The Smell of Apples: A Novel Page 6

  I never tell Dad or Mum about Frikkie and Gloria saying 'kaffir', for fear I might not be allowed to go and play there any more.

  When other kids at school speak about the hidings they get at home, no one wants to believe that I've never had one. They expect that because Dad's a general and looks so strict, he should give me hidings. But Frikkie knows Dad doesn't hit me, because he's seen and heard how Dad speaks to us when we've been up to something. When Dad's angry, the little muscle in his cheek starts jumping and then he only has to say something once and I know I'd better listen.

  Frikkie is more afraid of Dad than of anyone else. Even more than he is of Brolloks, the woodwork teacher. Everyone says that Brolloks' father was the overseer who murdered the head mistress of Jan Van Riebeeck. Many years back, the school overseer murdered the head mistress and hanged her body from a beam in the art class. They say he got hold of her between the woodwork room and the art class, and then he strangled her with a skipping rope. Then he used the rope to hang her from the beam. The Coloured cleaners say that at night her ghost still appears along the passage that leads to the art class. Especially when the Southeaster blows, or when there's mist pushing down Table Mountain and a heavy fog

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  hanging over Table Bay. The Coloureds that have seen her say she just stands there in silence, listening to the foghorn across the bay, and waiting for the overseer.

  Everyone says that Brolloks has come back to do penance for his father's sins. But Frikkie says Brolloks looks more like a murderer himself than someone who's meant to be doing penance. Brolloks gives the boys terrible hidings, specially if there's any sawdust under the workbench at the end of the period. Woodwork period is also the only time Frikkie is ever quiet at school. Once, when I told Dad that, he said it was because there weren't any girls in the woodwork class for Frikkie to show off to.

  When we play at his house in Oranjezicht, it's as though Frikkie and I are naughtier than when we're here in St James. If we didn't live right by the sea, I think we would spend more time in Oranjezicht. Another reason we mostly spend weekends here is because Mum doesn't want me becoming a permanent fixture at the Delports. With Dad so often off on army business, I have to be home at the weekends to see him. So if Frikkie and I want to spend the weekend together, he has to come here - even though he's so scared of Dad.

  I meet Frikkie down at the St James station. He's brought his bicycle along, because we sometimes take our Choppers and go for rides to Simonstown, or we go swimming at the Boulders.

  After we've dropped off his bike and bag at home, we walk down Main Road to Kalk Bay. We want to see what catch the boats bring in. It's a good time for snoek and Mum asked us to look for a nice one. I was hoping we'd braai some snoek for the General tonight, but Mum said there's not enough time, and anyway, we're having a braai

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  tomorrow night. At first I began nagging Mum to let us have the braai tonight, because Frikkie and I wanted to make a fire, but Mum said it's impossible on Friday evenings when Dad's not here and I'd better make sure the snoek is in the kitchen before she and Use get back from the piano lesson.

  Mum usually buys fish from Jan Bandjies who catches off Simonstown. But the catches have been good lately, so Jan hasn't been all that regular. Whenever the catch is good, the fishermen don't have to struggle by selling the fish one by one, because they can sell it all in one go to a shop or a factory.

  Where you pass underneath the train-tracks on to the beach, close to the Kalk Bay subway, we hear someone calling: 4 Hi, Marnus! Hi, Frikkie!'

  It's Zelda Kemp who comes trotting towards us. The Kemps' house is just below the council flats where the fishermen live. Zelda is two years younger than us, and her father is the foreman at the Simonstown fish factory, and she goes to school at Paul Greyling in Fish Hoek. Mum feels sorry for her because the Kemps are so poor. Mum says it's a tragedy that such a cute little girl doesn't have much of a future. Her parents won't ever have the money to give her a decent education. So, a few times a year, Mum takes some of Use's old clothes and sends Doreen to deliver the parcel to the Kemps for Zelda.

  'It's a disgrace that such a lovely child has to live in that scummy area, right next to the Coloureds,' Mum said one Sunday as we drove past Zelda and her redheaded brothers waiting for the train to take them to church. The Kemps are also in our congregation.

