Pop rubs his eyes.
‘Then Lambert tipped the big Coke bottle for us. A giant Coke bottle on a hinge that pours out into a dam, “ghloob-ghloob-ghloob”, a dam with ducks like the Westdene Dam, and we drank Coke from the dam with our little pink tongues. But it tasted different. Nicer than ordinary Coke — like champagne-Coke. And the ducks were talking to us. Everything in heaven talks to everything else, duck language, dog language, people language, and everyone understands everyone else in their own language. The ducks are also angels — duck-angels. They’ve got their usual wings but they’ve also got two extra rainbow-wings above their backs that vibrate, like butterfly wings. But we don’t ever chase them ’cause they’re our friends. Everyone’s friendly with us in heaven. We’re not alone. Everyone’s happy and our hearts feel light and the air we breathe tastes sweet. So sweet.
‘Treppie’s also a dog, but he’s musical. He plays on Old Pop’s mouth organ. The mouth organ’s in two pieces. Treppie’s got the low notes and I’ve got the high notes, and then we play all those old songs from Vrededorp and we keep in tune without missing a single note. And everyone dances round the dam and up in the air and the ants also dance. Even the moles come out into the sun and they dance with their eyes open.
‘Ai, Mol, I wish I could dream like that all day long. What you think, Mol? I forgot, there’s a wool shop in heaven, like the one where you always buy wool for Gerty’s jerseys, but there’s more wool there, it looks like a whole shed full of wool, with coolie-angels flying all over the place, carrying balls of wool in their arms, and—’
‘Stop it! Stop it! Stop it!’ she shouts. Suddenly her voice is back, but it sounds hoarse.
‘What’s with you all of a sudden? It was just a dream, man,’ Pop says, laughing.
‘It’s not!’ she says. ‘It’s not!’
‘It’s not what?’
‘It’s not just a dream. It’s Gerty.’
‘No, wait a minute, Mol,’ says Pop.
‘I’m telling you,’ she says, standing up. ‘Come.’
‘Ee-ee-ee-ee!’ says Toby. Toby runs around in a circle, right there where he’s standing.
‘Toby wants to pee,’ says Pop. ‘I’m coming now. Put him out so long.’
‘Are you coming?’ she asks.
‘My pants,’ says Pop. He reaches for his pants next to the bed.
‘Leave your pants. Just come!’
‘Hell, Molletjie, what’s eating you this morning, hey?’ Pop stands up in his shirt.
‘Eating.’ Her voice cracks. ‘Pop,’ she says, ‘Gerty.’
Pop comes round the bed to her side. Can’t he see something’s wrong? She’s got the shivers.
‘Are you cold, Mol? What’s going on, hey?’
She takes him by the arm. Why’s he so slow today? She points to Toby. She pulls Pop so he’s in front of her. Then she pushes him from behind, into the bathroom. Toby runs between their legs. Pop looks into the bathroom. What does he see there? She looks past his shoulder. She was right. And Pop was right too. In his dream.
There lies Gerty, in front of the bath. On the worn old mat made of woven tyre, with a patch of blood in front of her mouth. Sticky threads of spit hang down from her mouth, into the blood. Her lips are raised and you can see her teeth. Her feet are pulled up towards her body, lying at an angle. Her eyes are closed, with white drops in the corners. Her face looks small and her ears are flat. Behind her tail there’s another patch. Blood. Or something darker.
‘Ee-ee-ee,’ says Toby.
‘See?’ she says.
‘Ag no. Ag no,’ says Pop. ‘Please God, no!’
She feels like a big wave wanting to break in a closed place. She feels like the wave and she feels like the closed place, but she can’t break. The thing struggling to break hurts her chest. She bares her teeth like Gerty.
‘Come away there, Toby,’ says Pop. He pulls Toby by his neck, away from Gerty.
‘Take Toby, Mol. Put him out the back. You can go sit in the back, too. Leave this to me.’
‘No,’ she says. She rubs her eyes.
‘She was very old, Mol. And sick. It’s better this way.’
‘It’s not,’ she says.
‘Go fetch a bag,’ says Pop. ‘Two of the white ones. Those municipality bags.’
‘No,’ she says. ‘Not a bag.’
She goes back to the room. Their bed’s in front of her. There she lay, just a minute ago, and she knew it, without knowing she knew it. Pop too. He also knew it, without knowing he knew it. She throws off the blanket. Worn old blanket with a hole in it. It still feels warm to her hands. The sheet too. Still warm from their bodies. She gathers up the sheet, as if she wants to gather together the warmth in there. She holds it in a bundle to her breast and walks back to the bathroom. Her feet feel high and low, all at the same time.
Pop sits hunched in his shirt in front of Gerty. His knees stick out. His back is bent and knobby.
‘Here,’ she says, ‘take the sheet.’
Pop just looks at her as she stands there. She can see he doesn’t know what to say.
‘She’s completely stiff,’ he says. ‘And cold. It must’ve happened early in the night.’
‘I heard nothing,’ she says. ‘I always hear.’
‘It’s better you heard nothing,’ says Pop. ‘She must’ve struggled terribly.’ He points to the blood. ‘It’s better you slept. There was nothing you could do for her.’
‘It was very painful,’ she says.
‘She must’ve started coughing again,’ Pop says.
‘Coughed herself to death,’ she says. ‘Like Old Mol, in the bathroom.’
She looks at the bathroom. There’s a brown mark where the tap always drips. Then she looks at the cabinet above the basin. The little door’s open. There’s one small piece of mirror left in the bottom corner. But what’s that strange, dark shape showing in the piece of mirror?
She looks at the white wall behind Pop’s back. And there she sees the big moth. Its red-brown wings are spread open on the wall. Dead still.
She shows Pop. He turns around.
‘The TB butterfly,’ she says, losing her voice.
Pop gets up, with the sheet still in his arms. He stands in front of her in his shirt, and then he puts his arms around her. She presses her face into the sheet. She smells all their smells. Gerty too. Gerty was with her when she fell asleep last night. She held her until she began to breathe more calmly. Gerty smelt strange. And bad. Now that smell’s in there. In the sheet. Poor Gerty.
Suddenly her ears feel deaf.
‘Don’t worry,’ she hears Pop say. He presses her, and the sheet, against his chest. She feels small in his arms. ‘Poor Mol,’ he says. Yes, poor her. Gerty never left her alone, never ever. Everyone else always leaves her alone when they’re finished with her. Pop too. Lots of times, although his strength’s going now. But Gerty was always there. Gerty was her dog, and she was Gerty’s person. She thinks about Pop’s dream. They were each other’s angels, she and Gerty. Now she feels Pop drop his head on to her shoulder. He also wants to cry. He shakes his head slowly on her shoulder. Lightly, he rocks the two of them. She feels herself give a little. Let them just rock a little here on their feet today. Pop lets out a big sob into her shoulder. She knows what he’s thinking, and she’s thinking the same. No sun or moon making little sparks in their mouths today. Just the salt taste of tears.