AHM Scholtz published his first novel, Vatmaar, in 1995 at the age of 72. This acclaimed debut won the M-Net Prize, the Eugne Marais Prize and the CNA Literary Award. The panoramic tale of a small town in the Northern Cape has been translated into Dutch and German. Chris van Wyk’s new translation brings A place called Vatmaar to English readers for the first time. Here are two extracts from the book
Ta Vuurmaak tells about the Queen’s Cape- boys
On the Sunday after the day when the old people got their pension, we young ones always went to visit Ta Vuurmaak at his “cabin”. That’s what Tommy Lewis used to call the train water tank and everyone started using the name. Then Ta Vuurmaak used to tell us old stories of Vatmaar. He always had a bottle of sherry stored away for the occasion.
I could never understand why white people kill each other, Ta Vuurmaak said. A long time ago the English used to say they would give their lives for an old woman they called Queen and even though they didn’t really fight seriously, the Boers, who had done nothing wrong, mowed down these Queen’s people like wild animals.
I was sitting there on the square at the station where everybody who was looking for work came to sit, and where people came if they needed workers. Then along came this man called Chai to hire five Cape-boys to work for the Queen. There were just three of us and I don’t know where he got the other two.
He then took us to an Englishman who told us he was Lance-Corporal Lewis. They would pay us sixpence a day plus rations – a tin of bully-beef and biscuits. We had to take our orders from this boy – and he pointed to Chai.
In those days there was no other work, just war work. The Rednecks called him Corporal because he wore one stripe on his arm. He and a company of four other men were on horseback. And we five boys and the rations were on a wagon with eight oxen.
We didn’t know what our work was and we were scared of the Boers because they never missed with those Mausers of theirs. On the second day Chai told us that we were now in the Transvaal and that we should sleep lightly.
Shortly after that we found out what we were supposed to do.
Two of us had to watch the farm house. In the meantime the wagon with the Queen’s men waited where they could not be seen. We had to look to see if there weren’t any men around, so usually we went to the house and asked if we could have water from the well. But we had to be very careful of the Boer woman. Nothing scared her. See this scar here?
Ta Vuurmaak pointed to a long mark on his calf.
An old ouma who was watching us is responsible for this.
If we didn’t spot any men we went to say so. Then the four men and the Corporal surrounded the farm house and the others brought the wagon nearer. It was then our job to see that the household’s food and other things were loaded onto the wagon. Then one of us boys and one of the Queen’s men had to take them to the concentration camp. That was what they called a jail for women and children. And before the wagon left, we, the boys, had to set fire to the farm house. This was so that the Boers could see what happens to those who want to fight the Queen.
Tell us more, Oupa, we urged him on.
One day this Kapenaar and I were walking past this vegetable garden when we saw these delicious big carrots. It was very quiet, not a dog barking. I got onto the stone wall that was built around the garden and I was just about to jump off and pull out a few carrots when – boom! It felt like something had knocked against my knee. I jumped off and ran. While running I thought: Vuurmaak, you can’t be dead because I can feel you running.
When I got to the Queen’s wagon, the Kapenaar was already there waiting for me. His name was Gamat. He looked at me with unbelieving eyes.
Gamat, I said to him, did you fly then?
Nay, Oom, he said, Oom know they don’ shoot miss.
The Corporal said it was just a flesh wound.
My children, Ta Vuurmaak said to us, I’m not stupid. Long after the wound had healed I was still wearing the bandages on my leg. Whenever we had to do something that I didn’t want to do, I made as if I couldn’t walk on this leg. And I felt so good whenever Chai said: Leave the cripple-arse alone.
While he stroked the old scar, he said with his toothless smile: This is my very own truth.
We all looked at Ta Vuurmaak while each thought his own thoughts.
At the first farm house there was only an old ouma, a pregnant woman and two little girls, Ta Vuurmaak said. None of them ever cried or begged for mercy. Then the ouma remembered that the Bible was still in the kitchen. She turned back and walked through the flames.
I’m telling you what I saw, my children, Ta Vuurmaak said in broken voice as he looked at us one by one. She came out of the house, her clothes in flames, but with the Book high above her head. The young woman ran and took the Book out of her hands.
Then what happened, Ta Vuurmaak? one of us wanted to know.
Then the ouma turned into one huge flame, her dress was burnt out, and her bonnet was the last to catch fire, and we looked at that old face. Not a tear came out of those eyes or a sound from her mouth. To this day, my children, I see that face as if everything happened yesterday.
