kagablog

Die Dassie in die aand en die koue ster

Two years later Gertjie visited Oom Boet’s farm for the last time; in fact he was sent there, him and his mom. She explained that it was a holiday but he could see in her face, and the sinister climate of his dad’s voice, and in his evasive eyes, that it was not. Sometimes his mom lied. They went for the weekend but came back early Sunday morning, from a rock to a hard place. His dad wasn’t very impressed, and said so loudly while his mom cried and cried. He hadn’t known adults could cry that much, that violently.

The holiday was not a friendly one. The embraces were not glad. Even San-Marie was distant when they arrived. That afternoon, in the mountain, San-Marie showed him her naeltjie for the fourth and last time. She was taller than him now. The sky was melancholy and something about her made him wary. She showed him much else, and made him show her. She was sniffling and beautiful and foreign. At one stage they were both naked in the dry air. Somehow this felt more natural, more real than the alien images she had revealed in cropped frames, the edited amorphous swells and sudden obscure definitions she had pressed his hand against. They had sucked on each other’s tongues, under her direction. It was weird and slimy.

Gertjie and San-Marie were very quiet during the long walk home; the disinterested heat, the estranged hum of Sonbesies. They didn’t speak much that evening, and on Saturday their play was depressed and disjointed. Saturday evening Gertjie went to bed early.

When he woke up it was dark, and his mom wasn’t in the bed next to his; he could feel the absence of her shape. There were muffled voices coming from somewhere in the house.

When Gertjie woke up his mom was snoring lightly in the bed next to him. It was the only sound. Gertjie lay in bed looking at all the strange objects of black and blue in the room; they only came out when the lights were off. Then Gertjie heard something outside, in the mountain. It was his Dassie! His heart beating now, Gertjie slipped out of bed; began the long adventure out of the farmhouse. Halfway out he stopped, his back expertly against the wall, like a Rekkie. Gertjie snuck to San-Marie’s room, slipped in. A ray of moon lit her cheek and she looked herself again. Gertjie kissed her delicately on that moonlit cheek. Then he returned to his mission. Outside the moon was low, the sun drawing near across the cosmic gulf. Gertjie loved the nebular film that coated everything – the grass, even the rocks and sand and stones – like on Jupiter. Jupiter was his favourite planet. Maybe it looked like this on the moon too, the moon was fat yellow but it shone night-blue. That was strange. The Dassie called again. It wasn’t loud, and it wasn’t coming from the mountain anymore. It was nearer! Gertjie frowned when the source began to reveal itself; the Dassie was calling from the maid’s room. Why would the Dassie go to the maid? Sannie said she was dumb coz she couldn’t even speak; just say some names. She looked like a Boesman. She could speak to Dassies, Gertjie decided.

Gertjie crept along the wall of the shack. The Dassie was louder now, then softer, but he couldn’t hear the maid. Then, as alarm-bells fell out of the sky and pushed sideways against his head in underwater panic, he recognised Oom Boet’s voice. Gertjie sat very still. He knew he should run, but what if Oom Boet killed his Dassie! Gertjie inched up to the window. The maid’s door slammed shut and Gertjie dove to the side, lying flatter and flatter.

Gertjie lay very still. Then looked over his shoulder; Oom Boet’s back was rounding the corner of the house. The alarms had wound down to a whistle. Gertjie stood up and brazenly peered through the window. It was just the maid. All was quiet. His Dassie had escaped! Maybe the maid had helped him. Gertjie waited for a long time before he slid back into the house; when he got back to his room he said thanks to Liewe Jesus. Inside his mom wasn’t snoring. Very quietly, like a karate man, Gertjie climbed into bed. He dreamt he was looking at his Dassie, which was singing, and the stars were cold.

The next time Gert saw San-Marie he was married and she had breasts. It was at a funeral. Twelve years had passed. Gert had no idea how to act around her, so for the most part he ignored her. Then, awkwardly stumbling over tact, he whispered (whispered! Into her Ear!):

“Onthou jy my naeltjie?” Her face registered faint, unsurprised disgust. And then she was gone. Gert tried smiling at his wife, who hadn’t noticed. Gert wondered whether she would notice if he fucked another woman ON HER FACE.

They had been married six months.

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