After that first visit I gradually visited more often. One of these visits issued in my meeting with the scandalously radiant, carnal Lucinda. (Who incidentally sashayed past here today as if she’s reinvented herself anew: to set everything that went before aside.)
Thus it came about that I settled here a few months ago. As I said earlier: a sojourn that I initially expected to be one of the most extraordinary chapters of my life, but that I now perceive as much more ordinary. I pick up pig shit, I dig holes to plant trees, I’ve had to make some adaptations and adjustments — some of them radical — because I have learnt to know people and worlds that I would never have discovered otherwise, not even in the new South Africa. Thus at the same time less and so much more than I’d counted on.
drbruno.co.za
KARL HOFMEYR REMAINS SITTING in the Red Tea-Cosy for a long time. (What a ridiculous name for a place, he thinks.) After the wrong number jumped out so unexpectedly from the calendar behind the door, it takes him a while to get a grip on himself. He drinks his coffee, he counts, he recites his deflective mantras. No use trying to do anything else at this stage. First of all he has to calm down. Deep breaths, Juliana would say, mind over matter. You can’t let this thing dominate you, she’d say — you’re in control, not this thing. (Yeah, sure, he thought.) The conversation with the Joachim-guy totally discombobulated him, that’s for sure. All that remains is for the Josias-guy to phone and shit all over him. He switches off his cell phone to guard against this eventuality. One thing at a time, one spaced-out conversation at a time.
He misses Hendrik. They often travel together. Hendrik is always smiling. With him by your side the world feels like a better place. He should never have undertaken this trip on his own. He should have known he was going to chop off big-time because this is no pleasure jaunt. Because from the start he’d had resistance to the trip. Because he doesn’t know what to expect; in what condition he’s going to find Iggy. He was a fool. He thinks of the lyrics to a Queensrÿche song: ‘Making misery is the way you spend your time/ I think it’s safe to say when it comes to the truth you’re blind.’ Blind as a fucking bat.
In Hamburg he and Hendrik went to listen to bands playing on the Reeperbahn. Wall-to-wall pimps in big cars. And these amazingly attractive women enticing the men. Some of the biggest bands often play there. Small, intimate gigs. Once he caught one of Megadeth’s drummer’s drumsticks there. So he gave it to a little chap who really wanted it; he saw him hunting all over for it. The little guy’s eyes were as wide as saucers. He said nothing, just grabbed the stick and cleared out, in case Karl changed his mind.
One evening they bumped into X-Factor (aka Gene Poole, aka Alex), the guitarist of Warrior Soul, in the street. Chatted a bit and said they’d like to meet the rest of the band. Karl wanted to meet the lead vocalist in particular. Come to the bar after the show, the chap said. Then a woman with a little dog arrived and X-Factor alias Alex greeted her exuberantly. Then that evening in the bar, after the gig, they met the rest of the group. He met Kory Clarke. Awesome vocalist. While they were talking, Kory Clarke grabbed an imaginary straw and snorted up an imaginary substance from the table. He tossed back his head, he laughed, all a joke. Then somebody else wanted to meet him and he was gone.
Karl’s eye falls on a poster on the wall. It’s an advertisement for a hypnotist performing in town this afternoon. Doctor Bruno. Sounds like a German pervert or paedophile. On the advertising leaflet is a drawing of a man with a blue face, an old-fashioned little Hollywood moustache and humungous black-and-orange psychedelic glasses, with all sorts of rays shooting out from his head. In one top corner: drbruno.co.za. Special assistance with weight loss, with giving up smoking, and with all varieties of inconvenient habits, it says at the bottom. This afternoon in the high school hall at four.
He checks his watch. It’s half-past one. Perhaps he should go. What’s he got to lose? He’ll have himself hypnotised. After all, he has considered it on occasion. Juliana told him not to be silly; his problem is something he must overcome by himself. If the man is travelling the country, Karl thinks, he must have seen everything — he will certainly not be appalled by any inconvenient habits. (Inconvenient habits, that’s exactly how Juliana would label his affliction.) He can picture it: he puts up his hand, Doctor Bruno calls him to the front. How can we be of assistance, with what inconvenient habit? Doctor, I don’t do oil, I don’t do this, I don’t do that, I wash my hands, and I count. I count myself bonkers. If the numbers are wrong, I can’t do certain things, because certain numbers are of evil portent and worse. Step right up, young man, says the doctor, we’ll sort you out in a jiffy. He jumps onto the stage, he gazes into Doctor B’s psychedelic eyes, the audience bust a gut laughing, but he knows of nothing, he’s been put under, and when he emerges from his hypnotic trance, he’s healed. Everything’s hunky dory and Bob’s your uncle. He immediately has a bag of soggy chips from the Wimpy. And two doughnuts. The waitress serving him picks her nose, but what the hell, he’s cured, bring it on. As long as one affliction is not replaced by another. He develops a nervous tic in his right eye. Or he no longer does sugar, or water, or salt. The scope for deviance is unlimited. Doesn’t he just know it. Tell him about it, between him and Iggy they’ve got the T-shirts.
If only Hendrik had been here, it would have been a cinch. Or Juliana — she would also have kept Karl on course. She would have forced him to drive, even though the numbers were wrong. Initially she still put up with him, in the long run she became impatient with him. But he misses her. They had some good times together; some of the best times of his life, before the thing cropped up again. For a long time he was okay, he thought he had it under control, but something must have triggered it again. Stress of work, or a movie, or a dream, or some or other awkward situation that he’s forgotten all about. Then it suddenly hit again — full on. Exacerbated by stress about Iggy’s condition. If the numbers are wrong, the whole day can be fucked.
*
One Sunday Maria pays a visit to her friend Jakobus on the pig farm. He awaits her at the time agreed upon and shows her where to leave her car. From here they proceed on foot. Even though he’s explained the setup to her, it’s still different to the way she’s pictured it. The first animals they encounter are the pigs. Piglets scurry across the road and shelter under sheets of corrugated iron. Yes, it certainly stinks to high heaven here. As they wander along, the inhabitants appear one by one from their respective dwellings. Jakobus introduces them to Maria. Here are the two daughters of Josias from his marriage to Laetitia. The eldest with her little daughter — Josias’s granddaughter, deep-brown of skin. Here is Nomalizo Mhlaba, who used to live under a bridge in front of Checkers with her alcoholic mother, before her brother carried her to the farm on his back.
First Jakobus takes her to see the vegetable garden and nursery. The group grows, as more children join it. Here is this one, here is that one. Maria no longer really remembers what Jakobus told her about each of them. Also Laetitia, Josias’s ex (the one now cohabiting with the Argentinian who dyed his hair black, Maria recalls) comes to introduce herself. Laetitia is dark of skin; a formidable woman, a heavy drinker, Jakobus said. Then the group moves on to the rabbit hutches. Big enough so that you can stand up straight inside, and with a lovely view of Table Mountain. Maria holds a newborn rabbit in her hands. There’s a crush in the hutch, with all the children in there with her. In the meantime Lucinda Hlobo’s two eldest have also joined the group — pretty, bashful children, and from somewhere Jakobus has fetched her youngest: a boy with big velvet-brown eyes that all but dominate his whole face.