by Sally Andrew
‘Let’s go,’ she said. ‘I bet Dirk’s hungry.’
CHAPTER TWENTY
The Dwarsrivier Bed & Breakfast was only two blocks away, but the summer sun can fry you on the pavement, so we went in my bakkie. There were a lot of cars outside the B&B; I had to park a little way down the road. We walked slowly towards the building in the skinny shade of some thorn trees. It was one of those low square houses they built in the seventies, painted a pale brown without much character. Nothing like the original Victorian Ladismith houses. But it had a nice lawn in front of it with edges of pink flowers and a bench in the shade of Karoo willow tree.
‘That’s Dirk’s Toyota,’ said Jessie, pointing out a big white 4×4.
There was also a Hilux van outside the guest house, and a family was unloading backpacks from it.
‘They don’t look like hikers,’ I said.
They were well dressed, not the type to get their boots muddy. On the side of their van was a picture and some writing.
‘Seventh-day Adventists,’ said Jessie. ‘I did an article . . . ’ She was looking up the road. ‘Isn’t that Anna?’
Yes, it was her, jumping out of her farm bakkie. Now she was striding towards the B&B. She was further away than us, but moving fast, her head down and her eyebrows coming together in a frown.
‘She must have got out on bail,’ I said.
‘She’s also coming to see Dirk,’ said Jessie.
‘I bet she’s not bringing cake,’ I said.
‘Anna,’ I called and waved. She didn’t look up. We moved faster. ‘Anna!’
She saw us, but didn’t look happy about it. Jessie ran ahead and stood at the gate entrance, blocking her way. But Anna didn’t slow down; she was going to crash right into Jessie.
‘Anna. Wait!’
I wasn’t running, because I don’t believe in running, but I was walking very fast and my breathing interfered with my shouting. Anna stopped and glared at me. She was wearing those farm boots and jeans and a man’s white shirt.
I wiped sweat off my forehead and waited for my voice to catch up with me before I said, ‘What are you doing?’
‘Tannie Maria,’ she said. ‘Stay out of the way.’
She pushed Jessie aside as if Jessie was light as a meringue and barrelled up the concrete path towards the front door. A man with a big beard jumped out of her way and into a flower bed. Before she stepped inside she rested her hand on a bulge at the back of her shirt. It was a gun, tucked into her jeans.
Jessie pulled out her pepper spray.
‘That’s no match for a gun,’ I said.
‘I know,’ she said, ‘but Dirk’s got a gun too, and she might need help.’
‘Jessie, no,’ I said but she scooted up the path and into the building.
I plodded after her, armed with only my Tupperware. I crossed a dark carpet with a mottled pattern to get to the reception area where there were some beige couches and a young redhead behind a desk. There was no sign of Anna or Jessie.
‘Call the police. Now,’ I said. ‘And an ambulance.’
The girl just looked at me with her mouth hanging open. I grabbed the phone off her desk and dialled.
‘Ma . . . ’ called the girl.
She wrapped her finger around a strand of her hair, and twisted it round and round. The policeman who answered the phone tried to ask me twenty questions but I got him to put me onto Detective Lieutenant Kannemeyer.
‘Anna’s just arrived at the Dwarsrivier B&B where Dirk is staying,’ I told the detective. ‘She’s got a gun.’
‘I’m on my way,’ he said.
‘We may need an ambulance too,’ I said, just before he hung up.
‘What room is Dirk van Schalkwyk in?’ I asked the girl.
‘Maaaaaa . . . ’ she called, her eyes wide open.
I heard noises and saw an open door leading to a courtyard. A woman in a floral dress with a scarf covering her curlers came waddling out of a little office.
‘Jaaa . . . ’ she said to her daughter.
But I was already on my way outside. A row of guest rooms opened onto an area with a pool, a table and chairs with a big umbrella, and some deck chairs. Kids and teenagers were swimming, and lying around the pool. Jessie was trying to get them to move into the reception area but they were ignoring her.
‘Emergency evacuation,’ said Jessie. ‘Move it!’
A girl on a deck chair rolled from her back onto her side.
‘I was here first,’ she said.
