by Sally Andrew
I felt like I was in a bad dream.
‘But there’s no proof,’ I said.
‘You will give the proof,’ he said, tugging at me to stand. ‘You can sign a statement.’
Tears welled in my eyes.
‘Henk,’ I said, looking up at him, ‘is this really what you want?’
CHAPTER FORTY-THREE
Henk’s grip on my arm was firm. He could have pulled me up, but he wasn’t that kind of man. I don’t know what I’d expected, but it wasn’t this. Did he really think I belonged in prison? If I wanted to clear my conscience, free myself, would I need to be locked up? The woman who’d stabbed her boyfriend in the heart had said she felt so free. I’d thought she meant killing him had freed her, like Fanie’s death had freed me. But maybe being caught and going to jail is also what set her free. Because she did not have to bury a secret inside her.
Jessie would help me organise legal aid. I could maybe argue self-defence after all that Fanie had done to me.
I took a deep breath and stood up.
‘Maybe it is for the best,’ I said.
‘Ja,’ he said. ‘We need to lock those bastards away.’
‘The bastards?’
‘Excuse my language. Those blerrie idiots from Hotazel.’
‘Hotazel?’
‘The ones in dress-up costumes who invaded your group with smoke bombs. And weapons.’
‘Oh. Oh, them . . . They were toy weapons.’
‘They are dangerous people.’
‘How do you know they’re from Hotazel?’
‘Our guys stopped a Ford that was doing 160km an hour on Route 62. Painted with red flames. I’m sure it was your same threesome in the car, though they gave false names. We ran the plates, and the car’s registered to a man in Hotazel. He’s out on parole after serving time for kidnapping. That’s probably why they used toy weapons; the real thing would have him locked up again for a long time. The Hotazel police say he’s big in the satanist movement, a high priest or something. He hangs out with a priestess who likes to wear red. And guess who the previous registered owner of the vehicle was? Your friend, Ricus.’
‘Your hand. It’s too tight on my arm.’
‘Ag, sorry,’ he said, letting go and walking towards Kosie. ‘Come, Kosie, we’re going back to the police station. Once we have your report, we’ll try to track them down, get them for trespassing, harassment, something . . .’
Kosie dropped the lettuce that was in his mouth and trotted towards Henk.
‘I can go to the station tomorrow,’ I said, sitting down again. ‘We can’t just leave the fire. I’ve made supper and all.’ Kosie butted Henk’s knee gently with his little horns. ‘I’ve made bobotie burgers. And I’ve got celery for Kosie.’
Henk sighed and came and sat by the fire, then put his elbows on his knees and his head in his hands. ‘I’m sorry.’ He ran his hand down the side of his face, messing up one of his moustache tips. ‘These Hotazel idiots do piss me off, but . . .’
I put the grid on the fire as I let him find his words. The coals were just right for braaing.
‘It’s not just them,’ he said. ‘It’s the Slimkat Kabbo case. It’s getting to me.’
‘Has something happened?’
‘No,’ he said, ‘that’s the problem. We’re not getting anywhere. It was bad enough that he died on my watch, but now it looks like the murderer’s going to get away with it.’
I clicked my tongue sympathetically and put two patties and four pieces of roosterkoek on the grid. Henk came and stood at the fire. A man can’t resist a braai.
‘Jessie thinks it has something to do with the Hardcore diamond miners,’ I said. ‘Or maybe Agribeest, the cattle company. Slimkat played a big role in the court case that lost the miners their diamonds, and the company their grazing land.’
‘Ja, of course we’ve been looking into that.’ He picked up a stick and poked at the coals. ‘But it doesn’t make sense. Firstly, every one of the board members of both companies has a watertight alibi for that night, far away from Oudtshoorn.’
‘Maybe they paid someone else to do it.’
‘Of course, ja, and that’s what we were thinking when we caught that mustard guy. But there’s no motive now that the court case is over. When they were still fighting the case, ja, maybe killing someone might’ve helped them, but now . . .’
He shook his head, picked up the braai tongs and lifted a patty and then a piece of roosterkoek to look underneath, but they weren’t ready.
