The Satanic Mechanic

by Sally Andrew

The old man shook my hand with both of his. His hands were rough and dry. And he was wearing a waistcoat made of little furs. I’d seen his photograph – he was the rabbit man. Jan Magiel. He had high cheekbones, and his eyes wrinkled as he smiled.

  ‘Hello, Oom Jan,’ I said. Uncle Jan.

  ‘Dankie, Tannie Maria, thank you,’ he said.

  There was something different about his waistcoat from the one I’d seen in his photo. It had a collar made up of long thin curved strips. You could see the light shining through the pale leather.

  He saw me looking, and stroked his collar. ‘Ja. Rabbit ears,’ he said in Afrikaans. ‘I found what to do with them.’ He held his fingers to the sides of his head, like an animal pricking up its ears. ‘And these long ears, they got people listening.’

  ‘My photograph,’ said Jessie. ‘Nature Conservation identified Donga. She is a rare riverine rabbit! There’s a fat private fund for the protection of the riverine rabbit. They’re coming out to make a study, and if the riverine rabbits really are in this area, then they’ll fund Jan’s project.’

  Hattie stepped out from the office and said, ‘Isn’t that super? Excuse me, I must pop to the bank. Goodbye, Mr Magiel. Congratulations.’

  She hurried past us, down the path to her car.

  ‘That is wonderful, Oom Jan,’ I said. It was getting warm standing out there in the sun. ‘Come in and have some coffee and beskuit.’

  ‘No, I must go, thank you. I am meeting them now-now to show them the tracks down by the river. And they want to meet Donga. I just came to say thank you. Very much. And for the recipe too. It was very good.’

  ‘I am glad.’

  He shook my hand in both of his, then took a little leather hat out of his pocket and pulled it down over his ears.

  ‘Thank you,’ he said, shaking Jessie’s hand.

  We watched him walk away, in his ear-collared waistcoat and his hat. He was a small man, who walked lightly on the ground. But he seemed very tall, as if his head was being pulled up to the stars.

  CHAPTER FORTY-SIX

  I told Jessie I’d made my report to the police and gave her Henk’s story about the Hotazel car racing along Route 62. The one that used to be owned by Ricus.

  ‘Bat out of hell,’ she said. ‘Ja, it fits. So Kannemeyer reckons these are the same people who came to scare your group?’

  ‘Yes. And he thinks they’re dangerous. The one guy’s on parole for kidnapping and is a satanist high priest.’

  ‘Be careful, Tannie M. Lots of weirdos out there.’

  I settled down to my letters, with my coffee and mosbolletjie rusk. I decided to start the day with my friend, the Scottish lady.

  Dearest Tannie Maria,

  I know you will hardly have had time to read my last letter, but I can’t wait to tell you my news. The laddie gave me a bath! I know that may sound very forward to you, but he was so very gentle, and I confess I have not had hands on this old body for a while. But even more exciting than that (if that is possible), is that I have asked him to move in with me! He has not given an answer yet, but I think he wants to. He has some practicalities to sort out.

  I would like to celebrate (when he says yes) with a tot of homemade Van der Hum liqueur. A dear friend once gave me a bottle she had made. It was ambrosial. Even better than (may my ancestors forgive me) Scottish whisky. Alas, however, the bottle is long finished and my friend passed away. There may be many things to celebrate in times to come. Do you perhaps have a fine Van der Hum recipe?

  I include my personal address, because things are moving rather fast, and this letter is a tad too private for the Gazette.

  Yours,

  Excited Lassie

  I did have a wonderful recipe to give her (I’d used this Van der Hum liqueur to make that orange pudding: Henk’s Favourite). Brandy with a bit of rum, as well as nutmeg, naartjie peel, cinnamon and cloves. I wrote:

  Like many things, this liqueur improves with age. It is most tasty if you can let the spices steep for at least a month. But if there are things you need to celebrate sooner, there is no harm in sneaking an early mouthful.

  ‘I am going to Oudtshoorn,’ said Jessie. She stood up and packed her camera into one of the pouches on her belt.

  ‘The Slimkat story?’ I asked.

  ‘No,’ she said. ‘I’m doing a feature on free-range meat and visiting some ostrich farms.’

  ‘Can I tell you something off the record?’

