In the heart of the country by J. M. Coetzee

Author:J. M. Coetzee [Coetzee, J. M.]
Language: eng
Format: epub, mobi, pdf
Tags: Fiction, Unread
ISBN: 9780099465942
Publisher: Vintage Books
Published: 2004-02-09T00:00:00+00:00

"Yes, we will have to make a fire," I reply.

I am thankful, in times of trouble, to have a trusty helper. Hendrik's eyes meet mine. We see the same purpose. I smile, and he smiles too, a sudden unambiguous smile that shows his stained teeth and his pink gums.

153. Hendrik explains to me how the entire windowframe can be lifted from the wall. He shows me first how the plaster can be chipped away to reveal the bolts securing the frame to the wall. He shows me how these bolts can be sawn through with a hacksaw blade. He saws through the four bolts, dust and filings falling in pyramids at our feet. He forces out the frame, the sashes still latched together within it, and puts it aside. He explains how the windowledge is levelled before the first bricks are laid. He lays eighteen courses of bricks and plasters them over. I wash the trowel and the hod for him. I scrub the lime from under his fingernails with vinegar. All night and all day we wait for the plaster to dry. Anna brings us coffee. We whitewash the new plaster. We burn the windowframe. The glass cracks in the flames. We grind it to powder under our heels.

154. Hendrik and I climb the stairs to the loft. In the close heat he shows me how to paint the floor with tar so that the cracks between the boards are sealed. I tend the fire under the tarbucket while he paints. On hands and knees we back out of the loft.

155. Hendrik removes the doorknob and shows me how to stuff caulking into the cracks with a blunt chisel. He lays sixteen courses of bricks to seal the doorway. I mix the mortar, I wash the tools. I scrub his fingernails. We strip off the old wallpaper, and re-cover the passage with paper we have found in the loft. The old doorframe bulges, but we ignore it.

156. Hendrik shows me how to saw through bricks and mortar. We use the ripsaw that hangs in the stable. The teeth of this saw never grow blunt. We saw through the walls that hold the bedroom to the house. Our arms grow tired but we do not pause. I learn to spit on my hands before I grip the saw. Our labour brings us together. No longer is labour Hendrik's prerogative. I am his equal though I am the weaker. Klein-Anna climbs the ladder to bring us mugs of coffee and slices of bread and jam. We crawl under the house to saw through the foundations. Our honest sweat flows together in the dark warmth. We are like two termites. In perseverance lies our strength. We saw through the roof and through the floor. We shove the room off. Slowly it rises into the air, a ship of odd angles sailing black against the stars. Into the night, into empty space it floats, clumsily, since it has no keel. We stand in the dust and mice droppings, on ground where no sun has shone, watching it.

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