Resting in the fork of a tree is Danie carving a bird. “Look there.” He points in the direction of the canal. From here the house on the hill is silent. It is Danie’s favourite place. Isak climbs up and sees the wisps of smoke. It reminds him of Ouma’s hair caught in a brush.
“Must we tell Pappa?”
“No, lets check it out ourselves.”
With care they tiptoe over the dried out bark that snaps and spits under their feet.
“Do you think it’s convicts?” Danie speaks in a loud whisper.
“Shurrup.” Isak recalls the face of Koos.
The canal is obscured with thick scrub. The voëltjiekanniesitnie bush is flowering all around them. Danie sneezes. Isak pulls him down.
The smoke thins out.
“Stupid fart! Now you’ve messed it up.”
They move closer to the edge of the canal, parting the branches to see better. Isak jumps up, shouting and waving his arms, while Danie follows suit.
Behind the reeds a frightened couple huddles on a mattress, a black man and a brown woman hiding under the torn netting of the canal. Littered around them are empty tins and on the smoking fire is a pot without handles.
“What is Outa doing on our farm?” Isak plants his feet and crosses his arms.
The black man removes his hat. He wears trousers tied with twine and a twig of some sorts is tucked into the buttonhole of his shirt.
“Afternoon, Basies.” He bows his head as one in prayer.
“What’s your name, Outa?” He asks.
The old man nods towards the woman. “Oumeid and myself have no house, Kleinbasie, Baas Fransie told Outa to clean out the house and take the high road. Baas Fransie needs Outa’s house for the young klonge, Kleinbasie.”
The woman shakes her head slightly. She is fat and toffee-coloured. Tucked in front of her dress is a small dog, a terrier of mixed blood that growls at them.
“Your name, Outa?” Danie steps forward. He tries to stroke the dog’s head but it bares its teeth at him.
“Outa’s name is Jan Wanie, Kleinbasie, and Oumeid’s name is Katjie, thank you, Basie.” He speaks with a heavy accent.
“Why doesn’t Outa go and live with Outa’s children?” Danie picks up a chicken bone and offers it to the dog, which snatches it out of his hand.
Katjie removes the dog from between her bosom, from where it barks furiously at them.
“Outa’s family live other side of the world and Oumeid’s children want nothing to do with a kaffir, Kleinbasie.”
Isak is unsure what to do. “Call Pappa.”
Danie speeds off and the terrier gives chase.
“The dog?”
“Spyker, Basie.”
He notices a wire contraption lying next to the old man.
Jan Wanie picks it up. “Outa and Oumeid’s food is long gone, Kleinbasie.”
“Have you caught anything?”
“Guinea fowl, Kleinbasie.” He proudly lifts the lid off the pot to show a skinny carcass, but the old woman’s lizard eyes narrow. Contemptuously, she turns her back on Isak.
“Outa isn’t allowed to hunt here on our farm. None of the volk may set traps, they’re not even allowed to kill a snake unless it’s in their house. My pa will get mighty cross with Outa.”
Jan Wanie obediently hides the crude trap under the mattress.
There is nothing further to say. Isak inspects the torn netting. It has been cut with a knife. He tuts loudly. “Outa can be glad my Ouma isn’t alive any more, she would skin you alive if she caught you doing this, the net is for the tortoises, to stop them from drowning in the canal.”
“Is the ounooi deceased?”
“In the earthquake.” For him it is still so unreal. The hairpin is all that he has of her. “And the oubaas too.” He fiddles agitatedly with his hand in his pocket.
“Ounooi had a heart for the volk.”
They all hear the growl of the Ford’s engine. Spyker barks hysterically as Katjie buries him in her bosom again. Jan Wanie cocks his head to hear and for the first time Isak can see the hump on his back.
With perfectly creased trousers his father climbs out the car, checking the netting of the canal as though they are not there. They wait patiently, Isak wondering whether he will be angry with the old man, but his father surveys the scene with a bemused expression.
“Afternoon, Jan, thought you were buried a long time back.”
Jan bows stiffly. “Afternoon, Baas, Outa is sad and sorry to hear of the death of the ounooi and oubaas, Baas.”
His father shrugs it off. “You and Ounooi come a long road together … is Frans getting rid of the old hounds?”
“No, Baas, Baas Fransie is needing the young ones to do the work, Baas.”
“Katjie, you’re much too old to run away, that’s for children.” He jests with her like he jests with the young girls working at the co-op.
Her face shows nothing but her voice is deflated. “Oumeid’s taken the road so many times, nowhere to go, so many struggles. Oumeid can’t any more.”
“And who says I can help?”
The old couple look up unsurely but resigned.
“For sure you cannot stay here.” Their father measures the situation, the canal and the mattress, the faded clothing drying on the bushes. “It’s dangerous and the water scheme will be coming down soon, before we know it, you two gryskoppe are off to the big waters.”
Danie whispers in his father’s ear.
“Outa’s hands are still fine for fencing, Baas.”
Their father throws his hands in the air. “Oh please, Jan, the farm is beginning to look like an old age home.” He touches his silver moustache. “Here is enough of this.”
Jan Wanie laughs, encouraged by their father’s good humour, but Katjie is not.
“The klong’s plan is still the best. Move your things to Poppenshuis, there on the hill.” His father gestures to a one-roomed clay structure. “I’ll send David with the tractor to collect you; the last thing I want is a blocked water pipe in the middle of summer.”
“Thank you, Baas.” Jan Wanie bows again, repeating his thanks over and over.
Their father walks back to the idling Ford. Isak runs after him. “Who is Outa, Pappa?”
On the back seat is a golf bag and studded shoes.
“Your ouma’s helper.” His father rests his shoe on the running board of the car, wiping the dust off with a chamois, then he does it with the other. “She picked him up on the way back to the Boland from out of Bechuanaland. He was just a baby, sitting next to the road.” He pauses before climbing in. “Go back and tell Outa he must get rid of the mongrel.”
Isak walks back to the canal to where Danie is playing with the dog, Spyker.
“Pappa says you must tell Outa to get rid of the mongrel.”
How he wishes he had thought of the plan of Poppenshuis.
* * *
Coloured lights are strung through the trees. Arum lilies with droopy leaves line the windowsills of the house.