Chapter 16

Plettenberg Bay. Friday Morning early.

The grey lighting of the eastern sky had yet to come. Stars still speckled the sky overhead and to the west it was night dark. The big goodbye was over, and my bakkie pointed its nose along the N2 highway towards George.

At George, we’d take the N12 to Oudtshoorn. Dysselsdorp, De Rust and Klaarstroom followed. Between the towns of De Rust and Klaarstroom we’d cross the Swartberg Mountain range, through the famous Meiringspoort. Bobbie would want to stop and snap a picture of the waterfall, but she didn’t know about it yet.

Meiringspoort is the gateway between the Little Karoo and the Great Karoo. It is twenty-five kilometres long, and in that span of twenty-five kilometres you cross the same river twenty-five times!

After exiting Meiringspoort, the N12 highway continues on for two hundred kilometres, straight as the crow flies across the Karoo ... no turns, no kinks. And around us, miles and miles of farms and emptiness. I’d let her drive a few kilometres there along that stretch of road. It should be a good experience for her.

The sun broke the horizon just as we drove out of George. The day promised to be good for driving: not too warm and with a light overcast. The sun peeked through the overcast, playing hide-and-seek with us. Some rain might fall on this side of the mountains, but past Meiringspoort the overcast would clear for a bright sunny day. The Greater Karoo at its best, and that sun would show no mercy and take no prisoners.

Passing through the Karoo city of Beaufort West we joined up with the N1 highway going north. Still, another sixty kilometres to go.

As the clock pushed to eleven forty, we came to a farm gate on the western side of the N1 highway. The two side walls proudly displaying the name, “Syferfontein.”

To translate that, I don’t think I will do so well. The name is made up of two words that in Afrikaans is spelled as one. “Siphon,” and “fountain.” It literately means “siphon fountain”, or a place where the water siphons up through the earth to form a fountain or a pool. Okay, there you have it, now on with the story.

The gate was closed, so I had to do the ritual of stop, open the gate, drive through, stop again, close the gate, and then drive the last two kilometres to the green oasis that marked the site of the homestead.

The closer we got to the farm the quieter Bobbie became.

“What’s wrong, Bobs? Lost your tongue?”

“No. I’m just nervous.”

“You don’t need to be nervous. You hit it off with my brother and his wife, so...”

“Yeah, but these are your mom and dad. What if they hate me?”

“Oh, come on, Bobbie. They will like you. Wait and see.”

“I’m still scared.”

“You are coming here as my friend. That’s all that they need to know.”

“Oh! So ... So, you’re not going to introduce me as ... your girlfriend.”

“Not yet. It will be better for your nerves.”

“I suppose then it is okay. But still ... Hey! This is a farm, and there should be a barn.”

“Yes, there’re two or three barns. Maybe dad build a fourth one that I don’t know about ... Why do you ask.”

“So we can slip behind the barn and steal a kiss!” Giggle. “I don’t want to lose out either, you know?”

“Is that your only concern? There will be plenty time for kissing.” Chuckle.

“And cuddling?”

“And cuddling...”

“Okay.”

By then we were drawing up to the farmhouse. As always, I stopped to the side of the house under the shade of the old umbrella-shaped camel thorn tree.

We both climbed out and walked up to the house. In the meantime, Dad and Mom must have heard the bakkie stop, as both came down the steps from the big cool stoep with its wide veranda and white painted pillars.

“Hello son! We’ve been expecting you about two hours ago!” Dad chuckled and reached out his hand for greeting, but that was just a gesture to grab hold of me and give me a man hug. Mom was next.

“Welcome home, Louis. It’s so good to have you here,” she added, and still holding on to me, turned to Bobbie. “And you too, child. I hope you will enjoy the farm life.”

“Mom, Dad, this is Bobbie,” I simply stated, not saying anything more.

“Bobbie, you are most welcome here with us. If I’m not ‘Dad’, I go by the name of Pieter. And this is ‘Mom’, or Susan. Please don’t call us uncle and aunt!”

“I am pleased to meet you!” Bobbie replied, and a shy smile formed on her lips.

“Let’s get out of the sun!” Mom offered. “The house is cool so let’s go and get something to drink. Louis, you can bring your bags in later. First, let’s go and relax.”

So far, so good. If sister-in-law blabbed about Bobbie, mom and dad hid it rather well.

