The Satanic Mechanic (10 page)

CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

I stopped at the Spar for some oranges, sour cream and cream cheese for the cheesecake. There I bumped into Tannie Elna le Grange from the shoe shop, and Tannie Kuruman from the Route 62 Café. I tried to be quick with my catch-ups, because I needed time for that cheesecake. But it was difficult, with all the talk about Slimkat's death in the beer tent at the KKNK, and the woman who'd stabbed her boyfriend in the heart in Barrydale. Elna said she'd heard the woman had said, ‘The devil made me do it.' Then I chatted with Anna Pretorius, the mielie farmer. Ag, shame, she was still lonely after losing her friend, Martine. Anna told me all about the suspension problems of her bakkie. She'd heard about the new mechanic just outside of town.

‘He uses voodoo to fix your car,' she said. ‘And he fixes people too. With fire and voodoo. They call him the satanic mechanic.' She snorted and shook her head. ‘I think I'll get HiWay Tyres to do the job.'

Marietjie, at the till, was quick and quiet. I think something was troubling her, but I didn't ask what.

At home, I picked a lemon from my tree as I passed through the garden. I made the crust first: Candy's recipe called for crushed digestive biscuits and butter, but I added in some desiccated coconut, crushed brazil nuts and orange zest too. And then I prepared the creamy citrus filling. Candy used lemon and orange rather than the usual vanilla flavouring. Once the cake was in the oven, I took my letters outside to the stoep table and opened the one that looked familiar. It was written on that thin paper by the mature Scottish woman who fancied the younger man. She wrote:

Thank you, dear Maria, for the wonderful recipes. The young man is visiting me more often now. Three times a week. He is such a strong fellow and he has been helping me about the house
.

I did love your story about mature cheddar being more delicious. But I am wondering . . . Perhaps age is just a number, but is race just a colour? He has a lovely big white smile, but the rest of him is a very dark brown. I am a pale-pinky colour
.

Some more of your wonderful recipes would be fine. Maybe something that lasts so I don't need to be baking every day
.

Yours sincerely
,

Delicious Lass

I sat thinking about her letter for a while. Apartheid was dead in South Africa, but we all knew racism wasn't. Especially in small towns. What would be most helpful to her? I wondered.

Heart-shaped chocolate brownies? Rainbow layered cake? Or a dark chocolate cake with pale-pink strawberry icing?

In the end I wrote:

Dear Delicious Lass
,

The skin is just a thin layer on the outside. Your hearts are the same colour
.

Here is a prize-winning recipe for a special fruitcake. The different ingredients (dark: coffee, cocoa, dates – and light: almonds, sultana, butter) join together to make something more delicious than you can imagine. This fruitcake matures with age. It will have him coming back for more
.

Everything of the best
,

Tannie Maria

The recipe had a very long list of ingredients, so it took a while to write up and made me quite hungry.

I added a layer of sour-cream topping to the cheesecake and put it back to bake a little longer. I studied my diet sheet. Boiled eggs for lunch. I sighed and swallowed my diet pills. I must've had the satanist
on my mind, because I made devilled eggs, using Dijon mustard, cream cheese and red pepper. The eggs looked and tasted fantastic. As I sat at the stoep table, chewing my last mouthful, I saw that kudu again, at the gwarrie tree, nibbling on some leaves. It turned and stared at me. I went and switched the oven off, then phoned Jessie in Oudtshoorn, on her cell.

‘Jess. Any news on the Slimkat story?'

‘Yes! Ystervark saw the medical report. It definitely
was
poisoning. Hemlock.'

‘Hemlock?'

‘Ja, it's quite a common plant. Grows all over South Africa. I googled it. It was used when that famous philosopher, Socrates, was given the death sentence. And the symptoms fit. Trembling, vomiting, dilated pupils, paralysis. Just like what we saw.'

‘When are you coming back?'

‘Tomorrow. Are you all right, Tannie M? You sound a bit funny.'

‘I've had Slimkat on my mind. I keep seeing . . . his eyes. Looking at me.'

‘Ja. He was a good guy. I wish I could stick around here longer, find out what happened. But Hattie says I must be back Monday morning. I hope the Oudtshoorn police get on top of it. They're not sharing much with me, I tell you.'

‘You're not coming back today?'

‘No,' she said. ‘Is there something wrong, Tannie M?'

‘I have to go to counselling.'

‘Jinne.'

‘Ja.'

‘I went for counselling once; it's not so bad.'

‘It's with a group outside of town,' I said. ‘Run by a mechanic.'

‘Ricus? The satanic mechanic?'

‘Ja.'

‘No ways! He helped out my cousin, Boetie, big time. Remember what a daggakop he used to be, a real marijuana addict?'

