Circus. Irma Venter
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Bloody balls-up of a country.
Thwack.
Of a home.
Thwack.
Of a life.
RANNA
1
Pretoria, present
“I’ll make an appointment,” I protest, stretching my legs to keep up with Liesbet Fey. “Next week is fine.”
She has probably heard this lie before. She keeps walking, stepping lightly on the thin blue carpet.
I fall silent, follow her meekly, past the rows of wooden pews, around the pulpit, to a door that leads to the vestry. The place smells like all churches: of wood, candlewax and furniture polish.
She holds the door and waits for me to go in.
“I’m just being silly,” I protest again. “And you don’t have time.”
She waves away my objections. “I have more than enough time. And sometimes we are only brave because the time is right. Or the opportunity presents itself.”
A pink pamphlet on the wall says the Dutch Reformed Church Moot South is having a fête in a fortnight’s time and needs eggs and sugar for the pancake stall.
An interleading door gives access to Liesbet’s office.
The room is light and cool. Sunlight filters through lace curtains stirring in the slight breeze. The walls are painted a deep brown and on two of them hang brightly coloured landscapes, signed by the artist, E Fey. Rows of photographs adorn the other wall. A red woven rug covers the floor.
Again, I am reminded of Adriana. The room looks as if she might have decorated it.
I could swear this woman is related to her.
Liesbet closes the door softly, firmly, walks past me and sits down, motioning at the chair facing her. There is no desk. Nothing to create the feeling of an interview or to scare you into thinking that someone is about to infiltrate your inner sanctum.
A photograph of a pier reaching far into the sea draws my attention. In the foreground an old man with white hair and sharp blue eyes stands next to a Land Cruiser. I think I recognise the place.
I turn to her. “Swakopmund?”
“Yes. I was a probationer there until about five months ago. Now I’m here, one of three ministers in the congregation.”
I’m still gazing at the photograph. “I wouldn’t have come here. I’d miss the sea too much. And that town is a special place. No other like it in the world.”
“Won’t you sit down? I promise not to bite.”
Through the open window I hear the lawnmower shut down. In the distance a ball slams against a cricket bat.
Reluctantly I take a seat.
“You said you’re wondering about children. What are you wondering about?”
I fold my arms, sigh. “Whether I should have them. Want to have them.”
“It’s an important distinction.”
“Not really … Well, yes, maybe.”
“Are you married?”
“I live with someone. I think he wants children.”
“Think?”
Hmm, she’s got me. Alex isn’t sure himself.
She leans forward. “If you had to speak without thinking, what would your heart say?”
“I don’t know. I’m getting older, the clock is ticking. But the home I grew up in … it wasn’t easy. Don’t we get most of our bad habits from our parents?”
“Some, perhaps, but not all of them. Some are entirely our own. Our own fault as well.”
“You’re probably right.”
I shift uncomfortably in my seat. What should I do? I certainly don’t want to continue the discussion. “Are you sure you don’t know anyone called Adriana?”
“You said her last name was De Klerk?”
“Yes.”
A voice at the window makes me jump. I search for the weapon behind my back.
“Goodbye, Dominee,” says the old man who was mowing the lawn a moment ago. “See you the day after tomorrow.”
Liesbet turns so he can read her lips. “Bye, Oom Freddie. Take care now.”
When she sits back in her chair I know I didn’t let go of the Glock in time.
She hesitates a moment. “What’s that behind your back?”’
“Nothing.”
“A gun? We don’t allow weapons in the church.”
I keep silent. What can I say?
“Ranna … Are you really here to talk?”
I shake my head slowly. “No.”
The gate slides open, then closes. Probably Oom Freddie leaving on his bike.
“Who are you?”
“Police.”
“Show me your ID.”
I hold up my hands “Okay, wait. Adriana de Klerk sent me.”
“So you’re not from the police?”
“No.”
In the ensuing silence I hear a door open. Did Oom Freddie leave something behind?
Instantly I am on my feet.
Suddenly I know what has been bothering me: Liesbet neglected to lock the door when we came in.
She lowers her right hand to the side of her chair, her eyes never leaving me. She searches in her handbag, takes out a cellphone. But she doesn’t use it, just gazes at me calmly.
“There’s no money in the building. I promise.”
I shake my head. “I’m not looking for money. Adriana …”
The approaching footsteps are cautious, but heavy enough to make the floorboards creak. I make out three pairs. Six feet.
It can’t be the flowers Liesbet is expecting. It doesn’t take three men to deliver a wreath.
Liesbet’s eyes tell me she also heard the footsteps.
I take two steps to the office door, open it, cross the floor to the vestry door and turn the key in the lock. Turn back to Liesbet.
My phone rings. I grab it from my pocket. “Adriana?”
“Get Liesbet and go. At once!” She sounds breathless.
“What’s going … Are you okay?”
“Liesbet. Hurry!” The phone dies.
I draw the Glock out of the holster behind my back. Motion to Liesbet: Come with me.
The calm expression vanishes from her face. “Wait, I …”
“Shh!” I whisper urgently. “The footsteps you heard … Those men have come to hurt you.”
“It might be the flowers …”
“It’s not.” I pull her roughly to her feet. “Is there an outside door?”
She points at the opposite end of the vestry. “Behind the curtain. But I …”
“Come!”
She resists, her body heavy and unwilling.
I force myself