CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

His voice was heavy and warm, like coffee with thick grounds at the bottom of the cup. Moerkoffie.

‘Goeiemôre. Ricus.’ Good morning. His Afrikaans accent gave a soft hiss to the ‘s’ in Ricus.

‘Um . . .’ I said.

‘Hello?’

I nearly put down the phone, but instead I said, ‘It needs fixing. My car. Is this the mechanic?’

‘It’s him, ja.’

‘I got your number from my friend, Annemarie, in Oudtshoorn.’

‘Annemarie,’ he said. I could hear he was smiling. ‘How is she?’

‘Fine. Happy.’

‘Good. Good. Please give her my best.’

‘She told me about your group.’

‘Ja.’

‘My doctor thinks . . . I think . . . I have PTSD,’ I said.

‘You’re welcome to join us,’ he said. ‘We meet twice a week, usually Saturdays and Tuesdays. Come today. We’re meeting this afternoon.’

‘Today?’

‘Ja, four o’clock on my farm. Then something to eat afterwards.’

‘Oh.’ Today felt so soon. ‘What do you farm?’

‘Some sheep,’ he said, then he laughed. ‘And also panel vans.’ His laugh was rich and from his belly. ‘You can bring your car too, if you like, but I’ll only work on it on Monday.’

‘No, my car is okay, really. It’s me that needs fixing.’

‘Fine. Fine. I’ll see you later.’

‘Maria. I am Maria,’ I said, my name feeling strange in my mouth.

‘Maria,’ he said in that warm coffee voice of his, then he explained to me how to get to his farm.

I put down the phone and let out a big breath. Jinne, was I really going to counselling? With a satanic mechanic with a moerkoffie voice who farmed panel vans?

I took a Rennie tablet, put on some lipstick and headed in to the office.

Hattie’s car was there, but no sign of Jessie’s scooter. She was probably still at the festival. Hattie always came in on Saturdays. Jessie and I weren’t expected to work weekends, but we sometimes did.

‘Maria!’ said Hattie. ‘How nice to see you.’

She was not really seeing me, however, because her tall thin body was bent over some papers on her desk. She held a long sharpened pencil and looked like a heron hunting in a shallow pool. Now and then, she dived down to catch a mistake on the page.

I made myself coffee and took Hattie a cup of tea. She looked up at me.

‘Goodness. You haven’t slept again. Are your pills not helping?’

I didn’t answer. She shook her head and carried on working while I looked through the pile of letters on my desk. One of them had spidery handwriting that I recognised, but it was another letter that called more loudly for opening. On it was written: ‘MAMA MARIA’ in capital letters. It wasn’t square block capitals, but flowery, with a little curl on each of the ‘M’s.

I drank some coffee with a buttermilk rusk before I opened the envelope. It was nice to be eating beskuit again. Like seeing a good friend I hadn’t visited for a while.

The introduction to the letter was written in the same flowery capitals:

MAMA MARIA!

QUEEN OF THE LOVE ADVICE AND RECIPE COLUMN OF THE KLEIN KAROO GAZETTE

You have much help for the people who write to you and I am glad. I can give help for love and other problems. I have herbs and powers from God that can help with:

*Love remote control *Bring back lost lover in 1 hour *To lock lover not to fool around and to be at your feet and listen to you only *Evil spirits, tokoloshes and other naughty goblins *Sexual problems in all sizes you want *Big and strong manhood enlargement 20 or 30cm – results in 40 minutes *Powerful lotto and casino lucky ring *Short boys/rats to bring money into your account *Magic stick to finish unfinished job *All diseases and pregnancy *Pig lice *Magic wallet attracts money and jobs *Clear debt in 1 hour *Sendwana oil protection *Rainbow water for luck *Bad dreams and bewitching from the dead *All other problems and wishes

Come to Mama Bolo and you will be helped.

100% GUARANTEED. PAY ONLY WITH SATISFACTION

She gave a cell phone number.

My own problems were covered by ‘Sexual problems of all sizes’ and ‘Bad dreams and bewitching from the dead’. If I had not already phoned the satanic mechanic that morning, who knows? I might have called her.

I carried on reading the letter. She didn’t have a love problem of her own, but she did want recipe advice . . .

Mama Maria,

I am asking your help to cook pudding with milk. I did get a cow as payment from a very satisfied customer. I gave the cow rainbow water to drink and it makes too much milk. I can make nice sour cream and cream cheese, but I want some sweet things also. You Afrikaans mamas know how to make nice milk and cheese puddings. Tell me some.

Thank you and God bless you

MAMA BOLO

EXPERT AND QUEEN OF MUTI

I gave the Queen of Medicines Tannie Kuruman’s melktert recipe. I’ve tasted many milk tarts, and Tannie K’s is the most excellent. And I also gave Mama Bolo the recipe for the best cheesecake in the world – which my friend Candy from New York had sent me. Just thinking about it made my tongue want to melt in my mouth.

‘Jessie!’ said Hattie.

I looked up, but there was no sign of Jess; Hattie was talking to the page on her desk.

‘Are you trying to get us sued for libel?’ She turned to me. ‘Jessie is insinuating that Slimkat was poisoned by the diamond miners.’ She shook her head. ‘We don’t even know if he was poisoned.’

‘Well, actually the tests now show he was,’ I said.

‘Really?’ said Hattie.

I put my hand to my mouth, but it was too late, the words were out.

‘That is off the record, though,’ I said.

‘Well, off the record means off the record,’ Hattie said, diving down with her pencil.

‘When’s Jessie back from Oudtshoorn?’ I was a little nervous about going to the satanic mechanic’s farm and wondered if Jess could be my back-up.

‘Sunday. She’ll be in the office Monday morning.’ Hattie made short sharp marks all over the page in front of her. ‘Honestly, Jessie. Are you off your rocker?’

‘Hattie. I’m going to a meeting this afternoon. A therapy group. It’s a bit out of town . . .’

‘Goodness gracious,’ said Hattie. ‘That’s jolly good.’

‘I’m a bit worried . . . um, about my car.’

‘I’ll take you then, no problem.’

‘No,’ I said. I couldn’t handle any more of her driving. ‘No, thank you. I’d rather go alone. But I just want to give you the address of the place.’ I wrote it down and handed it to her. ‘I’ll call you when I get home. If you haven’t heard from me by, um, eight o’clock, send Henk, Detective Kannemeyer, out to come and get me.’

‘I do wish you’d get a cell phone,’ she said. ‘We are in the twenty-first century, you know. And why don’t you tell your hunk yourself?’

‘I don’t want him to worry.’ I looked at the office clock. Cheesecake takes a while to bake and then ages to cool to the right texture.

‘Hey,’ said Hattie, as she read the address I’d given her. ‘Isn’t this the farm bought by that new mechanic?’

‘Um, yes. He’s also a counsellor.’

‘I’ve heard,’ said Hattie, looking down again at her editing, ‘that he’s a psychic mechanic. He can diagnose what’s wrong with your car before you tell him. Will he fix you and your car for the price of one?’

I stood up and put some envelopes in my bag, saying, ‘I’m taking my letters home with me.’

Hattie made a final pencil stab onto Jessie’s page, then put it in her out tray and picked up her cup of tea. She looked surprised that it was cold.

‘I’ll hear from you later,’ she said as I left.

I hope so, I thought.