‘Ja?'

‘Well, Boetie found a snake that had been run over but was still alive.
He put it in a sack and took it to this guy, Ricus, the mechanic. Ricus loves snakes, collects them.'

‘Is that why they call him a satanist?'

‘Ag, you know how people talk. I'd heard he used to do drag racing; his car was painted with flames and the words “bat out of hell”. Anyway, Boetie visited him – and the injured snake – a few times. I gave Boetie a lift there once on my scooter. I tell you, he became a different guy. Boetie's got self-respect now. He left those scallywags he used to hang out with. He stopped smoking dope, and he's just got a promotion at work.'

‘Sjoe. And the snake?'

‘The snake got better; they released it back into the wild. And Ricus sorted out my scooter brakes too. Don't worry about him, Tannie M. He's a cool guy. Good at fixing things.'

‘Thanks, Jess.'

I felt a bit better after talking to Jessie. I put the cheesecake in the fridge while I got ready to go out. I ironed my blue dress and wore fresh socks with my veldskoene.

I was deciding whether to call Henk when the phone rang and it was him. That sort of thing happens a lot, you know. I think about something, and then there it is. It makes me wonder if my life is neatly woven, instead of the tangle it looks like. If I could just follow all the threads, maybe I'd see a nice pattern.

‘How are you doing?' he said.

‘Fine,' I said. ‘A bit tired.' Sometimes I only realise how I am feeling when I speak to Henk.

‘I'm working late,' he said, ‘but maybe I'll pop round later.'

‘I'm going out,' I said. ‘To a therapy group.'

‘Good. Where?'

‘It's just outside town. In a . . . centre. I may be back late.'

‘Counselling on a Saturday night?'

‘It's a kind of social thing, supper and that.'

‘Maria . . . I hope it helps. I spoke to a policewoman here. There are also counsellors for women who have been . . . abused.'

‘Ja. Well, let's see how this goes . . . Maybe you can come after supper,' I said. ‘For pudding.'

‘Oh. Lekker.'

‘I have made some cheesecake.'

‘Phone me when you get in.'

‘Henk . . . Hattie knows the place I am going to. And Jessie. If, if anything goes wrong . . . with my car or anything.'

‘Where is this place? What's wrong with your car?'

‘No, nothing, I'm just saying, in case.'

‘Okay. See you later, bokkie.'

I cut the cheesecake into pieces and packed half into a Tupperware to take with me. The consistency wasn't quite right; it still needed to cool some more, so I didn't taste it. But I was glad to have the cheesecake for company when I drove off from my house.

‘I don't know why I'm feeling nervous,' I said to the cake. ‘I'm glad you're coming with me.'

There was movement in the veld next to me, and there I saw the kudu, bounding through the bushes, parallel to the road. I was worried it would swerve into the road, and I slowed down. It slowed with me, keeping pace with my little blue bakkie.

I stopped and rolled down the window. The kudu came towards me, and I could see into its dark eyes.

‘Please,' I said to the kudu, ‘stay further away from the road. I'm driving, and I don't want an accident.'

It flicked its ears as if it understood. And as I drove off again, it moved deeper into the veld. It stayed at the same distance and speed all the way. Following me the way the moon follows when you drive at night.

I got used to the kudu, and my mind returned to my fears about the group. Who else would be there? I wondered if the guy from the Ostrich Supper Club with the angry eyes would come. What would we be expected to say or do? Would I have to diet some more, or take other pills? I didn't want any more pills.

I carried on driving along Route 62, parallel to the long range of Swartberge to the north. I passed the road with a signpost to the
Laingsberg and the
Moordenaars Karoo
. The Murderer's Karoo is in the Groot Karoo. Then a little bit further on, a black raven was perched on the chassis of a tractor. A number plate said
Ricus 10810
.

I turned onto the dirt road, and the kudu turned too. The big buck was a comfort, even though I knew it wasn't real. The cheesecake beside me was real.

I got to the entrance to Ricus's farm and stepped on the brakes. There was a giant arch made of whale ribs and wood, decorated with zebra skulls and wildebeest horns. My heart was beating very fast.

‘I am scared,' I said to the cheesecake. The kudu came and stood by the window, its ears pricked up, spiral horns pointing towards me. ‘Ek is poepbang,' I told the kudu.

It twitched its ears and walked ahead of me with its long legs and graceful swaying neck. It jumped over a cattle grid, then carried on walking down the road.

The cheesecake should be almost right by now, I thought. I tasted a piece. It was pure pleasure, melting in my mouth. The sweet lemony cream-cheese flavour was like a balm. My heartbeat slowed.