  ‘Ja.’ Her fingers stroked the tail of the gecko tattoo on her arm.

  ‘The police are getting a search warrant. They want to find that old woman who disappeared.’

  ‘A search warrant?! Why don’t they leave those families alone? Catch the diamond miners?’

  ‘But it is strange she’s disappeared, don’t you think? Isn’t it possible she knows something?’

  ‘I guess anything is possible.’

  ‘It would be really stupid of the Hardcore diamond miners to kill Slimkat after the case.’

  ‘But they are stupid. They were forced into this agreement by the courts. They don’t care a rat’s bum about the Bushmen.’

  ‘But bad publicity, they do care about that,’ I said.

  ‘I suppose . . .’

  ‘The Bushmen you interviewed, did they tell you anything about the old woman?’

  ‘Not much; we were talking about Slimkat. They just said the police were asking questions about her.’

  ‘After the police have gone in there with a search warrant, Slimkat’s family may not talk to us again.’

  ‘Ja, they already feel like they’re being treated like criminals.’

  ‘So, I was thinking it might be good to chat to them soon.’

  ‘Well, some of them will have gone back to the nature reserve by the Kuruman River. But there’s still family in Oudtshoorn.’

  ‘Maybe you can find out something about the old woman.’

  ‘Shall we go visit them today?’

  ‘No, no, not me. You’re the investigative journalist. But I have a few ostrich burgers and roosterkoek at home that I could give you.’

  ‘Mmm. Bushmen love that streepmuis roosterkoek.’ Striped-mouse griddle bread. ‘And ostrich meat.’

  ‘The burgers might help get them talking.’

  Jessie winked at me and said, ‘Of course, yes.’

  CHAPTER FORTY-SEVEN

  I left a note for Hattie saying I’d be working from home. Jessie came to my house, and I gave her a Tupperware of bobotie ostrich burgers and roosterkoek to take with her.

  I worked through my pile of letters. Young people and old people, wanting help and ideas. I looked up some recipes in my mother’s book, Kook en Geniet. That book has remedies for most things, I tell you.

  Then I ate a salad, and a small piece of malva pudding with cream, for lunch. When the shadows got long, I worked in the garden. My straw hat kept the late sun out of my eyes as I picked snails off the pumpkin leaves and threw them on the grass. The chickens ignored them, but a hadeda came down from the eucalyptus tree and gobbled them up.

  The phone rang and kept ringing, so I went inside and answered it with sandy hands. It was Henk.

  ‘Maria,’ he said. His voice was warm like a lullaby.

  ‘Henk.’ The shape of his name made my mouth smile.

  ‘I thought you were out.’

  ‘I was in the garden with the pumpkins.’

  ‘I can’t come tonight. I must work late.’

  ‘I went to the police station this morning.’

  ‘Ja. You did the right thing.’

  ‘Sounds like Ricus will need to be the one to lay a charge.’

  ‘We can’t make him. But now at least we have the incident on record.’

  ‘Okay,’ I said.

  ‘I’ll see you tomorrow night?’

  ‘I’ll be back late, but come for pudding. I think I’ll make pumpkin fritters.’

  ‘You going out?’

  ‘To my therapy group.’

  ‘You’re n
ot serious? After what happened on Tuesday night? It’s not safe.’

  I was going to tell him about how most of our group had guns, but then thought that might not be the kind of news to stop him worrying.

  ‘Henk, the meetings have really been helping me. You know that.’

  ‘Yes, but that was before this nonsense. These guys could be dangerous.’

  ‘They won’t be coming back.’

  ‘How can you be sure of that?’

  I didn’t answer. One of my chickens had hopped up onto the stoep and was making soft noises with questions marks at the end. Henk’s voice was quite different. ‘Maria, you are not to go to that meeting.’

  ‘Henk, you can’t tell me what to do.’

  He put down the phone.

  I went outside and threw a handful of mielies onto the lawn for the chickens. I made myself an early dinner of Welsh rarebit, which I ate on the stoep, as I watched the sun change the colours of the clouds and hills and veld. The ground looked hard and stony between the bushes and trees. Welsh rarebit reminds me of my father, because it was one of his favourite dishes. That is half the reason I make it. The other half is to do with the creamy mustard sauce. I heard the jackal calling. It got no response from its mate.

