Agaat (53 page)

Jak's voice broke with the force of his shouting. He sank to his knees. His shoulders were hunched. The bones of his skull showed through the stubble. You poured a glass of water from the carafe on the table and held it out to him. He didn't want to take it. He struggled to his feet. He stood in the corner of the sitting room pressed against the curtains, trembling, ashen-faced. You placed the glass of water on the coffee table, your hands in front of you to show that you weren't coming closer.

I'll go, you said, I'll leave the room, just calm yourself. Rather go and lie down. Should I phone a doctor? you asked.

He averted his face. His Adam's apple went up and down as he swallowed. The front of his shirt was stained with dark patches of sweat.

You went out onto the front stoep. You thought, what now? how to carry on? You looked back through the window at the uncleared supper table. The wine bottle was still more than half full. So Jak wasn't drunk. You looked out over the yard to see whether you could see Agaat and Jakkie's lantern. You could go to them.

They know that I'm good, mostly good, they know how gentle I can be. You remembered when you were small, how your father sometimes after he'd quarrelled with your mother, came and sat on the edge of your bed, and stroked his hand over your forehead, how your mother would later join him, and how they would try to effect peace between themselves by telling you bedtime stories.

You heard from the dogs in the backyard and the slamming of the screen door that they were back from the dam. Agaat would see to it that Jakkie had a bath and got to bed. You would go to them, to the steam and the aromatic soap and the white towels. You could get them to hurry up so that the table could be cleared, you could help Agaat
with it, pack the leftovers in the fridge, and carry on with the normal things, with your life.

But you remained standing there on the stoep listening to Jak pouring himself a glass of wine. He came out and stood next to you.

There's another story here, Milla, he said, you don't want to hear it because you can't manage anger and disillusionment and breakdowns. It's doubly difficult for you because at the same time it's energy that you can't do without. But we know that you have your nose in the story-books all the time. Perhaps you'll understand it better in the form of a fairy tale. Perhaps you'll get the point then. I can come and tell it to your whole cake-and-tea club one day, because you are of the same species.

You didn't look at each other. You gazed into the dark garden. You wrapped your arms around yourself.

Once upon a time there was a man who looked at himself in the mirror and thought that he was good enough, said Jak. He took a draught from his glass.

He was word-perfect as if he'd rehearsed it many times in his head. But he was silent for a long time before continuing.

I don't know if I want to listen to this, you said.

You turned around and went inside, but he followed you. Agaat came in by the inside door and started clearing the table. Her face was set straight, but you could see she knew exactly what was happening.

Jak started again, more emphatically. Did he want Agaat to hear? You knew that he liked playing to an audience, but here it was as if he was calling a witness.

Once upon a time there was a man who looked at himself in the mirror and thought that he was good enough, he said again, emphasis on every word.

He started stacking the plates himself, something he never did. Agaat kept her eyes averted, but you could see her listening.

To and fro between the kitchen and the dining room the three of you moved as you cleared the table. Jak saw to it that nobody missed a thing. His voice was still hoarse with shouting, full of bitter and sarcastic intonations. It was not the first time that you'd heard something in this mockingly bombastic strain from him, there had been previous times, bits and pieces of it, but now it was a complete tale, causes and effects and details.

Agaat, you said, get going to the outside room.

She ignored you. Her eyes were fixed on Jak.

No problem, Agaat is welcome to stay, Jak said, she'll be able to use it someday, let her hear by all means, it's good general background for
any domestic drudge. I can do with a bit of credibility in her eyes. She'll know what I'm talking about.

The man, Jak continued his story, was a farmer, he was rich, he was clever, he was strong. So then he married a woman who admired his talents.

How good-looking you are, how good you are, how wonderful!

But it was all just lip-service.

It was because she thought herself weaker and more stupid than she really was. Ugly duckling, no swan in sight. Sob.

She thought, well then, I'll just find myself an attractive husband, then it reflects on me as well.

But she felt no better even though he shone fit to burst. She was always worried about everything and always complained about everything. She complained about the earth and complained about the water and complained about the air and complained about the fire. Nothing was ever to her taste. She wanted her husband to right everything that she found wrong on their estate. The ploughshare and the sheep-shear and the stable and the table and the roof and the floor and the mincers and the pincers and the pens and the hens. She wanted him to be the master and control everything as she would do it herself if she herself could be good-looking and strong and clever and rich and be the master. Follow my drift?

Help me with this and help me with that, she whinged and carried on as if she had no hands. Even though she knew everything about farming she fancied that she could initiate nothing without him. She wept when he had to go on a journey and when he was with her, it had to be in such otherwise ways which he didn't understand, that he got quite discouraged. Stuff me a teddy bear, whistle like a mackerel for me.

You don't love me enough, you don't care enough for me, she went around all day sighing and doctored herself with a glass of wine, with a sleeping pill, with cookies, with chocolate, with talking on the telephone.

And she was always full of complaints. My legs are heavy, my arms feel tired. And at night she sleep-walked through the house in her black shawls and with her fluttering eyelashes.

What strange behaviour, the man thought as he led her back to her bed. I give her everything, what else could she want from me? How can I ever make her happy? he wondered as he lay behind her in the dark until she calmed down. And thus he became a hero of introspection, without anybody's suspecting it, a silent ponderer of his fate, but that's best left there, dear members of the audience.

