Nowadays, he says, it’s not guns and roses any more. Now it’s guns, gaps and fences. And the one hand doesn’t wash the other, they’re both equally dirty now. Both know what the other’s doing. And they’re both in it right up to the elbows.
It sounds mixed up to her, but Lambert keeps nodding his head as if he understands exactly what Treppie’s saying. And now, on top of everything, Lambert says he wants to buy second-hand fencing from Mister Cochrane, so he can close up the gaps around their house. But the only second-hand security fencing you ever see is the kind that lies around in rusted heaps and spiked balls that can’t ever be undone again. Those terrible blades hook into each other, and then they catch bits of grass and plastic and stray cats and things. She’s seen those balls of wire, next to the roads and in the scrapyards.
Treppie says Lambert doesn’t understand the first thing about security fencing. He just pretends he does. Second-hand security fencing, he says, is a contradiction in terms. Mister Cochrane sells only new fencing.
That might be, but new or old, she doesn’t want to be the cat, not to mention the kaffir, who lands up inside that wire.
Treppie says ‘put up’ is the wrong way to describe what you do with a fence like that. What you actually do is roll it off and turn it out, ’cause it comes rolled up tightly on a big spool. Then you turn the spool with a handle so the wire can roll off, in stiff, stabbing circles. Treppie says it’s South Africa’s Olympic emblem. Never mind our flames.
If you try to cut that wire with pliers, then the two loose pieces shoot out around your hands and bite deep holes into your flesh. And the more you try to pull yourself out, the deeper it digs in.
They once saw a cat inside one of those balls of wire. It was second-hand fencing, which made it worse. The cat looked like someone had tried to make muti out of it. It was hacked into little squares, making it look twice its size, shame. Nowadays, apart from the blades that hook, the fence comes in a double layer, too, one outside and one inside. The inside layer shocks you. That’s after you’ve already been cut into chunks and you’re still trying to get in to wherever it is you want to get into. Then it shocks you as well.
Treppie cut out Mister Cochrane’s advert and pasted it up underneath the old calendar with the aerial photo of Jo’burg. He says it’s so we make no mistake about where it is we come from. He underlined the important words with a red ball-point:
Detect the Intruder
Stop the Intruder
Shock the Intruder
Low-Cost Aggressive Asset Protection
It’s still two and a bit hours to wait for the Queen of England. First it’s Agenda. Tonight’s Agenda is about peace: they show the part where Chris Hani asks for peace and then it’s the dove who fell down next to Hani’s coffin. Must have been dizzy from all the people and the flowers and the shots into the sky and everything. Poor little dove.
But she saw this before, at Easter. They said they took the dove out before closing up that grave, although she saw people throwing handfuls of dirt and petals on to the dove. It kept blinking its little eyes all the time.
Now they’re showing the faces of people they’re scared will also get shot, just like Hani.
The first one is Terre’Blanche of the AWB. Treppie says that man will shoot himself in the foot before anyone gets a chance to shoot him anywhere else. And then, when someone does eventually kill him, he’ll get a hero’s funeral. That, says Treppie, is what happens when you shoot a cripple Boer.
Now they’re showing how Terre’Blanche keeps falling off his horse. Three different horses, in three different places. Always under some flag or another. Treppie says they would do better to pull him around in a rickshaw.
The AWB boss is talking. He asks whether people want the plots being hatched in the cold cancer chambers of Communism to come to fruition in our beautiful country. No, they mustn’t, she thinks, but then Terre’Blanche must also learn to ride a horse properly.
Now they’re showing Winnie. They’re scared people will shoot her from several different angles. Now that’s a dizzy palooka for you, Treppie says. He says it’s from that headgear she wears. Anyone who wears a ball of green satin bigger than her own head, with points on top, is bound to start talking a lot of crap. ‘We shall liberate this country with our matchboxes,’ she says. Not enough blood to the brain, says Treppie.
Then they show Peter Mokaba. He’s got no hat on his head. Yes and no, he says. No, they mustn’t shoot the Boere, he says, but yes, they must. Treppie says Mokaba’s going to become the Minister of Tourism in the new government, but he’ll cool down quickly once he has to look after a herd of zebras.
Then they show Hernus Kriel’s face. He looks like someone’s just told him he’s an arsehole. And Kobie Coetzee, with his pop-out eyes. Treppie says you see eyes like that on people who’re about to get golden handshakes. Like the one Kobie’s lined up for himself. And then it’s Buthelezi. He’s in skins and he’s got his sticks with him. And the mayor of Jo’burg, with a grey dove on his head. Everyone wants to shoot him over the rates.
But if you ask her, not a single one of them jogs. Hani used to jog every day in his tracksuit. Jogging’s good for you. The president of America jogs around the White House every morning with his bodyguards. But Buthelezi doesn’t jog. And he’s not wearing anything underneath those animal skins, either. That’s what Treppie says. He says the skins are just for show, and someone who’s on show must sit still with his legs together and his hands folded neatly in his lap. Roelf Meyer jogs. She saw one day on the cover of Your Family and You in the café. He runs in his jogging shorts with his dog, one of those bull terriers with piggy eyes and a tail like an aerial. But no one’s worried about Roelf getting shot. He’s for peace. Treppie says he’s a poofter and a kaffirlover, but he looks quite okay to her. It’s just that he’s getting thinner by the day. His collars hang loose and his Adam’s apple jumps up and down like an oil-pump every time he talks. It’s from negotiating, Treppie says, from throwing all his weight into the negotiations. Then it’s Pik Botha. Pik’s talking so much the spit flies in all directions. He says they can try shooting him if they want, he’ll just shoot back. Pik’s a jolly bloke, even when everything’s falling to pieces all around him. That’s what she says. She hasn’t once seen Pik really get rattled. He always has something to say for himself, or he’s got a plan for other people. Pik reminds her a lot of Treppie. If he wants something, he just takes it. And when he’s finished, he gives it back again. He starts a fight, and then when he’s finished he makes peace again, right there and then. Without batting an eyelid, says Treppie.
Pik’s nose is also red, just like Treppie’s. Hee-hee, she must remember to mention that to him.
There’s Constand now. He’s the leader of the Freedom Front. His neck’s stiff and when he pulls away his bottom lip, his teeth show. He gives talks to women with perms. He stands on a stage with a flag behind him and a flag in front of him. The women look grim.
Treppie says the general’s a brilliant strategist. He means business. He says he read somewhere that the general’s got a twin brother who looks just like him, but his brother’s as meek as a lamb. Hell, if you ask her, to be attached to a brother like Constand must be the same as getting stuck inside Mister Cochrane’s security fencing. It’s just as well they’re not Siamese twins. Treppie’s nickname for the general is Salamiboy. He says he’s got a picture of the general somewhere when he was still chief of the defence force. In the picture, he and his top brass hold up the biggest salami ever made in Africa. Salami and smiles for the boys on the border. Treppie says those boys on the border didn’t get to see much meat at all, never mind salami.