The Girl From the Train

by Irma Joubert

  “Can he dance?” Karin asked.

  “I hope so.”

  “I’m still sorry it didn’t work out between you and Francois,” she said. “You were such a lovely couple.”

  “He and Hester are a lovely couple as well,” said Grietjie. “Now I have to study, I’m writing German tomorrow.”

  On Thursday Jakób phoned. “How are you?” he asked.

  “I have both oars in the water, thanks for asking.”

  “Pardon?”

  “I’m playing with a full deck.”

  “Grietjie?”

  “Don’t worry, I don’t have a single loose screw.” She couldn’t help teasing him.

  “Grietjie, talk sense,” he scolded.

  She laughed. “You must get to know your idioms. It’s what spices up a language, it’s—”

  “Grietjie!”

  She laughed gleefully. “I’m very well, thank you. And you?”

  “No more dreams?”

  “None. And you?”

  “I’m going to end the call if you don’t stop being silly!” he threatened.

  “No, Jakób!” she protested. “Please, please, please don’t put the phone down, I don’t have any coins to phone you back. Will you please, pretty please, fetch me on Saturday morning? I have to get something for the year-end ball in the city and I don’t have money for the bus.”

  “How will you pay for whatever you need to buy?” he asked.

  “I have money for that.”

  She heard him sigh at the other end. “What time?”

  “Early. About ten?”

  “Is that early?” He sounded surprised.

  “Yes. What time do you consider early?”

  “Eight o’clock.”

  “Only old people are up at eight on a Saturday.” She laughed.

  He double-parked in front of the Uniewinkels store. She rushed inside and emerged with a small packet. He thought it best not to ask what she had bought.

  In his apartment she said, “I’ll make the coffee and then I’ll teach you to rock ’n’ roll. I’ve brought a record.”

  “Grietjie . . .” But she had already vanished into the kitchen.

  “You can’t go through life without knowing how to rock ’n’ roll,” she said when she had switched the kettle on. “What if you go to Iscor’s year-end function and everyone is rocking except you?” She put the record on the turntable. “It could spoil your chances of promotion.” Carefully she lowered the needle onto the record. “I could never forgive myself if that happened to you.”

  “I doubt whether my advancement depends on my ability to rock ’n’ roll,” he said.

  “Well, you never know, that’s all,” she said firmly. “Look carefully now. You put your feet down like this, then you step like this and rock your . . . Jakób, watch my feet!”

  “I’m watching,” he surrendered.

  “Okay, those are the basic steps. You can use them in any combination. Easy, don’t you think? Now you add the hands. Give me your hands. Feel the rhythm.”

  She grabbed his hand, rocked back, rolled into his arm, let go of his hand, bounced back, grabbed both his hands. She stretched and yanked and pranced in front of him, around him, behind him.

  “Loosen up, Jakób!” she cried over the sound of the music. “Isn’t it great?”

  She jerked her head back and wiggled from head to toe. She squirmed and wriggled. Laughter and music filled the apartment.

  He rocked for all he was worth. He grabbed and let go and swayed and stepped, but the rhythm just wouldn’t grab him. Kowalski, you’ve lost all your screws or whatever, he thought.

  Laughing, he fell on the sofa. “I’m too old for this, Grietjie.”

  She fell down beside him and snuggled under his arm. “But it’s fun, isn’t it?” she asked breathlessly.

  Her warm body was too close. He got up. “Where’s that promised coffee?”

  “I’ll bring it, sit,” she said at once and hurried to the kitchen.

  He sat down in one of the armchairs.

  When they were each sitting with a cup of coffee and a ham sandwich, he said, “I won’t be working at Iscor next year, Grietjie.”

  Her eyes widened. “Why not? Are you going back to Poland?”

  He smiled reassuringly. “No, that’s not possible. Mr. Woodroffe offered me a position at Rand Consolidated. Not Grandpa John, Mr. Peter Woodroffe.”

  “Have you met Uncle Peter?” she asked, surprised.

  “Yes, I went for an interview.”

  “Jakób!” she said crossly. “Why didn’t you tell me you were going? And why are you only telling me now that you got the job? When do you start? And will you get an apartment in Johannesburg?” She jumped up and knelt beside him, grabbed his hands. “You’ll have to go there, won’t you? I’ll also be working there. Maybe you could come and live with Grandpa John as well!”

  “You must learn not to ask so many questions, Grietjie. You’ve just asked five or six.”

  “I’m just excited, that’s all. When do you start?”

  “The first of November, in less than three weeks. I’m moving into an apartment in Hillbrow. One of my future colleagues at Rand Consolidated has just bought a house.”

  “Oh.” She sounded disappointed. She sat down at his feet. “I want you to spend Christmas with us on the farm, Jakób. My parents invited you. Will you get leave?”

  “I doubt it.”

  He noticed her disappointment. He didn’t want her to be unhappy. “I could try, but I shouldn’t think so.”

  “I won’t enjoy it one bit if you’re not there, Jakób,” she said earnestly.