  Like always when you see Zelda, her long red plaits are tied at the ends with blue bobbles and she's wearing her hat. She even wears the hat on weekdays, not like Mum

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  and Use who only wear hats to church. ZelaVs wearing one of Use's old dresses again today. It's much too big for her and it keeps slipping off one shoulder.

  'It's that Zelda!' says Frikkie. 'Let's run away from her!' And we jump down the stairs and run beneath the tracks, on to the beach. Zelda calls after us, but we ignore her and run across the beach, along the wall, and back around on to the quay. We stop to look back and see her coming across the beach on the other side of the yachts. She's running like mad to catch up, and Use's dress is flapping around her legs like a plastic bag, and her plaits are streaming out behind her in the wind. While she runs she pins the hat down on her head with one hand.

  We run along the quay towards the lighthouse on the point. The tide seems very high today, and some of the bigger waves are breaking right over it, and there aren't any fishermen with handlines either.

  'What does it help, we're stuck in a deadend here?' I pant at Frikkie, once we come to a standstill against the little lighthouse. My chest is burning from the run. The waves are bursting up against the quay, sending spray across the surface.

  'When she gets here,' says Frikkie, gasping for breath, 'we make as if we're going to throw her in. That'll frighten the living daylights out of her!' And we burst out laughing.

  Zelda's head appears at the bottom end of the quay. She's carrying the hat in her hand now. She's still running, but she comes to a sudden standstill and retreats a few paces when a big wave sends a sheet of spray across the quay. When the water subsides, she looks at the two of us up against the lighthouse, laughing at her. Then she walks quickly up the stairs, until she's a few paces away from us.

  She's out of breath and her cheeks have turned red against her white skin. Zelda's brothers all have big brown

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  freckles across their faces, but her skin is as white as paper.

  'Ja! You thought I wouldn't be able to catch you, neV she says.

  Frikkie copies her squeaky voice: 'You thought I wouldn't be able to catch you, ne" and he draws the corners of his mouth down like always when he's bullying someone. He carries on, in his own voice: 'Who says it's not us that caught youV

  For a moment she looks like someone who doesn't know what she's doing here. She puts on her hat again and stares at us, as if she's waiting for us to say something.

  'Leave us alone, Zelda,' I say. 'Go home and play with your doll.' But she just stands there, and I can feel that Frikkie is in the mood for making sport today.

  'Let's play chicken,' he says.

  Chicken is when you stand on the seaward side of the lighthouse and see who's the first to get out of the way when a wave breaks against the quay. It's a dangerous game, because if you don't move quick enough, one of the bigger waves can easily wash you into the harbour, or even drag you into the sea.

  'No, I'm not playing that,' Zelda says, and turns around to walk away from us. Frikkie darts after her and before she can try to stop him, he grabs the hat off her head and runs back to the lighthouse. She jumps around and shouts at him to give it back. But Frikkie swings it around, acting like he's going to throw it into the sea.

  Zelda jumps up and down, and begs Frikkie for the hat. She comes closer, but then almost falls over backwards when a wave breaks over the quay between her and us. We cling to the lighthouse.

  'Come and fetch the hat. Here.' And he holds it out to her. With his other hand, he
props himself against the lighthouse.

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  'Your mother is Glenda Kemp, isn't she!' Frikkie calls out to Zelda. Glenda Kemp is the stripper who's always being picked up by the police because they say she does terrible things with men. She was even arrested the other day for keeping a python without a permit. Now the SPCA and the police are after her. Glenda Kemp isn't really Zelda's mother, but Zelda always gets hysterical when we tease her about it.

  'Do a bit of go-go like your mother!' Frikkie shouts, and pushes his hips around like someone doing the go-go, and he rubs the hat against his stomach. By now, we're laughing so much, I have to lie flat against the lighthouse to keep my balance.

  Tm scared . . .'we hear her say above the noise of the wind and the waves: 'Ag, Marnus . . . please tell him to give back my hat.'

  'Come and fetch it,' I answer. 'You can have it, just come and get it yourself.'

