Jan Odendaal walked out of de Jager’s Cash and Carry into the Carnarvon sunlight and stood there, the smell of blue and white mottled soap and paraffin clinging to his clothes and spilled sugar crackling under–foot on the green polished stoep. The ticket was back in his shirt pocket. He could feel it there. What if there was a mistake? He’d heard computers weren’t infallible. Tant Lettie said she’d had to reboot it twice before it grudgingly regained contact with the outside world but he hadn’t seen her kick it once.
They’d be in touch with him, she said, a lot more excited than he was when she came back from the telephone. Since she was also the post-mistress, the whole dorp would know by now.
He shrugged and got back in the bakkie, the flour and oil and other stuff in the back. It was something one read about in the papers. When one could get one. Signals were weak out in this part of the Karoo, so one didn’t hear much wireless news. The sun was lower when he reached Pa’s place. He still thought of it as Pa’s although the old man’d been gone nearly a year. It must have been just after he’d bought that ticket and stuck it under the paper-weight on the hallstand. As if Ma was still alive and would sniff and look disapproving about it. She didn’t approve of gambling. Or much else, as he remembered her.
In the yard, he saw that Zack had caught the mongoose that had been stealing the eggs, although it didn’t look too much like a mongoose now. He was lying with his nose up against the soggy remains, daring Thandi to approach any closer than the sensible twenty yard berth she was giving him. The stench of the creature’s voided musk glands would hang in the air until long after dark.
“Don’t even think about coming near the house, y’hear me?” he warned Zack. The dog rolled his little, piggy eyes and patted the dust twice with his tail, pleased with himself. Thandi kept her distance from Zack, following Jan primly to the stoep where she flopped down, tongue lolling. He put the ticket back under the paperweight, made himself something to eat with the fresh bread and cold mutton from the paraffin fridge and sat for a while on the stoep listening to the night. Then went to bed. Like any other night.
After a week, he was thinking about going in to ask Tant Lettie if there’d been any word. He was dosing sheep in the shale-walled kraal when the big car came silently down the track to Pa’s place. If it hadn’t been for the plume of dust it was dragging, he might not have known it was there. But when it stopped, he was waiting, a hand hooked under each dog’s collar. A tall young man got out, brushing the dust from his fancy jeans. All the clothes were fancy, but there was something about his grin and the handshake that made him likeable on sight.
“Jan Odendaal?” he asked, although he must have known who he was going to see way out here. “Rob. Rob Stratton from the National Lottery people. Congratulations! You’re a lucky man! Wow! “
His grin faded a little when he looked round him and took in Pa’s place, the bakkie, the sheep and the two dogs watching him. His eyes came back to Jan and it seemed he might have had to compel himself not to look too long at the clothes, the boots, and at Jan in general. He pulled out a white handkerchief and wiped his neck and face.
“Right. Let’s do some talking. Gee, do you mind if I take a look at the ticket? I’m supposed to double check, y’know?” He grinned again and shrugged in apology, spreading his hands. They were clean and smooth, the nails trimmed short. He didn’t look like he used them much - not for manual work, anyway.
“OK” Jan said and led him into the house and pulled out the ticket. Rob had some sort of gadget in his hand and he fed in the ticket and studied the small screen for a moment.
‘”Well, I’m glad to say it’s the real deal. You never know. That’s why I’m supposed to check. Congratulations again, Jan. Twenty million isn’t the biggest prize we’ve paid out, but hey! Not bad for a day’s work, not bad at all. Uh, and you were double-lucky – you nearly missed the 12month deadline for claiming. Someone in Durban missed out on twelve million last year. We still don’t know who he is. Excuse me”
He pulled out a cellphone and went out on the stoep. Jan lit the gas and put the kettle on, then looked for a clean cup, one with a handle. He could hear snatches of conversation, and then Rob came back in, pocketing the ‘phone.
