The Smell of Apples: A Novel

by Mark Behr

  We walk down on to the wet sand to cast. I've got

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  Dad's rod with the Penn 500, and Frikkie has mine with the Policansky that Dad brought along when he brought our camouflage suits from America. Chrisjan stole the two spare reels we had before. What does it help to look after your things if they're going to be stolen anyway? But Dad is very strict about looking after everything. He prefers to buy something that might be a little more expensive but will last longer. Goedkoop koop is duur koop, Dad always says. That's one of the most important lessons Oupa Erasmus taught him. So Use and I have to look after our things with great care. We've also never been spoiled like some of the wealthy children at Jan Van Riebeeck. Mum and Dad agree that children who get everything on a platter won't ever understand the value of money.

  There are still no bites. We sit down on the sand and hold the rods between our legs. I keep thinking about the orphans at the Muizenberg beach house. It must be the most terrible of terrible things if your father and mother die. A few times when Mum has scolded me for something, I've wished that I could run away from home, specially when Dad's not here. I remember once when I thought it wouldn't be so bad if Mum died. That was while Dad was still fighting in the war in Rhodesia.

  One day Mum arrived at the Delports' house earlier than we thought she would. Only Gloria was at home. When Mum asked Gloria where Frikkie and I were, Gloria told her that we were strolling around town and that we'd been gone for hours. She told Mum that she had no control over the two of us and that she'd never come across such disobedient children in her life. From everything Mum said to me later, I'm sure the sly Gloria made up a whole lot of stories, just to get back at us for always giving her a hard time. When Frikkie and I got home and saw Mum's Beetle parked in front of the gate, I knew right

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  away there'd be trouble, and at first I tried to think up some lie. But Mum was so angry that I never even got the chance to say a word. After she parked the Beetle outside the high school gates, for us to wait for Use, she started talking about the millions of black kids who are waiting to go to school. She said the day all those blacks get better marks than me, I might as well give up on ever getting into university, or even finding a job.

  'You'll have to start studying, my child, or else I'm going to take you right out from under Frikkie's influence. Or do you want to end up in the B or C class with that dumb Van Eeden child?' Mum spoke so loud that the people in the other cars were looking at us. 'Just remember,' she carried on, 'when all these blacks and Coloureds start studying, things aren't going to be as easy as they are now. You'll end up with a job on the railways - whether your father's a bigshot or not!'

  'And there are millions waiting where those millions come from; they breed like rats. You'll see how hard it's going to get in future for any white who's not worth his salt.'

  I wished she'd stop! The people waiting in the other cars could hear everything she said. Right next to us was the snobbish Mrs de Vries, whose daughter was in my class. But the more I wished that Mum would stop, the louder she carried on. I could feel my ears go red. Everyone could hear her scolding, and tomorrow the whole class would know about it.

  'Do you hear me, Marnus?' Mum asked, and glared down at me.

  'Ja,' I said, trying to slide down my seat so that Mrs de Vries couldn't see me.

  'Ja, whoV

  'Ja, Mamma" I said, and stared at her with big eyes,

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  hoping it would make her stop before the kids came streaming out of the gates. But it didn't help one bit and she just kept going:

  'Every day of my life I drive around for your benefit. Every day of my life is sacrificed for your education in the best school. And yet, I get nothing in return from you. Not as much as a thank you, dog But wait, your day will come. Believe me, your day will come.'

  Then the kids started coming through the gates and some looked into the Beetle as they went past. At that moment I hated Mum so much, I wished she would die. But that night, when I was alone in bed and the Southeaster was howling something terrible and the shutters creaked like someone was walking on the roof, I thought of Dad in the war in Rhodesia and I wished he wasn't in the army. I crept downstairs and got into the big bed with Mum. Mum folded her arms around me so that my face was next to hers on the pillow. Then she sang softly and said that the Southeaster was carrying her voice all the way to Dad, far away in Rhodesia. As always, Mum's pillow was warm and it smelled of Oil of Olay. With Mum's smell in my nose, I always fell asleep, right away.

