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Gert Groetrek en die fokken dose - Deel veertien.

Gert en die Ons Ander.

Gert spent the day after his adoption spying on these losers, while the distinction still had merit. He did this under the guise of recuperating; while he recuperated.

Gert had a cracked jaw; broken left brow; a more appropriate nose; several virile cuts and gauges; a tepid jungle of bruises; and a freshly relocated shoulder. The latter was thanks to Kerel; who took pains (ah cruel language!) to remind him of this for the next two years. First you give and then you take. “Jy smos mefokn skouhr. Mop tleen. Gert? Oft j fokkn vgeet .” Highly skilled, those Teens. Every now and then they’d round up the little moulding family. Just for kicks. And punches. Never fucked them up too much. Like Prometheus’ eagle, they left behind just enough to regenerate; left alone just long enough to remember. Kids these days.

Only Kerel knew this (Sampie suspected it), but the existence of the little family was all but completely indebted to the Teens (Bra was the only member not born of teen violence). And even Kerel was only subliminally aware of this pathetic irony.

The family was born on the day that Kerel saw what was left of Sampie. Kerel had been walking the streets solo for about five months when the Teens tackled him laag. They poesed him fucked up. It was only through the cruelty of Fate’s dice that he survived.

Ou Kerel never quite walked the same again; never quite spoke the same. Giggling babies scared the shit out of him now. Five weeks after that little atomic explosion, still weak with fallout, Kerel saw the Teens doing their Haka on some other unluckiest creature. Kerel did his best I’m-just-a-patch-of-grass impersonation; while time shrieked in his ears.

He quietly vomited. Kerel waited behind the tree; swallowing his breath until he heard their Swagger-song jagging off into the faint of distance. Kerel shivered over to Sampie. Tearfully Kerel fixed his shoulder; pissed some of the blood off his face; cradled him until he began to moan, reborn in the gently rocking stink and tears of Kerel. They were Pisbroers from there on in. Yes, Kerel Had told him. And yes, from there on in they Did piss together (indebted, Sampie would knyp until Kerel looked over and nodded solemnly) – their yellows frothing together in intimate, symbolic, and very literal warmth. Next was Sam. Kerel and Sampie, mutually and passionately incensed, and grossly overestimating their new legion of two (possibly three!), actually took the Teens on this time. The little patches that could.

Kerel. Sampie. And Sam. Lay there nursing each other. Platonically.

And then there was poor Sarah. Only her soul had been broken. Her poor soul. It was not a pleasant sight. It was a horrific sound. So horrific, in fact, that it had probably saved her. The Swagger-song was hesitant this time, fading faster. The okes took her in. When she’d healed in the realm of physics she became their vrou. Her debt was vast, she felt, and – nodding understandingly – they agreed. Within six months they were seven strong (the Teens were forced to bring guests along now). Only Bra had come in Teen-free, but, perhaps appropriately, soon bummed off. Didn’t quite click like the others. That, and he’d begin to suspect that these teen romps were not, in fact, random. Even though the others never mentioned them. Today Braam is a successful bank-clerk. And, thanks to his stubbornly mysterious past, lays a lot of clerkettes.

Gert doggy-paddled in and out of consciousness on his first day of recovering/spying. They all looked the same; only their voices differed slightly. And the one was definitely

a (paddle paddle..) “Jirre, hys vrot huh..”, “Ja mah hysl weet iktom s’skour trug ‘gee. Anyay, sbdoel. Fokkn room ghad Sampie.” Philosophic quiet.

“Dis beter hoe meer is ons, Ons Ander..”, Sarah ventured apologetically.

That night Kerel limped off; told Sampie to keep watch. Bought himself Kentucky Fried Chicken; didn’t mind the scowls and general disgust. Things were looking up. This new oke was gonna seal the deal. Kerel saved a piece for Sampie; who would be awake when he returned; who would smell the finger licken’ grease.

Things were looking up.

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