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| Heilige tiere en luiperds - HC Bosman [boodskap #101411] |
Di, 15 Februarie 2005 08:22  |
Ferdi Greyling
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Blake het geskryf van Tiger tiger burning bright in the forrests of
the night en daarmee God beskryf.
Ek dink Dante het baie van die simbool van 'n tier gemaak - Gloudina
sal weet.
In Hemingway se briljante Snows of Kilimajaro is daar 'n luiperd hoog
op die berg in die sneeu toe die vertelller sterf.
Hier is Herman Charles Bosman se luiperd in die Marico..
Die storie is skreeusnaaks en sad op die oppervlak, maar strek baie,
baie ver onder die oppervlak.
'n Luiperd as simbool van God, van skoonheid, van 'n oomblik van
insig. 'n Glimps op die onkerbare wat weer verloor word.
Soos TS Elliot gese het: "Till human voices wake us and we drown."
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In the Withaak's Shade
LEOPARDS? - Oom Schalk Lourens said - Oh, yes, there are two varieties
on this side of the Limpopo. The chief difÂference between them is
that the one kind of leopard has got a few more spots on it than the
other kind. But when you meet a leopard in the veld, unexpectedly, you
seldom trouble to count his spots to find out what kind he belongs to.
That is unnecesÂsary. Because, whatever kind of leopard it is that you
come across in this way, you only do one kind of running. And that is
the fastest kind.
I remember the occasion that I came across a leopard unÂexpectedly,
and to this day I couldn't tell you how many spots he had, even though
I had all the time I needed for studying him. It happened about
mid-day, when I was out on the far end of my farm, behind a koppie,
looking for some strayed cattle. I thought the cattle might be there
because it is shady under those withaak trees, and there is soft grass
that is very pleasant to sit on. After 1 had looked for the cattle for
about an hour in this manner, sitting up against a tree4runk, it
occurred to me that I could look for them just as well, or perhaps
even better, if I lay down flat. For even a child knows that cattle
aren't so small that you have got to get on to stilts and things to
see them properly.
So I lay on my back, with my hat tilted over my face, and my legs
crossed, and when I closed my eyes slightly the tip of my boot,
sticking up into the air, looked just like the peak of AbÂjaterskop.
Overhead a lonely aasvoël wheeled, circling slowly round and
round without flapping his wings, and I knew that not even a calf
could pass in any part of the sky between the tip of my toe and that
aasvoël without my observing it immediately. What was more, I could go
on lying there under the withaak and lookÂing for the cattle like that
all day, if necessary. As you know, I am not the sort of farmer to
loaf about the house when there is a man's work to be done.
The more I screwed up my eyes and gazed at the toe of my hoot, the
more it looked like Abjaterskop. By and by it seemed that it actually
was Abjaterskop, and I could see the stones on top of it, and the bush
trying to grow up its sides, and in my ears there was a far off
humming sound, like bees in an orchard on a still day. As I have said,
it was very pleasant.
Then a strange thing happened. It was as though a huge cloud, shaped
like an animal's head and with spots on it, had settled on top of
Abjaterskop. It seemed so funny that I wanted to laugh. But I didn't.
Instead, I opened my eyes a little more and felt glad to think that I
was only dreaming. Because otherÂwise I would have to believe that the
spotted cloud on AbjatersÂkop was actually a leopard, and that he was
gazing at my boot. Again I wanted to laugh. But then, suddenly, I
knew.
And I didn't feel so glad. For it was a leopard, all right - a
large-sized, hungry-looking leopard, and he was sniffing susÂpiciously
at my feet. I was uncomfortable. I knew that nothing I could do would
ever convince that leopard that my toe was Abjaterskop. He was not
that sort of leopard: I knew that withÂout even counting the number of
his spots. Instead, having finished with my feet, he started sniffing
higher up. It was the most terrifying moment of my life. I wanted to
get up and run for it. But I couldn't. My legs wouldn't work.
Every big-game hunter I have come across has told me the same story
about how, at one time or another, he has owed his escape from lions
and other wild animals to his cunning in lying down and pretending to
be dead, so that the beast of prey loses interest in him and walks
off. Now, as I lay there on the grass, with the leopard trying to make
up his mind about me, I under-stood why, in such a situation, the
hunter doesn't move. It's simÂply that he can't move. That's all. It's
not his cunning that keeps him down. It's his legs.
In the meantime the leopard had got up as far as my knees. He was
studying my trousers very carefully, and I started getting
embarrassed. My trousers were old and rather unfashionable. Also, at
the knee, there was a tom place, from where I had climbed through a
barbed-wire fence, into the thick bush, the time I saw the Government
tax~ollector coming over the bult before he saw me. The leopard stared
at that rent in my trousers for quite a while, and my embarrassment
grew. I felt I wanted to explain about the Government tax collector
and the barbed wire. I didn't want the leopard to get the impression
that Schalk Lourens was the sort of man who didn't care about his
personal appearance.
When the leopard got as far as my shirt, however, I felt better. It
was a good blue flannel shirt that I had bought only a few weeks ago
from the Indian store at Ramoutsa, and I didn't care how many strange
leopards saw it. Nevertheless, I made up my mind that next time I went
to lie on the grass under the witÂhaak, looking for strayed cattle, I
would first polish up my veldÂskoens with sheep's fat, and I would put
on my black hat that I only wear to Nagmaal. I could not permit the
wild animals of the neighbourhood to sneer at me.