  The fish have started plucking at the lines, nibbling at the bait. We reel in after a while to put on fresh bait. Even with the cotton, the rock-cod have managed to eat the bait right off the hooks. We cast in again. The sky has started turning red behind the mountains. The whole of Muizenberg Mountain is turning pink, all along the coast, right up to Fish Hoek. It's wind-still, and there isn't even a breeze. It's going to be a hot day. If only the fish would bite before Dad comes.

  There's still no sign of Dad and the General, so we plant our rods in the sand and sit watching the lines. I

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  know Dad doesn't like planting a fishing rod because then you can't feel the soft plucks. Then you can easily end up missing the big one that only swallows the hook partly. The good fisherman, Dad says, is the one who's always alert.

  The horses pass again, this time from Muizenberg's side. Sand flies up from behind their hoofs and there's froth dripping from the bits. The jockeys are standing in their short stirrups, and their bums bob up and down in the air.

  Then the sun breaks over the Hottentots-Holland, and we're blinded as the horses disappear into its sharp rays. All at once, like magic, everything looks different. The pink is gone from the sky and the water has turned bright turquoise. Against Muizenberg Mountain, the gorges have lost their shadows, and above Boyes Drive you can see the green mountain grass and the patches of pink and white fynbos and orange pincushion proteas. Straight up above our heads and down to where the sky touches the horizon, it's like a big blue dome, without a single cloud. On days like this, Mum always says that the Lord's hand is resting over False Bay.

  'Where's your dad and the other guy?' asks Frikkie.

  'I don't know,' I answer, looking down the beach, 'but they'll come.'

  I can see something in the distance, and I squint my eyes to make out what it is, but it looks like the trainer coming back. From the direction the horses disappeared, close to Voelvlei, we can just make out another fisherman, but it's too far to see whether he's had a catch. I pour some coffee into our tin mugs. Doreen also has a tin mug she uses in the kitchen, together with her own tin plate and knife and fork. She keeps her stuff under the washbasin in the laundry with her overalls.

  'Maybe we should've brought tjokka for bait,' says

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  Frikkie. 'We've been sitting here for over an hour and we haven't even had a decent bite.'

  'Whitebait's the best for rock-cod and yellowtail. Have you ever heard of someone catching a good size cod with tjokkaV

  'Well, then, why aren't they biting?' he says, and I wish he'd be more patient. Good fishermen have patience. Frikkie gets impatient about everything.

  It's completely light now, but there's still no sign of Dad or of a decent bite. As Frikkie and I are about to get up to chase a flock of swifts, there's a sudden tug on my line. Before I can get to it, the rod is pulled over and dragged across the sand towards the water.

  'This is it!' Frikkie shouts, and we run after the rod that's almost in the water.

  'It's a hell of a big thing,' I shout as I pick up the rod, feeling the weight at the other end. The line sings off when I loosen the hatch.

  'Pull it in!' he shouts, and I step back to get out of the water.

  'It must be the biggest fish in the bay!' I shout, trying to reel in.

  'Reel!' Frikkie shouts. 'Reel it in, Marnus!' But every time I try reeling, the fish
draws me back, closer to the water. It's swimming straight out to sea. Eventually I'm plodding around with water up to my calves. If I step in a hole now I'm going to lose the fish and the rod.

  'It's a marlin,' cries Frikkie, and I manage to step back and get my feet planted on the beach.

  'You're mad! Marlin don't come to the beach,' I answer, and I try to catch my breath.

  Within seconds I'm back in the water, this time I'm up to my waist. I'm scared of losing it, so I give it as much line as I can.

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  'It feels like a shark, they do this,' I shout across my shoulder at Frikkie. My shoulders are burning from the tension of my arms trying to keep the rod straight.

  'Get out of there!' Frikkie shouts when I'm drawn in even deeper. I lower the rod to let my arms rest, and when I lift it again the tip bends down like it's going to snap.

