The Curator

by Jacques Strauss

  Steyn sat alone in the bush. He stared at the spot where Johann had turned to look at him with a strange expression on his face. When he held the boy and nuzzled him, he did not sense Johann tense under his touch. The boy rested his face against Steyn’s neck. The boy loved him. He’d stroked the boy’s back. Johann was drawing the poison to the surface. He was drawing the poison into his hands and into his cock. He wanted to take the boy and rape him. He’d thought about holding the boy by the wrists, face down, with his knees on either side of his arse, and then in a single thrust relieving himself of the lust, of fucking the boy and then drowning himself in the dam. ‘Get off me, Johann,’ he’d said. The boy did not listen and clung to him. ‘Get off me!’ he’d said and flung the boy to the ground.

  ‘Oom?’

  ‘Don’t touch me like that!’

  ‘Oom?’

  ‘Fuck off! Before I do something you’ll never forget.’

  The boy had scrambled to his feet, taken a last look and run away into the bush.

  Steyn was filled with lust. It made him heavy. He lay down on the ground. It was completely dark and the skies were cloudless. He lit a cigarette and stared at the stars. He thought about lying there all night. He would apologise to the boy tomorrow. He’d fallen into a light doze when he was woken by the gunshot.

  Hendrik dropped the gun and ran back to the car. He slammed the passenger door shut and ran round to the driver’s side. ‘Hendrik!’ Petronella shouted. He started the car and sped down the driveway. Somewhere in the bush she could hear screaming. ‘Marius! Werner!’ she called. At the dormitories she could hear doors being slammed and teachers speaking to students. ‘Everybody stay where you are,’ they shouted. ‘Stay where you are!’

  Marius and Werner came running out of the house. ‘Ma!’ Marius shouted.

  When she saw her sons the panic drained away. She embraced them and kissed them. ‘It’s all right,’ she said. ‘Just a little accident. Wait here.’

  One of the teachers came running towards her. ‘What’s going on?’

  ‘Nothing. Please go back to the dormitory and wait with the children. Keep them inside.’ The teacher nodded and ran off. Petronella looked for the gun. With the torch she criss-crossed the spot where her husband had been standing. She picked up the pistol and emptied the cartridges into her apron. She listened for the moaning, but the bush was silent. ‘Steyn!’ she shouted. ‘Steyn!’

  ‘Ma, what’s going on?’ Marius asked.

  ‘Nothing, darling. There’s just been a little accident. Everything’s fine.’ She needed to go into the bush. He’s shot one of the bantu children, she thought. Somewhere in the bush is a dead bantu child. ‘Steyn!’ she shouted again.

  From some distance away she heard Steyn shout in reply. ‘Petronella? What’s going on?’

  ‘Steyn, I need your help. Come now!’ She ran into the house and opened a kitchen drawer, into which she flung the gun. ‘Werner,’ she said, ‘take your brother and go and sit in your room and wait until I call you, okay?’

  Steyn opened the door and came into the kitchen. ‘Petronella? What’s going on?’

  ‘Boys – to your room.’

  ‘Ma,’ Werner said, ‘let me help.’

  ‘I heard screaming,’ Steyn said.

  Petronella tried to bite back the tears. ‘I think someone has been shot.’

  ‘Where? Where are they?’

  ‘I don’t know. Someone was in the bush when the gun went off.’

  ‘Come on then,’ Steyn said.

  Petronella followed him out of the kitchen. She turned to see that her children had closed the door, but Werner was following with his own torch. ‘Werner,’ she shouted, ‘go home!’

  ‘No, Ma, I need to help.’

  ‘Petronella, don’t argue. Where do we need to look?’

  ‘I don’t know. I don’t know. I think it’s one of the bantu children!’

  ‘Where’s Hendrik?’

  ‘We had a fight. He’s gone.’

  ‘Jissus!’

  ‘Werner,’ Steyn said, ‘I want you to take the path towards the dam. Walk slowly, checking on your left and your right.’

  ‘Okay, oom.’

