The Smell of Apples: A Novel
Page 18
Fish Hoek Beach is full of people. From up here the umbrellas make the beach look like a garden of big red and blue and yellow flowers. Some surfers are paddling out on
The Smell of Apples
their boards behind the breakers. I wanted a surfboard once, to learn how to surf, but Dad said the surfers are all dagga-smokers and they put stuff on their hair to make it white.
Where the road goes up the hill on the other side of Fish Hoek, just below the pastorie, I get off the bike and push it along till where it's downhill again. On this side of Simonstown you can smell the oil coming from the fish factory where Zelda's father works. On the beach below the factory, Jan Bandjies and his team are busy drawing in their nets. There are some people standing around, looking at the catch. I leave the Chopper next to the tracks and walk down on to the beach. Jan sometimes gives me a stompneus or a hotnotsvis, but today the nets look so empty that I can't ask. And anyway, I haven't got anything to carry it in.
From where he's standing up to his waist in the water, Jan Bandjies shouts hello to me and says I should come in and give them a hand. But I don't feel like helping today. I'll stop here on my way back from Simonstown. I can see a submarine in the docks over there. I want to go have a look.
The guards at the base know Dad, and when me and Frikkie come here, they always let us through without stopping us. I stand with my legs across the Chopper, looking at the submarine. It's the SAS Maria Van Riebeeck. The SAS stands for South African Ship, and the Republic has two other submarines like this one. All of them have women's names. The others are the SAS Emily Hobhouse and the SAS Johanna Van der Merwe. We've only had them for a few years.
I ride along to where the Namacurras are tied up against the wharf, and look down into their hulls. On all the ships and boats, seamen in blue uniforms and overalls
Mark Behr
are washing decks and shining equipment. Two seamen are holding handlines into the harbour from the wharf. Every now and then they pull up something and put it into a bucket. I go closer and see that they're catching small angel fish with yellow and blue stripes. One of the Namacurras comes past and sends waves knocking against the wharf.
The two seamen catching the angel fish look at me bending over the bucket and say something to each other. It looks like they're talking about me. After a while the one asks: 'Are you General Erasmus's son?' I nod my head, and they chuckle at each other.
I've gone out fishing on the Namacurras a couple of times with Dad and Brigadier Van der Westhuizen. We usually anchor the boat off Smitswinkel Bay, and stay there for a whole Saturday. Once, a huge great white swam right up to the side of the boat and circled us for a while before it swam off. It was almost as long as the boat and Dad said if he'd had his pistol there, he could have sent a bullet through its head.
It feels like the seamen are still talking about me, and they're laughing the whole time. I don't feel like standing around here any more. I turn the Chopper around and drive back past the submarine. Behind me I can hear them laughing, and I wish we were in Sedgefield already.
When we go there for our holidays, Dad and Mum always leave their watches at home, because they want to be rid of all the rules and regulations of city life. Mum says that's the only time Dad has a chance to get away from all his responsibilities and to escape from it all. When she talks like that, she always looks like someone who's missing something. I think she misses the farm where she grew up, just like Dad misses Tanganyika. Dad always says the things you remember from childhood are your most precious memories. You never forget the things you were
The Smell of Apples
taught or the things that happened to you as a child. Those things make up your foundation for the future. Dad says you can see the flipside of the coin in old Sanna Koerant. It's because her father was a real drunkard in the streets of Arusha, that she herself turned out to be such an old gossip, with never a good word for anyone in the world. It was because of all her gossiping and because she always tries to act so wise, that people started calling her Koerant. Everyone knew her, right from Meru to Kilimanjaro. Many people hated Sanna Koerant. When the Mau Mau murdered the whites in Kenya, she told everyone that Kilimanjaro was calling her children to claim their birthright and that Uhuru was close. It caused such trouble when she said that, that she had to go and apologise to many people before they would allow Sanna back into their homes. Dad says, just like Sanna Koerant became such a bitter old woman because of her drunk father, so children that come from stable Christian homes will end up being stable Christian grown-ups. The dreams of the parents become the dreams of the children.