A little boy ran and jumped into the pool, splashing us all. It was a rude thing to do but I welcomed the cold drops on my face and arms.
Anna was moving along, checking on each of the rooms. Her gun was held behind her back. These were badly behaved youngsters, I thought, but they didn’t deserve to get caught in a gun fight. I slipped off my shoes, stood on the first step of the pool and opened up my Tupperware. I unwrapped the cake, and held it out in front of me. I had their attention.
‘Cake,’ I said. ‘If you hurry inside now, you will each get a piece. Stay inside till I call you.’
The kids were up and in that room like spring hares. I could hear the redhead and her ma shouting at them as they dripped water across the carpets. I felt bad lying to them about food. But I had a plan, so I wouldn’t really be lying.
‘Clear out,’ said Jessie, waving her pepper spray at a couple peering out from one of the rooms. They looked at Jessie and Anna then scuttled away.
There were just two more unopened doors.
‘Don’t do it, Anna,’ I called. ‘Come sit and talk and with me. I’ve got a lamb sandwich and cake.’ I clutched my Tupperware to my heart. ‘Please.’
But she was as focused as a lioness stalking her own dinner. Jessie was following her, getting closer.
‘Fok off,’ she said.
She turned the handle on the second-last door, and opened it a crack. I closed my Tupperware and took a few steps back. Things were looking bad. Jessie gripped Anna’s shoulder and Anna struck out at Jessie, sending her flying backwards. Jessie lost her balance and toppled into the pool, splashing us with some more cool water.
Anna pushed the door open with her foot, holding her gun out in front of her. The room was empty.
Then I heard a toilet flushing, and the sound got louder as the bathroom door opened. It was not Dirk who stepped out, but a woman in a long dress.
‘Voetsek,’ said Anna, chasing her from the room.
The woman shrieked and ran into the main house.
There was still the sound of gurgling and splashing . . .
Oh my God, Jessie! She can’t swim, I remembered.
I jumped into the pool and managed to get a grip on her chin and hold it out of the water. She sucked in air. I held her head up and dragged her to the shallow end, where she sat on the step, coughing.
Anna was rattling the door of the last guest room. It was locked. The curtains on the windows were closed. She stepped back a couple of paces from the door, the gun at her side. I thought I saw the curtains twitch slightly, but I had water in my eyes and couldn’t be sure.
Anna ran and kicked her big boot smack into the door. I heard a crunch as the lock splintered; it fell open and she flew in.
Then the shooting began. It was loud. So loud.
Then it was quiet. Very quiet.
The silence was broken by sirens. Getting closer. They were here at last. But it was all over now. Dirk came staggering out of the room, his face and sideburns all bloody, his arms bleeding. There was blood on his hands, dripping off his fingertips. I watched him stumbling towards the pool. He couldn’t see.
I should’ve called out, to stop him. But I didn’t.
He fell in. I could’ve jumped in to try and rescue him. But I didn’t.
Jessie and I rushed to the room. Anna was sprawled across the floor. Her jeans darker than they should be and her white shirt blotched a bright tomato red.
‘No,’ I said. ‘Anna . . . ’
I tri
ed to go to her, but big hands were pulling me back, out of the way. Men in uniforms were everywhere. Then I was sitting. On a chair, outside, I think. Anna. I wondered if she was where she wanted to be now. Together with her Love. United with Martine.
People, people were swarming all over.
But I felt so alone.
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
‘Are they all gone, Tannie? My ma said it was firecrackers but Pa said it was shooting.’
I am not sure how long I had been sitting there in my own world, before this little voice pulled me back. My blue dress had dried, sticking to my skin.
‘And then I saw the people with the blood,’ he said, ‘so Pa must have been right. Firecrackers can’t do that to you, can they, Tannie? Ma says they are dangerous. There were policemen here, Tannie, there are still some.’
He was looking up at me with big eyes, his hands held together in front of him. A skinny boy in swimming shorts and hungry ribs. There was a policeman putting yellow tape around the room. ‘POLICE’ was written in blue capitals across the tape. Another policeman was taking photographs.
‘Are they dead, Tannie? Are they?’
‘I don’t know,’ I said.
