by Irma Joubert
“I remember everything, Francois,” she said glumly. “I’ve told you a hundred times, I remember everything very clearly. Keeping silent is still important for my survival. There are things I can’t speak about at all. And that’s more than I’ve ever told anyone, I’ll have you know. You’ll have to trust me as well. I know.”
She could see he was considering her words. “Fine, I don’t understand, but I’ll accept it,” he said at last. “As long as you know that sooner or later you’ll have to speak to someone, and the sooner, the better. It doesn’t have to be me. Sometimes it’s better to speak to a total stranger. Maybe a minister or someone?”
A minister, she had thought, was the very last person she could speak to. Or maybe the second last—her parents could never know.
“Grietjie?”
“Please stop nagging me!” she had burst out. “I’m tired and I still have to pack. Grandpa John is fetching me at seven tomorrow morning. Can we please go back to res now?”
Today she was sorry she had argued with Francois. He meant well. It was just . . .
She sighed and picked up a book. Maybe thinking wasn’t such a good idea after all.
But the thoughts kept returning.
Maybe she should talk, tell the whole story again. She could tell Jakób. He knew everything anyway. She just couldn’t see how it would change anything.
But the dreams were driving her crazy. Sometimes she was afraid to go to sleep. They seemed to be getting worse.
She and Grandpa John arrived at the farm just after one, much more quickly than the milk train, which took the entire day.
Everyone was delighted to see her. The dogs wagged their tails exuberantly. Her mom cried happy tears at the sight of both her and Grandpa John. He was exhausted, so her mom took him off to rest. Her dad held her tightly. “The terms seem to be getting longer,” he said. “I wish you’d come back for good next year.”
“I can’t, Daddy.” She laughed. “I’ll have a job next year! There’s no work for me around here! But that’s the only reason.”
“Perhaps you could teach English? Or one of those foreign languages you know?”
She laughed. “I wouldn’t be a good teacher! You know how strict I am.”
Maria was in the kitchen. Her husband, Philemon, had died unexpectedly at the end of January. “She’s heartbroken,” said Grietjie’s mother, “but she’s been looking forward to your arrival.”
Grietjie went to the kitchen. “Maria?” she said hesitantly.
Maria turned from the big coal stove and her face lit up. “Missy!” she said and held out her hands.
Grietjie pressed Maria’s hands to her face. They were big and strong, and rough from hard work. “I’m so sorry about Philemon,” Grietjie said sincerely. “I pray for you every night.”
Maria nodded. She smiled bravely and said, “But you’re home now.”
“Yes,” said Grietjie, “I’m home. And I can’t wait for supper.”
At four Kobus came in from outside. He looked as if he had been dragged backward through a mud hole.
“Goodness, Grietjie,” he said, “you’re getting prettier by the day. Do you have a boyfriend yet?”
She laughed. “And you’re getting dirtier by the day. Don’t you have a girlfriend to keep you clean yet?”
He advanced on her menacingly with his filthy hands. “Come, let me greet you properly,” he threatened.
She jumped up and fled, screaming, “Kobus! No, I love this dress! Go away! Mommy! Tell Kobus—”
Their mother laughed. “Silly kids! Quiet, you’ll wake Grandpa.”
“Grandpa is awake,” said a voice from the dining room door. “Is there any coffee in this house?”
One day I want to bring Jakób here so that he can see how wonderful my family is, Grietjie thought. But she knew it could never happen.
That evening when they were all sitting on the veranda Kobus said, “I do have a girlfriend, I’ll have you know. You’ll meet her on Sunday. She’s coming for lunch after church.”
“Where did she spring from?” Grietjie asked, surprised.
“Standerton.”
“No, I mean, where did you find her in this backwater?”
“Oh. She’s a teacher at the junior school in town. Her name is Salomé. She studied in Heidelberg, at the teachers’ training college. She’s . . . amazing.”
Grietjie stared at her brother, astonished. “Kobus,” she said, “you’re in love!”
He nodded. “Head over heels,” he said.
Well, she decided before she fell asleep in her own bed, the year is only getting stranger.
Thursday was a scorching day, a swim-in-the-frog-dam day. But first Kobus wanted to show her what he’d been doing.
“I’ve signed a contract with a bacon factory at Estcourt in Natal,” he explained. “It’s a leap into the unknown.”
“I’ve never heard of a bacon factory before!” She laughed.
“Yes, they make bacon and smoke hams and that kind of thing, you know.”
I know pigsties, she thought, I know pigs eat vegetable leaves. I know how a sow gives birth and how a pig is slaughtered and how a ham is smoked. I just can’t mention it.
They walked past the old homestead and down the new road Kobus had graded. He told her about his plans to renovate the old house, adding modern amenities without spoiling the character of the place. But it would be costly, and he’d have to wait awhile.
“Do you have wedding plans yet, Kobus?” Grietjie teased.
“Well, ye-es. I definitely do, but I haven’t mentioned them to Salomé yet.”
