“Him?”
“That’s right. At first He was just standing there with His back to me, in His usual impolite way. But without warning He flung Himself down face first, and started to heave and thump this way and that in the throes of an ungovernable lust, as if He meant to penetrate the very earth upon which we stand.”
“He was doing some P.T. He’s building himself up for Phase Two.”
“He was thrusting and thumping nineteen to the dozen! You can still see the dust.”
“Probably push-ups.”
“Afterwards, He hurled Himself to His feet again, and strutted up and down as immodestly as ever.”
Nieuwenhuizen was still waddling in circles, with his chest puffed up and his feet turned out.
“I don’t see anything untoward,” said Mr.
“It’s too late now. If you’d come when I called you, you’d have seen it with your own eyes, and you wouldn’t be so quick to defend Him.”
“There’s more to this than meets the eye. I know for a fact that he’s afraid of sinking through the crust of the earth. Yet you say he forced himself upon it. It’s a contradiction.”
“Don’t patronize me.”
Nieuwenhuizen lay down on his back with his arms flung wide and his feet crossed. He stared into the streaming eye of the sun. Then he flopped over on his stomach, spread-eagled his arms and legs, and put his ear to the ground.
“I’m sure there’s a perfectly simple explanation,” said Mr.
“My word counts for nothing in this house.” Mrs flounced to the lounge to finish her coffee.
Nieuwenhuizen raised his head and squinted at the topsoil under his nose. His ear pressing against the sand had created a small relief map, a flat-topped mountain surrounded by whorled hillocks and vales. He peeped through his eyelashes. Some pebbles assumed the appearance of boulders piled at the foot of the mountain; then his nostrils stirred up a dust-storm; and that blew over, leaving in its wake a dry blade of grass that looked just like a wind-wracked palm-frond.
He stuffed a hand into a crack in his side and pulled a nail from the bandoleer. He pressed it into the mountain, just deep enough so that it would stand upright on its own. In this prone position driving the nail in was no easy task. He flailed his arms like a drowning victim.
“Tsk! I might have known!” Mr exclaimed. “He’s making a plan!”
He stomped through to the lounge. “I’ve cleared up the mystery, Mrs: he’s making a plan. For the new house. Remember?”
“Bully for Him.” Her coffee was cold, but she took a sip anyway so that she could exchange a knowing look with the mug-frog.
“Did I mention the nails?”
“Monsters.”
“All along I’ve been thinking he wants them for the actual construction — and here he is, making a plan with them. It goes to show that you can’t take anything for granted with him. He’s so crafty.”
“He’s a show-off.” She went to her room.
Nieuwenhuizen walked backwards and sat down.
“I think I’ll pitch in,” said Mr. He pursued Mrs to the bedroom. She was lying on the bed with the candlewick bedspread pulled up to her chin. He said to her: “I think I’ll pitch in.”
“What on earth for?”
“He needs me.”
“He’s doing just fine on His own. He told you He didn’t need your help. He spurned you.”
“Don’t be petty. You’ve seen for yourself what a struggle it is for him. Another pair of hands will make all the difference, but he finds it hard to ask, because he prides himself on his independence.”
“I can see the two of you, lying there thumping like a couple of gaffed barbels.”
Malgas donned his overalls and went next door. He found Nieuwenhuizen lying on his side in the shade under the hedge. He appeared to be sleeping, but as Malgas drew near he raised his head and opened his eyes.
”Father.”
“Malgas.”
“Making a plan, I see.”
“Trying.”
“Ingenious, if you don’t mind me saying so.”
“Not at all. Thanks.”
“Plans are interesting. Fascinating, actually. I suppose I’ll always
have a soft spot for materials, it’s in my blood, along with packaging, but as I get older I find I become more and more curious about the planning side of things.”
“Stop beating about the bush,” Nieuwenhuizen said, sitting up and dusting off his sleeve. “What do you want?”
“To give you a hand here, if you’ll have me.”
Nieuwenhuizen looked dubious. “I don’t know. Are you ready for
it, I wonder? I don’t want to rush you.”
“I’m as ready as I’ll ever be. I can’t see the new house yet, but it goes
without saying that you can. And I’m eager to learn. I have a great hunger and thirst for knowledge of the house. If necessary I’m prepared
to start at the bottom and work my way up. You’ll teach me everything
you know, and in the mean time I’ll fetch and carry the tools and so
on. I took the liberty of bringing this mallet — with rubber you don’t
damage the heads.”
“I’m not sure. .”
“Look at it this way: I have my own field of expertise, or ‘know-how’
as we call it in the trade, and one day I’ll be able to repay every little
kindness shown me in these difficult times. Just shout: Mr Hardware,
A World of Materials under One Roof.”
Nieuwenhuizen sprang to his feet. He stuck one of his skinny fingers through a loop of the bandoleer and said, “You’re just in time to
reload me. I didn’t want to ask, but since you’re offering. .” They walked towards the camp, where the boxes of nails were
standing one on top of the other, and Malgas ventured to walk at
Nieuwenhuizen’s side.
With Malgas’s enthusiastic assistance, the mapping out of the
ground-plan proceeded apace. A less elaborate drafting procedure
was called for now, and the acrobatics of the early morning therefore
gave way to more conventional pacing and pointing; and while before there had been as many different marks as there are parts of the human body, now there was one standardized sign, a plump full stop made
with the heel, so that the apprentice could not fail to recognize it. Malgas politely commandeered the bandoleer and took charge
of placing the nails according to Nieuwenhuizen’s wishes. Although
he assumed that the grid system was finally coming into its own, he
accepted the given division of labour and made no attempt to decipher
the plan: he concentrated instead on inserting the nails expertly. Now
was the time to explore the ins and outs of the undervalued art of hammering. As he perfected his swing, he brought the effort required for