricus. ‘I think she’s lonely. Put her in with Dickie, please.’
The snake twirled around Johannes’s wrist and started to head up the sleeve of his blue overall. Johannes left our circle of cars and walked along the dirt road towards the farmhouse.
‘Sorry about that,’ said Ricus, smiling. ‘They are quite harmless.’
Lemoni was pale and breathing fast. Dirk patted her shoulder and went to sit down again, and Ousies poured a fresh cup of tea, which Fatima handed to Lemoni. There was no sign of the kudu.
‘Signomi. Sorry, I’m a bit jumpy,’ said Lemoni. Her hands were shaking, but the tea stayed in her cup. ‘They, you said they, are there more of them? Do you have a whole snakepit?’
‘No, not a pit.’ He laughed his warm belly laugh. ‘But I have a few as pets. They usually stay by the house.’
‘Is it part of the satanist stuff?’
Ricus smiled and shook his head. ‘I just love them,’ he said.
He finished his tea and set the cup on the ground. Then he rubbed his hands together and looked around at us. Ousies was sweeping the sand in a slow circle behind our chairs with her soft thatch broom.
Tata said, ‘Bhuti.’ Brother. ‘Are you now a man of God? A Christian?’
‘My . . . the man and woman who raised me,’ said Ricus, ‘were Christians and took me to church. They . . . didn’t treat me well.’ His hand went to the inside of his wrist, and his thumb stroked it gently. There was no hair growing there, and I could see small round white scars. ‘I don’t go to church these days.’ Ricus looked up; a black bird was flying above us, towards the Swartberge. A raven.
Lemoni crossed herself and said, ‘Xriste mou.’ My Jesus.
‘Allahu akbar,’ Fatima said quietly. God is great.
Tata polished the knob of his walking stick with his palm.
‘But nature feeds my spirit,’ Ricus said, reaching out, grabbing at the air. ‘It helps me and heals me. We all find our own ways . . .’
The old man nodded. Lemoni was now stroking a crucifix that she had fished out from her cleavage. Dirk was paying attention to her crucifix too. Ousies was squatting at the fire, looking at the coals.
‘Ritual is a powerful thing,’ said Ricus. ‘The fire, the circle.’ He hand swept out to include us all. ‘When we act with awareness, we can change ourselves, and the world.’ He clapped his hands together. ‘Enough theory. Let’s take three easy breaths.’ He put his hands on his ribs. ‘Just watch the breath going in and out of your lungs.’
I let my mind settle as I breathed. Ousies stood still beside her broom.
‘Now,’ said Ricus after a while, ‘what is your intention? You don’t need to say it out loud. Just decide: why are you here?’
I closed my eyes. I am here to make my relationship right with Henk, I thought. To be able to . . . be intimate with him. But more than that, I’m here to wash myself clean of the bad time I had with Fanie. To wash away what he did, and what I did too.
‘Sit a little while, holding your intention clearly,’ said Ricus.
I wanted to free myself, somehow, of the shame and the guilt that I had carried all those years. I didn’t really think it possible, but I so wanted to be free.
I opened my eyes and watched a bird of prey gliding across the sky. Its wings were grey and white. It landed on the top of the tallest thorn tree and looked down at our laager of panel vans.
‘Valk,’ said Dirk, pointing at it. Falcon.
‘Ja, a pale chanting goshawk,’ said Ricus.
CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX
‘My intention,’ said Ricus, smiling, ‘is that we all heal; that we become the best of ourselves.’
Ousies dropped a twig of wild camphor onto the coals.
‘Now, back to our senses,’ said Ricus, clicking his fingers. ‘Most of us experience flashbacks. It is one of the common PTSD symptoms. Things that have happened before seem to be happening again.’ He frowned. ‘Like a nightmare, but we are awake.’
‘Ewe, Bhuti,’ agreed Tata Radebe, and Dirk nodded.
‘What makes the memory so powerful,’ said Ricus, tapping his temple with a fingertip, ‘is that it’s not just visual. There are other senses that make it seem present and alive: feelings, smells, sounds.’ He touched his nose, his ears. ‘When we bring awareness to these sensations, we begin to see and accept them. Only then can we let them go. It is hard to drop something if you don’t know you are holding it.’
He looked up at the goshawk. It was sitting very still, but I could see its white chest-feathers ruffling in the breeze.
‘One of the things that I still experience,’ Ricus said, ‘is a burning sensation on the inside of this wrist.’ His fingertips touched those white scars again. ‘Where my so-called father would hold the cigarette. I say so-called because I believe I was snatched as a baby from a supermarket, but that’s another story . . .’
He brushed a hand across his
knee, as if cleaning off some sand.
‘When my wrist starts to burn,’ he said, ‘I can hold it under running water, or put ice on it, but the pain stays. My father would hold the lit cigarette there and say that I had to tell my mother – the woman he called my mother – that I loved her.’
‘Eina,’ said Dirk. Ouch.
‘But I never said it. Never,’ said Ricus. He made a movement with stiff hands, as if he was cutting the air. ‘I’ve never said it to anyone. Even to the man with the panel van who rescued me, the one I grew to love like a father; or to the woman I later fell in love with . . .’
‘It is a big thing to tell someone you love them,’ I said, thinking about Henk’s words to me.
‘Ja,’ said Ricus. ‘It is.’
He looked into the fire as Ousies added another twig.
Fatima said, ‘You say you loved a man? Who was he?’
Ricus smiled. ‘His name was Ted; he was delivering a vacuum cleaner. I escaped from my home by hiding in the back of his van. A panel van was my first place of safety.’ He reached out towards the white Renault van. ‘By the time Ted found me, we were far gone. He saw my burns and let me stay. I drove around the whole country with him. My interest in mechanics came from fixing his cars. Years later, when Ted died, he left me his transport company. I sold the business but kept some of the vans.’ He looked round at his circle of beloved cars.
‘And who was the woman you loved?’ asked Dirk.
‘Enough about me,’ said Ricus. ‘The point I was making is about the burning on my wrist. How the memory of trauma often comes with a physical experience. Maybe some of you have strong sensations that are part of your flashbacks?’
The goshawk in the thorn tree watched us as we sat in silence for a while. Johannes was rattling quietly under the Renault.
‘For me it is the smell,’ said Fatima, in her gentle voice. ‘I went back with my uncle to the village. It was black. Burnt. When we got to the huts . . . It was hot. The . . . bodies had been under the sun for too long . . . The smell stuck to my skin.’ She pulled the cloth of her dress away from her arms. ‘And stabbed deep up here.’ She poked her fingers towards her nostrils.