She was about to make fun of him again, but something in his eyes made her change her mind. “I’m really happy for you,” she said. “Salomé must be a very special girl.”
“She is, Grietjie, she is. She’s a lot like you, only completely different. If you know what I mean.”
She had no idea what he meant, but it didn’t matter—she understood. She walked in the blazing bushveld sun with her older brother to look at his new pigsties. She couldn’t think of anything she’d rather do than admire his work.
The pigsties Kobus was building were poles apart from the lopsided wire pens she had known in Częstochowa. These began with a kind of kitchen where the pigs’ food was prepared. There were smaller enclosures for the pregnant sows, weaner pens for the piglets, and fattening pens for the pigs due for slaughter. Kobus talked and pointed, explained how the hosing system would work, which health measures he had to put in place, and where he would build the loading ramp for the animals bound for the station.
“Will the pigs go to Estcourt by train?”
“Yes, it’s by far the cheapest way of getting them there.”
In an open car on a train bound for the slaughterhouse, she thought as they walked back—in an open car on a train bound for the gas chambers.
At home she put on her swimsuit and applied Nivea Creme to her face. “Are you coming for a swim?” she called down the hall to her mother.
“Daddy and I will come as soon as he’s back from the fields,” she answered. “Did you remember the Nivea?”
“Yes, Mommy.”
“And don’t go swimming on your own!”
“No, Mommy, Kobus is coming with me!” she called over her shoulder as she ran out through the back door.
A few yards from the back door she noticed Maria wrapped in a warm blanket. On this sizzling day? She hoped Maria wasn’t sick. She was about to ask what was wrong when she heard Kobus softly calling her name.
&
nbsp; Leave her alone, her brother gestured.
“Is she sick?” she asked as they headed for the dam.
“No,” he answered, “just sitting.”
After a while they were joined by their mom and dad. When they were tired of the water, her dad and Kobus hauled their big wet bodies onto the dam wall and sat there talking, while she and her mom floated on their backs, gazing up at the deep blue sky. Grandpa John was waiting at home, and in a while they’d all have coffee together. This must be what King David had felt like, Grietjie thought, when his cup was overflowing.
At six she wandered into the kitchen. “I’ll lay the table, Maria,” she offered.
“It’s milk noodles tonight,” said Maria. “Remember the cinnamon sugar.”
When she had finished, Grietjie dawdled in the kitchen. “You must teach me how to make homemade noodles, will you, Maria?” She thought they reminded her of Oma’s spaetzle, but she couldn’t really remember.
“Yes, I will,” Maria replied and moved the heavy cast-iron pot to a cooler part of the stove. “Your great-grandmother, Miss Hannetjie, taught me. She’s been under the tall trees for many years, since before you came. But she knew how to cook.”
“Maria,” Grietjie ventured, “I saw you sitting in the boiling heat today wrapped in a blanket.”
“Yes,” Maria answered, “it’s my mourning blanket.”
“Mourning blanket?”
“Yes, Missy. In our culture you mourn, but not all day long. That’s why my people use the mourning blanket. Once or twice or three times a day you get into your mourning blanket, along with the person who has died, and you grieve with your heart and your body and your mind. Then you put away the mourning blanket, stop mourning, and go back to work.”
“It sounds like a wonderful strategy,” Grietjie said, amazed. “I have a friend who’s studying psychology. It’s about helping people deal with their troubles. I’m going to tell him about your mourning blanket. It’s so clever.”
“It’s the way of our forefathers, Missy.”
On Friday afternoon, when Grandpa John was taking a nap after lunch, her mother said, “Grietjie, is anything bothering you? You’re quieter than usual.”
She wished she could tell her mom about Jakób, about how happy she was, how confused and scared. Her life had been perfect, except for that one small piece hidden away in the drawer. Now that piece had come out, and nothing seemed right anymore. No, that wasn’t true, it was just that she was afraid everything would go wrong.
Still, she was no coward!
Her mother gave her a quizzical look.
“I have a friend, Mommy, Francois. He wants to get serious.”
I have a friend, Mommy, Jakób. He has dragged my past along with him all the way to South Africa.
Her mother reached for her hand. “How do you feel about it?”
“I don’t want to. I really like him, but I’m just not ready for a serious relationship.”
I want to bring him to the farm, Mommy, just as he took me to his farm when I was lost. But I can’t.
“Why not, Grietjie?”
“I don’t exactly know. Maybe I’m afraid.”
Afraid to disappoint you, afraid you’ll learn about the Catholic Threat in my background, because it was in the Catholic Church that I first gave my heart to the Lord. Afraid you’ll find out about my Jewish blood. Afraid Daddy will find out about my lies all these years—Daddy, who says honesty is the most important quality anyone can have. Afraid to take you into my confidence because you have always believed that you and I have no secrets from each other.
“How long have you known him?”
“Francois? He’s Karin’s brother, Mommy. He’s the guy who used me as a primary source for his research paper. I’ve known him since my first year.”
I’ve known him thirteen years. Since the day he fetched me at Rigena’s and took me home with him.