  'Come on, don't be such a sissy! Come on! The waves aren't so bad,' Frikkie shouts, and tugs at my arm, until we're at the front of the lighthouse, facing the open sea.

  Softly I say to him: 'Today's the day we're going to get drowned.'

  'Are you coming, Zelda, or do you want me to chuck this stupid hat into the water?' Frikkie calls at the top of his voice, and we peer at her around the lighthouse.

  She's still jumping up and down and now she's started crying. I can see she's nearly hysterical, and I want to tell Frikkie that we should stop. Just then a dreadful wave comes down on the quay, right where Zelda is. Before anyone can do a thing, the wave cracks against the concrete like a cannon, and we just hear Zelda scream at the same moment as she disappears under the water.

  For a few moments Frikkie and I are dumbstruck. We

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  stand frozen, our eyes on the swirling water where Zelda was still jumping around a second ago. Without letting go of the lighthouse, we look for her in the harbour. But when the last water rushes down the side of the quay into the harbour, I see her.

  She's lying on the side of the quay, where the force of the wave pushed her. Her hands are up over her face, and the dress has been washed across her stomach so that her white legs and panties stick out. It's as if something tells me: Frikkie and I are responsible for drowning Zelda Kemp. I let go of the lighthouse and shake my hands around. What are we going to do?

  We run to her. When we get to her, I can see she's alive, because her mouth is moving! We help her up, and with her wet body between us, we run to where the quay bends back towards the land.

  She starts crying and we try to make her feel better. I take the hat from Frikkie and hand it back to her. But she carries on crying and sits down on her haunches in the middle of the quay with her face between her knees. Some men from the fish-market come over to see what's happening, and Frikkie says she's crying because her dress got wet. They warn us to be more careful, and then stroll back to the noise coming from the market.

  After a while I can see Frikkie's getting irritated with Zelda, and he says: 'Stop your crying now, Zelda. Else we'll just leave you here. Look, the hotnots are laughing at you.'

  She calms down a bit, and looks at the fish-market through her red eyes. Frikkie walks off, and Zelda and I follow.

  'If I lost my hat, I would have gotten a hiding,' she says. 4 I must wear it so that I don't freckle.' I'm glad she's started speaking again. 'I'm sorry,' I say softly, so that Frikkie can't hear.

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  She starts sobbing again. Then she says: Tm glad we're going to move away from here.'

  'Are you really moving?' I ask, because I'm already thinking of Zelda's father coming to tell Dad that I almost drowned her.

  'From next year Daddy is going to work in the main post office. But there's also work on the railways.'

  'Where are you going to live?'

  'In Woodstock. Close to the cinema.'

  'So . . . will you be coming to Jan Van Riebeeck?'

  She shakes her head and pulls both hands down her plaits to dry them. 'No, we're going to the school close to our new house. I don't know its name.'

  Frikkie is still walking ahead of us. 'Are you going to tell your father about the hat?' I ask, because I don't want her to go before I'm sure Dad and Mum aren't going to hear about this.

  She shakes her head. 'I'm not meant to play on the quay.'

  Frikkie has turned around and says: 'Saggies praat is dui-welsraad?

  At the Greek cafe, Frikkie and I turn to walk back to St James, and Zelda goes up the hill towards their house below the fishermen. Halfway home I remember about the snoek. We want to turn back at first, but then I say we might as well send Doreen. We can ask her to get bait for us at the same time.

  Before supper Frikkie and I are in the kitchen with Mum. Mum is telling Doreen how to prepare the vegetables to go with the snoek. Doreen was all fat-lipped when I asked her to go to the harbour for the snoek. Mum says Doreen is worried about Little-Neville. He didn't arrive on this morning's train. But Mum says she's sure there's nothing to be concerned about; Doreen probably got the

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  dates mixed up. She should go to the station again tomorrow, but for now she should be calm and relaxed because worrying only makes one age before one's time.

  I tell Mum that the Kemps are moving into town and that Mister Kemp is going to work for the post office or for the railways.