Everything happened so fast. Suddenly the ouma was lying on the ground – just a black heap that smelt of burnt meat. We all went to her, but it was too late. She had blown out her last breath. And just then the fire let the roof fall in and everything went quiet.
Then Chai told us boys to fetch the spades and picks and to dig a grave right there next to the corpse. He said to the young woman, who was still not crying: Miesies, it is Miesies’s honour to put the ouma in the grave.
She rolled the old woman into the grave and said the Our Father. Chai said it with her. With the Bible held tight against her chest she said: Father forgive them for they know not what they do.
She turned around to face the Queen’s men on their horses and spat at them.
We filled the grave. The young woman took a piece of wood and scratched out a kettle from the glowing ash of the kitchen, filled it with sand and placed it at the head of the grave.
She just looked at the men who were still on their horses. They looked away, they could not look her in the eye because she wasn’t scared of them. All this happened without the Queen’s men lifting a finger. All I heard was Corporal Lewis saying: We must obey orders.
After this there were still four farm houses to burn down. This time Chai had other plans. After all, he knew how to use a white man.
But this is where Ta Vuurmaak got sleepy and said: I’ve already spoken too much truth. (He called his history “truth”.) You naughty boys will have to wait for the other four houses. Go home now and do your work, I want to sleep.
It was a long wait for the Sunday after the next pension day. Ta Vuurmaak had a wine glass that he had taken out of one of the farm houses and he said this was his most prized possession. Only he was allowed to touch it. He called it his war memento. He filled it with sherry and said it should be drunk like Holy Communion, and then he drank the wine as slowly as possible.
After the first glass of wine, we nudged the biggest boy among us and said: Ask him.
Ta Vuurmaak, said the boy, tell us about the other four farm houses.
Oh, yes, the old man said. The first one was burnt down to the ground, like the orders of the Queen had said. It was Queen Victoria. I don’t know when Chai and the Corporal had decided to change the Queen’s orders to suit themselves. We, the spies, kept on doing the same thing. A Queen’s man on horseback and one of the Queen’s boys with the wagon and oxen had to ride with all the Boer women and their food to the concentration camp. That’s what happened up to the fifth farm house. You all still remember how the first one was burnt to the ground, Ta Vuurmaak said.
Ja, ja, we remember, we chorused.
When the wagonload of Boers and their things left the fifth farm house, Chai said to me: Stick with us and keep your mouth shut.
He put his finger on his lips. Chai had three farmworkers with him, who the Corporal had also made boys of the Queen, also for sixpence a day plus rations. They had to help me take the iron sheeting off the roofs and to remove the best wood, windows and doors and to pick out the best household goods, pots and pans. Chai called it all “vatmaar” stuff, meaning stuff you can just take because it’s there for the taking.
The best stuff was loaded onto the Queen’s wagon until there was room for nothing more.
Then we made our way back choosing a shorter route which, it seemed to me, Chai knew very well. Our water tank was empty but Chai said to the Corporal if we ride right through the night, the next morning we’ll have all the water we want, plus more.
Just as he said, we stopped by that big tree. It’s dead now. Do you see the one?
Ta Vuurmaak pointed with a finger to the tree stump and we again chorused: We do.
Everything was very carefully unloaded and covered up with the iron sheeting. We packed stones on top so that the wind wouldn’t blow it away. They gave me just about all the food and they said: Stay here until we come back.
I asked Chai where I should sleep. I couldn’t, like a mouse, sleep between those things because the snakes always come for the mice.
Children, Ta Vuurmaak said, Chai is a clever skelm that one. He said to me: D’you remember that big water tank by one of the sidings here on the railway line, the one the Boers shot full of holes?
Ja, I said.
It will never hold water again, he said. So take four oxen and stuff to pull with and fetch it for yourself because it will make a really nice sleeping place for you.
That night I went with four oxen down to the train water tank. It began to rain where Vatmaar begins and the tank make the ditch which these days you call the Vatmaar Road.
Then one day, Chai returned with enough food for a month. He said: Just stay here, everything’s over, they’re busy at Vereeniging. We must get ready for peace.
Then he stayed away again for quite a long time. One morning he came with the Corporal (without uniform) to see if everything was still in order.
They came with a little cart with two horses in front and with mealie-meal, coffee and sugar. Then I heard the Corporal say to Chai: You know, Chai, we were fools not to take sheep and cattle too.
Chan Look, the fahfee player
Chan Look was the son of a Chinaman who in 1905 had come to work on contract on the mines in Kimberley.