  ‘Nellie, you take the car track – can you do that? Nellie, listen to me! Are you all right? Can you do this?’ She nodded. ‘Where’s the gun, Nellie?’

  ‘The house. In the drawer.’

  ‘Is it loaded?’ She shook her head. ‘Who fired the gun?’

  Petronella opened her mouth, but she couldn’t speak.

  22

  WERNER AWAKES IN the middle of the night. There is a commotion outside; people fighting. He gets up and looks out of the window. One of the shacks is on fire and a large group of men and woman are pushing and shoving. Someone starts banging on the door. ‘Baas Stefan!’ she shouts, ‘Baas! Stefan! You must come – there is big trouble. Baas Stefan, they are burning down our house! They are burning the shebeen. Come quick – please, Baas Stefan!’

  ‘Stefan,’ Werner shouts, ‘Stefan!’

  ‘Go back to bed, Werner.’

  Werner peers out of the window. Outside a man looks up at him and drags his finger across his throat, grins.

  ‘Stefan!’

  ‘For fuck’s sake, Werner – leave it!’

  The woman outside is still screaming. ‘Baas Stefan, please!’ she shouts. ‘They are going to kill us! Please, Baas Stefan! Please!’

  ‘Will someone tell that woman to shut the fuck up,’ Stefan says.

  Werner goes downstairs.

  Hearing him, Stefan calls after, ‘Do not open the door to that woman! Oh, for fuck’s sake. Help me get up,’ he says to someone. Werner stands at the bottom of the stairs, wide-eyed. From the top of the stairs, Stefan calls, ‘Werner, come here. There’s nothing to worry about.’

  Werner turns around and goes back up the stairs, and stops on the first landing. Stefan, wrapped in a dressing gown, is waiting for him at the top of the stairs in his wheelchair. Werner glances out of the window. There are a few fires in the distance, but nothing out of control, nothing that seems to be threatening the house. Lerato stands behind Stefan and puts her hands on his shoulders.

  ‘It’s the company,’ she says. ‘It’s the people from the company.’

  Stefan shakes his head. ‘We don’t know that.’

  ‘What do you mean?’ Werner asks.

  ‘People think the company is trying to clear the squatters. They say the people steal fruit – which they probably do. Someone is bribing a bunch of thugs to cause trouble.’

  ‘It’s the same people that came that other time,’ Lerato says.

  ‘No.’

  ‘This happens every few weeks. Just go back to bed. We need to get up early.’

  Werner turns around and goes back to bed. It is true that things have died down. There is still noise and he can smell smoke, but the worst seems to be over. He goes back to bed and lies awake for an hour before falling asleep.

  The next morning he is woken by Lerato knocking at his door. She tells him to come and get breakfast; Stefan wants to start work. There is no interest in discussing the events of the previous night. Stefan seems unperturbed. In the time Werner’s been here, Lerato has not come downstairs. The maid carries a breakfast tray with toast and porridge to the room. He does not ask about this.

  They wait in the dining room – Stefan calls it his studio – for the two helpers. Stefan looks at his watch, irritated. Thirty minutes late, the two men arrive. One has a cut above his right eye. Stefan says nothing and they begin work. Werner admires his devotion, his absolute and singular focus. Everything in the household is put in service of this. As they did yesterday, they break for lunch, tea and finish a little before eight. There is an expectation that Werner will spend the night. He wonders whether Stefan has dismissed the third man. Perhaps his free labour is what allows the money to go further. At dinner, Werner asks Stefan what he expects of him. Stefan says he expects nothing, but if he would like to be his assistan
t, he should move in. It will be more efficient. He should not, however, expect pay. In return for his services Werner will receive board and lodging. Werner says that he will mull it over. In any event, he needs to return to the hotel to collect his things and settle the bill.

  He drives back to Barberton and considers the improbable offer that has been made. He could abandon his life in Pretoria entirely and apprentice himself to Stefan. Apprentice? Is that what he would be doing? Not exactly, but then again it is not merely a question of free labour, either. Stefan is drawing him into his work. Stefan is becoming his friend. It would be a shame not to be a part of it when this work is finally revealed to the world. The work today has been exhausting and by the time he gets into bed, Werner falls into a deep dreamless sleep.

