He must close this door, now! In Treppie’s face, so he can fuck off here from his door. He mustn’t come and make big eyes at him now. Treppie looks like he wants to say something with those big eyes of his, like sorry, she’s all they could find and he must just make the best of it. That’s not what he needs now. Right now he’s ready to make a whole new start. That’s what he wants!
He turns around. He feels funny, like he’s too heavy or his feet are sticking to the ground or something. Now Mary’s standing in the middle of the room. She’s looking at the painting above his bed.
‘Holy Jesus!’ she says. She walks closer to the wall, bends down and looks at the postbox, where South Africa begins.
‘Who’s this supposed to be?’ She points to both sides of the postbox.
He moves closer. Just stay nice and calm now. His voice jams. First clear the throat a bit. Yes, like that.
‘This here is Jan van Riebeeck, and that’s Harry.’
‘Harry who?’
‘Harry the Strandloper.’
‘The what?’
‘Harry the Hottentot, man!’
What’s this peeling off here now? Let him scratch it off quickly, then it’ll be okay again. Harry’s got three coats of paint on his body.
‘Government brown. It peels.’
‘I see,’ says Mary, in a shriller voice. ‘Is that how the cookie crumbles around here?’
What fucken cookie’s she talking about now?
He stands away from the bed with his hands on his hips. He feels her eyes moving over him. And now? What’s so funny now all of a sudden? He must have checked in his mother’s mirror at least six times. His back feels strange from walking so upright all the time. Did he say something wrong now, or what?
He hears people talking outside. Pop says: ‘Quick!’ Then the front gate squeaks and the Volla takes off. It’s Molletjie. She roars through first, second and third, and then she’s gone. Now it’s just him here at home. Now he must smile. The time has come to say: We’re on our own now, just me and you. But his mouth opens and closes and he can’t get a word out.
Mary’s voice sounds like it’s coming from a far place. Mister, she says, if you want me to go, I don’t mind. Her voice fades. He tries to cock his ears so he can hear what she’s saying. How do you cock your ears? he wonders. It’s like focusing your eyes, but different.
‘I really don’t mind leaving, you know. In fact, I don’t give a shit! Not this much!’
She clicks her fingers in the air. She doesn’t care shit. No, wait. No, fuck, just hold on a minute now! He sticks out his arms to stop her. No, that’s not what he means, not at all. His feet move towards her. She moves out of his way. She keeps dodging him. Why? He’s not a leper or something, is he?
‘No, no please! I haven’t got the plague, man, please don’t go. That’s just old personal stuff. It’s my hobby. Painting. Wall painting. Yesterday I put the wings on. Finishing touches, like my uncle says. They did it in the churches, overseas, way back, everything had wings on, he says, even the donkeys. My uncle’s a very clever oke, you know, he runs the show here, he’s a very educated man, self-educated and all, he’s a, how do you say it, auto-addict, he remembers everything. Got a photographic memory.’
What else does she want to hear? She just says, ‘Hmm.’ She must still be feeling a bit strange here in his den.
‘Well, and I’ve burnt the Watchtowers, the whole lot of them, and I jump-started the Tedelex, for you, from a car battery, even. Hey, can you believe it? That was nearly a big fuck-up. But it was a miracle, afterwards. And over here’s chips and dips and peanuts. You like peanuts, Mary? Like I said, everything I’ve got. Even a Swiss roll for breakfast. And I have a party trick as well, you look like you will make him cook, I say, but that’s for later.’
She pulls a face. But she needn’t worry. When he puts his hand over hers that thing will really start boiling.
‘And I got music too, specially for us tonight. Listen.’ He points with his finger, but his finger feels funny. He takes it away again.
Now he must get to the music, quick, but his body doesn’t want to move. He mustn’t start tripping over things now. He turns the little dial. He tuned the radio already, earlier this afternoon, setting it to FM, 94, 95, where Radio Orion used to be, and where Highveld Stereo is now. Christ. Now it’s too loud. Turn it down! Quick! Keep smiling, like Treppie says. It keeps your customers happy.
‘Did you get a fright? Nice little radio, hey?’
He knows she’s just standing there looking at him. She’s still not in the mood for smiling. He turns the dial, first this way and then that, playing for time. Just a little time. What do you say to a girl who just stands there and looks at you like you crawled out of a fucken hole or something?
‘Nice romantic background music.’ He tries a wink, but both eyes close at the same time. Now he can’t even wink here tonight! But it doesn’t matter, she’s turned around again. Now she’s standing there with folded arms. She’s checking his service counter. Eat, that’s what, eat something nice. He must get in front of her so he can be next to the snacks and offer her some.
‘Like I say, anything you need, anything you want, you name it, I’ve got it. Late-night snacks. Dip a chip, Mary, man. Here you are.’
Which one? Make it two. A dip and a chip. Avo and a crinkle cut. He holds them out for her.
She shakes her head. No thanks. But he stands firm. She shakes her head even harder. Now it’s more than just no thanks. He puts down the bowls. Maybe she’s not hungry. Maybe she’s thirsty.
‘What about a drink, hey? I got everything.’ Let him open the Fuchs a bit so she can see.
‘Everything to please a queen!’ He points to the things in the fridge. He packed and repacked those drinks so you could see them all at a single glance. His beers and his Cokes, all in tins so they won’t go flat like in the bottles. His Drostdy Hof Blush, right through to the orange juice, for just in case.
‘You see, enough for a week.’
No see? Okay. Later. Why’s she saying fuck-all now? All she does is put down her handbag and take off her black jacket. She hangs the jacket over his mother’s chair.
‘Well, maybe enough for two days, hey? What do you say? Then we can go get some more!’
Now he sticks to his spot, here next to his fridge. His hands are opening and closing from not knowing what to do next. Things must start clicking here. Fuck! This night must get a move on!
‘For the rest, everything’s right. You missed the bubbles man, Mary, just bubbles, bubbles, bubbles. Everywhere. But now this old thing even makes ice, hey, I swear. I couldn’t believe it. Check here, man, just check this!’
He takes out the ice-trays. Now look, woman! Fucken rock-hard ice! No dice. Put it back again. Maybe she’s a bit raw. Not used to things. If your audience is asleep, Treppie always says, try another angle.
‘And the postbox is fixed. Did you see it? I made him myself, quite a tricky one, that one, kept falling off. Can’t tell you what trouble I had with that piece of shit. But now it’s even painted the colour of peace, thanks to my old man, he’s got a knack for the finishing touches, for sure! And tomorrow they come to paint this whole house, white as snow, good as new, you won’t recognise it. And when they paint, we go, you and me, to get the petrol. I checked all the bags for leaks, two times. And I’ve got a hole!’
Now he’ll show her something! She needn’t keep her face so straight. There’s only one hole like this in the whole of Jo’burg, that’s for sure!
Lift up the plank. Shift it away nicely, so she can look inside. Come now, woman!