Yesterday`s flower - Michelle Tarynne (fun to read TXT) 📗

‘Hello.’ She pointed at herself. ‘I’m Erika.’ And when she reached out to pick up Priscilla, the tiny child reached confidently for her, cuddling her like a li le monkey. ‘Oh,’ said Erika, feeling the slight hands gripping her neck, holding her so tightly she could feel the pressure of individual fingers. The li le girl smelt of baking. Of new bread. Weirdly, she also smelt of paraffin.
‘You okay?’ asked Max.
‘Of course…’ her voice faded.

Max lifted Nadia onto Pinotage, then held his arms out to Priscilla so he could put her on too. Erika felt the li le girl clutch her more firmly.
‘I think she wants you to put her on,’ said Max.

Erika lifted her towards the horse, and felt her neck being reluctantly relinquished. But as the li le girl reached upwards, their eyes met. And, very slowly, Priscilla touched Erika’s face, tracing her nose, her cheeks, her mouth. Suddenly, she beamed.
‘Pragtig!’ she said.
‘She’s right, you know,’ Max said as Priscilla se led on the horse. ‘You are beautiful.’

♥

The front door was opened by an old lady wearing a dress that could have been made from a pair of curtains. She wiped her hands on her apron, beaming when she saw who had knocked.

‘Max de Villiers! Kom binne, kom binne!’ She waved them both into the hallway. ‘Pieter! Ons het gaste.’

The shuffle of approaching feet revealed an elderly gentleman with a craggy face, piercing blue eyes and a bow-legged gait.
‘Pieter, Magda,’ Max said, ‘this is my friend Erika, from England.’

Magda clapped her hands together, almost curtseying. ‘Welkom. Welcome. You must be hungry ...’ And with that, she dashed away.

Pieter smiled at Erika. ‘I was in England once,’ he said. ‘After the War. I bet it doesn’t

look anything like it did then.’
‘Where were you?’ Erika asked.

‘What?’ the old man said, cupping his palm to his ear. ‘This blasted hearing aid. It buzzes. Can’t hear a darned thing most of the time.’
‘Where were you in England?’ Erika asked again.

‘Oh, Cornwall. King Arthur country. My grandmother on my mother’s side lived there. That was before I met the lovely Magda and put down some serious roots.’ He pointed to the vineyards, then winked at Erika. ‘In all senses of the word.’
‘You planted here yourself?’

‘Replanted, like young Jared and Max. Still got my fruit trees for Magda’s konfyt.’ Erika looked at Max, a question reaching her eyebrows. ‘Jam,’ whispered Max.

Smiling, Pieter gestured towards a room off the entrance hall. ‘Come inside. It’s always so nice to have visitors.’

Erika and Max se led down opposite Pieter on an inflated sofa covered with what resembled supersized crochet doilies. Glancing round the room, Erika saw it was dominated by a gigantic fireplace, with wood stacked in neat piles on either side of the grate. Above it was an oil landscape of a vineyard, the eye drawn in by neat lines of cultivation. It was painted with flicks of complementary paint colours, giving the scene an unusual vibrancy that Erika loved.
‘That’s a beautiful painting,’ Erika said.

‘My grandson,’ Pieter replied. ‘He’s immigrated now to New Orleans. Makes a fortune through his own gallery.’
‘Erika’s an artist too,’ Max said. ‘She’s working with me on my book.’

Pieter turned his complete focus to Erika, and his face took on a faraway look. ‘Are you really? But how wonderful! Max doesn’t often bring guests to see us, so he must think highly of you. I’m not surprised though.’ Pieter leant forward conspiratorially. ‘Beautiful and talented. Quite a combination, and I’m sure Magda won’t mind my saying so.’

Erika felt herself grow warm. There was something touching about this person si ing opposite her. His words seemed to carry an undeniable weight, and when he looked at her, it was as if he understood her perfectly.

Pieter acknowledged her with an incline of his head that said everything. When Magda scu led back into the room bearing an enormous tea tray laden with scones and other pastries Erika didn’t recognise, Pieter sat back to retrieve some handiwork from a bag next to his armchair. Arranging skeins of wool on his lap, he picked up a needle and began to thread it.

‘The devil finds work for idle hands,’ Pieter said, beginning to sew what Erika realised was a tapestry.

Max leant over to pass Erika a plate. ‘You have to try Magda’s koeksusters; the best in Franschhoek,’ he said.

As Erika bit into the dough plait, the syrup oozed into her mouth, filling it with sweetness. ‘That’s got to be fa ening it’s so delicious,’ she said.
‘You don’t have to worry about that,’ Pieter said. ‘You’re just a slip of a thing.’

The conversation was light, though sometimes a li le stilted. Magda clearly understood English, but seemed shy moving away from the comfort of her mother tongue. Max tried to draw her in but often failed, responding instead with a look towards Pieter, who filled in for her.

Erika wondered a li le why Max had brought her here. The homestead was beautiful, certainly, and the couple charming, but it was though Max was expecting something to happen. As Magda collected the teacups to return to the kitchen, he stood up with her.
‘Magda,’ he said, ‘let me help you.’

