CHAPTER FORTY-EIGHT

Ricus agreed to Henk’s idea, and the next afternoon Henk, Kosie, a pot full of warm pumpkin fritters, and I were driving in Henk’s Hilux, along Route 62. We passed the turn-off to the Moordenaar’s Karoo and came to the rusted tractor chassis that had the number plate saying Ricus 10810.

Henk said, ‘One ou ate one ou.’ One guy ate one guy. ‘Is that supposed to be funny?’

I did not say anything, but Kosie bleated as we turned the corner. He was standing in the back of Henk’s bakkie, with his head sticking through the window that separated the front seats from the canopy. He had made a lot of noise on this trip. Henk said it was because he was used to sitting in the front, but I think Kosie had smelt the pumpkin fritters.

When we got to the cattle grid, Henk looked up at the whale-bone arch with its skulls and horns, and shook his head.

‘He likes nature,’ I said.

As we drove under the archway, a black Volkswagen Golf was heading out. We had to slow down to pass each other, and the driver looked right at me. His window was closed and mine was open, but the look he gave me made me want to wind up my window. How could someone I didn’t know give me such an angry look? I opened the pot of fritters and took a sniff of that sweet cinnamon smell. Maybe I did know him. Where had I seen him before?

We were there early. Ricus was helping Johannes put a wheel onto the red Mini panel van, and Ousies and Tata Radebe were sitting inside the circle of vans. Ricus came over to our bakkie as we were getting out.

‘Tannie Maria.’ He was smiling, and his voice was warm and rich. ‘And you must be Detective Lieutenant Henk Kannemeyer.’ He spoke to Henk in Afrikaans. ‘Glad to meet you.’

Henk grunted and shook the hairy hand that Ricus held out.

‘And who is this little guy?’ Ricus said, looking into the Toyota bakkie.

‘That’s Kosie,’ I said.

Kosie climbed through the window onto the front seat, hopped down onto the stony ground and sniffed at a grey bush.

‘Blaaah,’ said Kosie.

‘Blaaah,’ replied Ricus.

Kosie stayed close to Henk’s leg.

Ricus pointed across the veld, to where Mielie was circling some sheep.

‘If Mielie sees him, she might decide that he must join the flock. If that happens, just keep an eye on the Colonel. The ram with the big horns. He sometimes gives the new guys a hard time.’

‘Kosie will stay with me,’ said Henk.

‘Johannes, this is Detective Kannemeyer,’ said Ricus.

Johannes, who was squatting on the ground beside the red Mini, stood up and nodded politely.

‘Make him a cup of coffee, please,’ said Ricus.

Johannes put the spanner in the back pocket of his blue overall and turned towards the house.

‘I’m all right,’ said Henk.

Johannes paused and looked at Ricus.

‘Maybe later,’ said Ricus.

Johannes got back to work on the Mini van.

‘What I do want,’ said Henk, ‘is the names of the people who caused trouble here the other night.’

‘They were all wearing masks.’

‘You know who they are.’

‘They won’t come back.’

Henk frowned and shook his head. I gave him three fritters wrapped in wax paper.

‘You can give one to Kosie,’ I said. ‘Sorry, I forgot to bring you a napkin.’

‘Ousies will bring you one,’ said Ricus.

‘No, it’s all right,’ said Henk.

Ricus herded me towards the panel-van laager. We went along the stony path, between piles of panel-van parts, into the swept circle of sand and chairs. I greeted Ousies and Tata, and put my pot of fritters next to the fire, beside a black cast-iron pot.

Henk wandered around the outside of the panel vans with Kosie. He was too far away to hear us talking, but I couldn’t relax with him walking about. But then, when Dirk, Lemoni and Fatima arrived, I forgot about him. We started our session with that spicy shaah tea and the smell of frankincense.

‘Feel your clothes on your skin and your body on the chair,’ said Ricus in his ground-coffee voice. ‘Be aware of yourself and your surroundings.’

It was a lovely, autumn afternoon, not too hot, not too cold. There were a few streaks of clouds in the sky and a pair of rock kestrels swooping above the nearest koppie. The thorns were big and white on the trees, and I thought again that they were like sharp horns, but maybe more like the horns of an insect than an animal.

