The Satanic Mechanic (7 page)

CHAPTER SIXTEEN

‘Shall we talk over breakfast?' he said, as we drove off.

‘All right,' I said. ‘How about scrambled eggs and roosterkoek?' He slowed down and stared at me. Then he shook his head and drove us to Langenhoven Street, which was close to the festival area. We walked a block or so together. We didn't hold hands.

Most of the shops were still closed and some stalls were just setting up, but there was a queue in front of the roosterkoek stall. A red-faced young couple were taking orders and serving. Beside them was a man in a T-shirt and a blue cap, turning the flat bread with braai tongs. Coals glowed in two metal half-barrels with big grids on top of them. There were dark toasted lines on the bread, like the stripes on field mice. The smell was delicious. Two short coloured tannies worked at a trestle table nearby, kneading the dough, then making balls and squashing them with the heels of their hands to make the round flat breads.

The queue moved quickly, and we were soon sitting at a plastic table with our breakfast. Roosterkoek, scrambled ostrich egg and tomato chutney. I sniffed the food before popping it into my mouth. I couldn't taste or smell garlic, and the chutney was the only sauce they had on offer. The bread and eggs were delicious, and the tomato chutney was almost as good as the one I made myself. The red-faced lady had dished it up for me; no self-service here.

‘Why did you want breakfast here?' asked Henk, shaking a lot of salt and a little pepper onto his egg.

‘I heard it was good,' I said.

He sighed and ate his food. He was obviously hungry.

‘I heard Slimkat had his breakfasts here,' I said, after I'd eaten a little. The rusks worked better than the diet pills, I thought, to reduce the hunger. ‘There's no garlic in this food. I smelt garlic on Slimkat's breath and on his napkin. It must have come from the Kudu Stall.'

‘Why did you notice the garlic?'

‘I always notice food,' I said. ‘And I had to lean close to Slimkat to hear him.'

Henk was cleaning his plate with the last of his griddle bread.

‘When Slimkat collapsed, he was looking at me and Jessie,' I said. ‘Like he had something to tell us. He'd told Jessie about the attempt on his life, and he'd told me about his last meal: kudu sosaties with honey-mustard sauce.'

‘Piet said you thought the smell on Slimkat's napkin was the same as the squeeze bottle he found under the table.'

‘Ja,' I said. ‘But I can't be a hundred per cent sure; I smelt it, not tasted it. Can't you get that tested at a lab? To check if they were the same? And to see if there was poison in the garlic sauce?'

‘We are,' he said. ‘But it takes time . . . I may be back in Ladismith by then.'

‘But the Oudtshoorn police will carry on the investigation, won't they?'

‘Ja, I'm sure. But this man died on my watch. I want to catch who did it.'

‘He was a good man,' I said.

Henk wiped his mouth and chestnut moustache with his napkin. ‘Do you reckon that the garlic sauce was meant to be an imitation of a Kudu Stall sauce?'

‘Definitely,' I said. I pushed my half-eaten breakfast over to him, and he started in on it but kept his gaze on me as I spoke. ‘I could smell honey and mustard in it too. But it was a different kind of mustard. It might have been Colman's. I think the Kudu Stall used Dijon mustard. But what I wanted to tell you was that earlier in the day, I went to ask at the Kudu Stall if they would give me the recipe. The girl there said that another woman had also asked for the recipe. And I wondered if
the murderer tried to get it, so they could make their own sauce – but with poison.'

‘Seems like quite a risk for that woman to take; someone could recognise her,' said Henk.

‘Maybe,' I said, ‘but there's so much going on at the festival, and maybe lots of tannies asking for recipes. It would also be risky if Slimkat started eating the kudu and then stopped because the sauce was no good.'

‘I wonder why he didn't stop eating, if he could taste it was different?'

‘Maybe it wasn't very different, and it probably still tasted nice. It smelt nice enough. Not as good as the original, but nice. I also think Slimkat's big love was for the kudu. The sauce was not as important to him.'

