Her eyes were big. Her hands that she was holding in front of her, fell open, the little arm hanging like something that had been loose all the time, something that had broken off that she was hiding. You thought, God help me, you need two hands for a delivery. But you didn’t really think it would be necessary. Ma would know, after all.
Pull yourself together, Agaat, you said, we don’t have time to waste. Pack your suitcase.
Suitcase, she said, what suitcase, I don’t have a suitcase.
I shouted at her.
Where’s your brown suitcase that I gave you? If you can’t look after the small things, how can I ever count on you in important matters? Take pillow slips, take an onion-pocket in the store, take an apple box, take anything, just hurry up!
You started writing a letter to Jak.
Dear Jak
You tore it up. You started again.
Jakobus Christiaan de Wet, your child is being born, you know where you can look for the mother.
You crumpled it up.
Let the baas know where I am, you said to Saar, phone the hotel in Port Beaufort. Go and open the motorcar shed. Go and tell them to open the gate to the main road. If the drift is still under water, tell two boys to stand on either side on the kerb so that I can see where I’m going.
You called out orders. Agaat ran to and fro with wild gangling legs, the stiff little steps quite forgotten. Her mouth was open. You ordered her around. You remained sitting in the passage on the stool, your legs were lame. She was quick, she did what you told her to. Now it’s you and me, you thought, it’s always been just you and me. That you realised then, for the first time so clearly.
Sharp scissors, you said, sharpen a meat knife, singe the blades in a candle-flame, wrap them in clean cloths, the big enamel basin, the one with the three roses in the base, Dettol, take the half-full bottle and the new one. And cloths and sheets and packs of newspaper and blankets and matches and rolls of cotton wool and gauze.
She knew where everything was. She kept the whole list in her head as you dictated it. Her lips moved as she repeated it after you. She took hold, sure-handed as you’d taught her. Saar got a trunk off the shelf, put it down at your feet.
Must I come along, Mies? Saar asked. You just gave her a look, made her pack the things as Agaat brought them.
Don’t worry, you said to calm them as well as yourself, it’s just in case, we have enough time, we’ll be there in time.
You remembered the smelling salts, flasks of hot water, a roll of dental floss and string for the tying-off, a box of paper towels. One bottle of sweet tea.
You wrote your mother’s address and telephone number on a slip of paper. You put it in your purse. You see, Agaat, here I’m putting it, in case, remember it. You explained how it would work. You had to get to the pass in twenty minutes and then you would stop for a while for the next contractions and then in another twenty minutes you would be on the other side. Jak always used to do it in quarter of an hour. Further than that you couldn’t think.
You would take the Mercedes, you decided, that would be safest. You had to slide the seat back to fit behind the steering wheel. You put newspapers and a blanket on the seat under you.
Agaat was trembling. You had to reassure her, now she had to feel sure of herself, as sure as she could. Never mind, you said, we’ve caught lots of calves, you and I, haven’t we? Everything works in exactly the same way, you know it by heart. But it won’t be necessary, it’s like with the first calf, it comes slowly.
The drift was still flooded after the rains. Two of Dawid’s brother’s children stood on either side on the edges of the bridge, with the water washing around their ankles. They started laughing, high, long, merry yells when they saw how fast you were approaching. You put the car in a low gear and charged through at full revolutions. You could feel the silt under the wheels, you skidded slightly when you got out on the other side and took the curve. To and fro you corrected in the slippery road. The wipers left long muddy streaks on the windscreen. In the rear-view mirror you saw the children sopping with brown muddy water looking after you open-mouthed.
On the Suurbraak road the next set of contractions arrived. You pulled off the road. Looked at your watch. Twenty, twenty-five after the first? Suddenly you weren’t sure. When you could drive again, you started explaining to Agaat what she had to do if it came to the push. You had to concentrate hard on the road because it was wet, again and again you skidded.
Don’t be so pale, you said to Agaat, and don’t even think of puking. Your car-sickness you can keep for another day. You just pray that there isn’t something slow in front of us in the road. Now listen carefully. It’s for in case, it’s not to say. .
Her face was tight. She looked straight in front of her in the road. You talked fast, emphasised the main points. Water. Breath. Push. Head. Out. Blood. Slippery. Careful. Slap. Yowl. Bind. Cut. Wrap. Bring to. Wash. Hitch-hike.
That was the easy scenario.
If the little head can’t get out, she has to take the scissors and cut, you said, to the back, do you understand? towards the shitter, she had to cut through the meat of your arse, so that he can get out. Saw if necessary, she mustn’t spare you. If he’s blue, she has to clean his nose and wipe out his drool, out from the back of his throat and from his tongue and blow breath into him over his nose and mouth until he makes a sound. As we do with the calves when they’re struggling. She can leave you, you said, even if you’re bleeding something terrible, it doesn’t matter. And that again is different from the cows, you said.
You can still hear your voice.
We’d rather lose a calf than a cow. But a child, a human child, was something else, a human child comes first.
Ashen, Agaat was. She swayed from side to side in her seat as you took the first bends of the pass. You couldn’t go too fast, the road wasn’t tarred yet in those days.
The next contractions were too quick. You pulled off in a small parking area on the left side of the road. You tilted the seat as far back as possible so that you could half lie, but it didn’t help. The pain was in you like a lip of lava thrusting, thrusting slowly into a street.
The first thing I’ll teach you if we get through this is how to drive, you groaned. Do you hear me? You’ll learn to drive even if it’s the only ride you ever get.
You took off your watch.
Here, put this on your arm. Time how long it goes on for.
The contractions lasted for seven minutes. When they abated, Agaat filled the lid of the flask with tea. She held the flask in her strong hand to pour. Her weak hand trembled as she tried to pass the lid to you clasped in the puny little fingertips.
God in heaven, you thought, just grant that we get across the pass in time, because there really are not enough hands here. For the first time you realised it. You closed your eyes, tried to get in the sweet tea in little gulps.
Is it very sore? you heard a whisper to one side of you, as soft as if somebody was twirling the tip of a feather in your inner ear.
You couldn’t stop the tears.
Never mind, you heard, or thought you heard, deep in you, a sound that stirred lightly in your navel.
There is nothing, the voice said, nothing to about cry.
There is nothing.
The sound of feathers being settled in place before nightfall.
Never mind.
The sound of a rivulet trickling from a slope after it’s rained high up in the rock faces.
Nothing to cry about. Agaat’s first grammar.
You drew courage from that. You started the car and looked at Agaat. Her face was neutral, you must have imagined things.