‘They might be angry with Slimkat,’ I said. ‘They must have lost a lot of money.’
‘Ja, people do murder for revenge, I suppose. Last week in Riversdale a guy was killed because he wouldn’t give someone a cigarette. But it doesn’t make sense for them to do something so . . . what’s the word? Vindictive.’
‘Are they nice people?’
‘Ag, no, I doubt it, but the publicity would be so bad for them. It’s not worth the risk. Diamonds, especially, are full of politics. Blood diamonds and all that. Killing Bushmen would really give them a bad name.’
Henk put down the tongs, picked up the fire poker and moved the coals around.
‘So what happened to the mustard guy?’ I asked.
‘Ag, that was a dead end. The lab reports agreed with you – it wasn’t his mustard in the poison sauce. It was Colman’s, but a powdered mustard – not the one I brought you.’
I could smell the meat and bread were ready, so I handed Henk the braai tongs and he turned them over. They were just right, with dark brown marks from the grid.
‘He confessed to being at the KKNK,’ Henk said, ‘and stealing the wallets. He ate some kudu sosaties, which is why his prints are on the bottle. There’s nothing that links him to Slimkat.’
‘Is there anyone else who might have a reason to kill Slimkat?’
‘What gets me thinking is the poison used. It’s something that grows in the veld. Something a herbalist would know.’
He moved the cooked meat and bread to the edges of the grid and put on fresh roosterkoek and patties.
‘There are a lot of muti killings,’ he said. Medicine killings. ‘Witchdoctors use clever herbs, try to make it look like a natural death.’
‘Aren’t the herbs medicines, for fixing up people?’
‘Ja, mostly, but of course there are bad doctors.’
‘That’s sad.’
I looked up at the night sky, at the moon that was getting fuller. It was a forgiving moon.
‘There’s an old woman,’ I said, ‘a relative of Slimkat’s, who went missing after his death.’
‘Ja, she was a medicine woman. We know her name, but no one can tell me where she’s gone. No one wants to tell me.’
‘But if she might’ve done it, wouldn’t they want her caught?’
‘They may want to deal with it in their own way. I don’t think they’ve got much respect for our law. They think it’s racist against the Bushmen. I suppose you can’t blame them.’
‘Maybe she has been killed too? By the same people.’
‘Ja. We’ve asked at the hospitals.’
‘And if she was killed, they might have hidden the body.’
‘Of course, yes, but if she’s not dead, then going missing makes her a suspect.’ He turned the burgers and the roosterkoek.
‘But you’ll track her down?’
‘It’s a big country,’ he said, shaking his head. ‘And these people can hide out deep in the bush if they want to.’
‘She could be hiding because she’s afraid for her life,’ I said. ‘She might come back when things have calmed down.’
‘Maybe,’ he said. ‘Maybe she’s hiding amongst her own people. The Oudtshoorn police are getting a search warrant. To search the homes of her family here in Oudtshoorn and also up on the game reserve near Kuruman.’
‘A search warrant,’ I said. ‘That’s not going to make them trust you.’
‘We tried the nice chatting. What else can we do?’<
br />
I put the hamburgers onto our plates. They smelt fantastic.
‘There must be another way,’ I said.
CHAPTER FORTY-FOUR
I put the malva pudding in the oven, and we sat next to each other at the stoep table and ate to the sound of crickets and frogs, and Kosie munching his celery.
The bobotie burgers with roosterkoek were delicious. We added slices of tomato and onion, and Henk also put on tomato sauce and Mrs Ball’s chutney.
‘Jislaaik,’ Henk said when he’d finished his third one, ‘these are the most amazing burgers I’ve had in my life.’
I decided now was a good time to tell him the truth. I took a deep breath.
‘Henk, there is lots we don’t know about each other.’
He moved his chair closer to mine and ran his hand down my neck.
‘I wouldn’t mind getting to know you a bit better,’ he said.
Those burgers had made him all fresh. He slid his arms around me, tickled my cheek with his moustache and gave me a kiss that was so sweet that for a moment I forgot what I was about to say.