  'Get out!' Frikkie screams again. 'It's pulling you in.'

  'I can't!' I shout back. 'If I pull too hard the line's going to break!' I can feel my back go tight like knots. I don't know how long I'll be able to keep it up. Each time the line goes slack, I reel in like mad, and move back to the beach. For a few moments it feels as though I've lost him, but then the line goes tight again, and he pulls me in again. My arms can't take it much longer and I swap hands, reeling with the left hand and holding the rod in the right.

  Soon my other arm is worn out too. I call to Frikkie to come and help. The water is around our waists. With him holding me from behind, we slowly make our way backwards up on to the beach. As soon as we're back on the beach Frikkie says:

  'Reel him in now.'

  'I can't reel any more. It's holding the line. D'you know how heavy this thing is?'

  'Well, give me a try,' he says.

  'No, it's my fish. I know what I'm doing.' But before I know it, I'm back in the sea with waves breaking around my waist. Frikkie shouts from the beach:

  'You're going to fuckin' drown and lose the fuckin' fish on top of it!' He says 'fuckin" when he's very cross. Mostly I just ignore it.

  'Leave me alone, Frikkie!' I scream at him, even though I know I won't be able to bring it in by myself. Twice

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  more Frikkie helps me back on to the beach. My legs are getting tired and shaky, and my hands feel as if they've been chafed raw by the rod. Maybe it might be better to share the fish with Frikkie - better than to lose it completely. Or even ending up losing Dad's rod.

  'Isn't Dad coming yet?' I call over my shoulder. Dad will tell me how to fight this fish. Frikkie answers that there's still no sign of them.

  I have to rest. My arms feel as if they're about to break off and every time I swap the rod around, my hand shakes so much I must force it to keep its grip. I'm not making any progress. Each time I reel in, I have to give again, just to stop the rod from bending down into the water. I can't let Frikkie take over. If he takes the rod, it means we both caught the fish and then it's not only mine. But eventually, I can't help but admit it's too strong for me. Maybe Frikkie can just take over for a while, just until my arms and legs are rested.

  'Come, take the rod for a bit,' I say. As he takes it, I know I'm going to regret it. Now the fish is both of ours, even though it was me that hooked it.

  When Frikkie says that he's going to teach this fish a lesson, I warn him that there's going to be trouble if he loses it.

  'Don't bend the rod like that!' I shout from right next to him. 'It's going to break! Frikkie!' The waves break around our waists and my hands are burning. They can't stop shaking.

  The fish has started swimming from side to side, and we walk up and down along the beach. It seems like we haven't won a single metre of line, because the reel keeps on singing as the fish takes more and more. I can picture the fish swimming away with three hundred feet of line in its mouth.

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  'You better not lose that fish, Frikkie Delport! Pull in when it gives line! Watch out!' I shout when a big wave looks like it's going to knock him over. But he jumps up against it with rod and all, and when his feet touch ground again, he reels in like mad.

  'Now I'm gonna bring in this bastard,' he says to himself, and the tip of the rod bends right down and disappears beneath the water. I scream at him to be careful, and my voice turns a funny hoarse sound. When he manages to get back on to the beach, his hands are already shaking and his shoulders are bent forward. He swaps the rod from one hand to the other.

  The beach is still deserted, but I'm getting worried that Dad and the General will arrive while Frikkie's holding the rod.

  'Give me a turn again,' I say, and he's too tired to argue with me.

  It feels as if the fish is getting tired, and I'm winning more line. When it runs, it doesn't go straight any more, it zig-zags from side to side. Frikkie falls down on the sand to rest, and he sits giving me orders about how to bring it in. He says it's either a seal or a whale and I mumble that he's stupid, he knows nothing about fish.

  'If it was a seal we'd have seen it ages ago, they don't stay under water that long. And whales don't come into the shallows. It's a big cod, or a shark. Sharks run like this.'

  'But people don't eat sharks, so what'll we do with it?'

  'Give it to Doreen, the Coloureds eat it.'