“OK, I confirmed it with the Board. They’ll still need to see the ticket, but we can discuss what you’re going to do with it - banking details and so on?”
“Banking?” Jan echoed, thinking back to when he’d last used a bank. He usually traded or sold mutton at de Jager’s for what he needed.
“Well, you weren’t planning on keeping it in a tin under the bed, were you?” Again the white grin that made Jan feel foolish and ignorant, but not resentful. “The other thing I’m supposed to do is give you advice – about investment, getting interest on it – you could live forever on the interest alone on twenty million!”
Rob stopped, realising Jan didn’t follow. Jan fetched his coffee. The goat-milk gave Rob a moment’s thought, but he covered it up with a couple of nods and another taste. “Very interesting. Never had that before. OK let’s make a start. I’ll explain it to you. Stop me for questions, OK?”
In the next two hours, he taught Jan more about figures than ever he’d learned at Muishondlaagte Junior School, slowly and clearly, drawing little diagrams on the pad he’d fetched from the car. Jan began to grasp that his life would never be the same again but what registered the most was that Rob wasn’t talking down to him. This smart, well dressed, educated and handsome young man really cared. He cared about Jan and wanted to make sure he understood the mysteries and complications of being rich. At one stage, he stopped and sat back in his chair.
“Jan, let me put it this way. You saw my car? The Audi? See my clothes? The haircut? Am I rich?” Jan studied him.
“Yes”. he said “ I think you’re rich”. Rob smiled sadly, shaking his head and looking at Jan.
“No Jan. I’m well off. Good salary. Car allowance. Very nice flat and other stuff. I’m well off. YOU, my dear friend...” and he tapped him lightly on the chest with a finger “... are rich! Very, very rich!”
The light had gone and Jan lit Tilley lamps. They sat on into the night, mostly with Rob talking, although he would break away from the subject of finance to tell some amusing story or other, asked Jan about his life and seemed genuinely interested in hearing about it.
Zack and Thandi lay on the stoep, ugly heads on paws, watching the lamp-lit voorkamer through the open door.
By ten, Jan’s eyes were closing, although he was conscious that with their muted roar reduced to a sullen hiss, the Tilley lamps needed pumping, Rob had been watching him and had paused a few times when it was clear Jan was not concentrating.
At last he said: “Hey Jan, I’m sorry, I’m just so excited for you. I’ve been going on far too long. Is there somewhere I can stay in town?”
Conscious of his role as host, Jan stirred himself and said “ No, nowhere that you’d like to sleep over at. Why don’t you stay here? We - I’ve got room.” And he rose, picked up a Tilley and led the way to unlock Pa’s room.
The double bed was made up, the sheets changed and the pillows only slightly dusty. It still smelled of Pa; sweat and shag tobacco. Jan opened a window, letting in the night and a few moths, attracted to the light.
“I don’t want to put you out, I can easily….”said Rob but took the hooped handle of the Tilley Jan held out to him. One moth had already incinerated itself, charred wings fluttering to the floor.
“Best get into bed so you can turn off the lamp” Jan showed him how. “Toilet’s down the passage to the left. The water’s cold now, but I’ll light the gas for the morning” and Jan backed out, making vague hand gestures of apology, aware that there hadn’t been a guest in the house to his memory.
Rob waved him off, the white grin genuine and reassuring, as he slipped out of his shoes and socks, wriggling his toes on the bare cement floor. He began to unbutton his shirt.
“ Don’t even think about it. This will be great – I love being out in the country. Hotels will get to you after a while.”
“Yes I suppose they would” nodded Jan, wondering if he could remember staying in one and decided he couldn’t. “Well goodnight. Sleep well”
Moments later, the house was in darkness and the Karoo night descended. Outside. either Zack or Thandi lapped water noisily and then settled down again. Tired as he was, Jan lay awake for longer than usual, mind mulling over the half-understood but endless options life suddenly offered. Eventually, his eyes closed and he fell asleep to strange and exciting dreams.
