The Satanic Mechanic - Sally Andrew

Скачать книгу

dangerous?’

      ‘You know him?’

      ‘Someone tried to kill him, didn’t they? What happened?’

      Henk shook his head. I saw movement behind him: that big man with the muddy veldskoene was walking towards Slimkat. Ystervark blocked his way.

      ‘That man!’ I said. ‘The one in khaki with the cross face. I think I recognise him. From a photograph on the Supreme Court steps. He’s a cattle farmer, angry with Slimkat for winning the land.’

      Henk glanced behind him then looked back at me. ‘Stay out of it,’ he said, his eyes now the colour of rain against the mountains. ‘Please, Maria.’

      This time I didn’t say excuse me, I just stepped forward. Henk moved out of the way; he is a gentleman after all. The man in khaki walked right past Ystervark and Slimkat towards a Windhoek Lager beer stall. Ystervark followed him.

      Jessie grinned when she saw us. Slimkat stood up and shook hands.

      ‘Hand aan hand dans ons saam in die reën,’ sang Kurt. Hand in hand we dance together in the rain.

      When Slimkat looked at me, that window with no curtains thing happened again, so I studied the table. In front of Slimkat was a Styrofoam container with a used napkin and four clean sosatie sticks.

      ‘Delicious,’ I said, pointing to the sticks and giving my fingers a kiss to show what I meant. We could hardly hear each other over the music, but we spoke with our hands. He nodded like a wagtail and made the spiral movement of kudu horns above his head.

      ‘What sauce did you like best?’ I asked, making a squeezing movement as if I was holding one of those big plastic bottles.

      ‘Honey-mustard,’ he said, showing the humming movement of a bee’s wings with his fingers. He offered me and Hattie his seat, but Hattie told him that we were leaving. She mimed a sleep movement with her hands and head. We smiled and nodded our goodbyes, and Jessie walked with Hattie and me to the outside of the tent where it was a little quieter. Kurt was now singing ‘Kaptein’, and the crowd was going crazy.

      ‘Kaptein, span die seile. Kaptein, sy is myne.’ Captain, prepare the sails. Captain, she is mine.

      ‘It was his car brakes,’ Jessie told us. ‘Someone cut them, right here at the festival. He nearly had a bad accident.’

      ‘Heavens above,’ said Hattie. ‘You’re sure it wasn’t a mechanical failure?’

      ‘No, they were cut. With wire-cutters.’

      ‘Oh my,’ said Hattie.

      ‘He’s asked that I only print the story after the KKNK. The organisers don’t want the crowds to panic.’

      ‘But what’s he still doing here?’ said Hattie. ‘Surely it’s dangerous?’

      ‘He says he won’t let fear make him run. He also thinks there’s safety in numbers. And there are a troop of policemen watching out for him.’

      The man in khaki was heading back now. Ystervark was close behind. I looked over at Henk, who stood not far from Slimkat. Henk’s arms were crossed, and his gaze was doing a slow sweep of the beer tent.

      ‘Daar was ’n eiland vol meisies in bikinis,’ sang Kurt. There was an island full of girls in bikinis.

      The expression on Henk’s face suddenly changed, his jaw dropped, and he started moving towards Slimkat.

      Slimkat was bent over, clutching his stomach.

      CHAPTER THIRTEEN

      ‘Slimkat!’ I shouted.

      Hattie clapped her hand to her mouth, and Jessie and I hurried back towards Slimkat. Piet was beside him, holding his shoulders. Slimkat sat up for a moment, and I could see no wound on his front. He doubled up again and vomited onto the grass. Then he fell to the ground; Piet helped him land gently.

      Ystervark grabbed a beer bottle, smashed it at the neck and threw himself – with his handful of glass – at the big man in khaki. The man jumped out of the way like a ballet dancer and together with a large woman with a downy moustache managed to disarm the angry porcupine. They wrestled his hands to his sides, and he dropped the bottleneck. I wondered if he’d try to attack them with Jessie’s knife. But he seemed to give up and let the woman hold him in her grip as he watched his cousin, Slimkat, trembling and twitching on the ground.

      The man in khaki kept Jessie and me away with an outstretched arm. He was a policeman, not a cattle farmer. Henk was shouting into a cell phone, calling for an ambulance. The khaki man gave instructions to Reghardt and another man who was probably also a plainclothes cop.

      Slimkat lay on his back on the grass and stared up at us. He tried to speak, but his lips wouldn’t move properly. He looked at Jessie, then at me. His eyes were big, black and calm, like a kudu’s.

      This time I did not look away.

      In those moments, with the windows without curtains, so many things happened. I allowed him to see me, and he saw everything. Even the things I have kept most secret. His body trembled, but he was not afraid. I could see the courage in his eyes. And he was looking for the courage in mine. He was trying to tell me something, but I could not understand what.

      Kurt was singing: ‘Hier sit ek nou alleen, soos die man op die maan. Daar is ’n wind wat waai – hy ken my naam. Daar is ’n wind wat waai – hy vat my saam.’ Here I sit alone, like the man on the moon. There’s a wind that blows – it knows my name. There’s a wind that blows – it takes me along.

      By the time the paramedics arrived, Slimkat’s body was stiff, like it was paralysed. But his eyes were alive, looking again at Jessie, then at me. What was he saying to us? I looked into those dark eyes and listened with all my heart. It does matter, he said. It does matter if I die. His eyes darted up towards the table and back to me. You can help, he said. But I could not understand how. As they lifted him onto a stretcher, he still held me with his gaze. And then, even when he was out of sight, the whoop of the siren racing away, the look in his eyes stayed with me.

      Kurt was still singing, and even the old tannies were up and dancing. ‘Nou loop ek maar die paadjie alleen – leen – leen. Stap ek deur die storm; dit reën reën reën.’ Now I just walk the path, alone – lone – lone. I walk through the storm; it rains, rains, rains.

      I sat down on the bench where Slimkat had sat. Jessie was talking to Reghardt, and the police were buzzing all around. Uniformed officers worked together with plainclothes police and closed off an area using yellow-and-blue tape. They were getting photographs and names of everyone in that area. Henk and a man with a bottlebrush moustache, and that police tannie with the lip fluff were interviewing people at a table just outside the tent. Piet was moving around like an agama lizard, lifting his head up and down, looking over and under tables. He studied the grass here and a tabletop there.

      ‘Buite waai die windjie; die honde huil,’ sang Kurt. Outside a wind blows; the dogs howl.

      The police hadn’t stopped the music. Perhaps they didn’t want to cause panic. After all, the crowds might think Slimkat had just drunk too much. I hadn’t smelt beer on his breath when we’d leant in close to talk. I had smelt garlic. I looked down at the sticks on the table. Those kudu sticks had been his last meal. Just as I was reaching out to his Styrofoam container, Piet’s hand gently stopped me. He picked up the container in gloved hands and sniffed it. I leant forward and sniffed it too. There was a smell coming from the napkin.

      ‘Garlic,’ I said into Piet’s ear.

      He nodded, slipped the napkin and Styrofoam into a plastic Ziploc bag and sealed it.

      ‘But there’s no garlic in those kudu sosatie sauces,’ I said.

      He looked down at the bag and back at me again. Then he put the package into my hands.

      Piet

Скачать книгу