I leave the base and turn right to go home. The sun's so hot now I don't feel like biking all the way home. I'll go by train and get off at Kalk Bay so Mum won't see me. If she happens to see me I'll say I was scared of getting sunstroke in the heat.
I wait for the train at Simonstown station. As soon as it's pulled into the station, I push the Chopper into an empty compartment. It's like an oven inside the train, and it smells of plastic and cigarette stompies. I let the Chopper rest on its stand between the seats in the open space at the door. Then I sit down on the seaward side of the compartment so I can look out over the water. There's an engraving of a white springbok head on the window-pane. My shirt sticks to the plastic seat, and I feel hot and
Mark Behr
sticky all over. Maybe I should open the window. I get up and move the window-pane down with both hands. The moment it's open, the smell of salt water and sea-bamboo drifts into the compartment. I breathe in deeply and rest my head against the tall backrest. There are quite a few yachts on the bay, but not as many as on weekends. Maybe it's also because there's hardly any wind today. There's no haze over the water and the mountains on the other side of the bay seem so close. The train starts moving and the cool wind blows into the compartment.
I stand up and lean from the window to see if Jan Bandjies and his team are still down on the beach. It looks like they're packing up their nets for the day. I see Jan with his bare chest and rolled-down overalls, bending over the nets. Just before the train's right above him I put my hands round my mouth and shout loud: 'Jaaaaan!' And yes! He hears me, because he looks up and I stick both arms through the window and wave like mad for him to see. At first I think he's going to miss me, but then, when we're almost past him, he recognises me and he also puts up both arms to wave back. I can see he's laughing, and I laugh back and keep waving until the train's too far and I can't see him any more. It's a pity I didn't tell him that we're going on holiday tomorrow.
We're awakened by the shouts of troops sitting up against the dam wall. At first I think Vm hearing the sound of our own approaching choppers, but the panic-stricken voices bring me to my senses. I jump up from the ground and feel the dizziness threaten to overcome me. I step forward and keep my balance by concentrating on the approaching noise. Within a split second everyone understands what's happening. We all look into the sky.
The Smell of Apples
As though from nowhere, they come towards us. The first two must have alerted the sentries. Then come the next four - in perfect formation against the blue sky.
I scream: 'No! No! No!' I want to shout for everyone to run for cover, hut it i already too late.
With informed precision they come, slowly. When they're almost above us, they drop their deadly cargo: suspended in slow motion by parachutes, the bombs descend on to the dam wall, right above us.
Mum asks where Frikkie is and I tell her he's gone home.
'Did you have a fight?' she asks.
4 No, Mum. He just wanted to go home.'
Use and I help Mum pack the groceries that she has bought for the holiday into boxes. She sends me to go and pick up the blankets and pillows from the lounge where Frikkie and I slept last night; Doreen isn't here now to walk around cleaning up after me.
Mum says we should all get to bed early this evening, so that we can leave early tomorrow morning. The earlier we leave, the so
oner we get to Sedgefield and the less we need to worry about driving in the heat of day. We must finish packing our suitcases tonight, and when Dad gets home, I'm to help him hook the boat to the car. That way we can just put the cases into the car in the morning and be off.
Everything that's leftover in the fridge and might go off while we're on holiday, Mum puts into a Checkers bag to take to the hospital for Doreen.
When we get to Groote Schuur, we first have to find out where to find the Coloured section. Once we find it, we stand around at the reception desk, waiting for someone to help us. There's no one else in the waiting room. Use
Mark Behr
says she wonders where Doreen is because she was meant to be here waiting for us at reception.
Mum rings the bell. While we're waiting, Mum tells us that this isn't the time or place for us to ask poor Doreen exactly how the accident happened. Doreen's probably so exhausted that for us to expect her to tell the whole horrible story would be completely insensitive.