Mom went to the kitchen to put the kettle to boil and brew coffee the old fashioned way: coffee grounds dumped into a cloth bag that was then placed in an enamel coffee-pot, hot water poured over it and left to draw. Bobbie followed her to the kitchen, and I could hear the two chatting away.

In the meantime, I fetched our bags from the bakkie and took mine to my old room. Bobbie’s bags I placed in the guest room across the passage from my room.

I then joined dad on the stoep. Not a breeze was stirring, and the winter sun did its best to blast us with furnace heat.

“So, how are you coping in the Cape?” Dad asked, taking out his tobacco pouch and starting to pack his pipe.

“So far so good. We are not busy this time of the year. Now Jeff and Ronny can cope with the demand.”

“The two other pilots?”

“Yeah...” I replied and dad coughed.

“Who’s this little girl you dragged along?”

“A friend that wanted to see what a Karoo farm looks like. Ride some horses and look at the sheep.”

“Really?”

“Dad!”

“She’s young. Pretty young. How old is she?”

“Eighteen.”

“Hmm...” Dad replied and blew out a cloud of smoke. “Does her mother know?”

“Know what?”

“Her mother must know, else she would not have allowed you to bring her here alone all by herself, just the two of you...” Dad answered his own question, but I saw the little crow’s wrinkles showing at his eyes. He was toying with me. “So, is she working with you?”

“No, she’s finishing up matric this year,” I sighed.

“A schoolgirl?”

“So what, Dad ... She’s eighteen...” I protested.

“Ah! I knew it!” Dad laughed. “You pick them fresh from the orchard.”

“Dad!”

“Don’t dad me. I can see the way she looked at you. That girl is more than a friend.”

“Maybe...”

“Don’t deny it, son. I’m happy for you. That last one nearly killed you,” he replied, blew out some smoke, and looked straight at me. “Although this one is still young, I pray that she will do you good. She seems to be a lot into you. Her eyes, when they followed you, gave her away. Just be careful. She’s a redhead!”

“Dad, I ... I did not want to, but she crept in under my skin. And yes, given, she’s young ... You may call me a cradle snatcher, and maybe it’s true, but if you could hold heaven, what would you do?”

“Don’t explain.” Dad replied. “Just take it slow. Don’t get hurt ... And don’t you dare to hurt her...”

“She offered me true love, that I never knew from a woman...”

“So, you saw the door to heaven, and just walked through?”

“You’ll never believe me, but I tried not to, but with heaven at my fingertips ... what else could I do?”

“Yeah son, you’ve got your feet in my shoes ... your mom is also much younger than me. History repeats itself...”

In the kitchen of Syferfontein.

“How can I help, Mom Susan?” Bobbie offered and Susan turned to her, the enamel coffee-pot in her right hand. Now why would this sweet girl call her ‘Mom Susan?’ Is it out of respect not to call her just Susan, or is there a snake in the grass somewhere.

“You just sit there at the table, Bobbie,” Susan said and smiled. “I’ve done this a million and thirty-eleven times.”

“Oh, but I don’t want to be in the way. If I can help, just tell me what to do.”

“So, where do you work and what do you do?”

“Oh, I’m still at school,” Bobbie giggled.

Susan looked away, not wanting Bobbie to see her expression. Over her shoulder she asked:

“That’s nice. In what grade are you?”

“I’m in grade twelve ... Matric.”

“And how is school?”

“Great! We start the final exam in October.”

“Then are you going to do like all the other kids do now these days, take a year off?”

“A gap year? No, I want to go to Stellenbosh and do a B.Sc. degree.”

“Really! Then you must be a clever girl?”

“Louis thinks so.”

“Louis always thinks the best of people,” Susan replied and put some coffee grinds into a cloth bag with a wire handle. “Those two on the stoep like their coffee strong. I hope you do too, else I will make you some not so strong.”

“I like the way Louis makes his coffee, so if you make it the same as Louis, it will be good.”

“Ah ... You’re a coffee pot too!” Susan chuckled. “I better get out some of the biscuits I baked.” But inwardly she thought: “Louis, Louis this, and Louis that. Every second word from this redhead is Louis! Hmm...

“My mom and I bake biscuits too. Last time Louis ate a whole dozen! That he did not have a stomachache afterwards was a wonder.”