  He wakes early the next morning, packs his things and settles his hotel bill. He puts his bag in his car and walks towards Johann’s house. He sits in the bush and waits. After ten minutes Johann comes out. Werner has to suppress the effort not to break into the clearing and fix things. For now, it is enough to look at Johann.

  In Barberton town centre he withdraws money from his savings account and purchases a cellphone: a ridiculous extravagance, but after last night he feels too unsafe in the house without it. The first call he makes is to his mother. A what? A cellphone, Ma. I bought a cellphone. Ridiculous, she says. From where do you get the money for that?

  He buys a new pair of jeans, clean underwear and a few T-shirts before driving back to Moedswill. He unpacks his things in the room he’d stayed in previously and asks the maid about a washing machine. She tells him to put his dirty clothes in the laundry. The baas has instructed her to take care of it. Also, he must hurry. Baas Stefan is waiting.

  For the next week he does not leave the farm. They work from early in the morning until late at night. And then, as before, Stefan and Werner sit in the kitchen and eat dinner before going to bed. There is no further trouble with the people on the farm. Occasionally the shebeen closest to the house gets rowdy. At first Werner woke up in a panic, thinking that things were kicking off again, thinking this time they’d burn the house down, but by the third night he was used to the noise and managed to sleep through it. He is due to return to work in two days’ time. He calls his manager at the university. Reluctant to play the part of a grieving son who still cannot face work, he says there are a number of complications with the estate. This explanation, he thinks, has the merit of being truthful, from a certain perspective. His manager agrees to a further week’s leave. Werner tells Stefan that he will stay for at least another week. If he expects gratitude, it is not forthcoming. Stefan simply nods and says that would be acceptable. Werner is irritated. ‘You know,’ he says to Stefan, ‘I could do with a little time off.’

  ‘Of course you can have time off,’ Stefan snaps. Werner just needs to say when. Unless Werner asks, the assumption is that they will be working.

  Werner says he needs to run an errand in Barberton the next morning.

  That night he writes a note:

  Dear Johann,

  I’m sorry about what happened the other night.

  He crumples up the paper and throws it away. He is not sorry. Johann punched him in the face.

  Dear Johann,

  I do not have any hard feelings about what happened the other night.

  Again Werner throws it away. He does have hard feelings, but he also thinks it would do to be gracious.

  Dear Johann,

  I am sorry about what happened the other night. I was shocked and hurt by what you did, but I suppose even the best of friends must have their disagreements. I do not have any hard feelings about what happened. I am living on Moedswill farm at the moment. I am helping Stefan with the paintings for an exhibition he hopes to hold soon. The work is brilliant and I think it will be a big success.

  I’m writing to invite you to visit me on the farm. It will be good to see you again so that we can talk things through. Also, I would very much like for you to meet Stefan. I have a proposal for both of you, though it is not something I feel I can put in this letter and would prefer to talk to you about it in person, after you have seen Stefan’s work. You may not understand it now, but you are also a part of this story. I have bought a cellphone, so it should be easy for you to get in touch.

  He adds his cellphone number and directions to the farm. After debating how best to close the letter, he simply signs it:

  Your friend,

  Werner

  PS I don’t think you should bring Marleen.

  He reads through the letter a few times: not eloquent, but simple.

  The next morning he drives to Barberton. He considers putting the letter under the front door, but then opts to put it in the postbox instead. He drives straight back to Moedswill to begin work. He knows that Stefan is irritated because he took the morning off. If he returns early he can begin winning him round again. There is a silent setting on the phone, which means it will vibrate if someone calls. He puts the phone in his pocket and goes straight to the dining room.

  Despite the fact that Werner returned early, Stefan is in a bad mood. He snaps at Werner and the other two assistants. Today it is impossible to do right, but Werner does not care. He is simply waiting for the phone to ring. Soon Johann will call and they will talk and be friends again. And then Johann will arrange to come round. And when Stefan sees him, he will know that Johann is a worthy subject for his next painting. Werner will no longer just be the white helper. Stefan will recognise in Werner a talent. Werner will win back his friendship with Johann and it will be the beginning of his career. It is perhaps a late start, but the story will be a good one.