  'That's like music to my ears/ says Mum, and she looks up from the roses and the little white flowers she's arranging for the supper-table. Light from the sunset has turned the kitchen a light pink, and Mum's green eyes look even greener than usual.

  'At least little Zelda will get the chance of going to university now. The government looks after our people.' Mum says they can take everything away from you except your education. That's the one thing no one can ever take from you.

  Before sending us out to shower before supper, Mum says:

  'We have a guest from America, Frikkie. He is Mister Smith. You and Marnus must use our bathroom tonight, OK?'

  'Ja, TanmeJ he answers. Mum smiles at Frikkie and ruffles his hair with her hand.

  'Well, you go along and shower. Marnus can go when you're finished. And Frikkie - don't forget to wash behind your ears!'

  While I'm waiting for Frikkie to have his shower, Dad and the General come in through the front door. I kiss Dad and say good evening to the General. When Frikkie's done, Dad and I take our shower together.

  Dad's whole chest and stomach are covered with hair and his John Thomas hangs out from a bushy black forest. Once, after we heard that hair down there grows quicker if you shave it, Frikkie used his father's razor to shave off all

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  the fluff around his John Thomas. I almost shaved off mine as well, but then Frikkie got a terrible rash that made him walk around scratching like a mangy dog, so I decided not to. And, anyway, Dad might have seen it when we took our shower and he would have had a good laugh at me for being so silly.

  Between soaping and washing our hair, Dad asks: c So tell Dad, does that little man of yours stand up yet sometimes in the mornings?'

  Whenever Dad asks me that I get all shy, so I just laugh up into his face without really answering. I saw Frikkie's standing right out of his pyjama pants one morning, but mine doesn't really do it yet.

  I learned from Dad to first dry myself almost completely while I'm still in the shower cubicle. Otherwise it gets the tiles on the bathroom floor wet, and that makes unnecessary work for Mum and Doreen. When we've finished drying ourselves off, we tie the towels around our waists and I Comb my hair in a side parting just like Dad's.

  It's impossible to sleep for long. The sound of helicopters keeps you awake. Even when you do manage to doze, they somehow manage to make themselves heard in your subconscious.

  I must have slept for a while, because when I come to, I remember that I've been dreaming. Only a vague memory remains. Me, with someone else, galloping down a dry river-bed on horseback. We
're chasing something across the sand, but I don't know what. It feels as though we're laughing, and I can see his teeth against his dark skin. It seems strangely familiar, and I try to remember, but the sound of a helicopter, just north of us, forces my attention back.

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  We're still waiting for the command, and for food. For another two days we should manage to hold out, but after that we must get new ratpacks. Sometimes, when I get up from the ground too quickly, dizziness threatens to overcome me, and I have to fight to retain my balance. We're not eating enough. If there's a contact we're going to need every ounce of strength.

  I touch my ribcage through the browns, and realise for the first time how close to the surface each rib now feels. Taking the little metal mirror from my webbing's side-pocket, I peer at my slightly warped reflection: the dust has turned my dark hair to a dull brown. I bring the mirror closer to the face. Across the forehead and cheeks, black soot has drawn deep into the wide open pores. Beneath my beard I can feel how far my jaw protrudes. When I lift my chin I see the underside of my throat. It looks strangely white below the black beard. The folds of the neck are encrusted with solid trails of dust. While I'm looking into my eyes, a fly settles itself on the tip of my nose and I blast it away with a gust of air from my warm mouth. I notice a couple of black hairs growing from a nostril and with one pluck I pull out a whole clump. I sneeze instantly, sending a gust of dry air against the mirror.

  I get up and walk a couple of hundred metres from the TB. Halfway to one of our lookout posts I come to a standstill on the shade-side of a baobab trunk to have a pee. With my R4 slung over my shoulder, I relieve myself against the smooth stem and stare up at the strange branches sticking into the sky like open roots.

  When I look down again, I realise I'm still holding my dick. The head, enfolded by the soft foreskin, is half flattened from the pressure of thumb and index finger. Curling through the opening of my fly are long dark

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