His father once told about how, after his contract was over, he had just bought a train ticket for half a crown and got off at its destination. All he had on him were his two blankets in which he had rolled his clothes and tied up with a rope, and his savings. This he hid in his secret flannel money belt which he tied around his body, fastened in front with a button.
On Du Toitspan station the conductor said: Ching Chong Chinaman, off you get, this is Du Toitspan.
That night, he said, he slept in the waiting-room because it was winter and very cold. The next morning he asked a man who said he worked at the railways if he could leave his blankets at the station because he wanted to go and have a look around the town.
Okay, the man said, it will cost you sixpence.
When he came back the man had gone with all his earthly possessions. He didn’t like the place, but walked back to town, heartbroken about the loss of his stuff. He went to the new hotel, which had opened just that week, to look for work as a waiter or chef-boy.
The manager said: You are completely different to these people. There’s your room – and he pointed to the new servants’ rooms. I’ll pay you as much as I think you are worth, do you understand?
Yes, Meester Petersen, he said.
He had his own, brand new room, for the first time in his life.
The chef, Mr Pierre du Pont, drank a lot and Harry Look quickly learnt to cook just like him, wash the dishes and to be waiter too. One day Mr du Pont got sick. The manager was worried and said he didn’t know where to find a cook to help out until Pierre got better. He never noticed that Harry was already doing most of the cooking.
Wait see tonight, Meester Petersen, Harry said.
Mr Petersen thought: Okay, then I’ll wait until tonight.
That night was the same as usual. Some people even asked: Harry, tell me, did Pierre get better so quickly?
Harry just shrugged and said: Not know, ask boss, and went on with his work.
Pierre never got out of bed again. Harry tried to help him with his medicine and took him food in his room in the corner of the hotel. Eventually he died. The hotel staff buried him.
Then the hotel owner said to Harry: Harry, I see the work’s too much for you. I’ll get someone to help you with the serving.
No, Meester Petersen, just get someone for dishes.
Harry was thinking about the tips that he would lose if he lost his job as waiter. His tips were sometimes more than his wages.
Good, I’ll see to it, Harry, Mr Petersen said.
The next day he said to Harry: I can’t find a man to wash the dishes, but I’ve found a young girl, an orphan. She’s eighteen and she says her name is Lisa. Shall we give her Pierre’s room and nail the interleading door closed and just leave the outside door open for her?
Mr Petersen got used to Harry and began taking him into his confidence in matters regarding the running of the hotel. Eventually he put him in charge of the chambermaids and cleaners.
Harry received a good few increases, but he began to feel very lonely. The same routine every day and nobody to go to after work. He did not like strong drink and he also did not give money away. His money belt had begun to bulge from all the golden sovereigns – because it was still the time of golden sovereigns.
Harry and Lisa were soon getting along well and within two years Lisa gave birth to a baby boy. Harry named him Chan.
Mr George Petersen was a religious man and he said to Harry: I no longer want that girl here. I’ll give her a month’s notice and find somebody else to put in her place.
Meester Petersen, Harry said, not Lisa’s fault, my fault. I old enough to be father of Lisa. Child, my child, look like me. Real Chinese.
Yes, Mr Petersen said, I know, and all your offspring will look like Chinamen because Chinese blood is very strong. But it’s final, I’ve already given her a month’s notice.
She nowhere to go, Meester Petersen. Hally go also. I also give one month notice.
Mr Petersen said: I am the boss here and I’m not in need of a Chinese Coolie.
I lesign, Meester Petersen, Harry said.
As waiter Harry used to listen to many secrets and gossip stories. He knew everything that went on in Du Toitspan. He heard that the Irishman Angus MacNamara wanted to sell his shop. It had only one backroom because Angus was a bachelor. Behind his back they said that he was fond of black women. He wanted to go to Johannesburg where there were better prospects. Nobody was interested in his tiny shop built of Kimberley bricks because it was in the poorer section of the town.
Is true you want to sell shop, Meester Angoos? Harry asked him.
Where do you get enough money to buy my shop, you Ching Chong? Angus MacNamara did not want to start haggling with somebody who did not have money. He walked away and called over his shoulder: Fifty pound and twenty-five pound for the stock. At my lawyer’s office tomorrow at nine. Take it or leave it.
I’ll take it, I’ll take it, Meester Angoos, tomollow nine o’clock at Loland and Bouel.
The following morning before nine Harry was already waiting at Roland and Bouer. Angus MacNamara did not turn up. Harry waited until eleven o’clock.
