The Night Owl
Jana lies in bed, holding the pillow closer. She remembers the towns and the forest in the distance, the mountain painted by shadow gullies. The old Catholic church and John’s breath that always stank like old pipe tobacco. She remembers the clouds that promised rain but rarely brought them the big shadows on the side of town.
Then her mind jumps to Muizenberg and the smell of the sea, and the cold, wet winters. The personalities in the café, each with their characteristics. Winter’s sun is dancing playfully on the sea waves and bouncing like dad Pete before he moaned like a lion when he was still active. Keen to ask her every time he saw her,
“What are you doing with little Miss Jana?”
She turned on her side and threw the pillow on the floor. The Karoo night in New Bethesda is quiet, and the moon’s rays grow through the small window. Her fingers were rubbing on the sheet she had long wanted to throw away.
The white is no longer white — it has turned out to be a horrible grey.
Then her mind goes quiet, and for a moment, she closes her eyes again.
Back in Muizenberg and the train to Cape Town. Preceding St. James, Kalk Bay, Clovelly and Fish Hoek.
She opens her eyes and tries to open it up and down to make the brown wallpaper a different colour. She took a deep breath and turned on her back. It probably doesn’t help that I lie here and remember the past, she thought.
She got up. She put on her little green floral nightgown, grabbing the gramophone and the recording of Chopin’s Nocturne as she hurried outside. Her favourite piece of music.
The air is crisp and clean. The night owl followed her with his eyes as she walked across the bridge, trying to remember when the last water was in the Gats River. Her father convinced that the river was not for children. She could feel the ground crack under her sandals, and she walked faster. The gramophone is heavy.
From afar, she can see the tower of the white church. The town is quiet, and it’s only the cry of the night owl that makes a noise. She decides to walk further.
An hour later, she put down the gramophone and started to wind it up. She was out of breath, and the sweat dropped gently down her chest. The owl was still following her, she thought. She carefully places the needle on the recording, and the music fills the night. Jana lay down and closed her eyes again. The piano’s scratching sounds loud.
Somewhere, she thought, she had to let go of her darkness.
She must let go of Muizenberg and Graaff-Reinet, and John and his breath and the child. Between Chopin’s notes and that night’s owl’s call, she thought she would have to let the child go. Otherwise, she’s never going to get any sleep again from the beginning. But her mother Hester will hold her. She will indulge in the scent of Roger and Gallet perfume in the glass diamond bottle that sometimes catches the light. The aroma was long gone, but the smell wrapped in her mother’s handkerchief. For the rest, recall one by one in detail and clamp it down in cement.
But for the child, she will have to do something special. And the brown of the room would have to go if she wanted to sleep properly again.
She thinks again: the void I am experiencing is moving away from God. What is God? Do I find God in faith? It works for some. Do I see it in other people? Sometimes. Do I find it in love? Absolutely. What is love? Love is a warm feeling that fills and fills me. Sometimes I have no more desire to live like John. And then I look for love in places that leave more gaps.
David’s famous poem. Where will my help come? My advice is from the Lord. The Lord of my childhood infected with people’s egos and my father’s insistence on seeking Him. People’s idea that if I do or do not do as they do, I will not grant God’s love. Where then am I seeking love?
I’m looking for it between the Gat River and the big hill. I seek love between friends but realise that friends, just like me, are human. They fail. They stumble.
I’m looking for love in the family. And all I find is a connection based on an invisible bond of memories. I remember once being your family for a while. But if we had to meet each other on another occasion, I think I would have no connection with you.
The recording almost is done. Jana opened her eyes to the night owl sitting a few meters away from her. At first, she was startled, but she could see that the night owl was sitting there all the time watching her.
For you, night owl, I first built a statue with bright eyes. She smiled at the owl.
She took the yellow paper from her inside pocket and read the words aloud:
And, as the Cock crew, those who stood before
The Tavern shouted — “Open the Door!
You know how little time we have to stay,
And once departed, it may return no more. ”
God would understand, she whispered.
Author Mattheus Frederik