Morning dawned in the usual blush of peach and pink to find Jan up and dressed. There were plenty of eggs , he’d got bacon at de Jager’s as a special treat for himself and the bread was still fresh enough. He busied himself in the kitchen. Coffee was on the make, but he switched off the gas to wait for Rob to stir.
By eight, with the gumtrees already throwing long shadows across the yard, he went outside to feed the fowls and the dogs. The Audi crouched there, dusty, except where mud had splashed the fenders from unseasonal puddles on the approach road. He walked around it, studying the sleek lines and the enormously wide tyres without really understanding why it only had two doors. The rear seat was tiny, the dashboard a confusion of knobs and displays, dormant now that the great beast was at rest. He glanced at his ageing Datsun pick-up, there beside the shed, and then back at the Audi.
“Like it?” it was Rob, standing on the stoep, with a towel round his waist, brushing his teeth. Jan took in the toned body and the tan, the hair wet and finger-combed.
“It’s very nice. Where do you put things?”
“Put ?… Oh, y’mean luggage and stuff? Well, it’s got a boot. If there’s a lot, y’have it delivered. Never carry more than one girl-friend at a time, so….. “ And, chuckling, Rob went inside to finish his toilet.
At breakfast, Rob made much of the bacon and eggs, praised the coffee and remarked on the charming rural character of the house. “It’s Saturday, Jan. What do you do around here for fun?”
“Fun?” echoed Jan “ I… well, I take it a bit easier than in the week, but…I..well, nothing different really.”
“But you must do something more than sit on the stoep and look at the view?”
“Well I might have a swim in the dam. Try fishing – there are barbel in there. See if I can get a porcupine…with the dogs… tastes like pork you know.”
“Now that sounds like a gas! Can we do that?” Rob was animated, eyes lively.
“Well, I suppose. Umm, don’t you have to be somewhere?” Jan was hesitant.
“Aah, you’re worried about the ticket. Let’s see - I checked - the deadline is next Friday. You were cutting it fine, but Monday’s fine to process that. Offices are closed for the weekend, anyway. I can travel tomorrow and be back well in time for Monday morning bright and early. Is that OK with you?” For once, he looked less competent and confident, even anxious.
Jan felt ill-mannered and inhospitable, selfishly thinking of himself and his good fortune, rather than his new-found friend. He hastened “No, no! Please..I didn’t think something like that would interest you. You live, so… so different.”
“I do Jan, and that’s exactly why I crave a change sometimes. So tally-ho yoicks, or whatever they say in the Karoo! C’mon, indulge me. You’d make a city-boy very happy!”
“Well they’re mostly night time things – come out in the dark. They do a lot of damage to gardens. Bulbs and roots and things, potatoes, carrots and so on. Otherwise, I wouldn’t kill them. We’ll have to wait for nightfall. But we can go fishing?”
There followed a day of lazing about the dam. Rob was ecstatic when he hooked a medium sized barbel. He’d been floating on an inner-tube when it took his bait. Panicked, the barbel towed him, slowly zig-zagging across the still water, a light dusting of fragrant wattle blossom parting before the tube. When the fish gave up the fight, exhausted, it lay gasping on the bank. Rob crouched over it as excited as if it was a record marlin. Jan showed him the needle-sharp spines to be avoided and Rob carefully unhooked it. He held it in his hands for a long moment, feeling it breathe and then slipped it gently into the shallows. Jan watched him and decided he really was a very likeable person.
The afternoon passed and evening came. They ate and Rob helped with the few dishes. He was complimentary about the mutton stew - as if there was anything else. Jan started the Datsun and whistled up the dogs. Surprised, but realising that this was no run into town for provisions, they scrambled up, their tongues lolling as they switched restlessly from side to side in the load-bed to be the first to see where they were going. Rob looked at the blunt wooden club between them on the front seat. “Don’t you have a gun?”
