André, I don’t know any more. The whole negative past always comes back and lies between us and gnaws. Gnaws away at everything we tried so carefully and delicately to build. Do you remember, in Paris I told you we have to get to know our enemy. Paris. I can’t bear to think of Paris. I get this sharp, blinding visual impression of the whole swarming city in the sun and of us.
Forgive the typing. I don’t have a pen here at work. I wrote to you last night too, but it was in my diary. I’m going to write a nice diary. I don’t want people one day to believe in some people’s bladdy prejudiced opinions! Did you see in Standpunte about big Org and little Orgie? They tease you a lot, don’t they? Don’t you sometimes get the hell-in? Gossip: people here say Chris [Barnard]’s story in Windroos lacks talent!
André, do you know how neatly I live now? Extremely carefully. As though I am constantly in mortal danger. Even Nasionale Boekhandel says they hear nothing. I think about you so much. But unfortunately it looks as if die Here al klaar die dice geskommel het. Do you think that, just once, the dice will fall right for me? Or for you?
A kiss for your fat papie.
Love, darling,
Your Cocoon.
Grahamstown
Sunday night, 15 November 1964
Ingrid, darling little thing,
I’m sitting here in the heart of a room that’s full of music. It’s getting dark outside and the Cathedral bell is pealing. There’s such an unexpected sense of silence and rest nowadays, the certainty of a creative summer; all the unrest and murkiness is in the process of finding form.
A central moment in all of this is simply that I’ve decided I’m coming to visit you in December, for ten days. I’ll probably arrive on Friday the 10th (or the 11th), stay the weekend, the next week, and the following weekend. That’s if you want me to come. If I may. If you also believe, as I do, that it will be full of ecstasy and quietude.
My examination work will be completed by the day after tomorrow, but the staff are meant to stay here until 10 December. Rob won’t mind me leaving earlier, although two considerations make me think the suggested dates are better: a) Bartho and company, and Stephen and his lot, are only coming down in about the middle of December, and I’d very much like to see everyone while I’m there; b) if I wait until the 10th, I might yet finish my Spanish book. I want to begin on Thursday and then work on it for ten days. Planning, the lot.
Die Trommel [The Trunk] and Die Tas [The Suitcase] are both done – in draft form. And they’re good. I believe so. I must.
But what else would or could I say aside from the fact that tonight in four weeks’ time we’ll be walking together along the seafront. God, child, most beloved, a new honeymoon, a new “marriage full of whispered, magical meaning” lies ahead.
Go ahead and book one weekend for us at the Van Riebeeck Hotel in Gordon’s Bay (maybe the weekend from 11 to 13 December). Or wherever you like. Or should we take a long trip – five hours or so – all the way to Herold’s Bay or Knysna or somewhere like that? It doesn’t matter. As long as it’s with you.
I am tired, my dearest. I’m working myself absolutely to death on the scripts of well-meaning but untalented students. Masses of them. And each one is such hell to evaluate, now this way, now that way.
You talk in your last, lovely letter about the sabotage cases. The Stephanie Kemp one was an enormous shock – all of them so young, so inexperienced, so full of promise (and she so lovely, too!); so much idealism that grew bitter – or may yet. From a human point of view it was all so very poignant. [Adrian] Leftwich’s role so detestable – and yet, God knows, he also elicits a certain sympathy. Thank God there’s hope of renewal with the minister. But everything remains deeply upsetting. My 90 Dae took quite a few lessons from it all. Darling, it has to be something that’s unalloyed, above petty bitterness, luminous and tender in its horrible opening up of human anguish and love and guilt. And the need to be liberated. Everything.
We need so many days and nights of conversation. My heart hungers for poetry. (And my body for pussy rather than poesy!) I’ll be well-behaved, with a smile on my face, and I’ll thoroughly purify myself for our Ten Days.
With love, and tenderness and passion, and a kiss and a touch, full of feeling, for everything that’s precious on and in you,
Your André.
