by Sally Andrew
She gasped as if she could not breathe, and then put her elbows on her knees and hid her face in her fingers. I reached out and put my hand on her back. Her shoulders shook as she cried. Ousies brought her a paper napkin, and Fatima wiped her eyes and blew her nose.
‘Then we came to South Africa,’ she said, ‘and I thought I’d never smell that smell again. But then they attacked the Somali shops and that man. They burnt him . . . I was there.’
She buried her face in her hands again. Then she looked up and into the fire.
‘The frankincense.’ She took in a big sniff. ‘It cleans the smell out. From the inside.’
Ousies leant her witch’s broom against the black Defender and went to the fire. She threw some dried herbs on the fire and lit another piece of frankincense. The thin line of smoke headed straight for Fatima. She pulled it around her like a shawl.
After a while, Lemoni said, ‘I can smell the Psari Plaki. That divine smell of baked fish just from the oven, tomatoes, garlic and parsley. It’s steaming, and on the table. But before we start to eat, the men break through the door and come in with their guns. My husband can do nothing. They steal everything.’ Her hand went to her left ear. She had pierced ears but no earrings in them. ‘All my jewellery. My precious . . . I was so frightened.’
Lemoni took a handkerchief from her bag and scrunched it up in her hand. She looked angry. I shook my head sympathetically. Foei tog. I would have been angry too. Not only did they steal everything, but they ruined a good meal.
Lemoni wiped her hands and polished her turquoise fingernails with her handkerchief, then put it back into her handbag. Again there was silence, apart from the soft sound of Johannes clinking under a car and Ousies’s broom on the sand. She was sweeping again.
I waited for our leader, Ricus, to say something to comfort her, but it seemed he was allowing the quiet of the group to do the holding. The silence was not awkward; it was full of caring and understanding. We had all suffered. We were all there to heal.
‘The wet canvas bag over my head,’ said Tata Radebe. ‘Eish. Like drowning. It comes back to me in the night, and I cannot breathe.’
He made a clicking sound with his tongue and shook his head. He picked up his stick and put it across his thighs, then carried on with his story.
‘Tyhini. They did a lot of kinds of torture. No sleep. Shocks, and other things . . . that I cannot say in front of ladies. But it is that bag that I can’t get off me. When it happens, I must get outside or get to a window, or I will die. I must find air. When I can feel the air moving, I drink it and drink it. Awu. I am afraid that one day I will not get the air and I will die.’
He was sweating. Ousies gave him a napkin, and he used it to wipe his forehead.
Ricus said, ‘I would like to show you a breathing exercise that calms the mind and helps the air flow easily.’ He put his furry hands on the sides of his big belly. ‘Hold your hands here, on your lower ribs. Breathe in through your nose.’ Tata Radebe put his stick beside him and did as Ricus was doing. ‘Let your fingers feel the ribs rising, as the air fills up your lungs. As you breathe in, count inside your head. Notice what number you get to. Then as you breathe out, count again and notice the number. Let’s all do it.’
We put our hands onto our sides. Apart from Ousies, who was poking some coals under Fatima’s aluminium pots.
I counted to four in, and five out, and the next time it was five in, and six out.
‘The in-breath and out-breath don’t have to be the same length,’ said Ricus. ‘But allow the rhythm to become the same.’
I relaxed into five in, and six out, and I kept that rhythm. After just a few breaths, I felt quite calm. My mind open and my muscles soft.
‘Practise this just for a few minutes every day,’ he said to Tata. ‘Then, if there is a time when there’s no moving air, this breathing will be your window.’
Tata Radebe closed his eyes, a frown of concentration on his face. After a while, the frown relaxed and there was a soft smile on his lips.
He opened his eyes and said, ‘Ewe, Bhuti. Yes, I can see it. The window. Camagu. Thank you.’
CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN
The sun was getting low on the horizon now, showing off the soft curves of the hills. There were big smudges of cloud, preparing for a colourful sunset. The kudu was standing next to Ousies again; they both looked into the fire.
I opened my mouth; I thought I was going to talk about the kudu that I kept seeing, but instead I found myself saying, ‘It’s the taste of him in my mouth. His face is so close, his breath ugly and sour, like a rotten potato. And then the weight of him on my body . . .’ I felt nauseous just talking about it. ‘He is on me . . . inside me and I want him out. I want to vomit. It’s the taste of him I want to throw up. But also the taste of my own shame.’