The place smells like a hospital and there are long corridors disappearing in all directions. I wonder if Chris Barnard is here somewhere doing a heart transplant. This section of the hospital looks smaller and darker than the way I remember Ouma Erasmus's section. I wonder where all the doctors are, because everything looks so quiet here. I wonder if there are Coloured doctors or whether white doctors have to operate on the Coloureds. After a while, a Coloured matron arrives and asks if she can help us. Mum says we've come to see one of the patients. The matron asks who the patient is. Mum says it's a boy that got severely burned in Beaufort West. Him and his mother arrived here this afternoon by ambulance. The matron says they have too many casualties to simply know who it is, she needs the patient's name.
Mum says his name is Neville. The matron looks at Mum as if she's still waiting for something. Then she asks: 'And his surname? What is the patient's surname?'
Mum says she doesn't know.
Then Use says: 'It's Malan. His name is Neville Malan, and his mother is Mrs Doreen Malan.' I never knew there were also Coloured Malans, and I wonder how Use knew what Doreen's surname is. The matron looks into her register, then says we can follow her, even though it's not really the visiting hour.
Doreen is standing next to his bed. She looks up, and walks over to meet us. She's looking so old. Mum asks her
The Smell of Apples
how Little-Neville is. Doreen says the worst danger is over, but the burns are very bad. She says his whole back, his bum and his legs are completely covered in burns. He'll have to stay in hospital for two months. She says burns like these take very long to heal and even after they've healed the marks will stay there for ever.
Mum asks Doreen how she s feeling, and she answers that she has cried out all her tears and now she's just accepting that it happened and nothing can be done to change it. Mum says that's really the only way to deal with such a terrible tragedy. As long as Doreen remains strong in her faith, and as long as she knows that everything happens for some greater reason, it will be easier to cope with the pain. Mum says Doreen must just always remember the bitter trials of Job and how he always kept his faith in the will of God.
The bed is covered with a big plastic sheet that looks like a tent. Little-Neville is lying on his stomach. There are tubes inside his nose and his eyes are shut. Doreen says he's asleep because the long trip by ambulance was very tiring.
He's completely naked and his arms are tied to the bed with strips of plastic to stop him from scratching the burns. His legs are drawn wide apart so that they won't rub together. Between his thighs, across his bum and all over his back it looks like a big piece of raw liver.
The medicines and the ointments and everything smell too terrible, and I put my hand over my nose. I don't want to see any more. I move away to look out of the window.
The sun has set and the Cape Flats are covered in a red glow. There are red clouds across the whole sky up to the Hottentots-Holland, and it's as if there's a fire burning in heaven. It looks like the night Dad and I were at the top of Sir Lowry's Pass. Dad says the whole of the Cape Flats
Mark Behr
used to be one big stretch of marshland. It took decades of work to dry out the marshes. Right up to the hills at Kuilsriver the government filled in the marshland to make place for more people to live. That's how we tamed the wilderness.
Behind me I can hear Doreen telling Mum and Use that the doctors can't cover Little-Neville's back because the burns have to dry out. She says she's so sorry that we have to see her child in this state. I turn away from the window to look at her. I think she's going to start crying because her lips are twitching. Mum puts her arm around Doreen's shoulder and says she must try and be strong.
With my hand still slightly over my nose, I look down at Little-Neville's face. I try not to see his back. I think he looks a bit like Doreen, but his skin is darker and shinier than hers. His hair is shaved very short. He looks older than ten, but you can't really tell with the Coloureds. They all look the same. I stare at him for a long time and see that he definitely looks like Doreen. He has her round cheeks and the same little tip on his upper lip. With all the plasters holding down the tubes, I can't really see his nose. But his chin is square and Doreen's is more pointy. Frikkie says Doreen looks like Liewe Heksie, but I can see clearly that Little-Neville is Doreen's child.