‘You know,' I said to the cheesecake, ‘it is not the satanist I am scared of. Or ravens, or pills, or diets. It is myself. It is the things I remember and the things I have done. And I can't run away from myself for ever.'

I drove under the arch, across the cattle grid and down the dirt road.

CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR

A little way down the road was a collection of panel vans, parked in a ring, like an oxwagon laager. Growing between the vans were three sweet-thorn trees with sketchy shadows.

Further on, closer to the Swartberge, was an old farmhouse with a nice stoep, in the shade of some big karee trees. To the east of the house was a shed made of wood and corrugated iron. Its doors were open, and there were cars parked in there. To the west was a low animal kraal made of corrugated iron, thorn branches and rusted car doors. I drove to the ring of vans and parked my blue bakkie behind a yellow Combi panel van. On a nearby koppie, a small stony hill, some sheep were nibbling on the bushes.

My cheesecake Tupperware and I got out of my bakkie, and I saw two pairs of veldskoene (brown and grey) sticking out from beneath a white Renault panel van. The brown shoes were attached to a thick pair of legs in a blue mechanic's overall. They came wriggling out, along with the rest of the man – or was he a bear?

His face and hands were covered in a thick golden-brown fur, and his body was round and strong. He stood upright, looking down on me, though he was not as tall as Henk. As he smiled, his eyes sparkled blue under bushy eyebrows, and his cheeks were round and rosy. His beard and moustache were a darker brown than his other fur.

‘Maria?' I recognised his moerkoffie voice. He reached out a paw; a copper bracelet that looked like a snake spiralled from his wrist up his arm. ‘Welcome.'

His fingers were covered in black grease, so I was slow to shake
his hand. He looked down, said, ‘Sorry,' and laughed. He pulled a rag from his back pocket. ‘I must just go wash up.'

‘I'm early.'

‘Sit down,' he said. ‘Sit down. Let me introduce you.' He pointed to the grey veldskoene under the white panel van. ‘This is Your Highness.'

A little guy sat up, banging his head on the underside of the van. He also wore a blue overall. He gave me a polite nod before going back to his work.

‘Johannes is my apprentice. He works weekends to pay off his van.' He nodded in the direction of the red Mini panel van.

So, it was Johannes, not Your Highness. Ricus led me inside the van laager to a circle of white plastic chairs. In the centre was an old woman, squatting beside a ring of stones. She was making a fire.

‘This is Ousies, Johannes's aunt. She's visiting a while and helps out with the group.'

She gave me a quick smile with warm eyes, but her attention was on the fire, which she now lit. It smelt of sweet veld leaves. Ousies had the golden skin and high cheekbones of a Bushwoman. Her body was small, strong and wrinkled, like a wild plum tree.

‘And here is Tata Radebe,' said the mechanic. Father Radebe. ‘Tata, this is Tannie Maria.' Xhosa people use the words tata and mama, and bhuti and sisi (brother and sister) in the same way we Afrikaners say tannie and oom. We show people respect by making them part of our family.

Tata Radebe stood up as we were introduced: a clean-shaven black man with white hair at his temples. His dark suit was a little faded, but his shoes were as black and shiny as toktokkie beetles.

‘Molo, Mama,' he said, greeting me with the African handshake where you hold hands and thumbs three times. His grip was firm; he was old but strong.

‘The others will come soon,' said Ricus. ‘I'll be back now-now. Please sit.'

I sat down, leaving an empty chair between myself and Tata Radebe on my right. I smiled at him and at the panel vans. The vans were all sorts of makes, shapes and colours. I sat facing a black Land Rover panel van. On the ground between the vans were car parts: old doors,
pipes and stuff. In front of a rusty grey Bedford van was a toolbox with a wrench and a hammer on its lid.

I faced the soft, low hills to the west, with a view of the Swartberge on my right and the Rooiberg on my left. Tata looked at the fire, which was now roaring. Leaning against his chair was a wooden walking stick with a worn, round head – a knobkierie. Ousies carried a black enamel kettle to a tap on the outskirts of the ring. Ricus was at the same tap, washing his hands. He stepped back to let her fill the kettle, then unzipped his big blue overall and climbed out of it.

Ricus wore khaki shorts and a short-sleeved brown top. His arms and legs were almost as furry as his face. He sat down on a chair, opposite Tata and me, and patted his hands on his knees. Around his ankle was a copper bracelet in the shape of a snake with its tail in its mouth.

‘Is there anything you'd like to ask before the others arrive?' he said, raising a furry eyebrow. ‘There is another new member coming, so I'll go over all the basics anyway.'

‘Oh, I'll wait then,' I said. ‘Though, I was wondering . . . about payment.'

