You didn’t want to look and you didn’t want to wave and you didn’t want to show your lights. Agaat reported step by step. How Jak hoisted down the rucksacks, how he hammered in the pegs, made the ropes longer, how he hammered in the anchor for securing the main rope deeper than all the others, how he checked Jakkie’s halters, the pulleys, the clips, the nooses. How he slid down first.
Still you wouldn’t look. When Agaat spoke again, her voice was altered.
A scraping and clicking, a clucking, a hissing, murmurings, mutterings, issued from her. You shut your eyes tighter. You could feel her stirring next to you on the seat. Her apron rustled, like a turkey drumming. Then she swore. Got! Got! Got! In a frenzy she got out, left the door open, a sharp herby smell suddenly in your nose, you lifted up your head, opened your eyes.
There she was in front of the red nose of the bakkie, right in front of you so that you couldn’t see anything of what was happening down there in the kloof. You could see it coming, as if she were swearing with her whole body. She acted it out with her arms, with her feet, the hanging, the sliding, the kicking out. The point of her cap rose and fell like a thing, white and black, that scoops, that arches its neck, that pitches. She bent her knees, got on to her toes, swayed sideways, stepped forward and stepped back.
Then you could no longer stay in the bakkie. Then you had to get out.
There Jakkie was hanging, thirty metres from the ground, far away from the rock face, his legs too short to gain purchase, he hooked at the face with his claw-hammer, but he couldn’t reach.
Swing yourself, Jak tried to instruct him from below, swing yourself forward, towards the mountain! Jak signalled with both his arms, forward, forward.
You could see Jakkie trying to impel himself with his legs. He couldn’t generate enough momentum. His legs dangled. He looked up. Something wasn’t right. It was the anchor on the ridge, it was working itself loose up there. He plucked at it, showed Jak: There’s a problem.
Then part of the rope jerked loose and Jakkie’s head’s snapped back as the rope tightened again.
Jump! Jak shouted, untie yourself! Or so it sounded, you couldn’t hear very well from up there. From Jak’s gestures you could make out what the instructions were. Cut loose your halter! Hang! Hang by your arms until you’re hanging still, dead still, keep yourself up straight, keep your legs together, cut loose. Let go! I’ll catch you, I’m here! He struck his breast with the flat of his hand, I’m here, I’m here, I won’t let you get hurt, I stand fast for you, here!
He turned round to you to show you, he’s there, his hand on his chest.
And then suddenly it went dark in front of your eyes. Agaat put her small hand behind your head and clapped her big hand in front of your eyes.
When she removed it, Jak was lying on his back on the stones with Jakkie on top of him. You couldn’t make out where the one stopped and where the other started.
Agaat threw her apron over her head and crouched forward.
Did you hear right?
Même, she groaned, ai Même, tell me they’re moving, tell me, please!
It took a while for life to return to them. They slowly disentangled themselves from each other, their green clothes clearly delineated there on the white river boulders. And then they moved together again, Jakkie in under Jak’s arm, his legs over Jak’s legs. Jak rubbed his free hand all over Jakkie, put his hand in under the green windcheater. To count the ribs, to feel if they were all whole, the bones of your child.
what remains of the mending and the making and the joining and the fixing pass here under my unprehensile hands hundreds of reels of cotton and thirteen packets of singer needles singer bobbins an extra singer foot two silver thimbles varnished darning-shell darkbrown with serrated lip worn tape-measure knitting needles of steel of plastic in all sizes crochet-hooks for doilies for tablemats pin-cushions button-boxes for coats dresses blouses brandnew zips all colours of the rainbow buckles awls prickers flax-thread for leatherwork a roll of the thinnest thongs a ball of darning-wool for black socks eyelets bronze and black of steel stiffening for belts for dresses press-studs sequins felt loops gold and silver thread a length of hatband with three feathers packets of bloomer elastic narrow and wide sponge for shoulder-padding satin belt brocade cuff shoelaces white and shoelaces black shoelaces brown and red hatpins tiepins cuff links tassels for a beret pearls fresh and salt earrings brooches ma’s ring with six garnets signet ring of my father’s engagement ring wedding ring that my fingers cannot bear a tin of mica chips feldspar agate quartz a jacaranda pod an acorn cap both with their dates on from stellenbosch love three pulleys and buckle of an abseil rope put it in the delft platter in the beak of the stork for when he comes our son for when he returns speedwell and snapdragon here under my meandering fingertips rustles a needlework basket cold lining of jewelcase thumb and forefinger have become detached from the fiddling world and free of god’s odds and ends a woman’s things rings shards reels that slip now and roll over the planks there was a time when I could sew could hem could fix could cast on stitches make buttonholes and knit could punch holes stitch a seam could pin on pin up hook could pump the singer’s pedal reconcile the world with itself close its flaps weave its threads sew on its sequins and fill mattresses with its coir and look upon it and find it was good underneath down here there are even shirt-patterns dress patterns trouser-patterns take them by all means do with them as you see fit from now on I’m an unadorned woman my ravels and my rags nobody can assemble there is no map or direction with which to navigate me.
Saturday 11 March 1972 four o’clock
A. vanished into thin air I suppose not odd that she’s unhappy. She was looking forward so much to Jakkie’s being here this weekend from Heidelberg but he brought along a friend & they left immediately with Jak for an air show in Cape Town. Will only be back tomorrow afternoon late. A. had cooked & baked but they took along only a little bit of her biltong and dried-fruit sweets for the road. You can give him & his pal each a nice food parcel to take back to the hostel I say but the face remains set on sulk. Must go & look for hr.
11 March six o’clock
Have just been to cast an eye over the milking so there was Julies flirting with A. Hey there he says my griddle-cake how about it supposedly to the cow but I can hear it’s actually for A. He doesn’t look at her he talks straight into the udder that he’s milking. For what does she walk around sniff-sniff in the hills all day just like a wildcat? is she perhaps ruttish redcat tigercat? ggggh does she hiss at me? They say all she sticks in & pulls out is a needle & a rag stick stick snip snip she doesn’t look left or right pity about those titties about that bottom that dried-out sweet potato. A. pretends not to hear shirrrr-shirrrr she strains the first milk of one cow after the other.
Thought to myself Julies you’d better keep your trap shut my boy but I didn’t want to interfere & I wanted to see what would happen & made myself small behind the tank. It’s certainly not the first time but she just remains silent & he carries on.
No, he says, his foot is skew since the axle hit him head-over-heels but he knows Gaat was there Gaat wasn’t she his little nurse that day. Didn’t he feel it how she squeezed shut his veins so he didn’t bleed empty how she doctored him that he didn’t kick the bucket didn’t he see how she cut white bands with her little shiny scissors snip snip snip how she bandaged his head nicely pinned all the loose ends together nicely with hr safety pins. But this foot of his just won’t get fixed the toes keep dragging sideways in the sand just like a hub-less wheel he’ll never get to the moon all cripple like this but who wants to see the moon if he can gravy sweet potato? He thought by himself perhaps old shuffle-shoe could have a chance to snitch a snatch with the little laundry-mangle between them they have three good legs & three arms & that’s enough for getting up on the lucerne-rick. Shipps-shipps he carries on uncouthly with the teats. Just take off he says beforehand for Djeesussake that cap with the point & that snow-white apron otherwise he schemes he’s riding in the redcross police van peeeeeep paaaaaaawp. He gives hr a flowery headscarf he gives hr a red flowery dress with a sash around the middle then what does she say about that? Shorrr-shorrr he milks rudely with his head pressed into the cow’s stomach & A. pretends not to see any of it.