204 Bonne Esperance
Beach Road
Three Anchor Bay
Wednesday, 18 November 1964
My darling,
Thank you for your long-awaited letter of Friday which I answered immediately but, tortured by the inadequacy of words, scrapped again – and thank you for that mysterious telegram on Monday – you little hell! How did you manage it, what date: I must have all details immediately. Top secret here. You were especially with me on Friday, extremely clear in the early twilight with your little laugh. Tell me precisely what happened on Friday: it feels as though I was telepathically connected to you! My treasure, did you hear me on the radio on Friday: I forgot to tell you about it. And praised you highly. And where is my copy of Elders and the beginning of 90 Dae? God, the News Check could at least have put our photos together. Mean of them! It’s quite a good article. Did you see me in the [Cape] Times? I was on the front page two days running – and I’m sending you a photo taken quite by chance from the Supreme Court during the “Red Drive”. Because it seems as if you are missing me a lot again. I was in court almost every day during the sabotage case.
No, I don’t think your papie (little lamb) will pine away! Nothing upon which I have bestowed my blessing could possibly pine away! Hell!
Don’t know how Nico is. I told you I’ve not been socialising. But, are you listening? After quite a long break, Chris came around again on Monday. He says it’s a nice picture of you with the hand. He and I are going away to Lanzerac for a weekend. SINGLE ROOMS. You surely don’t mind, do you? I’m just a little WELL-BEHAVED.
Jack’s been away for more than two weeks but no word – as arranged.
I madly want to come to Grahamstown to the sacred wood, André Brink. But first, Cape Town in December. I’ll have to subject myself to the sun day after day to get lots of freckles. But my darling, we must be good to one another. We will, surely? No, my little sheep, I like “These are private words addressed to you in public”. Who says they’re ugly? That idiot! Send me Die Trommel. I miss you too, after all!
I’m now working on the fourth floor with the translators. Did you hear the municipality wants to get rid of us? One guy who’s been working here for 38 years is terribly indignant. After that he’s told he’s superfluous! It’s the most futile work that one’s got to approach with an exceptional sense of humour. They’ve just brought in a hell of a pile of work for me. I get so FURIOUS when they give me work! Where is my Sestiger? What does the new ORGIE look like? Will go round to Freda myself this afternoon. Maybe she knows more than I do. Jan and Marjorie will be passing by East London and then camping. They’ll call you from there to come around, so that you can also meet Athol Fugard. It’ll be nice for you. Athol is very kind and full of life.
My man, the sun is shining again. God is a god of surprises. I can’t WAIT for you to come. I will stand before you undivided and “whiter than snow”. (“I have failed in everything. But not in this.”)
I also attended the [Wilbur] Smith trial concerning the When the Lion Feeds case. Have you read it? Pity there had to be a hearing about a mediocre book that proves nothing. (My boss has warned me that I’ll be sitting in court full time one of these days.)
And oh yes how was John [Malherbe]’s visit? And how are Rob and the rest of them? Does that Frieda friend of yours know about your plans? Sorry the letter is so mixed up but I haven’t written for so long and everything’s bubbling out. And now I must say goodbye:
I greet you
Redhead, who thinks everything up and your
Green eyes that encounter me with the texture of His fields,
And your laughing mouth and
The tooth,
And the dimple in your chin
And the new fat
Under the shower at the Hotel Centraal
And the Paris you
And the long hands that hold so well
And the little laugh
And the little lamb.
Your Cocoon.
And the 20 – 30 – 50 moesies! Jesus!
He is a handsome man
How do you like your green-eyed boy
For life?