‘Me and my sister went inside, like you said. We were hiding behind the couch.’
I realised I was clutching the Tupperware to my chest. I relaxed my grip and put it on my lap. His gaze followed the food.
‘I was scared, Tannie. We were all scared. But it’s over now, isn’t it?’
‘Yes,’ I said, ‘it’s over now.’
The adults and some of the children were going back into their rooms, but a few of the children stayed in the safety of the main house, peering out from the doorway. They were frightened and needed something for the shock.
‘Cake,’ I said, standing up, pulling at my dress to get it straight.
The little boy raced ahead of me into the house, saying: ‘It’s the tannie with the cake. It’s all over now, she says. She’s going to give us cake.’
I sat on a beige couch and the kids shuffled closer to me, to my Tupperware. The couches were pretend leather; they felt plastic and sticky. There was a policewoman in the office talking to the ma in her curlers.
‘Children,’ I said, ‘I promised you all cake. And you will get it.’
‘We were scared, Tannie,’ said a little girl. ‘It was loud. And there was blood. We saw it.’
‘Like tomato sauce,’ said an older boy. ‘All over. A big mess.’
He pointed to where the young redhead was busy cleaning the mottled carpet.
‘I was trying to get you safe quickly,’ I said, ‘so I didn’t explain very well. I have only one piece of cake here.’
The children’s faces dropped like the sinking dough of a cake when you open the oven too soon.
A small girl started crying, ‘I’m huuuunnnnngry.’
‘But it is a big piece, and you will each get a taste of it,’ I said as I opened the Tupperware. ‘And then I am going to go home and bake you a cake, and bring you back a big piece each.’
That seemed to cheer them up a bit. The little girl stopped crying and reached out both her arms towards me and my food.
‘Okay, you can have the sandwiches too.’ I said, though I was feeling quite hungry myself. ‘Now, we need a knife . . . ’
A pale lady came rushing forward, but instead of giving me a knife she said, ‘Wait. What are you feeding them?’
So I told her. And I explained that I’d bake another cake for them and that I needed a knife, but she just stood there. Maybe she wanted the cake herself, but I thought that was greedy of her, because the children obviously needed it more. Then Jessie came and gave me the Swiss Army knife off her belt, opening a blade for me. That girl really knew how to make herself useful.
‘I gave my statement to the police,’ said Jessie. ‘They wanted to take yours too, but you weren’t in the mood for talking earlier. I told Kannemeyer you would go down to the station later.’
‘Kannemeyer was here?’ I said, as I cut the cake into nice little pieces.
Jessie nodded, and said, ‘You don’t remember?’
‘The cake,’ the lady asked. ‘It’s made with butter and eggs?’
‘Oh, yes,’ I said, ‘my own chickens’ best eggs. And buttermilk.’
Maybe she wanted the recipe. But before I could tell her, she pulled the little girl and the skinny boy away from me, and lifted up a hand to say stop.
‘Sorry, we don’t eat meat or dairy,’ she said.
My mouth and the little girl’s mouth fell open at the same time. She threw back her head and wept. The boy’s lower lip was wobbling. I felt like crying myself. It had been a very strange day.
The carpet under my feet started shaking and it looked like the walls were swaying. Is this what an earthquake felt like?
‘Tannie Maria,’ Jessie said, ‘are you okay?’
Jessie took the Tupperware from me because my hands were not holding it properly. Then she sat down on the couch, as if there was no earthquake at all. Mothers were trying to pull their wailing children away, but the children were digging their heels in.
‘It’s not so bad,’ said Jessie, patting my shoulder. ‘I spoke to my ma at the hospital. They’re still alive. Flesh wounds and blood loss, but no major organs hit. A bone in Anna’s leg was fractured by a bullet. Both her legs are hurt but she’ll be okay. That pig Dirk will be all right too, though his arms are pretty damaged. It’s amazing they didn’t kill each other.’
The mothers called in the fathers and they carried all the children away. It was just Jessie and the Tupperware and me left on the couch.
‘You in shock, Tannie?’ said Jessie. The room was not exactly swaying any more, but it wasn’t quite still either.