‘This is not my job,' said the mechanic. ‘It's something I do for my own healing. But if you find these sessions help you, and you want to make a donation to the snake conservation organisation of South Africa, they can always do with funding.'

‘Ja, I heard you liked snakes.' I cleared my throat, patted the Tupperware on my lap and said, ‘I brought some cheesecake.'

‘Wonderlik,' he said. Wonderful. ‘We like to feast as part of our session. I'll explain that later too.'

I was glad he didn't take the cheesecake away from me; I was feeling more relaxed, but it was still nice to have the cake close by.

Ousies fiddled with burning twigs under the enamel kettle. I heard a soft purring sound; a car was heading our way. When it became a loud roar, I saw a shiny black Alfa Romeo (shinier even than Tata Radebe's shoes) pull up neatly next to my car. It somehow made my bakkie look extra dusty.

A woman with loose blonde curls, tight black jeans, and heels stepped out. She walked carefully across the rough ground, avoiding some sheep droppings, and stopped before entering the panel-van laager. I smiled to
make her feel welcome, and she came into the circle. Her small black top showed off tanned arms and cleavage. She wore gold and turquoise bracelets and a bright turquoise belt, and carried a fancy leather handbag.

Ricus stood up to greet her. There was a loud clunking sound; as it got louder I saw a white 4x4 bakkie rattling towards us. It sounded like something was loose. As it pulled up, a puff of black smoke came out from underneath the car.

‘Am I in the right place?' asked the blonde woman.

‘Yes, yes,' said, Ricus, smiling, shaking her hand. ‘Lemoney?'

‘Lemoni,' she corrected him, ‘with the accent on the “i”.'

‘Come in. Sit down.'

She looked around at the chairs, the panel vans and all those messy car parts.

‘Fok,' said a voice behind her. Fuck.

If I hadn't recognised him by sight, I would have known him by his swearing. It was Dirk. He kicked the back tyre on his 4x4 and stomped towards Ricus. He was the husband of Martine, the woman who was murdered a while back. He'd abused her, and he'd been our first suspect. But we went through a lot together and in the end had almost made friends. Even so, I wasn't sure if I could talk easily about Fanie in front of a man like Dirk.

‘My blerrie car's going up in smoke,' he said to Ricus.

I felt relieved; he was there to complain about ‘his bloody car' to the mechanic, not to join the group.

Ricus patted Dirk on the shoulder, then went to his 4x4 and patted it on the bonnet. He walked to the back of the bakkie and peered underneath.

‘Your exhaust's broken,' he said. ‘I'll ask Johannes to wire it up for you now, but come back on Monday and we'll fix it proper.'

Lemoni sat between Tata and me, and smiled a pretty smile. She had hazel eyes with long lashes and looked about thirty. She arranged her handbag on her lap. The label read
Louis Vuitton
. On her one arm were the bracelets, on the other was a gold watch and a thin leather band with blue glass beads that looked like eyes.

‘I'm Tannie Maria. You're not from here, are you, Lemoni?' I said, with the accent on the ‘i'.

Lemoni was watching Ousies, who now stood with a broom – a thatching-grass witch's broom – in front of the Land Rover.
Defender
was written on the bush-bar in front of the van, and Ousies did look like she was some kind of guard.

‘Sorry?' said Lemoni.

‘Where are you from?'

‘Jo'burg,' she said. ‘But staying here for a while, visiting my sister. And recovering.'

‘Are those evil-eye beads on your bracelet?' I said.

She nodded and said, ‘They ward off evil.' She leant towards me. ‘Doll, do you think those snake bracelets are a satanist thing?'

I shrugged and said, ‘It's my first time here too.'

Dirk came and sat down on the other side of the small circle. So he was joining us after all.

‘Tata,' Dirk said to the old man, who nodded a greeting. Then he saw me and said, ‘Tannie Maria!'

Then he looked at the pretty blonde, and his mouth fell a bit open and he went quiet. She was rubbing the strap of her handbag with her thumb and watching the fire.

An old Peugeot station wagon pulled up beside Dirk's 4x4, and Ricus went to greet a woman who got out of the car. She was wearing a long blue dress, and a headscarf with pink flowers on it that covered much of her round, chocolate-brown face. Her skin was smooth, although I guess she was middle-aged. She gave Ricus two aluminium pots to carry. She was carrying a silver tin, which she handed to Ousies at the fire, and then she sat down on the chair on my left. The woman smiled at me from inside her headscarf then looked down at the ground.

I was going to introduce myself, but Ricus stood in the circle and cleared his throat. The fur on his face and arms caught the afternoon light, and he looked like large friendly beast.

‘Welcome!' he said, in his rich warm voice. Then he laughed from his belly. He reached his arms wide, and it felt like all of us were being held in a big bear hug.