The Carpet King
Ginny Swart
1The first we saw of the Carpet King was a cloud of dust coming along the road to thefarm. My mother was sitting on the step, picking stones out of the dried beans in a big enamel bowl on her lap."That's not the Extension Officer," she said, screwing up her eyes at the shimmeringheat haze. "Hansie's not due until next month. Yirra, I wonder if it's the Tax."The Tax was a constant dread in our lives, arriving unannounced and demanding ahead count of stock and a check on farm equipment. But we'd have known if he was on hisway, because he had to pass through Kobus Potgieter's farm to reach ours, and Mrs Potgieter would have rung my mother on the partyline and warned her.We watched the cloud of dust stop five times, lurch forward, stop, then carry on as thedriver opened and closed the camp gates. My dad sometimes talked of getting stock grids buthad never bothered with the expense, as he always had Lang Jan on the back of his truck to jump down and deal with the gates.Finally a small red pick-up emerged from the swirl of white dust and jerked to a stopin front of us. A dapper, neat little man emerged, smiling with his back teeth showing. Like a jackal, I thought."A very good afternoon to you, ladies."He bounded uninvited up the steps and took my mother's hand in his.'Charles Andrews, the Carpet King, at your service, ma'am.""Margriet le Roux.""Mrs le Roux. I'm privileged to meet you. And your delightful little - er -- daughter."I was already self-conscious about the haircut Ma had given me and that fatalhesitation slammed the door on any future relationship between me and Charles Andrews.Even if he hadn't been English.But in the face of his charm, my mother stood up clumsily, handing me the bowl of dried beans."Mr le Roux is out in the camps with the fencing. Would Meneer like some coffeewhile he waits?""Ah, Mrs le Roux, that would be too kind, too kind. I thank you. But in truth, it isyour good self I have come to visit.""Me?" My mother wiped her hands on her apron uncertainly. I'd never heard anyonespeak like he did, using so many words to say so little.2"Indeed yes. It is always the lady of the house who decides on the beautiful thingswith which to adorn her domain, is that not so? I have come to show you the most wonderful, but also the most practical floor coverings you will see in the whole of Africa. I doubt thatwhen you travel to Europe or the Americas, you will ever lay eyes upon carpets asmagnificent as these I have brought for you."I knew for a fact that my mother had no plans to travel further than Cape Town. Whenmy parents had married in Brandvlei they had set off towards the Cape on honeymoon, butmy dad's truck had blown a tyre outside Tontelbos and they never got further than theCommercial Hotel there. She often talked wistfully of a holiday in the Cape one day. Whenthings improved.
"I don't think we want any carpets just now," she said.But the 'I think' gave him encouragement."If you'll only allow me five minutes of your precious time, Mrs le Roux, it would bemy pleasure to show you a few samples of these magnificent carpets. Each one a hand-knotted masterpiece. I would be happy for you just to feast your eyes. With no obligation onyour part of course. Looking will cost you nothing. Not a penny."He hurried back to his pick-up and started to lift off the carpets, wrapped in plasticagainst the dust."Get the coffee, Grietjie," said my mother. "And bring the rusks also. On the blue plate."I could see she was impressed by this rooinek from the city, with his three piece suitand his black shoes so shiny they looked like wet plastic. When I came back through thescreen door carrying coffee, two of the carpets were already spread out on the stoep.I nearly dropped the tray, they were so beautiful.Brilliant reds, blues, purples, greens and gold woven together in a complicated patternof birds and flowers and mysterious shapes. They had an exotic smell of spices and far away places."These are Persian carpets, Griet," murmured my mother, "They make them in thedesert. Up there where the Bible comes from."Charles Andrews said nothing. He stood to one side, smiling slightly and allowed hiscarpets to speak to my mother in their foreign accents, to woo her with their fantastic patternsand tempt her with their shameless, vivid colours.3She was entranced. She walked slowly around them, her eyes never leaving thegorgeous designs.Then she bit her lip and said quietly, "I will have to ask Mr le Roux."I knew what my dad would say. He was the biggest farmer in the district, running8000 