LITMIR.BIZ

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giggles. Benjamin glares at him.

      “Ja, you all sat so nice and dry up there in the Land Rover, and I had to get in that freezing bladdy water with all those trees and stuff – and those bladdy drowned sheep that kept bumping into me … I couldn’t hardly stand the stink, man! Anyway, I had to walk in front to show him the way, you see, so he used to tie me to the bumper with a rope.” He lifts an arm and stabs at the ground. “And then I had to walk ahead and poke the flood stick in the water, so I could show him where the potholes and the dongas were.”

      “What’s a flood stick?”

      “A flood stick? It’s a long bladdy stick to measure how deep the water is, you pampoen!”

      “Who’re you calling a pampoen?”

      “Who doesn’t know what a flood stick is?”

      “Ag, bugger off, man. Is it true what he’s saying?” I turn to look at Wilfred. He nods, but Benjamin doesn’t wait for him to answer.

      “Ja, of course it’s true!” Benjamin shakes his head, as if even he has trouble believing it. “It’s true.” His voice is gruff.

      “Ja,” Wilfred chimes in. “Me and Sandra and Rochelle used to sit there by my father in the Land Rover, and we used to knyp, hey! And my father used to scream at me, I must move across to open the door where Benjamin’d been sitting, so I could look out and see if I could see anything, you know – like a tree stump or something – and my father would also open his door, but just a little bit, right?” He looks down and starts to laugh. “Ja, so he could see how high the water was, how many sheep he could count that had vrekked in the flood, and then the water would come inside, and our feet would get all wet … Jissis, you should have heard my father vloek!”

      “I swear I can still hear him,” Benjamin mutters.

      The biggest, the tallest

      Uncle Leslie’s words are almost lost in the hiss and roar of the rushing water.

      “Benjamin!” he bellows. “Take off your uniform! Come on, hurry up and fetch the bladdy flood stick off the back of the Land Rover!”

      We are squashed like mielie pips on a cob. The Land Rover’s cabin smells of damp, and wet earth, sheep and bodies. Benjamin’s wedged up against the door. Wilfred makes himself small and moves as far away from his brother as he can. He digs his elbow into his sister Sandra’s side. She yelps, tries to shift away, and nudges her little sister Rochelle up against their father until she sits so close to him, her head slips right under his armpit when he lifts his arm to change gears. Wilfred half-turns towards Benjamin and shoves him hard against the door.

      “You heard what my father said, Benjamin!” he screams.

      When my farm cousins talk about their parents amongst them­selves, they call them “my father” and “my mother”. When my sisters and I speak about Ma and Pa, we just say “Ma” or “Pa.”

      “Shurrup, Wilfred!” Benjamin howls.

      “Dad!” Wilfred whines. “Benjamin won’t listen – tell him again, tell him again to get out, Dad!”

      Benjamin braces himself again the dashboard and leans forward to look at his father.

      “Why must it always be me who has to get undressed every time?” he grumbles. “Why can’t Wilfred do it for a change?”

      Uncle Leslie grinds his teeth. He leans his chest against the steering wheel and curls his right arm in a half-circle around it. His left hand, hard and square, freckled like an egg, snakes around the back of the girls’ heads, cuffs Wilfred on his ear along the way, and smacks Benjamin hard on the side of his head.

      “Because you’re the biggest and the tallest, mamparra!” he snaps. “Come on, get out! Get moving!”

      He opens his door and the rain blows inside, and my cousins turn their faces away from the wind and the wet. Benjamin swears. His face is red. He struggles out of his school shorts, unbuttons his shirt, and pulls his tie in a loop over his head. He bends and pushes the toe of one shoe against the heel of the other until both lie abandoned in the dust and dry grass stalks, the pebbles and crumbling pellets of sheep droppings shifting about on the floor. His sisters sit with big eyes, quiet and still while Wilfred needles and pushes, pinches and prods. Benjamin leans his shoulder up against the heavy door, and slowly, careful against the rising water, he opens it to the elements. Wilfred leans across and shoves him hard.

      “I’m going to bladdy donner you when we get to school,” Ben­jamin screams as he tumbles out into the rain and the mud.

      When Uncle Leslie steps out of the cabin with a length of rope dangling from one hand, his boots sink almost to his ankles in the thick red mud. He walks around to the front of the Land Rover, bends down, and ties one end of the rope to the bumper. He turns around and blinks his eyes in the rain as Benjamin, dressed only in his underpants, slides towards him.

      “Did you find the stick?” Uncle Leslie barks.

      Benjamin raises his arm. “Here, Dad.”

      His father nods. “Good. Okay, come here, let me tie this end around your waist.” He puts a hand on Benjamin’s small shoulder, and in the rain, he leans forward. “Orraait?” he shouts into Benjamin’s ear.

      Benjamin nods. “Ja, Dad.” He clamps his mouth shut to stop his teeth from chattering.

      “Walk slow,” Uncle Leslie shouts into the wind. “Remember, before you move, you must first put the stick in the water in front of you, understand?”

      Benjamin twitches his shoulder. “Yes, Dad – I know what to do.”

      “Ja, I know, I’m just reminding you – go slow and move the stick around in case the road’s washed away. Remember to check, see if there’re any new holes, you hear?”

      And Benjamin, only nine or ten, whippet thin and just as fast, stands in the mud at the edge of the brown churning foam. He takes a small step, and he raises his arm, and the stick plunges down, probing the stony bed for potholes and cracks, for crevices widening into caverns or washaways, invisible under the pressure of the treacherous water. Behind him, the Land Rover’s engine fires and rumbles as the heavy vehicle follows him into the swirling waters. It creeps, slow and steady, stalking my cousin through the wide, flooded stream, across to the other side.

      The floor of the Land Rover’s cabin is awash in muddy water. Wilfred, Sandra, and Rochelle sit with straight legs, their feet braced against the dashboard. Benjamin’s school shoes – rescued by his sisters – lie safe and dry on the seat beside them. Uncle Leslie crouches over the steering wheel, growling and swearing, his eyes fixed on Benjamin’s back. The rope chafes around his small middle. All at once, Benjamin raises the stick in his hand high in the air, plunges it down and raises it up high again – the signal of some new danger. Uncle Leslie swerves and stamps on the brakes. The girls sit rigid, their gaze fixed on their brother’s wet curls. Wilfred mutters under his breath and steadies himself. His hands grip the edge of the seat. The water laps against the sides of the Land Rover and seeps through the narrow gap in the open door at his side. Drowned animals and branches torn from trees spin past, whirling and bouncing in the vortices and eddies of the swirling currents.

      I stare at my cousins slouching in their chairs on the stoep, at their legs swinging back and forth, their bare feet sweeping the hard floor.

      “Jissis!” I breathe, impressed. “I didn’t know you were so brave, man! Weren’t you scared, Benjamin?”

      He shrugs.

      “Ag, not really. I mean, how else were we going to get to school?” He glances at me and frowns. “And anyway, who else was going to do it? I knew my father wouldn’t ever make me walk through the vlei if it was really dangerous …” He shakes his head. “Anyway, I was the tallest – I’m still taller than Wilfred!” He flashes a small, spiteful smile at his brother. “No, it was my job. I’m not saying I liked it, but it was my job.”

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