I pulled back and said, ‘What I mean is, you don’t really know me. What if I’m not who you think I am?’
‘I know you are the best cook in the world, and that you are as delicious as your food.’ He nibbled on my neck, his mouth moving to my collarbone, then further down still.
A feeling like hot honey ran along the back of my throat, all the way to my toes.
‘I need to turn off the oven and heat the malva sauce,’ I said.
‘I’ll heat your sauce,’ he said, standing up and pulling me towards him, pressing me against his hard body.
‘Henk,’ I said, ‘there are things about me . . .’
He unbuttoned his shirt and opened it to me, like he was opening his heart, and I buried my face against his warm skin and silky hair. Somehow my voice got lost in his chest.
So I let him heat me up, then I heated the malva sauce and poured it over the pudding. We fed each other warm pieces with whipped cream and then licked each other’s fingers. Once or twice, I tried to speak, but he took the words out of my mouth with his kisses. Later, I would tell him later, I thought, let me just enjoy him one last time . . .
I put the leftover burgers in the fridge, and the roosterkoek in a tin, left a bit of a mess on the stoep table and headed to the bedroom. When things were getting very hot and sticky, I felt two hard things poking into my thigh. Henk was busy elsewhere, so I knew it wasn’t him. I looked down to see the lamb pushing his little horns against me.
‘Nee, Kosie,’ I said.
‘Ag, Kosie, voetsek,’ said Henk. Go away.
The lamb bleated.
‘Voetsek,’ said Henk again.
But instead of going away, he hopped onto the bed like he was a mountain goat and started butting against Henk’s arm with his head.
‘Blikemmer,’ swore Henk. Tin bucket. ‘It’s his bedtime. I usually give him a snack now and put him to bed. I left his blanket in the car. I could lock him out, but he’ll keep banging against the door and won’t give us any peace.’
He sat up and kissed the tip of my nose.
‘Sorry. I’ll be five minutes.’
‘You could put him in the chicken hok,’ I said. ‘There’s been no sign of the leopard.’
‘He’ll be fine in the kitchen. He’ll settle down quickly if I put him to bed properly.’
Soon I heard Henk in the kitchen: ‘Here, Kosie, a little bit of malva pudding and cream for you . . . No. No more. It’s bedtime. Come lie down here . . . There’s a good boy.’
Then I heard him singing:
‘Lamtietie, damtietie, doe-doe my liefstetjie,
moederhartrowertjie, dierbaarste diefstetjie!
Luister hoe fluister die wind deur die boompietjie.
Heen en weer wieg hy hom al oor die stroompietjie.’
Hush little lambkin, my dear one, sleep tight,
mother-heart stealer, sweet thief in the night!
Hear how the wind rocks the tree by the stream.
Whispering softly, back and forth in your dream.
The wind followed his lullaby, rustling the leaves in the camphor tree outside my window. The frogs in the stream sang too.
Five minutes later, Henk was back in the bedroom, taking off his trousers.
‘You sing to him?’ I said.
‘Ag, it’s just much quicker that way. He’s asleep now.’
He climbed under the sheets and held me to him.
‘Henk,’ I said. ‘I need to tell you something . . . about Fanie. There’s something you should know. About me.’
He propped himself up on his elbow and looked at me with his stormy blue eyes. The whispering breeze became a strong wind, and the rustling got quite loud.
‘I want to tell you the truth, but I’m scared . . .’ I said.
He stroked my shoulder with his fingertips.
‘I don’t want to lose you . . .’ Tears popped into my eyes, and my throat felt tight. The thought of life without Henk felt too much to bear.
‘It’s okay,’ he said.
‘Some bad things happened. Very bad,’ I said with a tight voice. ‘I feel so ashamed. I don’t know what you’ll think of me . . .’
‘Come here, hartlam,’ he said. ‘You don’t have to tell me anything . . .’
He pulled me to him and breathed his warm breath into my hair as he stroked it. The wind dropped, and I could hear the crickets and the frogs again.
‘That’s all over now . . .’ he said.
‘But don’t you . . .’ My body was shaking now, tears falling down my cheeks.
