‘That’s it, Treppie, let them have it!’
‘They knew fuck-all about fuck-all, but they wanted to come and tell us about the finer things. Us with our hands full of rose thorns and fridge oil. With our grandfather who lost his land in the depression and our mother who coughed herself to death from TB. And our father who hanged himself by the neck in a Railways truck. They knew nothing at all about the meaning of misery.’
‘Hey, Treppie.’ Pop lifts his head. ‘Leave it now. Just leave it right there, man.’
‘Leave it? Just fucken leave it? Not a damn, Pop! When I do something, I do it properly.’
‘Chief whip!’
‘That’s it, Mol, tell them. If they can’t see it for themselves, tell them Treppie’s the chief whip here at the Benades’!’
The girly looks at the chappy. Then Treppie goes ‘ka-thack’ in the air as if he’s cracking a whip. The girly’s head jerks, she gets such a fright.
‘So, we learnt to know your sort very well.’ He points at the NPs. ‘We were still young then, but we remember.’
‘There’s always a light at the end of the wagon-trek!’
‘That’s it, Mol,’ says Treppie. ‘That’s it,’ he says, winking at her.
‘It was the same bladdy story in ’38, and again in ’48.’ He puts on his speech voice. ‘There’s always a light at the end of the wagon-trek. They never said there’s a gun or bread or a factory or a trading licence there at the front of the wagon. No, always a fucken light, a column of fire, a Spirit, a Higher Idea, an Ideal of fucken Unity or something. And that’s ’cause we’re all supposed to be from the same culture. What kind of a fucken thing is that, I ask you, with tears in my light blue, poor-white eyes?’
‘Wait, wait a minute now, Mister Benade!’ The girly looks like she wants to stop Treppie with her hands. But there’s no stopping Treppie.
‘Don’t come and Mister Benade me! If you think you can come here and sell us a wagonload of shit …’
‘Well, then, in that case we’ll be on our way …’ and the girly half gets up.
‘Oh no,’ says Treppie. He gets up quickly, closing the front door. ‘You’re here now. And you’ll stay to the very end. Here with us, with our roof above our heads and the bees under our backsides!’ He turns the key in the door’s lock. Then he puts the key in his pocket.
Dear God, now he’s going too far. Now there’s going to be trouble again. Let her rather go outside. Around the back.
Treppie’s eyes are shining. ‘No, Mol, wait now. Don’t be such poor company. Who wants another shot?’ He pours for everyone. For her too. Ja well, matters will just have to take their own course. The NPs shake their heads and cover their glasses with their hands. No thank you, they say. They’re actually not allowed to drink on the job. Treppie fills Lambert’s glass to the brim.
‘Come, Lambert. Why don’t you and your mother tell the story of how we became a republic. About how many hundreds of rand we made, in straight profit, just from an idea.’ Treppie dances a few steps. ‘Just look how jolly we are tonight! If Pop still had some breath left, we could have some music too. What you say, Pop? Where’s your mouth organ?’ Treppie slaps Pop hard on his back.
‘Leave Pop alone. Just leave him alone.’
‘It’s you who should have left him alone, Mol. Look what we’ve got now from not leaving him alone. One fucked-up Fuchs and one total write-off of a Tedelex. And a pot of burnt-out Benades!’
‘It’s from not having enough volts!’ says Mol. Yes, that’s what they want to hear, so let them.
The NPs laugh nervously. Lambert also laughs a half-laugh. Pop lifts his head and smiles a little smile. Did Mol really say something funny?
‘Hey!’ says Treppie to the NPs, pretending to be serious. ‘There’s nothing funny about it. You can’t help it if your lantern’s a bit weak. Then all you’re good for is to be a mascot. Come, Mol, tell them a bit about me and Lambert. How we walked around at the monument with white eyes, foaming at the mouth, like this!’
Treppie shows them exactly how, in the middle of the room.
‘Come, Lambert, come stand here next to me, then we’ll show our guests how we did it. They’ve fuckenwell seen nothing yet. Come, come, man,’ he says to Lambert, pulling him up. ‘Don’t be so upstairs. Show them!’
Lambert gets up slowly and stands next to Treppie. Treppie pulls at Lambert’s face until he looks mad enough.
‘The HF Verwoerd Institute for the Mentally Retarded.’ Mol says. She gets up. Right. Now she’s going to play along too.
Treppie writes the words on his chest, fast and wild, with his index finger.
She picks up the half-tray, pulling the plastic rose from the cat’s neck. Treppie and Lambert start shouting: ‘Corsages, corsages for the baby republic!’ They walk over to Pop’s side, pulling her after them.
‘Mister,’ says Treppie, with a thick tongue. He lets the spit run from the corners of his mouth. ‘Mister, check here quickly.’
‘National colours!’ Lambert shouts in Pop’s ear.
‘Mother, sister and brothers!’ Treppie shouts in Pop’s other ear, rolling his eyes to heaven.
Pop sits dead still with his head in his hands. He doesn’t look up. She wants to keep them away from Pop. Can’t they see he doesn’t want to play? ‘Hey, come here, you two. That customer’s deaf,’ she says, ‘come let’s try these two.’
‘Just check these larnies, I say.’ It’s Lambert. He lets his mouth slop open. Slaver runs down his chin. ‘They must have a lot of fucken money.’
‘No,’ says Treppie through the spit, ‘money doesn’t count here. Not if you’re a Nationalist to the quick, with your heart in the right place and your hand ready for the golden handshake, give or take.’
‘Now listen here,’ says Blazer, ‘we won’t allow ourselves to be pushed around.’
‘So fussy!’ she says, pulling her nose up.
Treppie pats her on the back. ‘Yes, spoilsports,’ he says with his mad face.
‘Come, Jannie. Come, let’s go now.’ The girly sounds like she’s choking.
‘First buy a rose, missie, it’s only plastic but it’ll last forever ’cause it stands for an Idea!’
‘Hey, Treppie.’ Lambert comes waggling up to him. ‘Where will she pin it up? She’s half-naked anyway.’ Then Lambert pretends he’s trying to find somewhere on her shoulder to pin the flower.
‘Don’t you dare lay a hand on her,’ says Jannie. They’re both standing now. Jannie puts his arm around Cutesy-Collarbones.
‘But she must first buy our rose,’ Mol says, shoving the plastic rose into Blazer’s face. ‘It’s a yellow rose, but it’s better than nothing. The new flag’s got at least one yellow stripe in it.’
‘No, dammit,’ says Jannie. ‘I’ve had enough now.’ He opens his leather wallet. He presses a fifty-rand note into her palm.
‘Gee, sorry, sir, but now I don’t have any change on me,’ she says, pretending to feel for change in her housecoat pocket.
‘Yippeeee!’ shouts Treppie. He grabs the fifty-rand note and jumps up and down with Lambert on the blocks. ‘Click-click!’ they go.
‘Afrikaners like parties, no doubt about that,’ they sing, with mad faces.
Treppie suddenly comes to a dead-stop. He pulls his clothes straight with furious little plucks. All of a sudden he’s dead serious.
‘Fix your face,’ he says to Lambert. Lambert does as he’s told. Treppie shoves the money into Lambert’s shirt-pocket. He slaps the pocket.
‘See how easy it is?’ he says. ‘That’s how a person makes money from talking a lot of crap.’
‘We made hundreds of rand profit that night,’ says Lambert.