  I shut the chickens into their hok, and when I got back into the house, the phone rang. I felt the ringing inside my heart. A small part of me didn’t want to answer the phone, but most of me did.

  But it wasn’t Henk; it was Jessie.

  ‘Tannie Maria,’ she said. ‘I wanted you to know the results of your awesome burgers and roosterkoek.’

  ‘Ja?’

  ‘The old woman’s name is Geraldine Klappers. She’s a medicine woman. Ystervark says he doesn’t know where she is, but I’m not sure I believe him. He seems sure that she is safe.’

  ‘Did she have any disagreement with Slimkat?’

  ‘Slimkat’s uncle said that she and Slimkat worked together closely. He held up two fingers next to each other, “like this”, he said.’

  ‘On the court case?’

  ‘Ja. But she was also his teacher; he was training to be a shaman.’

  ‘Jess . . . have you heard stories about Bushmen . . . turning into animals?’

  ‘Ja, when they go into a trance, or they do the dance of a certain animal.’

  ‘So a shaman can turn into a kudu or something?’

  ‘Not literally, no. They get possessed by the spirit of an animal.’

  ‘Henk wonders if it was maybe a muti-related killing.’

  ‘He thinks Geraldine’s a bad witch who used poison herbs?’

  ‘Not necessarily, but he says that kind of thing does happen.’

  ‘Why would she kill someone she worked closely with? Ask Detective Henk that.’

  I didn’t tell Jess that, right now, Henk and I weren’t talking to each other.

  I ate some hot malva pudding at the kitchen table while I listened to the phone not ringing. I heard that lonely jackal calling again. Thick cream melted onto the warm sticky pudding and filled my mouth and mind and belly. When I had finished, the phone did ring.

  ‘I am sorry,’ he said.

  I didn’t know what to say, but a part of my chest went softer, which made me realise it had been tight.

  ‘You are right,’ he said. ‘I can’t tell you what to do.’

  ‘No,’ I agreed.

  ‘I know the group’s been helping you. But I worry.’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘I want to come with you to your meeting tomorrow.’

  ‘You can’t just do that.’

  ‘I want to watch that nothing happens, that those criminals don’t come back.’

  ‘We meet outside, in the veld,’ I said. ‘I’ll check with Ricus. And if he agrees—’

  ‘Ricus, Ricus. He should be grateful for some police protection.’

  ‘I’ll ask him. But you’d need to stay away from the group. People won’t want a policeman listening to their stories.’

  Would I ever tell this policeman my own story? I wondered.

  CHAPTER FORTY-EIGHT

  Ricus agreed to Henk’s idea, and the next afternoon Henk, Kosie, a pot full of warm pumpkin fritters, and I were driving in Henk’s Hilux, along Route 62. We passed the turn-off to the Moordenaar’s Karoo and came to the rusted tractor chassis that had the number plate saying Ricus 10810.

  Henk said, ‘One ou ate one ou.’ One guy ate one guy. ‘Is that supposed to be funny?’

  I did not say anything, but Kosie bleated as we turned the corner. He was standing in the back of Henk’s bakkie, with his head sticking through the window that separated the front seats from the canopy. He had made a lot of noise on this trip. Henk said it was because he was used to sitting in the front, but I think Kosie had smelt the pumpkin fritters.

  When we got to the cattle grid, Henk looked up at the whale-bone arch with its skulls and horns, and shook his head.

  ‘He likes nature,’ I said.

  As we drove under the archway, a black Volkswagen Golf was heading out. We had to slow down to pass each other, and the driver looked right at me. His window was closed and mine was open, but the look he gave me made me want to wind up my window. How could someone I didn’t know give me such an angry look? I opened the pot of fritters and took a sniff of that sweet cinnamon smell. Maybe I did know him. Where had I seen him before?

  We were there early. Ricus was helping Johannes put a wheel onto the red Mini panel van, and Ousies and Tata Radebe were sitting inside the circle of vans. Ricus came over to our bakkie as we were getting out.

  ‘Tannie Maria.’ He was smiling, and his voice was warm and rich. ‘And you must be Detective Lieutenant Henk Kannemeyer.’ He spoke to Henk in Afrikaans. ‘Glad to meet you.’

  Henk grunted and shook the hairy hand that Ricus held out.

