....back in the 1970's and even later, living in South Africa meant living under the Dutch Reformed Church and their ideas -- strange times considering the politics and turmoil the country was heading toward. Anyway -- here's a chapter from Two Feet about a question I asked in class once today -- was God a Mechanic? Strangely enough, the conclusion of this question was answered in a macabre circumstance some months later...what was it? Well...it's in the book!!! Enjoy -- and, please, please comment. Many thanks.
The Home of Two Feet
IS GOD A
MECHANIC?
Meneer
Gerber once said we were all marching forward on God’s road.
God was our engine, driving us on.
God was our petrol, fuelling us around the
bends and up the hills and down the hills.
God was a powerful motor vehicle, and we were
his passengers.
I wanted
to put my hand up and ask if God wore a crash helmet as the racing car drivers
do that I had seen pictures of. But I did not.
I wanted
to put my hand up and ask if God’s car as it zoomed along, also left behind
clouds of red dust that asphyxiated bird and insect as it travelled. But I did
not.
I wanted
to put up my hand and ask if God’s car had any gears, especially a reverse
gear. I was thinking that a reverse gear would be a good idea for God’s car
because if there were any mistakes to be fixed, God could just reverse over the
mistakes and then drive forward again. This way he could fix the mistakes and
make certain they never occurred again. But I did not ask.
I wanted
to put my hand up and ask if God’s engine ever broke down. But I did not.
But I
should.
Was a
submersible borehole-pump not a part of God’s engine?
I won’t
ask.
But if God
was in control of an engine, any engine, then He would know how to repair it?
But I
should ask.
A borehole
was an engine. It had an engine, a pump. It was buried deep down in the shaft
after the drilling machine – Clunk! Clunk! Clunk! -- had driven away leaving
mounds of red clay and diesel and black oil stains on the grass. Yes, a pump
engine that sucked the water from down there where it was quiet and still and dark.
Immersed in the bowels of the earth, where the sun didn't shine and where the
water was sweet
I won’t
ask.
I will.
Will not.
Will.
I raised
my hand.
“Meneer?”
Meneer
Gerber had his feet up on the desk. He twisted his feet and separated them so
he could get a view of me. He remained lounging back in the wooden chair that
often creaked with the sound of a timid fart. He looked at me between his
polished shoes.
“I did not
ask a question, boy.”
“No, Meneer.”
“Then what
the bloody Hell do you want?”
“You are
in deep kak (shit), Rooinek!”That was Pisskop’s whispering voice. He sat at the
rear of the class, but his words were like rifle shots in my burning ears.
Stand up,
Feet. Make me stand. Please!
I stood on
shaking knees trying to focus on Meneer Gerber’s shoes that partly hid his
face. I was deeply flushed. I felt as if I was rolling in a field of stinging
nettles. The soles of Meneer Gerber’s shoes were worn thin, and there was a
patch on the left shoe. I spoke to the patch.
“Dust, Meneer.
There is only dust now because the borehole engine has broken. In the vegetable
garden where my mother is growing radishes, beetroot, cabbage and carrots so we
can sell them at the road shop. (Breathe, chest in and out) Mister Kelly, he
says the pump is old and worn, and he showed us the remains of some rusty
pieces (cheeks hot, so hot)...so... so now there is no water, Meneer because of
the pump so we...we are carrying water now from the dam in Mister Kelly’s jerry
cans. (Bare-feet now sweating on the wooden floorboards and toes curling) We
use a pole, Meneer, so we can carry the water on our shoulders, you see? But
the grass on the hill is dry, Meneer and we are often falling and (hearing a
dry chuckle from Pisskop)...and Mabuza is helping with some rope to pull the jerry
cans up the hill, and my mother, she is really trying to show the water the way
to find the vegetables. (No breath any more Sucking in air) Meneer, but it is
not enough water without the borehole engine so...so...I...the plants are dying
in the dust so I...so I...was thinking that maybe God because he knows engines,
Meneer, can fix the submersible pump?”
Meneer
Gerber abruptly swings his feet off the desk. He sits slowly upright in the
wooden chair that makes a farting sound. He does not lose focus on me.
I remained
standing. Sweaty, naked feet glued to wooden floorboards. A strong smell of
chalk suddenly, a waft of Pisskop’s sour body odour. A movement from Max, the
baker’s son behind his desk: more of a nervous squirm, like someone waiting for
a film to be projected.
“You are
in deep, deep kak (shit), Rooi-Nek”, whispers Pisskop from out there amongst
the blurred faces.
Think: -
mother on hands and knees in dust whispering to rivulet of tepid water.
Solution: - God repairs pump. Result: - mother not necessary to be on hands and
knees in dust whispering to tepid water.
“Are
you...”His voice is shrill with pain, like the sound a rugby player makes when
he is kicked between the legs. He coughs then again speaks.
“Are you are asking me if God is bloody mechanic,
boy?”
I am I
suppose, so I nod, and my head feels heavy, so I know the gesture makes me look
like a dumb child with his bare feet glued to a wooden floor.
I am soon
bent over with my head in the corner. Above my head, just a few inches away, is
a small book shelf. It carries two heavy books – the A-Z of African Wildlife
and Fauna and the A-Z of Places of the World. There is a layer of chalk dust on
the books. They are not a part of the curriculum so are never read and left to
gather chalk dust.
When a
child is bent over in a corner of a room and he is given a caning, his first
reaction is to recoil; is to lift up his head. That is what the bookshelf is
for. When you recoil, you slam your head into the bookshelf. This way Meneer
Gerber gets you twice with one blow. This way the A-Z of African Wildlife and
Fauna and the A-Z of Places in the World also have some use.
I look
down at my two, bare feet as Meneer Gerber lands the first of six strokes. He
will land the second stroke half an inch above the first, then the third will
strike where the first landed. He is a master of his craft.
I wonder
if God will try the reverse gear for me.
&&&&
A question
I never asked:
“Daddy,
how do I switch this on?”
&&&&
A question
I never asked:
“Daddy,
how do I switch this off?”
