disease. When the Masai walked off into the bushes again, Ouma told the servants to heat pots full of water so that she could scrub Dad. Old Sanna always howls with laughter when she tells how Ouma poured half a bottle of disinfectant into the water before she scrubbed Dad, who was screaming blue murder.
Ouma scrubbed and scrubbed until she thought she'd killed all the germs. Then she rinsed Dad with clean water. Sanna says she laughed at Ouma so much because of all the scrubbing that Ouma got quite angry with her and told her she didn't know how one woman could be so insensitive to another. When old Sanna has finished telling the story, she cackles with laughter again, and her little teeth curl out over her thin bottom lip like yellow mealie pips.
Tannie Betta once said that all the white children who grew up near Meru have yellow teeth. Uncle Samuel said it's true, you can go and look at the children of Kilimanjaro, their teeth are all white. Then old Sanna burst out laughing again, and she asked: 'Where are the children of Kilimanjaro?' Uncle Samuel got upset with her and said she shouldn't start her nonsense again.
When IVlum's students come to our house for singing
The Smell of Apples
lessons, I have to behave quietly, politely and keep in the background. I know the rhyme off by heart already, and I repeat it silently to myself when Mum says: 'Marnus, my boy, today you must be quiet, polite and in the background. The students pay a lot of money for their lessons. Money doesn't grow on trees . . .'
'Quietpoliteandinthebackground,' I say over and over to myself while I race the Porsches around the track. I can hear Mum at the piano in the guest-lounge, doing scales with one of her students. Up and down he sings the same notes, until I can't stand it any more and I shut my door.
It's Friday afternoon and the General is off somewhere again with Dad. So Dad won't be home early today, like he usually is on Fridays. That's a pity, because I'm getting bored with the Scalextric. The longer I have it, the less fun it is to drive both cars myself. It's much better when someone else drives one and we can race each other. But I'm really disappointed because Dad isn't here and I hate it when something happens that keeps him from home on Friday afternoons. That means I'll probably have to go along with Mum to Use's stupid music lesson. It also means that Dad and I have missed out on our weekend swim. If Dad were here now, we'd go swimming at Sealrock along Muizenberg beach, and after that we would sit on the front veranda together playing chess and listening to music while the sun set behind the mountains.
Friday afternoons are the best times for Dad and me. We go for a long walk along Muizenberg beach, and while we walk to the spot we call Sealrock, we talk about the week and about everything there's hardly ever time for because Dad has to work so hard. We know almost all the fishermen who fish from the shore and along our way we ask whether the fish are biting and whether they heard about this or that one who caught such and such a fish at
Mark Behr
this or that spot. The old fishermen call Dad mister and I wonder what they would think if they knew that he's really a general.
When we reach Sealrock, and only if there aren't other people anywhere near us on the beach, we go up the dunes and take off all our clothes, and then we run down to the sea and into the waves - completely starkers. Dad gives me a bit of a head start, and then I sprint down the dunes and across the beach to see if I can get to the water before him. Sometimes I make it, but other times he catches me from behind and he picks me up and carries me under his arm, right into the waves. I shout and scream like mad for him to wait, but before I know what's coming, we crash down into the breakers. The water's so icy in winter that I almost lose my breath, but Dad says we're bulls who can't be scared off by a bit of cold water.
Then we swim out far beyond the
Ouma scrubbed and scrubbed until she thought she'd killed all the germs. Then she rinsed Dad with clean water. Sanna says she laughed at Ouma so much because of all the scrubbing that Ouma got quite angry with her and told her she didn't know how one woman could be so insensitive to another. When old Sanna has finished telling the story, she cackles with laughter again, and her little teeth curl out over her thin bottom lip like yellow mealie pips.
Tannie Betta once said that all the white children who grew up near Meru have yellow teeth. Uncle Samuel said it's true, you can go and look at the children of Kilimanjaro, their teeth are all white. Then old Sanna burst out laughing again, and she asked: 'Where are the children of Kilimanjaro?' Uncle Samuel got upset with her and said she shouldn't start her nonsense again.
When IVlum's students come to our house for singing
The Smell of Apples
lessons, I have to behave quietly, politely and keep in the background. I know the rhyme off by heart already, and I repeat it silently to myself when Mum says: 'Marnus, my boy, today you must be quiet, polite and in the background. The students pay a lot of money for their lessons. Money doesn't grow on trees . . .'
'Quietpoliteandinthebackground,' I say over and over to myself while I race the Porsches around the track. I can hear Mum at the piano in the guest-lounge, doing scales with one of her students. Up and down he sings the same notes, until I can't stand it any more and I shut my door.
It's Friday afternoon and the General is off somewhere again with Dad. So Dad won't be home early today, like he usually is on Fridays. That's a pity, because I'm getting bored with the Scalextric. The longer I have it, the less fun it is to drive both cars myself. It's much better when someone else drives one and we can race each other. But I'm really disappointed because Dad isn't here and I hate it when something happens that keeps him from home on Friday afternoons. That means I'll probably have to go along with Mum to Use's stupid music lesson. It also means that Dad and I have missed out on our weekend swim. If Dad were here now, we'd go swimming at Sealrock along Muizenberg beach, and after that we would sit on the front veranda together playing chess and listening to music while the sun set behind the mountains.
Friday afternoons are the best times for Dad and me. We go for a long walk along Muizenberg beach, and while we walk to the spot we call Sealrock, we talk about the week and about everything there's hardly ever time for because Dad has to work so hard. We know almost all the fishermen who fish from the shore and along our way we ask whether the fish are biting and whether they heard about this or that one who caught such and such a fish at
Mark Behr
this or that spot. The old fishermen call Dad mister and I wonder what they would think if they knew that he's really a general.
When we reach Sealrock, and only if there aren't other people anywhere near us on the beach, we go up the dunes and take off all our clothes, and then we run down to the sea and into the waves - completely starkers. Dad gives me a bit of a head start, and then I sprint down the dunes and across the beach to see if I can get to the water before him. Sometimes I make it, but other times he catches me from behind and he picks me up and carries me under his arm, right into the waves. I shout and scream like mad for him to wait, but before I know what's coming, we crash down into the breakers. The water's so icy in winter that I almost lose my breath, but Dad says we're bulls who can't be scared off by a bit of cold water.
Then we swim out far beyond the
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