Jan jerked a thumb back at the house they had left. “In the house. Shotgun. Oh, y’mean aren’t we going to shoot a porcupine? Y’don’t have to. Makes a mess of the meat. When the dogs hold him, y’just bang them on the nose. About here” He indicated the bridge of his own nose with a forefinger.
“Yeah? How about that!” then Rob said nothing. But he fingered the bridge of his nose now and then as they bumped along the rough track that rose steadily to the foot of Duiwelskruin. The rocks were still hot to the touch when they got out, but the distance was shrouded in darkness instead of the day’s heat-haze. Strangely, in this arid landscape, water dripped here and there, down the rocks from the heights above, and there were ferns. Jan called the dogs to him and said something. Immediately they were all business and disappeared into the gloom.
“Now we wait” said Jan and sat down on a rock, a torch in one hand and the club in the other. “Not much water down on the flats, and wild, green stuff grows up here. Good place to look for them.”
The light had completely gone when the dogs returned, panting and exhausted, nails clicking on the shale and flanks heaving. Together, they turned and looked back the way they had come, whining. “Well, they got one. Let’s go see.” And Jan rose to lead the way but Rob remained seated, looking away.
“Ummm, Jan, I’ve changed my mind. I don’t really want to kill anything. I don’t know why I…” Jan looked at his new-found friend, and then shrugged.
“Alright. That’s fine with me. I’d be pulling quills out of the dogs for days, anyway.” Jan started off back down the screed, heading for the bakkie, the dogs clearly disappointed, but following him. Rob hurried after them. They were halfway home before he spoke. “Thanks Jan. I’m glad we….” And let it hang there.
Jan concentrated on his driving and said nothing, thinking of the barbel at the dam. They had coffee together on the stoep and turned in. Jan was absorbed in his heightened opinion of Rob. He was going to miss his company.
Next morning, Rob was gone by first light, the Audi whispering out of the yard, silent but for the crunch of gravel. Jan hurried out in time to see the brake-lights flicker briefly as it rumbled across the cattle-grid at the distant boundary of the farm. It was with some concern that he saw that the ticket was gone, the paperweight standing askew, but there was no reason to mistrust Rob, he told himself. Not someone who had shown so much interest in Jan’s future comfort and security, who had talked to him like a brother. Not a city-dweller who showed such compassion for wild things. No, it would be something to do with the forms Jan had signed, something necessary that Rob had to do.
He sat on the edge of Pa’s bed, looking around him. A piece of paper on the floor caught his eye and he picked it up. He’d heard of dry-cleaners. This one had a Cape Town address. R. Stratton had left his cell number when he put a beige suit in for cleaning.
Later Jan put the slip in the Datsun cubby-hole and resumed his daily routine. He did this for two days before he made a trip into Carnarvon. Mrs de Jager went about serving him with little comment, but he sensed that she was literally bursting with curiosity.
“The lottery man came to see me” he offered “Rob. Nice guy. He spent a couple of days with us – with me.”
Mrs de Jager’s expression invited more, but Jan said simply “He’ll let me know what next. Soon.” He added a Cape Times to his purchases. Cape Town papers sometimes took a couple of days to get to Carnarvon. It was dated the day after Rob left the farm.
Her disappointment was palpable as he turned away from the counter. In the Datsun, Jan glanced at the newspaper on the passenger’s seat There were 2 photographs below the headline, AMBUSHED MAN DIES IN N2 FIRE. One of an upturned vehicle of some sort, burned beyond recognition, wide wheel-rims devoid of tyres and facing the sky, a huge area of blackened grass verge around it. The other, simply an over-arching footbridge, some sort of township in the background and beyond the bridge, two curved, parallel lines across the tar of two lanes. Skid marks that disappeared over the left shoulder of the freeway, the burned -out car an indistinct shape in the distance.