Her mother nodded slowly. “You don’t have to do anything you don’t want to, Grietjie,” she said. “You’ll know when the time is right. And you’ll know if it won’t work.”
“Yes, you’re right, I probably will.” She looked at her mother’s calm face, at her gentle mouth, at her dark eyes radiating peace and serenity. “I wish I was your age,” she said. “I feel as if I’m on a runaway train, as if the stations are flashing past and I must get off somewhere, must reach a destination, but I don’t know where it is. It feels as if . . .” She stopped and looked up, confused.
“Grietjie?” her mother said worriedly. “Sweetheart, talk to Mommy.”
Grietjie felt the tears coming. What was wrong with her? She was not a crybaby. She swallowed hard and tried to go on. “Mommy, I don’t know what’s wrong with me. I argued with Francois before I left, for no reason at all. And I . . .” She shrugged.
Her mother held her hands tightly. “When you told him about your experiences during the war for his research, did you mention . . . I mean, did you tell him about your nightmares, Grietjie?”
“Yes, Mommy. We spoke about it. I told him—he . . . we couldn’t understand . . . Well, actually we couldn’t find a solution.”
“Did you tell him everything?”
“Not everything, just what he wanted to use. But, Mommy, I remember everything, clear as daylight. I have no problem with that. I’m just being silly.”
I’m so sick and tired of hiding things. As I have to hide Jakób now.
“I wonder if you’re working too hard,” her mother said apprehensively. “Four majors! It’s unheard of!”
“They’re easy subjects, Mommy,” Grietjie protested.
“They require an incredible amount of reading,” said her mother. “Are you sleeping enough?”
I’m afraid to go to sleep, Grietjie thought. “I don’t sleep any less than all the other students, Mommy. After the vacation things will go back to normal. It’s wonderful to be home.” After a moment she said, “You know, it feels as if the farm and the house have wrapped themselves around us, like Maria’s mourning blanket. But in our case it’s not a mourning blanket, but a comfort blanky, because we love each other so much.”
“As long as you remember how much we love you, my darling,” said her mother. “And as long as you remember you can talk to us about anything.”
“I know,” said Grietjie.
Anything.
But not everything.
Back in Pretoria she realized just how hot the bushveld had been. As she and Karin were walking to class in the early morning, she said, “I can’t believe I was swimming just the day before yesterday! It’s almost winter here.”
“No,” said Karin, who had grown up in Pretoria, “winter is still some way off. This is just a false alarm. In a few days we’ll be back in our summer clothes.”
Francois showed up during visiting hours that evening. He looked snug and warm in his dark-blue, cable-knit sweater. They went out for coffee and chatted effortlessly.
Two weeks passed before she heard from Jakób again. A first-year called her to the phone.
“I thought you’d vanished from the face of the earth,” she said. “Have you moved into your apartment?”
“Ye-es, partly. But I don’t have much furniture to speak of.”
“It still sounds lekker,” she said, using the Afrikaans word for “nice.” No other language had such a word.
“Lekker?” he asked.
“Yes, it’s Afrikaans. It’s the best word you can think of. You’ll have to learn to speak Afrikaans, Jakób. You can’t live here and not speak Afrikaans.”
“I’ve noticed, yes. But your Grandpa John doesn’t speak Afrikaans, does he?”
“Not much, but he understands it. And besides, Grandpa John is Grandpa John, that’s all. But I’ll teach you to speak Afrikaans if—”
“Your three minutes are up,” said the operator.
“You have to put in another tickey,” Grietjie said quickly in Polish. She heard the coin drop. “Wow,” she said, “she almost cut us off! When will I see you again? Hurry, three minutes is a very short time. And I—”
“That’s why I phoned.” She could hear the laughter in his voice. “But I can’t get a word in edgeways. Would you like to go to mass with me on Sunday?”
“Oh, yes, Jakób, I’d really love to. And will you show me your apartment afterward? Maybe we could buy French fries for lunch. It’s not expensive, and I know a place where they make wonderful French fries. And I can start teaching you Afrikaans, if you want me to. It’s not too hard because you know German. But you haven’t said when you’ll pick me up.”
He laughed. “I’ve been waiting for you to take a breath,” he teased. “About nine?”
On Saturday she told Francois she wouldn’t be spending Sunday with him. “Are you going to visit your grandpa?” he asked.
“No,” she said vaguely, “I have other plans.”
He gave her a strange look but left it there.
With Karin it was harder. “But where are you going?” asked Karin.
“I’m going to church with someone I knew at junior school,” Grietjie answered. “I have to wash my hair now, or it will never get dry. Do you have a lemon I can use?”
Luckily Karin didn’t ask any further questions.
On Sunday morning she waited outside so that there was no need for him to come into the foyer. She didn’t feel like fielding anyone’s questions.
They took the bus to the city center. “Second-hand cars are reasonably priced over here,” said Jakób. “I’m considering buying a Volkswagen, but of course I don’t have a driver’s license. And it’ll be weird driving on the left side of the road.”