I didn’t want to see the faces of the people around me. I was afraid I would see disgust. Or pity. I looked down at my lap, where I was clutching my Tupperware of cheesecake. I needed cheesecake; I wanted its lemony sweet flavour and smooth texture in my mouth.
‘Shall we have some cheesecake now?’ I said, looking at Ricus.
His expression was not disgust or pity. It was a kind look that made me want to cry. He gestured to Ousies, who came and took the Tupperware from me and opened it. The kudu had disappeared again. Ousies had some napkins in her hand; she offered one to me along with a piece of cheesecake. It seemed rude to take my own food first, and I gestured towards Fatima. Ousies gave her some cheesecake, then offered it to me again. This time I took a piece. I closed my eyes as I ate. The texture was now perfect. My mouth did not have to do any work. The cheesecake ate itself. It slid down my throat and filled my belly with a sweet yellow happiness.
‘Jirre, this cake is amazing,’ said Dirk.
There were sounds of agreement from everyone, and I looked at them. They all had warm faces, shining at me. I felt like a flower in the sun.
Ricus asked, ‘Do you feel that your delicious food helps to chase away the bad taste inside you?’
‘Ja,’ I said, ‘that’s what it does. I made Henk’s Favourite, my version of Japie se Gunsteling, and last time I had one of those awake nightmares, it really helped.’
‘Japie se Gunsteling,’ echoed Dirk, like it was a prayer.
The clouds were a soft apricot-pink. These people accepted me, even after they’d heard such bad things. Not the worst I had to tell, but still, things I’d never told anyone else. The ring of panel vans seemed like a herd of buffalos, protecting me.
Behind me, Ousies was sweeping. She swept in a circle; when she got to the entrance path, she twisted and flicked her broom as if she was sweeping something out. And as she did this, I felt a weight lifting off me, off my shoulders. I heard the flapping of wings, and I saw the goshawk flying away, towards the sinking sun.
‘Let’s have supper,’ said Ricus.
Ousies and Fatima served us the most delicious spicy Somalian dish of lamb’s liver and rice. The liver was cut into thin strips and the food was full of delicate flavours, like saffron and coriander. The basmati rice had peas in it, and some of the spices that I’d tasted in the tea: cinnamon and nutmeg. Lemoni offered to make moussaka for our next meeting, and I said I’d bring pudding again.
When we’d finished eating, Ricus and Ousies cleared up. The sky changed from blue to turquoise, and the clouds were streaked with gold and rust.
Dirk let out a big sigh, as if he was about to speak. But then there was the sound of bleating and animal hooves. Lemoni jumped but stayed in her seat. A flock of about twenty sheep wandered into the laager.
‘Hey,’ said Ricus, waving his hands about. ‘Voetsek.’
Johannes scrambled out from under his panel van and tried to shoo them out, but most of them ignored him. One was sniffing at my shoe with its white woolly snout; it reminded me of Kosie, although it was a bit bigger, its horns starting to curl.
‘Where’s Mielie?’ Ricus said, then whistled a long high note.<
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Johannes looked around and shrugged, then carried on trying to chase out the sheep. But they came back in between the panel vans.
Ricus whistled again. After a while, a sheepdog appeared and stood in front of him, looking a bit sheepish.
‘Mielie! You been chasing rabbits again? Take the sheep to their kraal. Gou-gou.’ Quickly.
In two minutes, the sheepdog cleared the laager. The clouds were a burnt red now. I heard some birds saying goodnight to each other.
‘We were like sheep to the slaghuis,’ said Dirk. ‘Ja, like sheep we went, but it was worse. Because we also had to do the slaughter. We had to kill each other.’
He shook his head and looked down at his hands. Then he pushed them away from him, like he didn’t want to see them. Ousies was now behind him, moving quietly with her broom.