204 Bonne Esperance
Beach Road
Three Anchor Bay
Friday, 20 November 1964
My dearest André,
Friday, fourth. I’ve booked for us from Saturday 5th to Monday 7th at the Van Riebeeck Hotel in Gordon’s Bay. After that, my heart, we could perhaps spend a few days in my flat and then, where? Maybe a homely “inn” somewhere. Do you have any ideas? We must book now, otherwise they’ll be full. Remember, it’s December. I don’t yet know whether I’ll be able to get time off at work but I hope so, otherwise I’ll TAKE off. I don’t want to ask them yet: seeing as I spent every day last week in court instead of at my post. I’ll probably send Simone to Johannesburg on the 1st because it’s her birthday. I’m nice and tipsy now after a dinner at the Club with Mrs Bouws – whom I told about us. Do you think it’s wise to see Bartho and Stephen together (us two together)? I won’t, at any rate, oppose you – was just wondering! Because until I received your lovely letter I treated the matter as a hot top secret. To date, only Juliana Bouws knows – I had to tell someone! Did you tell Frieda? My liefsteling, why don’t you tell me how on earth you managed it: I want to know everything: and if necessary also bear the burden.
Are you bringing the Trommel and Tas with you and also Elders?
Before I forget: APPOINTMENT FOUR O’CLOCK 4 DECEMBER AT MY FLAT. I’ll take the afternoon off. Darling boy, this is the way:
Is it clear? Don’t be late, but drive safely! And let me know when exactly you plan to leave.
Little treasure, we mustn’t be afraid. Despite everything we’ve probably, at the very least, learnt a lot during these tortured months. And all love, all trust has been affirmed.
Yes, we do have a summer again. Our deep summer.
But God, André, what are we going to do about the GODDAMN weather? I so badly want to get tanned for you and now it’s raining again in November. I don’t know why you want my exact new address, but here it is: Cape Divisional Council: Translation Department 4th Floor, 6 Dorp Street, Cape Town. Phone 41 3266. I’ll make sure my home phone is installed by the 4th. They’ve given me a number already; but I’ll have to go and beat them up again on Monday.
Yes, of course I still “have” my tape recorder, only Chris borrowed it, and – I like guitar music. At the moment, though, I like the rhythm of your body a whole lot more: or the song of your body? Be careful, because I’m going to eat you up! And now I still have thirteen nights to feel desire and to love – and forever –
And now,
Your Cocoon.
Friday, 27 November 1964
My little André,
All the little Andrés I don’t know although I suspect there’s one wandering around in the bush in a brown shirt and horns and I know there’s one swimming in the Steenbras River he is distinct as a stone, a laughing one in a strange room (though he’s only in the mirror) and a rather possessive one right here inside me.
Until: just ONE WEEK CLEAR
THANK YOU FOR DIE YSTERKOEI MOET SWEET [The Iron Cow Must Sweat] THANK YOU FOR YOU.
Keep well my little André.
My home telephone number is: 44-9277
Drive safely, don’t let anything go wrong, we have a reservation at Cape Hangklip Hotel 8–11 Dec. My week’s leave has been granted. I’m waiting, darling, and I can’t wait!
COCOON.
Tuesday, 15 December 1964, 2.00 pm
Mine, my darling,
I was born to know you – where are you driving now? Not too hot, I hope? I am so happy – even though “die oë nog nat van die trane van gister” and this morning – but I did at least write something for you while I was sitting on the balcony at four this morning and you were lying on your side. I can’t write you a letter now because it’s office time. I love you.
The poem “Plant vir My ’n Boom André” [“Plant Me a Tree André”] is for you and Sestiger.
Yours ever more,
Cocoon.
PS: The little “rabbit” is you!
204 Bonne Esperance
Beach Road
Three Anchor Bay
Wednesday, 16 December 1964
My dearest André Brink,
Just a question of saying good night; I’ll “answer” your letter tomorrow – and thank you for it. I was so happy to be able to speak to you on Wednesday and to hear once again the pure clear ABUNDANCE in my stomach. There is a lull in the wind here; this morning Simone came back on the BOEING; glowing and beautiful; and says THANK YOU VERY MUCH for the doll. I will, of course, take down a letter from her tomorrow; magtig, darling, I wish you could have heard the conversation tonight, she had sand in her pawpaw – we’d been for a swim; and I had to remove it all and put on some ointment:
“Mamma, why does one have a little pawpaw inside your big pawpaw?”
“One is just made like that, angel.”
“But Mamma, it is not necessary.”
“How are you going to wee-wee?”
“Through your bottom?”