  He couldn’t resist her eyes.

  He sighed and pushed his fingers through his hair.

  His promise to Kate weighed heavily on him—I’ll look after her like my own little girl. But he could no longer trust himself. He picked up the empty cups.

  “Get your things and I’ll take you back to res.”

  “But it’s early,” she protested.

  “I’m sorry, I have work to do.”

  When he stopped in front of her residence, she didn’t get out immediately. She turned to him. “Jakób, are you cross with me?” she asked.

  “Not at all. But I have a lot of work to finish at Iscor before I can leave.”

  “Will you come and fetch me for mass tomorrow?” she asked.

  He desperately wanted to. “No, Grietjie. Go to your own church.”

  He saw the confusion on her face. “It’s better that way. You know it, don’t you?” he said. “I’ll phone you next Friday.”

  She didn’t wave as she always did before she vanished through the big door.

  Her parents always phoned on a Sunday evening, but nowadays they were phoning in the middle of the week as well. Grietjie understood. They were worried about her. She tried to put their minds at rest.

  “I’m really fine, Mommy, I promise.”

  “Have you dreamed again?”

  “Yes, Mommy, I have. But I know now what the fire was, what caused it, what happened, so I don’t have to wonder about it anymore. I don’t fear the fire anymore. And when I wake up after I’ve had the dream, it doesn’t stay in the room, because I know that it’s something that happened a long time ago.”

  “I hope the nightmares will go away completely in time, my love.”

  “They will, Mommy. I know they will.”

  Friday was a
catastrophic day. It began early in the morning when Grietjie lost her grip on her new bottle of shampoo and it shattered on the floor. The glass splinters flew in every direction and the thick shampoo spread, making the floor slippery.

  “Wait, let me pass you your shoes, you’ll cut your feet,” said Karin and bent down to pick up the shoes. But as she straightened up, she spilled her coffee all over her assignment, the one she had been working on all night and had to deliver in an hour’s time. She burst into tears.

  Grietjie grabbed a handful of tissues and began to mop up the coffee. “It’s no use crying,” she said strictly. “Mop the floor before we slip and fall. I’ll save your assignment.”

  “It’s because it’s Friday the thirteenth,” Karin sniffled. “And bad things always happen in threes. You’ll see, another calamity is going to strike.”

  “Don’t talk like that, it’s a sin to be superstitious. Just be careful of the broken glass.”

  In the evening Karin said, “Well, it’s been an awful day, but at least there wasn’t a third catastrophe, knock on wood.”

  A first-year knocked and peered around the door. “Telephone for Miss Grietjie,” she said and disappeared.

  “Uh-oh,” said Karin, rolling her eyes. “I spoke too soon.”

  “You’re a real prophet of doom, Karin! It’s only Jakób to hear whether I still have my marbles,” said Grietjie before hurrying to the phone.

  But it wasn’t Jakób. It was Pieter with the news that he had German measles.

  “My knight in shining armor is covered in spots from head to toe,” Grietjie announced dramatically when she returned to their room. She fell down on the bed, a picture of dejection. “He’s no longer fit for a ball.”

  Karin gave her a puzzled look. “What are you talking about?”

  “Pieter, German measles. I’m done for, roomie, dead! I have to find another date.”

  “Impossible,” said Karin, “unless you want to drag along a first-year. What about that Nico fellow who . . .”

  “Out of the question,” said Grietjie. “I’d rather go alone.”

  “It would be weird,” Karin said.

  Jakób didn’t phone that night. She stayed up until after midnight, waiting. He’d promised, and he never broke a promise. Maybe something had happened. Or he was annoyed with her—she just couldn’t think why.

  Maybe Karin was right after all, maybe Friday the thirteenth was an unlucky day.

  The next morning she was lying in bed reading, as she often did on Saturdays, when a first-year knocked. “A visitor, Miss Grietjie.”

  “Who on earth can it be this early?” she complained.

  “It’s that tall man,” said the first-year.

  She flew out of bed. “Jakób! Tell him I’m coming, I’m just getting dressed.”

  She pulled a dress over her head and dragged a comb through her hair.

  He was standing in the garden with his back to the front door. His dark-blue shirt was taut across his broad shoulders, and his dark hair curled over the collar. Aunt Anastarja would tell him to get a haircut if she could see him now, Grietjie thought.

  She longed to put her arms around him from behind but she didn’t. Something between them had changed. In the train on their way here he had been reserved, not the Jakób she knew. And she had seen him only once since their return—last Saturday, when he brought her back to the residence so early.

  “Hello, Jakób Kowalski,” she said.

  He turned. She stood in front of him in her cool summer frock, barefoot, the curly blonde hair framing her face, the blush back in her cheeks. He reached out to draw her closer, but put his hands in his pockets instead.

  “I’m sorry I couldn’t phone yesterday,” he said. “My phone is out of order.”

  “I was afraid you’re still cross with me,” she said. Her eyes were impossibly blue.