‘It was in Angola. In Cuito. Fok. I know what you mean about smells and sounds. Dust. Blood. Gunpowder. Grenades. Thirty years later, I can still smell that shit.’ He pulled his hands onto his belly. ‘But it’s the feeling in my body that’s most crap, that stays with me. To start with, we were all wired; we were amped to kill the terrorists. But then, after a while, there was just so much killing. Our men and theirs. Lots of my mates died. I shat myself; I wanted to stop, but I kept on going. Then we were ordered to retreat. I thought it would be okay then. But it was too late.’
He looked up at the sky, and I followed his gaze to the big torn clouds that were now stained a deep red. The Rooiberg was bright red too, and the Swartberge a crushed purple colour. Dirk shook his head. His hands were tight fists on his thighs.
‘You said you had a feeling in your body?’ said Ricus. ‘That stayed with you?’
Dirk brought his fists to his belly.
‘Ja, it is hard to describe; it’s like a moerse big anger that sits just here. Like a wild ratel that wants to fuck you up. Not the armoured cars we were in that were called “ratels”. But one of those little crazy guys, you know, badgers. A wild ratel that just wants to jump up and moer you, fuck you up. But it’s like the ratel’s teeth and claws have been pulled out. I don’t know, it’s hard to describe.’
‘It sounds like you feel very angry and also powerless,’ said Ricus.
‘Ja, that’s it. Those bastards made us kill each other, and we let them. There was nothing I could do. And now it’s over, and there’s still nothing I can do.’
‘You could forgive yourself,’ said Ricus.
‘Nee. Fok that, I’m a bastard too. It would’ve been better if I died out there.’
The sky was red all around us. Ousies was flicking the broom away again and again. The sky got redder still.
‘Forgive yourself, Dirk.’
‘No,’ he said. ‘Fok, nee.’
CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT
We sat with Dirk until all the red had gone from the clouds. The sky darkened, and the planets started to glow.
Ousies stood beside the fire, and Ricus got up to join her. Dirk, Tata and Fatima went to stand with them. Perhaps this is how they ended each session. Ricus tilted his head as a way of inviting us, and Lemoni (and her handbag) and I went and stood in a circle with the others. We were close but not quite touching.
Ousies held the napkins that we’d used to wipe our hands, mouths, sweat and tears. She dropped them onto the coals, and they made a big cloud of smoke that rose up to the night sky. I stepped back a little, as the smoke was thick and burnt my eyes. I heard a low singing in a language I did not know. It sounded like the wind in the veld and the clicking of insects. The napkins caught fire, and the flames ate up the smoke. In the firelight, I saw Ousies swaying gently as she sang in an old Bushman tongue, old as the gwarrie trees. The napkins burnt down to dark crumpled shapes, and small pieces flew up into the sky, which was filling with stars.
Ousies, still singing, dropped a piece of frankincense and a twig of herbs onto the coals. I breathed in the sweet smells.
Johannes turned on the headlights of his Mini panel van, and dust and small moths swam in the two streams of light. We said our goodbyes and found our way to our cars.
Driving home in my little blue bakkie, surrounded by the dark veld stretching into the distance and the huge night sky above me, I felt light, like I was floating. Floating down a soft black river, sparkling with stars.
In the Karoo sky, there are so many stars it is hard to see the darkness.
When I let myself into the house, the phone was ringing.
‘You all right?’ said Henk.
‘Fine.’
‘I’m on my way over.’
‘You had supper?’
‘Ja. Beans on toast.’
‘You’ll eat some cheesecake?’
‘Definitely. See you now-now.’
I phoned Hattie to tell her I was fine. Then I put the cheesecake on the stoep table, having just one mouthful to check the texture. I swallowed my diet tablets and antidepressant pills. When I heard Henk’s bakkie, I poured the coffee and took it outside.
Henk came onto the stoep with a big smile. Then he gave a little frown and asked, ‘You all right? Did it go all right?’
‘Very well,’ I said, and stepped close to him.
He leant down and kissed me. He hadn’t waxed his moustache, but it still looked good. ‘Delicious,’ he said, tasting the cheesecake, and kissed me some more.
I sat beside him and fed him cake with a fork, and he kissed me in between. He tasted delicious too. We drank and ate, but we were still hungry for each other. He pulled me onto his lap. He was very hungry.
‘Do you want to . . . come inside?’ I said.
‘I didn’t think you . . . I left Kosie.’
