The Satanic Mechanic - Sally Andrew

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a man to expect his girlfriend to be his lover. Otherwise they are just friends. He may have patience for a while, but how long can it last? But it didn’t feel fair to say these things to the seventeen year old.

      I picked up another letter, an email this time, with yesterday’s date on it.

      Dear Tannie Maria,

      I wonder if you remember me.

      It is because of your letters that we started the Ostrich Supper Club. You got us to meet each other at the Farmers Co-op in Oudtshoorn. I was so shy before that (what with the scars after the accident), and the Supper Club has helped me so much. I’ve started to feel almost normal, and now I’m dating one of the people in the club.

      Anyway, at this year’s arts festival, our Ostrich Supper Club is doing a little project with the sponsorship of some ostrich farmers. We have made an ostrich recipe booklet (including some of your great recipes!) and we are having a cooking demonstration and a small dinner at one of the stalls near the beer tent tomorrow night. I hope you are attending the KKNK, and it would be so wonderful if you could come as our guest of honour. You started the whole thing going, and we are all big fans of your ‘Love Advice and Recipe Column’. Sorry for the last-minute notice, but we are a bit deurmekaar when it comes to planning. We are better at eating and chatting and drinking red wine.

      Below is my phone number. You are welcome to bring a date or a friend.

      All best wishes,

       Annemarie van der Walt

       (my real name!)

      The idea of a date vs a friend pulled my mind to that teenager’s letter. But I steered it back to the Supper Club. Maybe I should go to the KKNK. But it was quite a long drive to Oudtshoorn. I yawned and looked at the office clock. Only 8 a.m. and I was tired.

      I heard revving and squealing; Hattie had arrived outside. There was the clicking sound of her neat footsteps up the path. I put on the kettle to make her tea.

      ‘Hello, Tannie Maria,’ she said. ‘You’re here bright and early.’

      ‘Morning, Hats.’

      ‘Goodness gracious, Maria, what happened to you? You look dreadful.’

      My hand went to my hair.

      ‘No, not your hair, the rest of you. You look like you haven’t slept for a week.’

      ‘I’m fine,’ I said, or tried to say, but it came out funny: ‘I-i-i’m fi-i-i-i-i-ne.’

      ‘My, oh my, Maria,’ said Hattie, pulling her chair up next to mine and sitting down. ‘Whatever is the matter?’

      She handed me my coffee and a rusk.

      ‘No, thanks,’ I said. ‘I’m on a di-i-i-i-et.’ To my surprise, I found I was crying.

      She drew in her breath in shock. ‘No! Is that why you’re in such a state?’

      I shook my head. Then nodded my head.

      ‘You’ve been having trouble sleeping for a while, haven’t you?’ she asked.

      I nodded.

      ‘Have you tried sleeping tablets?’

      I shook my head.

      ‘Have you been to see a doctor?’

      ‘I saw a counsellor. She put me on this diet.’

      ‘What a load of poppycock!’ Hattie said. ‘You need a doctor, Maria. I know we’ve got doctors in Ladismith, but there’s an excellent one in Oudtshoorn that I’d like you to meet. Doctor Walters. You are coming to the KKNK, aren’t you? It’ll be fun.’

      I found a tissue in my handbag and blew my nose. ‘I’m not sure,’ I said. ‘I feel so tired—’

      The phone rang, and Hattie answered. ‘Klein Karoo Gazette . . . Jess!’ She listened for a while and then said, ‘Hold on . . . Maria, Jessie says Slimkat is fine, but something has happened. Warrant Officer Reghardt Snyman, Detective Henk Kannemeyer and half the Ladismith police are at the KKNK. Can I tell her we’re on our way?’

      I took a deep breath and said, ‘Yes.’

      CHAPTER TEN

      The drive to Oudtshoorn is beautiful. Wild green hills and mountain passes with lovely patterns of red rock. But I kept my eyes closed for a lot of it because Hattie was driving. I was crazy to have agreed to go in her car. But I really was tired. I’d packed quickly and hoped I had everything I needed. A change of clothes, my diet lunch in a Tupperware (boiled egg and salad). I’d asked my neighbour, Rita van Tonder, to come and feed my chickens and put them in their hok at night. I’d said she could help herself to their eggs. She’d tasted them before and knew they were worth the drive from her apricot farm to my house.

      I opened my eyes as we wound our way down the Huisrivier Pass, and I saw a nice picnic spot under a pepper tree, with a view of the valley and hills.

      ‘Shall we stop here for lunch?’ I said.

      Hattie looked at her watch, and the car wiggled. ‘I don’t think we have time. Jessie wants to meet us at 3 p.m. in the beer tent.’

      I didn’t think I’d be able to eat in Hattie’s car and keep my lunch, so I swallowed two diet pills.

      ‘Now, you will see the doctor in Oudtshoorn, won’t you?’ Hattie said, turning towards me, the wheel turning too.

      ‘Mm . . .’ I said. ‘Do you mind if we talk later? I feel a bit car sick.’ I felt okay, really, but when she spoke to me, her eyes left the road, and I was worried we might end up with the worst kind of car sickness: the one that leaves you dead in a wreck.

      As we got close to Oudtshoorn, we passed some ostrich farms, and I thought about the Ostrich Supper Club. I’d phoned Annemarie to say I was coming, and she’d sounded so friendly. I wondered what they’d be serving for dinner.

      In town, we drove down Voortrekker Road. The pavements were full of people strolling along, and the lampposts were covered with bright posters and banners. I could see some big tents, a Ferris wheel and a Computicket stall. The traffic started getting thick. Hattie glanced at her watch and brushed against a banner by the side of the road. Then she hooted and overtook a Volkswagen Beetle.

      She parked the car on a yellow line, and we had to walk the last few blocks towards the big tent with the blue and white stripes; the streets were closed to cars.

      We passed art galleries and bookshops. A small crowd of people watched a man juggling ostrich eggs in the street, and from a yellow tent came the sound of someone singing. On the other side of a low fence were the Ferris wheel and bumper cars, and those rides that throw children about and make them scream. We walked past a food stall making roosterkoek, and another selling kudu sosaties. The griddle bread and kebabs smelt wonderful. I saw a stall with a sign saying Ostrich Supper Club, but there was no one there now. Hattie was trying in a polite way to get me to hurry, but I don’t believe in hurrying. Well, my legs don’t. I did the best I could and was a bit out of breath by the time we got to the beer tent.

      Jessie was sitting on a bench at one of the long white tables. She jumped up and waved when she saw us. Her dark hair was in a ponytail. Half the tent was made up of those long tables, then there were rows of plastic chairs facing a big wooden stage. Nothing was happening on the stage, and no one sat on the chairs, but there were quite a few people at the tables. A nice mix of coloureds and whites.

      On the far side of the tent were beer and food stalls. There was a caravan selling those kudu sosaties, and a queue in front of it. Two black men in T-shirts were preparing the meat on a grid over a fire. A young white woman in a yellow apron was taking orders and making the kebabs at a wooden trestle table.

      ‘Haai, Tannie Maria,’ Jessie said, giving me a hug then turning to Hattie.

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