‘It’s not your fault. You don’t have to feel ashamed.’
He held me tightly in his arms. I was trying to tell him that I killed Fanie, I really was, but my words just got sucked back into my mouth as I cried.
‘Maria, it’s him that was the criminal,’ said Henk. ‘You must never feel guilty about what he did to you. You are good and pure, and I love you.’
We heard a jackal calling close by and the answering cry of its mate, and then the clacking hooves of Kosie as he galloped from the kitchen, down the passage and jumped onto the bed.
Henk sang:
‘Lamtietie, damtietie, doe-doe my liefstetjie.
“Doe-doe-doe, bladertjies, slapenstyd nadertjies.
Doe-doe-doe, blommetjies, nag is aan’t kommetjies,”
so sing die windjie vir blaartjies en blommetjies.’
Hush my lambkin, sleep tight, my dear.
‘Hush little leaves, sleepy-time is here.
Hush sweet petals, the night is ours,’
so sings the wind to the leaves and the flowers.
Henk sang about the stars keeping watch and singing lullabies, so that the clouds and streams and trees and animals and people could all sleep in peace:
‘Bo in die bloue lug flikker die sterretjies,
hemelse brandwaggies, lampies van verretjies,
wakend oor windjies en wolkies en stroompietjies,
wakend oor mensies en diertjies en boompietjies:
‘Wees maar gerustetjies, slaap maar met lustetjies!’
So sing die sterretjies, stilletjies, verretjies,
vuurvliegies, lugliggies, ewige sterretjies!’
Before he could finish his song, Kosie and I were both asleep.
CHAPTER FORTY-FIVE
Henk and his lamb left early the next morning, before breakfast, after a long kiss from him and a short promise from me that I would go to the police station. There was a chill in the air, and I put on my dressing gown before I let the chickens out of their hok and helped myself to some eggs. I tidied the stoep and the kitchen, and then I scrambled eggs, which I ate at the kitchen table. Instead of malva pudding and cream, I had my diet and antidepressant pills. It wasn’t the same, but a man who sings lullabies can motivate a woman to do strange things.
I got ready for work, and then I called Ricus.
‘Tannie Maria,’ he sa
id. ‘I was going to call you. I’d like to bring the meeting forward to tomorrow, Friday afternoon.’
‘That’s fine by me.’
‘How have you been doing?’
‘I want to know about the privacy thing in our group.’
‘Ja.’
‘My boyfriend is a policeman, and he heard about those . . . uninvited visitors. He wants me to report what happened. But I’m remembering how we agreed that what we say in the group, stays in the group.’
‘I hear you. The privacy of the group is about the things people share. But these were outsiders violating that privacy. I don’t expect you to cover up a crime. If you want to report it, it’s up to you.’
‘Okay.’
‘Good. Then I’ll see you tomorrow.’
‘Ja. Hang on. We forgot to talk about food last time.’
‘No, it’s my turn. I’m making something for the braai.’
‘Ja?’
‘You’ll see.’
‘Okay. I might bring some pudding.’
‘Lekker.’
So, I went to the police station on my way to work. Kannemeyer was busy, but I reported to Warrant Officer Smit, who’d heard it already from Dirk. He wrote quite slowly, so I tried to make the story short.
The biggest problem was that those people had all been wearing masks, so I couldn’t identify them. Smit showed me a picture of a woman with blonde hair, and it might’ve been her, but I couldn’t be sure. There wasn’t much to charge them with, because no one was hurt, nothing was stolen, and the weapons were toys. Smit said that Ricus could press trespassing and harassment charges. A policewoman came and told Smit about a stabbing that had just happened in the township. I think the police had more important things to do than chase toy weapons. But I’d made my report, like I’d promised.
I parked my little blue bakkie in the shade of the jacaranda, and walked up the path between the pots of vetplantjies towards the office. I was met at the door by Jessie and an old man, both of them grinning. The man had fewer teeth in his smile than Jessie.
‘Here she is,’ said Jessie.
They stepped out into the sunlight to greet me. Jess wore her black vest, and her thick dark hair was in a ponytail.