But when the leopard reached my face I got frightened again. I knew he
couldn't take exception to my shirt. But I wasn't so sure about my
face. Those were terrible moments. I lay very still, afraid to open my
eyes and afraid to breathe. Sniff-sniff, the huge creature went, and
his breath swept over my face in hot gasps. You hear of many
frightening experiences that a man has in a lifetime, I have also been
in quite a few perilous situations. But if you want something to make
you suddenly old and to turn your hair white in a few moments) there
is nothing to beat a leopard - especially when he is standing over
you, with his jaws at your throat, trying to find a good place to
bite.
The leopard gave a deep growl, stepped right over my body, knocked off
my hat, and growled again. I opened my eyes and saw the animal moving
away clumsily. But my relief didn't last long. The leopard didn't move
far. Instead, he turned over and lay down next to me.
Yes, there on the grass, in the shade of the withaak, the leopard and
I lay down together. The leopard lay half-curled up, on his side, with
his forelegs crossed, like a dog, and whenever I tried to move away he
grunted. I am sure that in the whole history of the Groot Marico there
have never been two stranger comÂpanions engaged in the thankless task
of looking for strayed cattle.
Next day, in Fanie Snyman's voorkamer, which was used as a
post-office, I told my story to the farmers of the neighbourhood,
while they were drinking coffee and waiting for the motor-lorry from
Zeerust.
"And how did you get away from that leopard in the end?" Koos van
Tonder asked, trying to be funny. "I suppose you crawled through the
grass and frightened the leopard off by pretending to be a python."
"No, I just got up and walked home," I said. "I remembered that the
cattle I was looking for might have gone the other way and strayed
into your kraal. I thought they would be safer with the leopard."
"Did the leopard tell you what he thought of General Pienaar's last
speech in the Volksraad?" Frans Welman asked, and they all laughed.
I told my story over several times before the lorry came with our
letters, and although the dozen odd men present didn't say much while
I was talking, I could see that they listened to me in the same way
that they listened when Krisjan Lemmer talked. And everybody knew that
Krisjan Lemmer was the biggest liar in the Bushveld.
To make matters worse, Krisjan Lemmer was there, too, and when I got
to the part of my story where the leopard lay down beside me, Krisjan
Lemmer winked at me. You know that kind of wink. It was to let me know
that there was now a new underÂstanding between us, and that we could
speak in future as one Marico liar to another.
I didn't like that.
"Kêrels," I said in the end, "I know just what you are thinkÂing. You
don't believe me, and you don't want to say so.
"But we do believe you," Krisjan Lemmer interrupted me, very wonderful
things happen in the Bushveld. I once had a twenty-foot mamba that I
named Hans. This snake was so attached to me that I couldn't go
anywhere without him. He would even follow me to church on Sunday, and
because he didn't care much for some of the sermons, he would wait for
me outside under a tree. Not that Hans was irreligious. But he had a
sensitive nature, and the strong line that the predikant took against
the serpent in the Garden of Eden always made Hans feel awkward. Yet
he didn't go and look for a withaak to lie under, like your leopard.
He wasn't stand-offish in that way. An ordinary thorn-tree's shade was
good enough for Hans. He knew he was only a mamba, and didn't try to
give himself airs." I didn't take notice of Krisjan Lemmer's stupid
lies, but the upshot of this whole affair was that I also began to
have doubts about the existence of that leopard. I recalled queer
stories I had heard of human beings that could turn themselves into
animals, and although I am not a superstitious man I could not shake
off the feeling that it was a spook thing that had happened. But when,
a few days later, a huge leopard had been seen from the roadside near
the poort, and then again by Mtosas on the way to Nietverdiend, and
again in the turf-lands near the Malopo, matters took a different
turn.
At first people jested about this leopard. They said it wasn't a real
leopard, but a spotted animal that had walked away out of Schalk
Lourens' dream. They also said that the leopard had come to the
Dwarsberge to have a look at Krisjan Lemmer's twenty-foot mamba. But
afterwards, when they had found his spoor at several water-holes, they
had no more doubt about the leopard.
It was dangerous to walk about in the veld, they said. ExÂciting times
followed. There was a great deal of shooting at the leopard and a
great deal of running away from him. The amount of Martini and Mauser
fire I heard in the krantzes reÂminded me of nothing so much as the
First Boer War. And the amount of running away reminded me of nothing
so much as the Second Boer War.
But always the leopard escaped unharmed. Somehow, I felt sorry for
him. The way he had first sniffed at me and then lain down beside me
that day under the withaak was a strange thing that I couldn't
understand. I thought of the Bible, where it is written that the lion
shall lie down with the lamb.
But I also wondered if I hadn't dreamt it all. The manner in which
those things had befallen me was also unearthly. The leopard began to
take up a lot of my thoughts. And there was no man to whom I could
talk about it who would be able to help me in any way. Even now, as I
am telling you this story, I am expecting you to wink at me, like
Krisjan Lemmer did.
Still, I can only tell you the things that happened as I saw them and
what the rest was about only Africa knows.
It was some time before I again walked along the path that leads
through the bush to where the withaaks are. But I didn't lie down on
the grass again. Because when I reached the place, I found that the
leopard had got there before me. He was lying on the same spot,
half-curled up in the withaak's shade, and his fore-paws were folded
as a dog's are sometimes. But he lay very still. And even from the
distance where I stood I could see the red splash on his breast where
a Mauser bullet had gone.
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| Re: Heilige tiere en luiperds - HC Bosman [boodskap #101444 is 'n antwoord op boodskap #101411] |
Di, 15 Februarie 2005 16:33  |
bouer
Boodskappe: 4803
Geregistreer: Desember 2003
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Senior Lid |
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"Ferdi Greyling" skryf
> In the Withaak's Shade
Baie dankie hiervoor. Dis verbasend hoe Bosman onder al
die komedie die religieuse simbole kan volhou, tot die laaste
toneel, wat Mel Gibson se pogings barbaars laat lyk.
Gloudina
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