So what do you think happened?

Jak had found his stride. He looked at you and Agaat in turn. He opened the curtains and took a deep breath.

Wonderful, wonderful aromas of Grootmoedersdrift, he said, fennel and coriander, six of one and half a dozen of the other.

When he turned round, his voice was hoarse.

The man, he said, started thinking that he was not at all good enough. Not clever enough, not strong enough, not handsome enough, not rich enough. He thought he might just be the very worst farmer on earth.

And he was unhappy. But in truth he was angry. His heart was bitter.

And he, yes, sin of sins, he started manhandling his wife when she nagged. Slap, kick, shove, these three.

Jak held three fingers in the air, showed them in turn to you and Agaat.

He pushed her away when she begged that he should hold her. He scolded her, and despised himself that he could be so cruel with somebody that he loved. Ai, ai, tsk.

And guess what this man did then?

Jak, that's enough, you said.

He ignored you, closed the passage door so that Agaat couldn't get out there.

Guess what the wretched man did then? Here, Milla, have a little glass, don't think I don't know who drinks my brandy late at night.

The man trained to become stronger and farmed to become richer. The fool. He read to become wiser and bought the best clothes to look better in the mirror.

But all of this was of no use.

His heart was sore. And his wife just badgered him the more.

You're going to leave me, she mewled, tomorrow you're going to pack your bags and abandon me, I know it. When men turn forty, then they start cheating on their wives, all the psychologists say so.

What could he do? What does a man do with such erudite aspersions? The man protested for all he was worth.

Jak put his hand on his heart and looked at the ceiling. I shall never abandon you, what did I do to be distrusted like this? Woe is me!

And then his wife showed him her titties anew and lifted her little dress and pouted her little lips and praised him in front of the guests.

Behold, my husband, he is the best that there is and my husband says this and my husband says that and you should be glad that I'm sharing his wisdom with you.

His jacket that was hanging from a chair, Jak hooked over his shoulder, with his free hand he brushed a few crumbs from the table.

But flattery means nothing, that we all know, don't we Agaat, your missis here also has nothing but good words, not so, about your service, and how she can depend on you, she tells it to all the neighbours' wives, to her book club, no matter what she's done to you in your life and how she treats you behind the scenes and all the things she suspects you of, hmmm? And you do your very best every day, don't you, to show her how good you actually are, hmmm? Do you think you can convince her, my girl?

Jak, leave Agaat out of this, it has nothing to do with her, you said.

Jak struck himself against the forehead.

Oh dear, how could I ever make such a mistake?

When he resumed, it was softer, his eyes flickered to and fro between you and Agaat. He spoke rapidly.

But with the years the man ceased to trust his wife's attentions. She started setting his teeth on edge. Teeth on edge, yes, finger in the sea anemone. Schlupp! Brrr! He knew that all her compliments were merely a plot to keep him with her, to get the spanner round the nut, as we say in the Overberg. And oh, the poor man, as luck would have it, he had been blessed by the good Lord with such a handy monkey-wrench. How does that poet of yours put it again, Milla? Why were we crucified into car mechanics? But that's not the point. The point is: who else could siphon off his oil so expertly? But he knew that the siphoning was nothing other than hunger, and it froze him to the bone.

Pretty story, don't you think? Aren't you applauding yet? Anybody for film rights? Or an option on the material? For a learned case study? Jak made his voice deep and theatrical for the conclusion.

And so they lived. What could satisfy her hunger and thirst? His blood, his marrow, his soul? Was that what he had to give in exchange for her compliments? Compliments, yes, you heard aright. Not love? you ask, isn't that what he wanted from her? Her love? Where then can the love be in this tale?

Jak cleared his throat, spoke in a sing-song voice, his hand to his side as if he were doing a folk dance, Oh no, no, no my Milla, no, self-love, I tell you, self-love, the malignant, the contagious kind, that unfortunately is what this tale is all about.

So I am sorry to disappoint you, my dear ladies. All that I know further is, the farmer got thin and his wife got sickly but they couldn't do without each other.

Who would deliver them from their misery?

Their cattle?

Their stranger within their gates?

Their only-begotten son?

Their faithful maidservant, who worked for them?

To be continued, Jak said, and turned away to the front door.

Jak, wait, please, stay with me, let's talk, it's not true, you said, you can't do this to me, Jak, don't go. Jak, what's to become of us?

His face was white and his eyes gleamed. You felt you as if you were going to faint. You clung to the edge of the table. You felt Agaat looking at you. Was there a trace of a smile on her mouth?

What's to become of us? Jak echoed, he looked from side to side at you and Agaat. Is that what the two of you want to know? Well, all I can say is: Please be patient, your curiosity will be rewarrded. Otherwise, do use your imagination in the meantime, between the two of you you can calculate the precise degree of heat at which the earth will perish.

He went out and drove the bakkie out of the garage, drove into the night.

You stood on the stoep and watched him open the gate and close it again, first the white beam of the headlights and then the red glow of the brake-lights on his trouser legs. Would he have had it in his head by then already? He obviously had more in his head than you'd thought. You felt that he had plans. You felt that he was in resistance, you could see his desperation, from his body, from his eyes. You were shaky. Your heart was beating wildly. You told Agaat to mix you a sleeping-draught.