  By six o’clock Johann has still not phoned. It’s disappointing, but Johann has probably not read the letter yet. Stefan declares the day a complete waste and spends the rest of the night in his bedroom. Werner, bored and impatient, decides to have a drink in the shebeen. The woman behind the counter eyes him with suspicion, but serves him anyway. The people keep their distance and he drinks his beer without talking to anyone. He takes out his phone and stares at it. Why has Johann not called? If Johann had called and for whatever reason he’d missed it, there should be a message on the screen that reads: 1 missed call. Did he give Johann the right number? Perhaps, after what he’d done, Johann was too embarrassed to call? Werner decides to leave it for the night and goes to bed.

  The next day Stefan’s mood has not improved. They begin work early. Just before lunch Werner feels the phone in his pocket vibrate. He excuses himself and goes into the kitchen.

  ‘Hello,’ he says breathlessly.

  ‘Werner?’

  ‘Ja, Ma.’

  ‘Thank God you’re alive.’

  ‘What are you talking about?’

  ‘You were supposed to pick me up from the airport.’

  ‘But Ma knows I went on holiday.’

  ‘I thought you’d be back. When you weren’t at the airport, I thought something terrible had happened to you. I had to take a taxi home. Do you know how much that cost? Fifty rand.’

  ‘Sorry, Ma.’

  ‘When are you coming home?’

  ‘I don’t know, Ma. Maybe a week?’

  ‘A week? Are you mad? What about your job?’

  ‘I took more time off.’

  ‘Now, you listen to me. Now is not the time for you to be taking time off. You need that job, Werner. What will happen if you lose your job? It will be over for us. How long do you think I can carry on working for? I’m an old woman. And there is something I need to talk about.’

  ‘What?’

  ‘Your brother is moving to Australia.’

  ‘I know.’

  ‘Why didn’t you tell me?’

  ‘I didn’t want to upset you.’

  ‘I suppose it’s for the best. This country is going to the dogs. That blarry ANC is destroying the place. You see what that Mandela has done – he’s driving my son out of the country.’

  ‘Ma – I am actually in the
middle of something. Let’s talk later, okay?’

  ‘When are you coming home, Werner?’

  ‘I don’t know.’

  ‘I’m scared to be here alone. It’s not safe.’

  ‘Ma, I’ll call you tonight – okay?’

  ‘It’s just you and me, Werner. When your brother’s gone, you’re all I have left.’ She puts down the phone.

  He goes back to finish the day’s work. There are no further calls.

  That night he writes another letter:

  Dear Johann,

  I’m not sure why you haven’t called me yet. I really need to speak to you soon. Maybe I gave you the wrong number by mistake, or maybe you’re too embarrassed to talk to me. I’m sorry about what I did. I’m sorry if it made you uncomfortable. I can’t quite explain why I did it, but I promise not to do it again. I haven’t been myself since my father died – there is more to that than you’d believe – and one day I would like to tell you about it. But that is another story. Are you waiting for me to call? I thought it would be easier this way. Please don’t make me beg. You just need to understand that it’s really important that you come here. I think you will understand for yourself when you see what’s going on.

  Again he includes the telephone number and the directions to Moedswill. Perhaps Johann will just turn up. Before folding the letter, he adds the following:

  PS I know you think I love you. And I do, as a friend. And even if I did love you in that way, I would never expect anything from you other than friendship.

  The last part is a mistake, so he crosses it out. But to ensure it can’t be read he has to scratch over each of the words in a way that makes him look pathological. He writes the letter again. He decides not to call his mother and goes straight to bed.

  The next day Stefan is irritated. Werner apologises and says that it is a pressing matter. He will return as soon as he can. This time he parks at the hotel and walks to Johann’s. There are no cars parked in the driveway. He goes up to the house and slips the note under the door that opens onto the stoep. He considers waiting in the bush to see if anyone picks up the letter, but decides that it’s more important to get back to Moedswill.