  ‘And who is this little guy?’ Ricus said, looking into the Toyota bakkie.

  ‘That’s Kosie,’ I said.

  Kosie climbed through the window onto the front seat, hopped down onto the stony ground and sniffed at a grey bush.

  ‘Blaaah,’ said Kosie.

  ‘Blaaah,’ replied Ricus.

  Kosie stayed close to Henk’s leg.

  Ricus pointed across the veld, to where Mielie was circling some sheep.

  ‘If Mielie sees him, she might decide that he must join the flock. If that happens, just keep an eye on the Colonel. The ram with the big horns. He sometimes gives the new guys a hard time.’

  ‘Kosie will stay with me,’ said Henk.

  ‘Johannes, this is Detective Kannemeyer,’ said Ricus.

  Johannes, who was squatting on the ground beside the red Mini, stood up and nodded politely.

  ‘Make him a cup of coffee, please,’ said Ricus.

  Johannes put the spanner in the back pocket of his blue overall and turned towards the house.

  ‘I’m all right,’ said Henk.

  Johannes paused and looked at Ricus.

  ‘Maybe later,’ said Ricus.

  Johannes got back to work on the Mini van.

  ‘What I do want,’ said Henk, ‘is the names of the people who caused trouble here the other night.’

  ‘They were all wearing masks.’

  ‘You know who they are.’

  ‘They won’t come back.’

  Henk frowned and shook his head. I gave him three fritters wrapped in wax paper.

  ‘You can give one to Kosie,’ I said. ‘Sorry, I forgot to bring you a napkin.’

  ‘Ousies will bring you one,’ said Ricus.

  ‘No, it’s all right,’ said Henk.

  Ricus herded me towards the panel-van laager. We went along the stony path, between piles of panel-van parts, into the swept circle of sand and chairs. I greeted Ousies and Tata, and put my pot of fritters next to the fire, beside a black cast-iron pot.

  Henk wandered around the outside of the panel vans with Kosie. He was too far away to hear us talking, but I couldn’t relax with him walking about. But then, whe
n Dirk, Lemoni and Fatima arrived, I forgot about him. We started our session with that spicy shaah tea and the smell of frankincense.

  ‘Feel your clothes on your skin and your body on the chair,’ said Ricus in his ground-coffee voice. ‘Be aware of yourself and your surroundings.’

  It was a lovely, autumn afternoon, not too hot, not too cold. There were a few streaks of clouds in the sky and a pair of rock kestrels swooping above the nearest koppie. The thorns were big and white on the trees, and I thought again that they were like sharp horns, but maybe more like the horns of an insect than an animal.

  Fatima wore a purple dress and a brown headscarf and looked down at the ground. Tata Radebe wore a dark suit and a white T-shirt, and watched the fire where Ousies was squatting. Lemoni was in a turquoise low-cut top and tight black jeans and heels. Her eyes were painted with turquoise eye shadow. She was holding onto that bag of hers and wore her little leather bracelet and a necklace with a big evil-eye that lay between her breasts. Dirk was in his khakis, and he’d also noticed this big blue bead.

  A praying mantis landed on Lemoni’s bag, and she squealed. She shook her bag until the insect flew away. Dirk stood up and then sat down again as Lemoni settled.

  ‘Camagu,’ said Tata Radebe to the mantis.

  ‘Blessings,’ said Ricus.

  The mantis landed on Tata Radebe’s neatly ironed trousers, and he bowed his head in a show of respect.

  ‘Be aware of your breathing,’ said Ricus, ‘and of your senses.’

  The smell of the veld was sweet. I could hear the sheep bleating and see them wandering around the base of a sunny koppie, nibbling on the bushes. I wondered what we’d be having for supper.

  ‘Today, we will continue with the theme of forgiveness,’ said Ricus. ‘Forgiving ourselves.’

  Dirk snorted, and Fatima fiddled with the cloth around her head.

  Lemoni’s knuckles were tight around the handle of her bag. Then she loosened her grip, and I saw her fingers were shaking.

  ‘They came into my home,’ she said. ‘They took everything. Everything. All my precious jewels.’ She looked like a lost little girl, with those wide hazel eyes and long lashes. I remembered those robbers who’d ruined a good meal, and I nodded.