‘Thank you, Maria. You have been very helpful.' He reached under the table and held my hand. ‘I'm sorry you got mixed up in this, but I'm glad you are safe.' His hands were big and warm. ‘You know I find it hard when you're in danger.'

‘Ja,' I said. ‘But I'm fine.'

‘How have you been?'

He was stroking the palm of my hand now, and it made warm lines rush down my arms and legs.

‘Okay,' I said, giving his fingers a squeeze. ‘Hattie wants me to see a doctor here in Oudtshoorn. To help with the sleeping. The not sleeping.'

‘That's not a bad idea . . . Maria, I hope you are heading back to Ladismith now that this . . . death has happened.'

‘Well, actually the
Gazette
is doing a story on it, and I was going to stick around and help Jessie—'

‘No,' he said loudly. Too loudly, his hand holding mine too tightly. ‘You must go back.'

I pulled my hand away.

‘I don't like to be bullied,' I said, and looked away from him, so he couldn't see the memory of Fanie in my eyes.

‘Sorry,' he said. ‘I didn't mean . . . But you promised me that you'd stick to recipes. You'd stay out of murder cases. It's not your case to investigate. It's not even my case. I am only helping out.'

‘I'm helping out too,' I said, thinking of Slimkat's eyes and still not looking at Henk.

‘Yes, and you've been a help. A big help. What you've told me. But there's a murderer around, and sticking your nose in puts you at risk.'

I didn't reply. It was my nose that had been most helpful so far.

He reached for my hands, which were pulled up against me, hiding on my lap, but his arms were long and he found my hands and held them both in his, and tugged on them till I looked at him. His eyes were big and grey-blue and full of an expression that was nothing like what I'd ever seen in Fanie's eyes.

‘I love you, Maria,' Henk said.

I coughed and choked like I had just swallowed a big bug. Henk got up and came and patted my back.

‘Are you all right?'

I nodded, but I couldn't speak.

‘Please, Maria, for our sake,' he said, squatting down beside me, holding my shoulders in his hands and looking into my eyes with that same expression of his. ‘Forget about this case. Go home.'

‘Okay,' I said. ‘Okay.'

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

I had both Henk and Hattie telling me what to do. I don't like to be pushed around, but I was tired and lost, and they seemed to know the way. Before I left Oudtshoorn, I went to the doctor.

Doctor Walters had short white hair and kind blue eyes. His office was small and cosy, and he sat behind a leather-topped wooden desk. Against the wall were bookshelves, packed with fat books.

‘How can I help you, Mrs van Harten?'

‘My boyfriend thinks I need help after I was kidnapped by a murderer last year. My friend thinks I need sleeping tablets. The FAMSA counsellor says I am obsessed with food and must go on a diet.'

‘And what do you think?'

‘My problems are bigger than that . . .'

He waited for me to explain.

I said, ‘I have nightmares, and I wake up shaking. And I remember things . . . Well, it's more like they are happening right now.'

‘Things about the kidnapping?'

‘No . . . Bad things that happened with my husband. He is dead now.'

‘When did he die?'

I swallowed. ‘A few years ago. But the problem is getting worse lately. Since . . . since I've had a boyfriend. It's made it worse somehow.'

‘Hmm,' said the doctor. ‘Did you have a traumatic experience in the past?'

I looked at the paperweight on his desk. It was a glass cat with wide staring eyes that could see right though me, like I could see through it.

‘Were you abused by your husband, Mrs van Harten?'

I nodded. Should I tell this man what really happened?

‘Do you experience any feelings of dissociation?' he asked.

He was changing the subject now. I wouldn't have to tell him my secret.

I frowned and asked, ‘What do you mean?'

‘Do you sometimes feel disconnected and far away from others, or even from yourself? Do parts of your body feel as if they are operating in a discordant fashion?'

I nodded. ‘Sometimes my hands do something different from what my head wants them to,' I said. I remembered how I'd struggled to heat up that orange pudding when I was upset. And how that time with Henk, my mouth had called out something without asking me first.

He said, ‘Are your nightmares like flashbacks – as if you are reexperiencing the event in the present?'