  He looked away. “I’m not cross, Grietjie. How was your week?”

  “Wonderful. Until yesterday.” They sat down on a bench. “Yesterday everything, just everything went wrong. First I dropped my shampoo—my new bottle!—and then Karin spilled her mug of coffee over her assignment. And, Jakób, last night a terrible thing happened.”

  He frowned. He hoped it wasn’t another of her dreams.

  “My date for tonight has German measles! Tonight! He’s covered in spots, and now I have to go to the year-end ball on my own. Can you believe it? Alone! It’s the biggest catastrophe that could befall a girl. And it’s my very last ball at campus. I even had a new dress made.”

  “I’m sure there’s someone else you can ask.”

  Her face lit up.

  No.

  “Jakób, you could . . .”

  No! no!

  “. . . go with me! It would be wonderful! It would be so much nicer than—”

  “No, Grietjie. I’m too—”

  “Don’t say you’re too old!”

  He gave a guilty smile and put his hands up. “Too busy?”

  “No, that’s a feeble excuse. Jakób, you don’t know what fun—”

  “I don’t have a suit.” That was a good excuse.

  “—our year-end ball always is. You can rent a suit.”

  “Where?” he asked.

  “In the big hall, here on campus. You can pick me up at seven.”

  “I was talking about the suit.”

  “Oh, that. Dippenaar’s, in the city.” She flung her arms around his neck. “I’m so happy. I’m looking forward to the ball twice as much as before. Thank you, thank you, Jakób!” She hugged him tightly.

  Slowly he extricated himself and got up. “I’m glad you’re so happy. I’m going now, I have work to finish,” he said, smiling, “seeing that I’m going to be kept out of work tonight.”

  “You won’t regret it, I promise,” she said as she turned to go back inside. In the doorway she looked over her shoulder. “Thanks, Jakób!” She gave him a cheerful wave and vanished.

  I regret it already, he thought.

  Grietjie couldn’t imagine that she’d ever looked forward to anything quite as much as this ball.

  “I have a date!” she sang, dancing into the room.

  Karin looked up from her desk, astonished. “Who?”

  “Jakób!”

  “Of course!” Karin cried. “Why didn’t you think of him before?”

  “Because he’s Jakób. He can’t really be a date, if you know what I mean.”

  Karin laughed. “You sound like Kobus. I’m just glad you’re not going alone.”

  They ran their baths early, with plenty of bubbles, while there was still hot water. They sliced cucumber for their eyelids and painted their nails and did each other’s hair. At six they began to get dressed.

  “You look lovely, Karin!” Grietjie said sincerely. “Tonight you’re going to sweep Heinrich off his feet!”

  “And you look breathtaking,” Karin said with admiration. “You’re going to sweep all the men in the hall off their feet!”

  They laughed. Karin was picked up first. “Keep seats for us at your table, will you?” Grietjie called after her.

  When the first-year came to fetch Grietjie, she took a last look in the mirror. She knew she looked good. Karin had done her hair up in loose curls so the spot at the back that had caught fire was invisible. Her gown was a dark greenish-blue silk taffeta—like the feathers of a glossy starling in the sunlight, Aunt Bettie had said. The gown had a simple neckline and a cinched waist, flaring gently to the hemline.

  She t
urned slightly to look at the low-cut back. She felt a thrill of excitement.

  Over the years there had been so many occasions when she had wished Jakób could see her—in her Voortrekker dress, at her confirmation in church, at her matric dance. Tonight Jakób would see her all dressed up for the first time.

  She walked to the top of the stairs and looked down.

  He was standing near the door, leaning with one shoulder against a pillar, one ankle crossed over the other. He hadn’t seen her yet, but she knew—at the foot of this staircase Jakób Kowalski was waiting for her, Grietjie Neethling.

  She stood very still and gazed at him.

  His dark suit was snug across his shoulders. It fitted his tall body perfectly. His suntanned skin contrasted with his snow-white shirt, and his thick, dark, curly hair was slicked back, except for a few strands that fell over his forehead.

  She felt a strange twitch in the pit of her stomach. She had never imagined Jakób could look like this.

  He looked up. Across the length of the staircase they looked into each other’s eyes. She smiled and slowly began to descend. He felt his insides contract painfully. He was unashamedly staring.

  The other people in the foyer faded.

  He watched as she slowly came down the steps, the slim feet in the delicate sandals almost uncertainly feeling for the next step, the fabric softly hugging the curve of her hips, a suggestion of femininity under the tailored bodice.

  He couldn’t imagine ever having seen anything more beautiful.

  Mother of God, he pleaded, be merciful to me, a sinner.

  He stepped forward, held out his hand, and said as neutrally as possible, “You look lovely, Grietjie.”

  They drove to the hall in an uneasy silence. I hope Jakób isn’t having second thoughts, Grietjie thought anxiously. What if he doesn’t feel like spending the evening with a bunch of silly students? What if he doesn’t like my friends? What if . . .