Its against the law to plant microphones. Were not allowed to. But if youre clean, you have power. I rented the stuff in Voortrekker Road from the big private eye with the red face and I drove to Clifton and I waited, that morning, until it was safe. Such a beautiful morning, without wind or cloud, in Silvas flat, which overlooked the sea. There was a telescope on the balcony. Everything was so white. And expensive. I was scared, I have to admit. I hurried. You make comparisons while you plant the small microphones. You think about where you live and you look at the stuff that money can buy. One at the telescope, one in the small bar, one near the bed, one in the telephone. And two hundred fifty rand of my own money for the supervisor of the building to put the receiver and the recorder in the cellars electricity box.
He didn't look ahead because he knew instinctively that the wire was going to sway, the cable ahead of him become threadlike and impassable, and now he wanted to turn back. He walked faster, killed his fear with words.
Lara didn't come home that night. I phoned SANAB. They said she was working. What kind of work? You know we cant tell you. Its my wife. Shes undercover, Joubert. You know how it works. Then I walked through the house and I smelled her, saw the magazines in the living room and in front of her bed. And I thought about my scheming, about the microphones and the recorder, and I wondered if the little tape was turning. I slept badly it was a long night and a long morning. Then I drove to Clifton again and I walked down the stairs and in the cellar it was dark.
He wanted to shout because the wire below him shook, swung. He wanted to fall. He saw the abyss, below him now his arms swung and grabbed for balance, his whole body was shaking. He no longer knew whether he was speaking or whether someone could hear him. All he had to do was finish.
He had unlocked the electricity cupboard in the dark, put on the earphones, and wound the tape back. PLAY. He leaned his head against the metal edge of the cupboard and he heard the noises on the tape. His head wanted to create images of it he was the white light of justice. Silva was black. He heard a door opening, closing.
So, what do you think?
Silva.
Its lovely. What music do you have?
He jerked upright, his head banging against the ridge of the electricity cupboard. God, it was Lara. Was it?
What would you like to hear?
Rhythm.
Shuffling, rock music, earsplittingly loud, inaudible voices, music. Minutes, minutes, minutes passed. The tension in his shoulders and neck. What was happening up there? He couldn't hear. Lara laughing between two short cuts, carefree. Silva,
ooh baby,
Lara laughing, music. He fast-forwarded the tape, small bits at a time, the lyrics, the rhythm his guide, silence between cuts. Twenty, thirty minutes later on the tape: the music changed, slower, softer. He played the tape back, found the cutoff point of the rock music: sudden, deadly silence, a shuffle. Ice tinkling in a glass. Silva
uh,
slow music, louder, then softer, silence, creak, he knew it, bed, Silvas bed, big bed, white,
great body, baby, you can dance but can you love,
ice in the glass, tink, tink,
dont drink too much baby, I want those tits show me more show it all, baby.
Watch me.
His Lara, he saw his Lara, he knew his Lara, knew the huskiness of her voice, the slurring of her tongue. He wanted to stop her. Not for him, my Lara, not for him.
Jesus, baby, your body, hot bod get that out, baby, yes, yes, come here . . .
Lara laughing:
Theres lots of time.
Silva:
Now, baby, no, now, cmon, baby.
Laras laugh. Silence. The bed, the bed sounds, sounds.
Ah, good, take it, yes, take it, jeez, good, now, uhm, jeez, baby, uhm, uhm, jeez, youre alive, baby, uhm.
It was his, his, his noises, his Lara, his Lara. He wanted to tear off the earphones, run up the stairs, stop it. But this was last night, not now. The voices on the tape.
Uhm, uhm, uhm.
His cell, his icy cell.
Yes, move me, yes ride me, yes, baby, jeezus, uhm, jeezus, uhm, jeezus, yes, baby, Im there, Im there, oh, uhm, come, baby, come baby, uhm, uhm.
Faster and faster. His Lara, he knew his Lara, knew her, knew her, knew her. The music had stopped. Only the breathing remained slower, slower, quiet, even, quiet. Sounds, the noise of the bed. Silence. A crackling noise.
. . . are you going?
Sleep.
Come back.
In a moment.
What are you doing?
An exclamation, worried.
Checking something out.
Silence.
Lets have a look.
What are you doing . . . Thats mine.
Frightened. His Lara.
What have we here?
The bed creaked sharply.
Thats mine.
His Lara.
It was too easy, baby. I knew it was too easy.
Dully, the sound of Silvas fist.
Thud!
Ah.
His Lara. A small sound.
Ah.
You bitch, you were going to shoot me, you think Im stupid, bitch, who do you work for, you think Im stupid? It was too easy, never trust an easy fuck, baby, youre going to die.
Youre crazy, Silva, I always carry it with me, you know what the world is like, Silva, please.
Never trust an easy fuck, my mother taught me, youre a plant, baby. You think Im stupid, you came on too strong, you think if I drink Im stupid, baby? Who sent you?
Youre mad, Silva, I dont know why you, ah . . .
Im going to fucking kill you, bitch, who sent you, not that it matters, Im sending you back, look at me, baby, youve fucked your last fuck, look at me . . .
No, Silva, please . . .
. . . look at me . . .
. . . please, please . . .
The shot tore through him, tore through him, tore through his flesh and his blood and his soul and tumbled him down, his life, his life was falling, tumbling, he, down, with all the broken pieces, the remains, tape clicking, the yellow light dead, the tape turning,
shirrrrr,
back, to the beginning, his body jerked, jerked, jerked, and now he stood on the lawn and he shivered because the cold was so deep and Margaret Wallace was holding him, the tape that stopped and turned, the yellow light, a door opening, steps,
So, what do you think? Its lovely. What music do you have?
Margaret Wallace who held him, more and more tightly to stop the spasms, shaking with him, the two of them drowning, weeping, among the shrubs in his garden.