angora goats on the 70,000 morgen of dry, unforgiving land in the Kamiesberg but it had been three years since we'd seen any rain. The last wool cheque had been so small that he'dtwice had to go to ask Mr Venter at the bank for a loan.My dad would say no thank you, we've got a carpet already.And he would watch Charles Andrews roll up his carpets and load them back onto his pick- up and he'd wait until he had opened the fifth and furthest gate, then he'd turn around tous and laugh and say,"These blerrie rooineks! Think they can sell us all their rubbish!"And that would be the end of it.But to my surprise, when my dad came back to the house, he introduced himself andshook hands with the Carpet King, and listened without any expression while the salesmanwent through his speech once again. I could see my mother looking at him tensely, willinghim to fall in love with the carpets as she had. Not both of course, but maybe one.Charles Andrews started telling him what a good investment they were, howintricately they were knotted by expert fingers in far-off lands and how they would turn our house into a palace, but my dad interrupted him."Very pretty. Now I've got to check some stock in the bottom camp. So I'll saygoodbye.""Oh ... perhaps I could accompany you on your inspection? You have such amagnificent homestead here, such an enormous property. I would deem it a privilege to seesomething of it."
"You want to see the goats? Come along then. You come too, Grietjie," he grunted,and I caught a gleam of some devilment in his eye.Charles Andrews hurried along trying to keep up with my dad, his shiny shoes gettingsmeared with dust, I was happy to see. He never stopped talking in that high, excited Englishvoice of his, on an on, about how wonderful the farm was, what a sense of space he had justlooking towards the horizon, how lovely the silence was, how picturesque the white goatswere.4What excited him most was the fact that my great-grandfather Adriaan le Roux hadtrekked to this part of the Kamiesberg in 1863 and started farming with his wife and five sons.Our family had been living on Kareebosvlei for three generations -- four, if you counted me."Ah, what a sense of history. What deep and solid family roots you have struck, afortunate man indeed. To know ourselves we must know our history, isn't that so?"I thought, if he had to live here he'd soon get tired of all this space with nothing on itexcept goats and stones and he'd certainly hate the silence because it meant there was no oneelse to talk to for fifty miles in any direction.My dad just grunted. I could tell he thought this rooinek was a simpleton.On the way back to the house, my dad took him into the barn to show him the tractor,its metal seat worn shiny with the backsides of le Rouxs who had planted hopefully everyyear and waited for the rains to come."This was my father's and it's still going strong," he said, smacking its greenmudguard affectionately. "You can't beat those old Massey-Fergusons."He gave a nostalgic sigh and looked around the dim interior of the barn. I knew hewas up to something.The Carpet King didn't take much notice of the tractor, but his busy little eyes lit uponan old wooden box in the corner. Lang Jan had used it for storing his family's clothes until mydad gave him an old cupboard from the house."That looks like a good strong box," he said, a bit too casually. "I could find a use for a box like that. Do you keep it for any special purpose?"The cheek of the man! I expected my dad to tell him off, but he said mildly, "Notreally.""If you're not using it, perhaps you'd like to sell it to me?""That box? No man, I couldn't sell that," said my dad, shaking his head. "That boxtrekked on the ox wagons with my great- grandfather over the Hantam Mountains in 1860.That wa-kis has got a lot of history. No, I couldn't ever part with that box.""Really?"He tried hard to sound unimpressed but I could see crazy Charles Andrews was dyingto possess that wooden box. I had to hide my mouth with my hand so he couldn't see melaughing at him. That dirty old thing had been in Lang Jan's smoky hut for years and beforethat, lying behind the feed shed.5"That's a pity. It would just fit nicely onto my pick-up and be very handy. What wouldyou say to fifty rands?"I nearly choked. Fifty rands for that piece of junk!"No, I couldn't," said my dad, shaking his head emphatically. "It wouldn't be right. Ihave to honour my great- grandfather and keep it in the family. Look, he carved his name on
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