‘Just for a while,’ I said, running my hand inside his shirt, feeling his muscles and the hair on his chest. ‘I was thinking, maybe if you don’t . . . lie on top of me.
He kissed my neck, slowly; his mouth was warm and his moustache soft.
‘And maybe,’ I said, ‘we can find some . . . other things we can do.’
‘I’ve got some ideas . . .’ he said, licking my ear gently.
I turned off the light as we went inside, and saw the kudu on the stoep.
We walked in each other’s arms to my bedroom. There was a leopard in the room, and I gasped. Henk took my gasp as encouragement and lowered me onto the bed. Then the kudu appeared, and the leopard and the buck stared at each other across the bed. I left them to look at each other, and watched Henk in the starlight as he unbuttoned his shirt. His chest was wide and his arms thick and muscled. He ran his hands gently over me, and I could feel my own shape. My curves and hollows felt good in his hands. He undid the laces on my veldskoene and took them off. He slipped my panties down, over my ankles. Then he showed me some of the melting things that can be done with the tongue, which are just as delicious as cheesecake.
I heard a barking sound from the kudu, followed by a purr-growl from the leopard. Then I realised the animals were gone and both sounds were coming from me.
When Henk was done with me, I got to work on him. He tasted and felt so good in my mouth. For a moment I thought of my mother; how shocked she would be with this duiwelswerk: this devils’ work. All pleasure and no duty. But then Henk started making some very happy sounds and movements, and I forgot all about my mother.
Afterwards, I lay in his arms, warm and peaceful, my head on his hairy chest. He snored a little, and I breathed in the sound and smell of him.
I had no nightmares or nausea. I didn’t need Henk’s Favourite. Something was coming right. I smiled in the darkness. And as if he had heard me smiling, he woke and ran his fingers across my cheeks.
‘It helped you, didn’t it?’ he said. ‘The counselling.’
I nodded, my chin bumping against his chest.
‘I have to go,’ he said. ‘Sorry.’
‘Ja, I know,’ I said. ‘Kosie doesn’t sleep—’
‘I’m working tomorrow.’
‘Kosie should be on a farm,’ I said, ‘out in the veld.’
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br /> ‘Ja,’ he said, ‘but when he gets a bit fatter, the farmer will kill him.’
‘He’s a lamb,’ I said, ‘not a pet.’
‘I’ll call you tomorrow night. Maybe we . . .’
‘Ja,’ I said, nibbling his ear. ‘Maybe.’
CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE
Henk went home, but I could feel him close to me, and I slept with a smile on my lips. The next morning I could still smell him on my skin, even after I showered. It was Sunday, my best day for baking and gardening. It was time to make those mosbolletjie rusks. I let the chickens out of their hok and took two warm eggs from a nest.
In the kitchen, I bruised the muscadel raisins (stalks, pips and all) with the back of a spoon and added them to some sugar water, which I left in a warm spot on my windowsill.
I was not very hungry, which was a strange feeling. I took my diet and antidepressant pills, as they were obviously working. I picked two sun-ripe tomatoes from my garden and made myself tamatiesmoor, with scrambled eggs and cheese scones. I ate on the stoep and watched little white-eye birds in my lemon tree and the big kudu browsing on the gwarrie tree in the veld. The sun lit up the distant Langeberge mountains, then the Rooiberg, then the soft hills on the other side of the veld. I put the leftover breakfast in Tupperwares in the fridge.
The raisin water for the mosbolletjies needs at least twenty-four hours to ferment into must, and it seemed a shame for the oven to be empty on a Sunday morning. I decided to make a batch of my favourite muesli rusks.
When the dough was in the oven, I took off my apron, put on my veldskoene and old trousers, and spent some time in my vegetable garden. The marigolds and wild garlic chased away most of the goggas, but there were always some insects and snails on the spinach and the lettuce, which I threw onto the compost heap for the chickens. I pulled up the weeds that were growing between the green beans and the sweet potatoes. I had a nice recipe for sweet-potato cake and was tempted to make one right away, but decided it could wait until a cake occasion. I tapped my knuckles on a big orange pumpkin. It sounded ripe, but I didn’t cut it loose yet. I moved it into a sunnier spot to sweeten even more.
