Daaraan sal hy sekerlik vir ’n rukkie herkou.
Ons gaan alle moontlike bronne hierop fokus, omdat ons so bewus is van die moeilike posisie waarin dit die president kan plaas.
Die minister sal verstaan wat die “moeilike posisie” beteken. Gegewe die wapenverkope aan Iran en Libië.
En dan gaan sy die lêer stadig van haar skoot lig en plegtig op sy lessenaar plaas. Asof dit ’n groot gewig het.
Sou u die saak enigsins wou bespreek nadat u die besonderhede bestudeer het: Ek is 24 uur per dag tot u beskikking.
Oor die kruising van Parlementstraat lig Janina Mentz die aktetas sodat sy na haar horlosie kan kyk. ’n Bietjie te vroeg. Sy vertraag haar pas, hou die sambreel styf vas terwyl die kouefront om haar woed.
13
(12 September 2009. Saterdag.)
“You do realise we are all rejects?” sê Jessica die Godin vir Milla terwyl sy nog rooiwyn skink, haar woorde wollerig van die alkohol. “All those questions you answered during the interviews, all the psycho-babble like ‘are you an ambitious person?’, it’s all bullshit. All they wanted to know was: Are you a reject? They like that. A lost cause, an outsider. Damaged goods, well isolated.”
Milla is ook nie meer nugter nie. Haar knik is effens oordadig.
“I mean, look at us. The rest of the Agency is a model of affirmative action, a perfect reflection of the Rainbow Nation, but we are all white, all past forty, and all fucked up. Theunie was fired from a daily in Jo’burg because he plagiarised a column. Twice. That’s why his third wife divorced him. Mac used to be the arts editor at a Johannesburg daily, until they caught him with the mail boy. In the mail room. And you’re the runaway housewife. And then there’s me. Want one?” vra sy en hou die dosie met lang, dun sigarette na Milla uit.
“Thank you.”
Jessica steek eers met konsentrasie die sigarette aan, lig dan haar glas in ’n heildronk. “To the Scandal Squad.”
Milla doen dieselfde, stamp haar glas teen Jessica s’n. “You were involved in a scandal?”
“Oh yes.”
Dit is die wyn wat vir Milla die moed gee. “What did you do?”
“You haven’t heard?”
“No.”
“Strange.” Die Godin grynslag met haar perfekte tande. “Mine being the more interesting, I would have thought Mac would have at least hinted …”
“Oh no,” sê Milla.
“Well, then, let me share it with you,” sê Jessica en trek diep aan die sigaret. “I was the parliamentary correspondent for the Times. And then I went and fucked a very senior government official … Don’t ask, because I won’t tell. Had an affair, for two years. Until his wife walked in on us. Big scene. Hysterics, lots of throwing of small household objects, the most charming death threats. She had me fired. He organised the Agency job. What a great fuck he was … Speaking of which, when last did you … ?”
“Me?”
“You.”
“Have a great fuck?” Die woord verras haar, asof sy nie geweet het dit sit nog iewers in haar nie.
“Yes.”
“I don’t know …”
“How can you not know?”
“I don’t think I’ve ever had a really great fuck.”
“Never?”
“O.K., maybe not never … the first time was pretty good.”
“With your husband.”
“My ex-husband.”
“You’ve slept with one man?”
“Well, you know … I got pregnant, and then we had to get married …”
“Jesus Christ.”
“I know …”
“Why didn’t you have an affair, for God’s sake?”
“It … Well … I don’t think … I don’t know …”
“Never lived dangerously?”
“No …”
“And now? You’ve been single for what, two months already …”
“I’ve …”
“You’ve been wasting time.”
“I suppose …”
“Want me to introduce you to someone?”
“No!”
Sy kyk peinsend na Milla. “I love lost causes. We have a lot of work ahead of us.”
Milla lag.
“I’ll have to introduce you to the pleasures of the cougar.”
“The cougar?”
“I am, dear Milla, a self-confessed, unabashed … no, proud cougar. A ravisher of younger men. Early twenties. Lean, mean, hungry, NSA.”
“NSA?”
“No strings attached. Perfect solution. Hard young bodies, stamina, so very enthusiastic. And a shared dislike of commitment. Love them and leave them.”
“Aaa …”
“I’m going to set you up …”
“No, Jess. No, no, no …”
* * *
Operasie Shawwal
Transkripsie: Meeluistering, M. Strachan. Daven Court no. 14, Davenportstraat, Vredehoek
Datum en tyd: 7 Oktober. 23:32
MS: Christo was mooi. Jy weet hoe dit is, op daardie ouderdom, as ’n mooi ou met selfvertroue jou kom uitsoek, tussen al die ander, en jou vriendinne “oe” en “aa”. Ek het selfbeeld-issues gehad, ek was net so … verlig dat hy in my belang gestel het. So … dankbaar … Hy was so … Dit het gelyk of hy so wêreldwys was, so gemaklik met homself. Ek weet nie of ek ooit op hom verlief was nie. Miskien lieg ek vir myself … Ek was dronk dié aand. Dit was Karnaval. Almal was dronk. Dis nie ’n verskoning nie, ek sou seker die een of ander tyd saam met hom geslaap het. Ek was reg daarvoor, ek wou hom hê, ek wou wéét hoe dit voel …
* * *
(13 September 2009. Sondag.)
Milla kom eers ná tien uit haar dronkslaap. Brokstukke van die vorige aand lê in haar kop. Jessica se sensuele, drankbenewelde stem.
We are all rejects.
You’re the runaway housewife.
You’ve slept with one man?
Never lived dangerously?
Here, het sy deelgeneem aan dié gesprek?
Sy het. En meer. Sy het haar storie vertel, laataand, die volle waarheid, in dronkverdriet, en Jessica het haar hand vasgehou en saam gehuil. Dit alles kom nou terug en die skaamte daal in vlae op Milla neer.
En dan die kommer: Hoe het sy by die huis gekom? Sy kan nie onthou nie.
Sodat sy opspring en by die venster uitkyk en haar Renault Clio daar buite sien staan, die verligting klein, want die hoofpyn is skielik kloppend. Sy klim terug in die bed, trek haar kop toe. Sy het in haar dronkenskap huis toe gery, sy kon ’n ongeluk … Sy kon toegesluit gewees het, hoe sou Christo dit nie geniet het nie, hoe kan sy so iets aan haar seun doen. “Is dit jou dronk