“Well, your pawpaw is not only made for wee-wee.”
“What then?”
“It is part of the different parts in one’s body made to have babies.”
“Like your tits Ma?”
“Yes darling. I’ll make a drawing for you to show you how everything happens, and that everything you are given is necessary.”
Etc. Etc. And now fast asleep and Tanya [too].
I walked out of the Divisional Council; why be insulted by a government institution, even if the coward did withdraw his complaint? It was all very calm, a little bit sinister and dramatic.
But liefsteling; who is coming to me, everything is once again good and open, bolstered by your love and the strange grace I receive, I’m going to sleep well now with my door open to the benign summer night air. Stay beautiful, for me, and for your own heaven-graced being.
Good night, sweet prince.
Love and love,
Your Cocoon.
PS: I’m going to read the first page proofs of Orgie on Monday. IJ.
Sunday, 20 December 1964, 1.05 am
Lovely mine,
Do you remember – “when I saw your dear face in the newspaper, the years fell away like cut corn” (?). The report in the Sunday Slimes was unintelligible: who has Sestiger and who “produces” it and what was Bartho talking about? Your behaviour was of course entirely correct, but Jan and Marjorie and Uys’s cousin and I couldn’t fathom it. Tell me about it. To hell with it.
Are you asleep? Yes, this is still no “answer” to your letter – your letter is in any case very dear and does not request an answer; I’ve had people the whole goddamn day until now and beach, and burnt.
And now I once again just want to say hello and goodbye, remember always, I love you; my liberated treasure.
Cocoon.
204 Bonne Esperance
Beach Road
Three Anchor Bay
Monday, 21 December 1964
My darling,
Thank you for your two telegrams and also that you drove so safely – and have you found your cuff links (?) I put them into your suitcase myself, right, front part. I knew you’d forget them and then feel stupid about it! You’ve been gone almost a week, but close; close; close; after our fullest ten days, and was it 36 times? I love you so much, but [Jorge Carrera] Andrade says it better, so I typed it for you (the poem) [“Second Life of My Mother”]. Do you know it?
And I got our loveliest little puppy Tanya. On the beach yesterday sh
e and I had a lot of admirers, and heavens, did I burn again!
Darling, you must send the Spanish book quickly because I want to work for you. I want to show you how very much I love you (even though you’re so slappy!). Ever since you left the days have been a continual stream of people to Esperance and invitations. Tonight I’m going to Bartho and Kita because they’re leaving tomorrow specially to get Uys’s book out. I visited Uys and Bonnie this weekend, but magtig they can fight. The beach was terribly crowded – Uys says they lie there “djew upon djew” [“djood op djood”].
I haven’t even thanked Jack for his [?], but I’ll at least be courteous and send a Christmas telegram. And when do I get a letter from you? Or is it difficult for the boys to talk?
I’m also including my press-ready poem – changes – and the title, if you like, “Plant vir My ’n Boom André”.
I forgot to ask, why don’t you go to Potchefstroom then? For Christmas. You must think of me a lot on Friday, because I’ll be alone, all right? And when do I get my Sestiger? Everyone keeps asking about “Mamma”, but I haven’t seen it in print yet. And then you must send your plays too. And 90 Days – section by section. (Jan and Marjorie’s party was lovely, liefsteling, you really should have been there! It was the best party of the year – just terrible without you!)
Have you developed the photos yet and are they good? I WANT to see the ones of you. Soon. And now the feathers are starting to grow again and the days absent blue stay beautiful and just till January. All right?
Stay well. Be good. Be you.
Your Cocoon.
{The cheque is for Anton’s little gift.}
Wednesday, 23 December 1964
MERRY CHRISTMAS MY DARLING SUNCHILD AND FIRST HONEY OF THE EARTH = COCOON
Saturday night, 26 December 1964
My darling André,
Thank you for your letter and the cheque for Simone’s doll – it wasn’t necessary, darling, you’re already broke! But I’ll write to her and tell her that the doll is also from you. Bartho and Kita eventually took her with them to Johannesburg.
Flame in the Snow Page 42