‘I’m sure we need this more than Dirk or those kids,’ said Jessie, looking down at the food on her lap.
She raised her eyebrows at me then passed me a sandwich and helped herself to one. The sandwiches still looked fresh, even after such a hard day.
‘Mmmm mmmm mm,’ she said, as she closed her eyes and sank her teeth into the bread.
I felt better already. The food was firm in my hands. The ground was solid under my feet. Ooh, ja. Gherkin and mustard and lamb.
‘These people are Seventh-day Adventists,’ Jessie said after she’d swallowed. ‘They believe it’s the end of the world. Again. They’ve had a few false alarms over the years, but this time they think it’s for real. They’ve flocked here from all over because the Klein Swartberge are supposed to be a good place to ascend. There’s some spot at Dwarsrivier where the rocks look like Jesus.’
The end of the world. It felt like that, just now, when that woman refused my food, and the ground started shaking. I suppose if I couldn’t eat meat or dairy it might seem like the end of the world.
‘Have some cake,’ Jessie said when we had polished off the sandwiches. ‘I was thinking . . . With Dirk and Anna in hospital, it’s a good time to visit the scene of the crime.’
The sugar and rum had settled my nerves nicely and the chocolate was clearing my mind.
‘What are you up to tonight?’ she asked.
‘I guess I’m going on a little outing with you,’ I said, and she winked at me.
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
On the way home, I stopped at the police station and gave my statement to the young paperwork woman. She seemed bored by what I told her. Maybe she had heard it all before. There was no sign of Reghardt or Piet or Kannemeyer. She told me Kannemeyer was at the hospital. She was a slow writer and the air conditioner hummed and rattled. It seemed to take for ever just to get my name and address, so I made the story I told her very simple.
‘We will contact you if we have any questions,’ she said once I had signed the statement.
I was tired when I got to my house late that afternoon. I sat on my stoep with some beskuit and a cup of tea. I looked up at the sky and yawned. But I was not going to lie down.
‘I don’t bel
ieve in sleeping in the day,’ I said to my tea. ‘It’s confusing. When I wake up I don’t know whether to have breakfast, lunch or supper.’ I dipped my muesli rusk into the tea. ‘I suppose I could just eat beskuit. Any time of day.’
I looked up at the clouds that were gathering in the north. They looked nice and fat and I hoped it would rain. A cool breeze was blowing and the leaves on my lemon tree were stirring.
Here in the Klein Karoo, the sky is so big. Usually it is blue and empty, but now it was putting on a fancy show. I sat watching the movement of the clouds. I wasn’t thinking on purpose, but after a while ideas started gathering at the back of my head. Thought clouds. In the sky-clouds I could see shapes. A duck. A woman. Martine, dissolving. Anna and Dirk puffing up, dark and fat. A long poker, like a cut across the sky.
It didn’t make sense that Anna would wipe the poker clean before using it on Martine. But if the poker was wiped, then the murderer wasn’t wearing gloves. There might be other prints. Did the murderer wipe those too?
I rested my eyes and allowed my mind to think.
When I opened my eyes again my tea was cold and the clouds had come closer; they were big and inky-blue. The plants and trees were all looking up, hoping for rain. But not expecting anything. Karoo plants are very patient. They wait for months and months without a taste of water. But they don’t get bitter, or shrivel up and die. They just hold onto the little moisture they’ve got and keep on waiting.
I don’t think I could manage that myself.
CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE
I fried bacon and made toast with my farm bread, then prepared bacon- and-marmalade sandwiches. I put them in a Tupperware for Jessie and me to eat later that night. Then I made an extra one, which I ate on the stoep, watching the fat underbellies of the clouds turn pink then blood-red. Then they were grey, and growing closer, bigger, darker. I knew I should be pleased, because they held rain somewhere in there, but they looked so black and heavy, and in their shapes I saw the faces of men with bad thoughts inside puffy foreheads and dark beards. My husband, Fanie, was dead and gone, but sometimes it felt like he was with me again, like a bad taste in my mouth. Suddenly I could see the expression on his face just before he would hit me. My forehead was sweating and my heart beating fast. It was like I was having a bad dream, but I was wide awake.