‘Yes,' I said, ‘just like that.'

‘Is your current boyfriend abusing you?'

‘No. The opposite; he is so good to me.'

‘Sometimes intimacy brings up old wounds,' he said. ‘Do you experience feelings of powerlessness or depression?'

‘I do feel sad about what's happening. I'm not in control of my life, like I should be.'

‘And low libido? Sexual drive?'

‘It's not that I'm not interested, but we can't get really close, that kind of intimacy, because I feel sick, and the shaking and flashbacks start up again.'

‘Hmm. Did you have bad sexual experiences with your late husband? Rape?'

I looked at the glass cat and nodded.

‘And these psychological problems have been going on for more than six months?' he asked.

‘Yes. But like I said, it's got worse recently.'

‘It sounds like you have PTSD,' he said. ‘Post-traumatic stress disorder. It sometimes occurs after a traumatic event or series of events. Most common in men after war experiences, and women after domestic violence.'

‘Oh,' I said. ‘Oh.'

I felt relieved to have a name for my problem and a man who understood it.

‘Can you fix it?' I said.

He gave a sad smile. ‘Unfortunately there is no quick fix for PTSD. But, over time, counselling can help. You said you have a counsellor?'

‘Yes, but I am not sure she understands . . . like you do.'

‘Counselling is not my department, but try to find yourself a PTSD counsellor or support group.'

‘It's funny,' I said, ‘I just spoke to someone yesterday who was in a PTSD group. A mechanic—'

‘Well, do look into that. What I can give you is an antidepressant, which can help improve your mood and regulate your sleeping.'

‘Oh,' I said, ‘okay.'

He wrote out a prescription and handed it to me.

‘It may take a little while to work properly, but be patient,' he said. ‘It will take the edge off while you sort out your problems.'

‘Thank you, Doctor Walters.' I felt tired and hungry.

‘I wish you all the best, Mrs van Harten.'

‘Doctor?'

‘Yes.' He was closing a folder on his desk.

‘Does this mean I can stop the diet now?'

‘Hmm. You certainly won't cure your problems with a diet,' he said. ‘Addictive eating could be part of the PTSD profile, but it's a symptom rather than a cause. Of course, there's no harm in losing a bit of weight.' He kept his eyes on my face, not the rest of me. ‘I'm not a dietician, but different diets go in and out of fashion. If you apply common sense, you should be fine. Obvious stuff: exercise, eat healthy food, only eat when you're hungry.'

The problem is, I thought as I left his office, I am always hungry.

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

If Henk knew how badly Hattie drove over those steep passes he might not have been so quick to tell me to go home. It might've been safer to stay and look for a murderer and then ride back on Jessie's scooter without a helmet.

Hattie dropped me in my driveway. ‘Toodle-oo,' she called, as she skidded off, taking some bark from the eucalyptus tree with her.

I walked between the peach pips, up my pathway of flat stones.

‘Kik kik kik,' I called, as I reached the garden.

All five of my brown hens came rushing towards me, their reddish neck feathers fluffing as they ran. I was glad that the rooikat or the leopard had not taken any of them. There was a bucket of crushed mielies on the stoep, and I threw them a handful of corn before I let myself in. I had not returned from Oudtshoorn empty-handed. Tannie Rosa had given me her mosbolletjie rusk recipe and a Tupperware of raisins. I'd hoped for some muscadel must wine from her brother, but she wasn't able to get any in time so had given me some muscadel raisins still on the stalk. I'd ferment these in water to make the sourdough.

I phoned Rita, my neighbour, to thank her for looking after my chickens, and she thanked me for the eggs. It was almost time for lunch. I looked at the diet sheet. The recipe (if you can call it that) was for a very boring salad. I threw the sheet of paper in the bin. Then I took it out again. I would eat that blooming diet food, but I'd improve it with a little something extra. I prepared the cucumber, tomato and lettuce salad, then added some grated mature Gouda and a dressing with macadamia nut oil and naartjie juice. I ate it on the stoep; it was very good.