Numbly, Jan read the accompanying text. “In yet another N2 attack, near Mew Way, Khayelitsha, a man died late last night in horrific circumstances. Identified only by his vehicle registration as Robin Statton. A police source told the Times that it is suspected that a concrete block, found in the front seat, may have been dropped from a footbridge onto the passing car, either killing the driver or causing him to lose control and overturn after leaving the highway. The resultant fire burned the driver and vehicle contents beyond recognition. Police are tight-lipped about the incident but admit that robbery and car-jacking have become a standard risk and frequent road-users and commuters are warned….
Jan sat back, an enormous, icy pressure in his temples. Getting out, he stood for a very long moment with both palms clamped to his head, trying to think, then on an impulse, retrieved Rob’s dry-cleaning ticket and went to the tickey-box on the stoep. A familiar voice answered, brisk and charming. Jan said nothing and replaced the receiver. Back in the Datsun, he thought for perhaps fifteen minutes, before getting out and dialling the number again. This time, when Rob answered, Jan said in a voice thick with emotion and in an affected accent. “Missa Stratton, yore suit is ready tomorrow arfer t’ree” and cut the call.
From the open door, Mrs de Jager watched Jan walk to the bakkie, start up and drive away.
At the house, a dusty Corolla was standing in the yard, the National Lotteries Board logo on the doors almost obscured by dust. Zack and Thandi were sitting, one either side, watching an anxious, bespectacled little man. When Jan called them off, he climbed out and introduced himself, and the pressure in Jan’s head mounted unbearably and became a pounding headache. Barry Isaacs had worked for the Lottery Board since its launch and never been lost before. He apologised and showed Jan the shattered screen on his Garmin. And his official identification. He’d never heard of Rob Stratton and looked peeved, visibly hostile, at coming this far to find the winning ticket was no more. He managed to convey his belief that Jan had done this deliberately when he climbed back into the Corolla and drove off.
Jan began gathering things, starting with Pa’s shotgun.
Some time before daybreak, he paused atop the Hottentots Holland to take in the sprawl of lights curving away around a great bay and stretching as far as the eye could see. The Datsun descended, brakes protesting at the bends, before levelling out on the final approach to Cape Town.
Things had changed, ramshackle structures pressing inwards towards the freeway, an uneven patchwork of rust and shadows laid out beneath the high–mast lighting. The concrete barrier, intended to separate teeming humanity and livestock from hurtling machinery had been breached in numerous places, the smashed columns lying where they’d fallen, the wind-blown detritus of a hundred thousand lives spilling out through the gaps to line the verges. Jan concentrated on the road ahead.
It was easier than he’d anticipated and the long wait was something for which the Karoo prepared one. Rob was looking good as ever when he swung a white BMW into a space at the little shopping centre. A minute or so later, he strode out, carrying a plastic shrouded garment, and drove off, the Datsun following at a distance. Jan was one flight behind him on the stairs to a second floor flat and as Rob unlocked, it was to feel a hard, insistent pressure on his kidneys. He whirled, wide-eyed, to see Jan, his voice was a croak of disbelief. “Jan? Hey man…how’d you…? I was going to…”
“Call me? Yes of course.” The gesture with the shotgun was unmistakeable. Rob retreated before its threatening twin gaze, hands at his shoulders, Jan a shotgun length behind, the rain-jacket under which it had been hidden, abandoned in the doorway.
“Sit!” the shotgun commanded “ And tell me how you did it. The car. The body. Just for a start. “
“It’s all about who you know, Jan. A girlfriend with Lotto… the body… you know about pauper’s burials? The car…well for that kind of money, sacrificing the Audi didn’t hurt so much. You’d be amazed at what tow-truck drivers can come up with. Especially when they owe you – big time!” Rob was coming back into his element. It was a long explanation but it made perfect sense, even to Jan Odendaal.
When it was over. Jan nodded a couple of times as though in thought.
“Thanks Rob. That was very clever. You’ll have to forgive me. I’m just a simple Karoo boy” And then he reached behind, and took from his belt, the blunt, heavy club he’d brought with him.