Susan laughed. “Then I must try your biscuits too. If Louis likes them, then they must be good!” And there’s that reference to Louis again.

“Next time I’ll bring you some along,” Bobbie said, and Susan looked away again. If there’s going to be a next time, then things are already brewing between this redhead girl and Louis. And by Bobbie’s way of speaking of Louis, there was a vibe in the air, good vibe.

“How did you meet Louis, Bobbie?”

“My mom works for him at the airport, and I usually go there after school to get a lift home with my mom. But now that I got my drivers’ licence and my own wheels, I might just go straight home after school.”

“How old are you, Bobbie?”

“I turned eighteen a week ago.”

The kettle boiled, and Susan used that as an excuse to grab it and fill the coffee-pot, place the grinds-filled cloth bag into the pot, then close the lid.

“Now we let it draw a bit. Come, let’s go to the pantry and get those biscuits.”

Together the two women went to the pantry to retrieve the biscuits.

“So, what car did you get?”

“My mom, dad, Louis and two friends clubbed together and bought me a bakkie for my birthday. They said, seeing that I am an outdoor type of girl, a bakkie would suit me fine.”

“That is good. A bakkie is always handy. When the coffee is done, you take the coffee-pot and the plate of biscuits, and I’ll bring the tray with mugs and other stuff,” Susan smiled.

“That’s fine. We can’t let the thirsty guys out front swelter in the heat there without wet or dry over their lips, now can we?”

Susan laughed. She liked this girl.

Bobbie was just as Terrie described her; a tomboy turning into a woman. Susan saw much of herself in this girl. She hoped Louis would see it too. Although a little young for Louis, she’ll be the medicine her son needs.

“I see you have an old wood-fire stove still here in the kitchen. My dad’s got one outside by the braai that he uses to make some yummy stuff on. He even has all those black cast-iron pots and pans.”

“Well we sometimes still use it, but it is more of a house heater in winter now!” Susan chuckled. “This Karoo gets to be in the minuses in winter.”

“Brr ... I bet you make nice soup, Mom Susan?”

“You should come try it and see for yourself,” Susan invited and watched Bobbie’s face. There! Yes, there will be a next time ... and a next time, and a next time after that. Susan did not need to be a psychic to predict that. Terrie was right about this girl.

The breeze sprang up from the south, the air cooled down a bit, and we were reminded again that it was winter. There were a few high clouds drifting in, but as dad said: “No rain again.” Sigh.

Mom was busy in the kitchen with preparing supper and dad took the opportunity to drag Bobbie away to go show her the first lambs of the season.

“This lot came a little early,” Dad Pieter told her as they walked off to the barn where the newborns were kept.

“I thought animals only give birth in the spring?” Bobbie questioned.

“These are Dorper sheep, a true South African breed that can survive in these arid conditions. The breed was developed by crossing the Dorset Horn and the Blackhead Persian sheep.” Chuckle. “That the rams were busy is a given fact, and a ewe can produce a lamb three times in two years.”

“Wow! I did not know that!”

“They are a fun breed to farm with. You will see.”

“So, when do you shear their wool?”

“We don’t shear them,” Pieter laughed. “They are a meat sheep and have a light coat of wool that they shed self during spring and summer, but their skin is most sought-after and are marketed as Cape Glovers.”

“Wow, a sheep you don’t shear! That is another thing I did not know.”

“And another thing, they will eat anything! Sometimes the stuff a Merino sheep bypass, these sheep will eat!”

“I know Merino sheep. There’s many of them around Plettenberg Bay and Knysna on the farms.” Bobbie shared her knowledge and Pieter would know she is not just a pretty face.

“Here we are now,” and he stepped aside to let her go ahead. “Sorry it stinks a bit in here...”

“Of course, it will smell a bit. The babies do poop!”

Pieter burst out laughing. “Of course they poop...” He replied, turning his face away so that Bobbie don’t see him grin. This girl is no airhead. Louis better play his cards right with this one. She’s a keeper.

With the sun dipping towards the western horizon and the strengthening of the breeze to a light wind, the afternoon became cooler.

On the open fields of the farm the grass and low shrubs were bracing themselves against the light south wind. A low, barely audible, ever-present whistle of the wind, so characteristic here on the plains and semi-savannah, sounded around the landscape.