We say goodbye to Doreen in the ward. Use gives her the plastic Checkers bag and Mum takes a ten-rand note from her purse. She tells Doreen it's for Christmas and that Doreen must phone us at Sedgefield if there's anything we can help with. Mum says Doreen must be strong and always know that we'll be taking her and Little-Neville along in our prayers. We're united in prayer, even though we're apart from each other. When Use embraces Doreen, they both start crying and I can see Doreen is struggling to stay on her feet. After a while Mum puts her hand on
The Smell of Apples
Use's shoulder and says we should really be leaving, even though it's so difficult.
No one speaks in the car and Mum doesn't turn on the tape player as usual. Later, when we're almost home, Use says:
'I think it's better if he dies.'
'My child!' Mum says. 'How on earth can you say something like that?' Mum and I are completely shocked to hear what Use said.
'Mummy, just imagine what he's going to feel like once he starts remembering what happened to him. Think of how he's going to hate white people.'
'My dear Use, how can you speak like this?' Mum asks. 'The Bible teaches us about all these things. You've just been confirmed and yet you speak like someone who has never set foot in a confirmation class. We are taught to forgive and forget, never to repay evil with evil. If everyone in this country could just live the way the Bible tells . . .'
'People can't eat Bibles,' Use interrupts, and for a moment it feels like Mum's going to overturn the Beetle from the way she swerves across the road.
'Now you keep quiet, Use!'
That's all Mum says, and we drive the rest of the way home in silence.
I'm carrying my suitcase down the stairs as Dad comes in through the front door. I hear him speaking to Mum at the bottom of the passage. He's saying Mister Smith will be staying over at the Van der Westhuizens' tonight. Brigadier Van der Westhuizen will be visiting Chile next year and tonight he'll have the opportunity to find out more about the country and its people.
I watch Dad walking down the passage in his uniform. In one hand he has his briefcase, and in the other the
Mark Behr
sports bag he uses for civilian clothes. He stops when he sees me standing on the bottom step. For a while we stare at each other. Then he asks:
'Don't I get a kiss tonight?'
I put the suitcase down in the passage, and walk over to him. Mum's standing in the kitchen door wearing her red dressing-gown and looking at us. When I get to him I stop and look up into his face. It looks like he's been in the sun, because his face is red. He stares down at me, and I look dow
n at the floor. He quickly bends forward and kisses me. He smiles and asks whether I'm getting bored with the holiday yet. I say no, I'm not bored. I keep looking at the floor.
I carry the suitcase into their bedroom to put it down with the others. Use comes in and gives Dad a kiss. Mum comes in and starts packing the last few things into the suitcases on the bed. She asks Dad whether he's been in the sun, because his face is tanned. Dad says he's been walking around in the sun on the west coast all day, looking at sites. Earlier this evening they had a meeting with the Minister.
Dad says I can have a quick shower with him. Mum asks whether Mister Smith enjoyed his stay with us, and Dad says Mister Smith asked him to thank Mum again for everything. He's also sorry he didn't have the opportunity to say goodbye to me, but with Frikkie and I being fast asleep when he left last night, he didn't want to wake me up.
Dad and I get undressed in the bathroom. He puts down his sports bag next to the washing basket in the corner. When we're both naked he gets into the shower. Before I can get in, he puts his head through the shower curtain and says I should have a look in his sports bag -Mister Smith sent a surprise for all of us.
The Smell of Apples
I unzip the old leather bag and see four parcels wrapped in gift paper on top of Dad's clothes. The heaviest one has Dad's name written on top. There's a tiny one for Mum, and a flat longish one for Use. Mine is a small rectangular parcel. Dad sticks his head from the shower again, and says:
'Why don't we wait a bit, my boy. Then we can open them together when we've finished showering. Put them on the bed with Mum.'
I wrap a towel round my waist and carry the parcels into the bedroom and put them down on the bed.
'Gifts!' Mum cries. 'Who are they from, Marnus?'
'From the General, Mum.'
'Mister Smith, you mean, my boy!'
I walk back into the bathroom.
'Are you coming, Marnus?' Dad says from under the shower. 'I'm almost finished.'
'I'd rather go and have a bath, Dad,' I answer, and pick up my clothes from the floor.