Despite her initial hesitation, Magda nodded and they both disappeared to the kitchen. Erika didn’t quite know what was expected of her, so sat quietly, her hands in her lap. She thought of asking about the tapestry. What was he going to do with it? How did Pieter start? But Pieter, humming under his breath, seemed so totally absorbed in what he was doing that she wasn’t sure he’d even noticed she was still there.

‘My first wife,’ Pieter said suddenly, looking up over spectacles that had slid down his nose. ‘That’s where my grandson gets his talent from. She could sketch a rabbit as it was hopping across the front lawn, and capture it perfectly. Like a photo.’
‘Oh,’ said Erika, not wishing to interrupt the flow of his story.

‘She was a fine woman. You remind me a li le of her. You have the same shaped face and eyes. But where she was defiant, in you I see something else. Loss, maybe? A li le sadness?’
‘You said she was defiant?’ Erika deflected the a ention from herself.

‘She died in a fire in the 1950s. Christine didn’t need to be there that day, but she thought it was all so unfair. Of course, she could have thought about how losing a mother would affect our daughter, but she didn’t think that far ahead.’
‘She was impetuous,’ said Erika.

‘Impetuous or stupid. All these years later, I still can’t decide which.’ Pieter picked up a length of cobalt blue wool and sucked the end to a point.
‘What happened?’ Erika asked, not able to contain her curiosity.

‘She had coloured friends. Both of us grew up in the area, so we all knew each other well. Some of those farm lads I’d known my whole life. When the forced removals began, she swore she was going to take a stand. If she couldn’t stop it, she was going to make a spectacle of it.’
‘I don’t understand,’ Erika said.

‘Well, the apartheid government had decided the coloured community couldn’t live in a certain section of Franschhoek any longer. Our friends and their families were booted out of their own homes, moved off to Groendal, through the Group Areas Act.’
‘My God,’ said Erika.

‘Christine decided they shouldn’t go quietly. She said they should resist. And her friend Petronella said it was alright for her. She had a home and a husband and child to go home to when she was finished fighting. Christine watched Petronella leave, then set the house on fire from inside, so nobody would see her in time and stop her. A symbol. If Petronella couldn’t live there, nobody else could.’
‘But something went wrong.’

‘Everything was already wrong. The house went up like a tinderbox. I wasn’t there at the beginning, but Petronella turned around. She could see Christina near the window, and she couldn’t understand why she didn’t try to break out. She was leaning forward, trying to unbu on her jersey.’
‘But why?’ Erika asked.

‘It must have caught alight. We’d always laughed about that jersey – pre y, but not practical. Not for an arsonist anyway. The bu ons were tiny. She tried to rip at it. Petronella called her brother. Told him to go back and help Christine. By the time he got

into the house, her whole outfit was on fire. He smashed the window with a brick, trying at least to get some oxygen to Christine, but that only fed the fire. He couldn’t get in. When the fire engine arrived, Christine had already died from smoke inhalation and third-degree burns.’

Erika’s face dropped. Though Pieter’s storytelling was unwavering in its delivery, his eyes sent a shock of pain through her. Half a century later and she could feel his suffering. But then the old man smiled, his eyes twinkling once more.

‘So,’ Pieter said. ‘She was beautiful and defiant, but that didn’t help her at all. And now I have Magda and she’s my whole world.’ He stood up, offering his arm to Erika. ‘Come, my dear. There’s something I’d like you to see.’

♥

Leaving Le Cadeau, Erika was silent. The bo le of Le Cadeau Syrah pressed on her by Pieter was packed in Max’s haversack. Pieter and Magda had walked them to the paddock, and had waved as they tro ed back down the driveway. Erika looked at Max, who looked back silently.
‘Why did we come here?’ Erika asked. ‘Did you know he would tell that story?’

‘I don’t know. The first time I met you, I thought you reminded me of someone. I was looking through some of the De Villiers photos the other day and found a wedding picture of Pieter and Christine with my grandfather.’
‘That doesn’t explain anything.’

‘You’re right,’ Max said, ‘but Pieter has always been good to me, especially when my parents died. I wanted you to meet him.’
‘And the fact that I resemble Christine?’ Erika persisted.

‘Well, I thought he’d like you. He’d approve. Seeing you would make him happy.’ Erika’s face took on a troubled expression. ‘Except that I stirred up memories that
should be left in the past. I don’t think I made him happy in the least.’

‘That’s where you’re wrong. Pieter’s had his share of suffering, but he has a good life. He’s contented. He’s accepted his past and dealt with it.’
‘Unlike me, you mean?’
Max sighed. ‘I just wanted to show you that moving on from tragedy is possible.’

‘I’m not an emotional pawn, Max.’ Erika was suddenly angry. ‘I don’t work according to some timetable, and especially not yours.’
‘I didn’t say you did. I just wanted to give you hope.’

‘Can we go back to Le Domaine now, please? I think I’ve had enough life lessons for one day.’

“What’s it with you two?’ Jared said, helping himself to salad. ‘Lovers’ tiff?’

Max glared at Jared, then stabbed his sirloin with uncharacteristic menace. ‘Mind your own business,’ he said. ‘You really can be such a smartass if you want to be.’
‘I’m only trying to ease the mood,’ said Jared, moving his eyes to Erika’s.

She found herself looking away. She actually didn’t feel angry any longer, just raw, but making up after an argument had never been