He said to himself: Hally Look, you must have shop. God knows it’s just what you need. Please, God, he said, You know Hally, You know Lisa, You know Chan and You saw shop. Please, God, put all these together. Hally ask it with heart and money belt.
Harry had never before taken money from his money belt. That night he counted it for the first time and he was just over halfway when he had counted seventy-five pounds. Satisfied, he put back the sovereigns.
The next day he went to Angus General Dealer Shop and said: Meester Angoos, I wait by Loland and Bouel. Whole morning. What happen?
I want a round figure, Harry.
Okay, Meester Angoos, Hally give lound figure. I give hundled pound, take it or leave it.
There were no customers and Angus MacNamara said: I’ll lock up, let’s go.
They settled everything at the lawyers – the rates and the title deeds – to put the building and its stock in Harry’s name for one hundred pounds. Harry also had to pay the lawyer. Mr MacNamara signed all the papers and said: Harry will bring the money tomorrow and sign the documents and then everything will be his.
That night Harry could not sleep. Lisa was in his room with the baby. He said to her: No more loom-loom. Now just loom.
The whole night he practised signing H. Look until there was no place left on the piece of brown paper. Must make sure, Lisa, he said, and turned the paper around on the cardboard box and started all over again: H. Look. H. Look. H. Look.
In the early hours of the morning the two closed the door and locked it by turning the wooden latch. They hung a blanket over the window and by candlelight counted out a hundred pounds.
Next thing we buy, Lisa, he said, bicycle with flont callier and next we make vegetable garden. And we show people of Du Toitspan how to play fahfee.
And that’s how fahfee-the-game-of-chance began in Du Toitspan. The game has thirty-six numbers and each number has a name. Most of the time numbers were sold to coloureds and to housewives by runners who went about selling them. The cheapest numbers cost a tickey. After selling the numbers, the runners all came together at a certain time, usually out of the sight of the law, and then the banker, as Harry Look was called, arrived with the winning number on a folded-up piece of paper in his pocket. He opened the paper and showed the winning number to the runners who then each handed him their lists with their numbers and the money. The banker than went through all the lists and gave them the money for each time the winning number appeared on their list.
It was an honest game because the players knew the runners, and the Chinaman, the banker, was well liked by everyone. He paid seven and six for each winning number, for which the runner received a shilling. Do- dai meant that the banker could not pull the same number twice.
On somebody’s birthday his birth date was played – even a person’s attitude to life and appearance was given a number. Dreams were also important, because if a housewife or her husband had a dream, they asked the runner to analyse the dream and to give it its appropriate number. He then gave them one or more numbers to play and many times the dream numbers won. The numbers were concocted by the players.
Then, after the banker had pulled, as it was called, the runners went back to the winners to give them their winnings. The players remained standing where they were when the runner passed, and the runner gave the sign of the winning number. The number was never shouted out and each number had its own sign.
Often the winner took the last tickey in the house, thought up a number, played, and won.
There were winners every day. The players were satisfied and the Chinaman was happy. The only problem was, it was against the law.
The fahfee numbers are: 1. king; 2. monkey; 3. sea/water; 4. dead man; 5. tiger; 6. ox; 7. skelm; 8. pig; 9. moon; 10. eggs; 11. carriage; 12. dead woman; 13. big fish; 14. old woman; 15. bad woman; 16. pigeons; 17. diamond lady; 18. small change; 19. little girl; 20. cat; 21. ship; 22. elephant; 23. horse; 24. mouth; 25. jail/big house; 26. bees; 27.dog; 28. herrings; 29. small water; 30. fowl; 31. fire; 32. gold/money; 33. little boy; 34. shit; 35. pussy; 36. lobster/penis.
Some names were in English and Afrikaans, others only in one language. English or Afrikaans, both were popular.
Harry and Lisa had only the one child, Chan. He looked like a true Chinaman, but in the narrow slits were his mother’s blue eyes. Those blue eyes made Chan look shy, almost as if he wanted to say: But how is it possible?
Harry died when Chan was nineteen years old and the boy was the only heir to Look General Dealer. Because his father had raised him like a Chinaman, he made a success of both the business and the fahfee game.
His mother Lisa was still alive and she wanted him to give up the fahfee business because it didn’t have a licence like the shop. But every time Chan said to her: I’ll just pay the fine and then I’ll start again. It’s the only way I can help our poor people. If they win I give them seven and six for their tickey. And these days lots of white people are playing too. I’m not scared, Ma. They can’t send me back to China, we are both South Africans.