As I looked across the veld, I saw a kudu come out from behind the gwarrie tree. A beautiful big male with a black face and long spiral horns. You do sometimes get trek kudu in our area – buck that like to travel far across the veld and won't be stopped by the fences – but I hadn't seen one for years. Steenbuck and springbuck, ja, even the occasional grysbok, but not a kudu. Such a big one too. I looked away for a moment, and when I looked back it was gone. I waited for it to appear again from behind the gwarrie tree, but it didn't.

I spent the afternoon doing my laundry and hanging it on the line. Everything dries so quickly in the Karoo. I made an early supper. Again I ate the diet meal, but with something extra. The recipe said steamed vegetables, which I did: beetroot and butternut. Then I fried them lightly in olive oil and added macadamia nut butter and dates and chopped naartjies and feta. I ate on the stoep in the evening light. Delicious. No, really it was. You wouldn't believe it was diet food. I watched out again for that kudu, but there was no sign of it.

The problem with good-tasting food is it leaves you wanting more, so I took a couple of diet pills and my antidepressant for pudding.

That night I was woken from a deep sleep by the noise of hooves, and there it was, that big kudu. Standing right next to my bed. I could see its black eyes glistening in the moonlight. Big pupils, like Slimkat's. I closed my eyes and opened them again, and it was still there. It was a gentle creature, and I did not feel frightened.

‘Slimkat?' I said.

The kudu was not looking at me but at the window, as if it was thinking of going out. The sash window was only a little bit open at the top. Even if it was wide open, it would be too small for the kudu to fit through. A steenbokkie, ja, but not a kudu, not even a small kudu.

I sat up, wanting to explain this to the kudu, and my blanket knocked over the glass of water on my bedside table. I leant down to see if it had broken, but it hadn't. When I looked up, the kudu was gone. I guess I was wrong about the window. I lay down and quickly fell asleep.

The next morning, I thought it must have been a dream, but there was my glass on the floor. I looked for spoor of the kudu, but of course
a buck would leave no tracks on the wood. It had felt so real. But then my nightmares felt real too.

I took my pills again before breakfast and ate boiled eggs on the stoep while my hens scratched on the compost heap and the sun lit up the veld and the distant Langeberge. A Karoo robin was making a lot of noise that morning, flying between a thorn tree and the gwarrie tree, swooping towards the ground.

‘I wonder if there's a snake about,' I said to my boiled egg.

I did the washing up, then called Jessie on her cell.

‘Tannie M,' she said. ‘I'm at the hospital, hoping to meet Ystervark. He's coming to take Slimkat's body back to Kuruman.'

‘Ag, shame . . .' I said. ‘Have you spoken to the people who work at the Kudu Stall?'

‘Some, ja,' she said.

‘And?'

‘Not much, but I'll tell you when I see you. I must run; there he is.'

‘Sorry I'm not there—' I said, but the phone had already disconnected.

I wished I was there, at her side.

I put my lipstick on and was just setting out for work when the phone rang. It was Henk. He was the reason I wasn't with Jessie.

‘Just checking you're okay,' he said.

‘Fine,' I said, feeling a bit cross with him.

‘I'm coming back this evening,' he said. ‘Be nice to see you.'

It was hard to stay cross with him.

‘For supper?' I said.

‘That would be lekker.'

I wondered what I should cook.

‘It's important you interview the people at the Kudu Stall,' I said.

‘Ja.'

‘Have you spoken to them all?'

‘I can't discuss it.'

‘Have you got results from the sauce?' I said. ‘Was it poisoned?'

‘You agreed to stay out of it,' he said.

‘I agreed not to stay there and investigate,' I said. ‘But I still want to know. I was there when it happened. He looked me in the eyes.'

‘When there's official news, I will tell you.'

‘I must go now,' I said.

‘Maria . . .'

‘What?'

I could hear his breathing, and for a moment I was scared he was going to say he loved me again.

‘Thank you,' he said.

‘Your lamb,' I said. ‘Who's looking after Kosie while you're away?'

‘One of the guys from the station is staying at my house.'

‘Maybe ask him to stay one more night.'