Fatima wore a purple dress and a brown headscarf and looked down at the ground. Tata Radebe wore a dark suit and a white T-shirt, and watched the fire where Ousies was squatting. Lemoni was in a turquoise low-cut top and tight black jeans and heels. Her eyes were painted with turquoise eye shadow. She was holding onto that bag of hers and wore her little leather bracelet and a necklace with a big evil-eye that lay between her breasts. Dirk was in his khakis, and he’d also noticed this big blue bead.

A praying mantis landed on Lemoni’s bag, and she squealed. She shook her bag until the insect flew away. Dirk stood up and then sat down again as Lemoni settled.

‘Camagu,’ said Tata Radebe to the mantis.

‘Blessings,’ said Ricus.

The mantis landed on Tata Radebe’s neatly ironed trousers, and he bowed his head in a show of respect.

‘Be aware of your breathing,’ said Ricus, ‘and of your senses.’

The smell of the veld was sweet. I could hear the sheep bleating and see them wandering around the base of a sunny koppie, nibbling on the bushes. I wondered what we’d be having for supper.

‘Today, we will continue with the theme of forgiveness,’ said Ricus. ‘Forgiving ourselves.’

Dirk snorted, and Fatima fiddled with the cloth around her head.

Lemoni’s knuckles were tight around the handle of her bag. Then she loosened her grip, and I saw her fingers were shaking.

‘They came into my home,’ she said. ‘They took everything. Everything. All my precious jewels.’ She looked like a lost little girl, with those wide hazel eyes and long lashes. I remembered those robbers who’d ruined a good meal, and I nodded.

‘It was so . . . humiliating,’ she said, looking down at her trembling hands, then lifting her head up to face Ricus. ‘You can’t know what it feels like.’

‘A real violation,’ he said.

‘Yes, a violation. I was violated! Nothing has been the same since then. Nothing.’

Tata made sympathetic clicking noises with his tongue.

‘But why must I be forgiven?’ she said. ‘It was them who did the crime.’

‘Ewe, Sisi,’ said Tata Radebe. Yes, Sister.

‘Yes, you are right,’ said Ricus.

‘My husband had a gun. He could have used it, but he just sat there.’ She punched her right fist into her left palm. ‘He just sat there!’

‘You feel angry with him for not protecting you?’ said Ricus.

‘He says he didn’t want us to get hurt. Says it could have been much worse. That the jewels were not worth risking our lives for. He was a coward, and now those jewels have gone. For ever.’

She looked at me now, and the pupils in her eyes were big and black.

‘I shot one of them,’ she said. ‘The kathiki deserved it. I took the gun from my husband’s belt. They were running away, with my jewels, and I leant out the window and shot. One of them fell, and the others picked him up and they got away.’

She buried her face in her hands, crying now. Ousies brought her a napkin, and Lemoni sobbed into it, saying, ‘Xriste mou. My Jesus.’ Or maybe she said, ‘My Jewels.’

She looked up, at Dirk. Her eyes were red, her eyeliner a little smudged.

‘Forgiveness . . . why must I ask forgiveness from thieves?’ She looked around at us, her lower lip trembling. ‘It’s not my fault. It’s not!’

‘Sh-sh-sh,’ said Ricus. ‘We are not blaming you for anything.’

‘You are. I can see it in your eyes. You think I’m a . . . spoilt brat.’

Dirk shook his head in denial. Tata shook his head in another sad kind of way.

‘I hold no judgment of you,’ said Ricus. ‘It is for you to make peace with yourself.’

She blew her nose and said, ‘Sorry, I don’t mean to get so . . . emotional. It’s just the . . . violation. It makes me so . . . upset. It’s so . . . unfair.’ She took out her handkerchief from her handbag and used it to wipe under her eyes. Ousies gave her a fresh napkin, and Lemoni blew her nose again. Fatima brought her some more tea.

‘Thanks, koukla,’ she said. ‘Thanks, doll. You are all very kind. I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to . . . make a fuss.’

Tata Radebe ran the flat of his hand over his chest, and the praying mantis that was sitting on his knee flew into the air. Tata followed it with his gaze, high up into the sky.