  My arms are tired again and my back is aching all over. I feel like breaking the line on purpose, because I don't want Frikkie to bring in this fish. It's so hot now, and the sweat runs into my eyes so that I have to wipe it off with my forearm.

  I'm about to hand the rod to Frikkie for the second

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  time, when we see Dad and the General. It's as if I find new strength from somewhere. I try not to change the rod from one hand to the other, and to just hold it in one.

  'Come out of the water, Marnus,' Dad calls from the beach. But I can't move, and the rod bends down into the water.

  'Lower that rod, Marnus. Keep it straight and reel in.'

  'I can't reel, Dad. It's swimming too strong,' I speak across my shoulder. The line goes slack and I think it's gone. I reel hard and step out on to the sand. Then it's there again, the rod bends, and it pulls me back into the shallows.

  'Level the rod!' Dad calls, and I drop the tip, trying to hold it level to the water. By now I'm so tired I won't be able to lift it again. My arms and back are numb, and the burning in the muscles is gone. Both my arms are shaking and there's nothing I can do about it.

  'How long have you been fighting it?' Dad calls.

  I turn and answer that it must be almost an hour, and Dad shouts at me to keep my eyes on the rod.

  'He's been fighting it for almost an hour,' Dad says to the General.

  'That's quite something. Do you know what fish it is?'

  'I think it's a geelstert or maybe a shark,' I try to answer, but it's hard to speak because I'm so tired.

  'A yellowtail,' Dad translates and says: 'Don't let him play with you like that, Marnus - use your reel.'

  Now I wish they hadn't come. I'm so scared of losing the fish, or of not being strong enough to bring it in. I'm back up to my waist in the sea. Dad shouts at me to get out. But still I can't move, my arms and legs feel like dead weight. Dad's voice, now in Afrikaans, reaches me across the water: 'Get yourself and that fish on to this beach, Marnus! Hoorjy myV

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  I can hear the anger in his voice, but there's nothing I can do. Each time I try to reel in, it pulls me in deeper. I can't ask Frikkie to help any more, but my arms can't hold much longer.

  4 I can't go on any more, Dad,' I say, without turning around. I'm scared I'm going to start crying.

  'What did you say?' Dad shouts.

  'I can't get it out, Dad.'

  'Pull yourself together, Marnus! Stand up straight!'

  'Ja, Pa.'

  By now I can see there's a lot of line on the reel, but my wrist can't turn any more. For all I know the fish is still a mile on the other side of the breakers. If I swap hands now, the rod's going
to drop right out of my hands. All my muscles are dead and I stand as still as a pillar of salt. Everything starts to look hazy, like when you've run a lot at rugby practice, or when you keep your eyes open underwater for too long. It feels as though a wave might knock me over at any second, and I'll be too tired to swim. Behind me I can hear Dad and the General's voices. I can't hear what they're saying and it sounds like their voices are coming from the waves.

  Suddenly Dad is next to me in the water. He puts his hand on my shoulder. 'Marnus, pull yourself together now, and bring in that fish.' I can't look at him but I can hear he's angry.

  My hand struggles with the reel and for a while the line sings off the reel again. I wait for Dad to speak to me again. I can feel him looking at me, but he doesn't say another word.

  Slowly I start reeling in. Sometimes the fish pulls me forward a few steps, but mostly I feel him coming closer. I forget about my tired arms and keep on reeling. Tears start streaming down my face and I can't stop them. The

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  fish gives me a bit of line and I move backwards. Dad stays with me. Forwards and backwards.

  'Help me, Dad,' I ask, even though I can see the line disappear, just behind the breakers. He can't be more than thirty feet away.

  'Move back,' Dad says. 'Move on to the beach and stop being a crybaby. Mister Smith and Frikkie are watching you.'

  I bite my lip and try to stop the tears, but I can't.

  'Ja, Dad,' I answer, and I manage to stop the tears. Where is this fish? Please let me get this fish, please. I start praying, feeling my shoulders bend even further forward.