BASTARD OF A RED FACED FERRET

I woke to a clear day outside the windows and had a good, drumming shower in a locker-room redolent with the oddly pleasant and comforting odours of old socks, sweat, soap, damp towels, fungus, talcum powder and the leather of golf bags. Open tog bags lay carelessly on long slatted wooden benches which ran along the walls. An assortment of towels hung like flags from the corners of open locker doors.
It felt good to have the entire club to myself. I made myself coffee from one of those giant stainless steel urns which had been left to simmer in the kitchen and wandered around looking at signed caricatures on the walls of club characters - the heads huge on small bodies; grinning teeth the size of tombstones. Outside on the golf course gossamer threads of mist lay over the grass and the thorn trees, as if a massive spider had been spinning its web out there.

By the time Dianne arrived to let us out a sort of vague, hung-over anxiety had settled on me. I was nervous about my attempted pick up lines from last night. But apart from one or two appraising glances in the beginning she seemed fine, and we soon settled into the kind of banter we'd developed at the bar. I got my stuff and we left in her battered little Bantum to look at the Uno - Spud all but falling off the back in his attempt to see everything. On the way I asked her to drop me at the Doc's surgery. From here I could easily walk to Richards repair shop.
As she drove off I said something to make her laugh and she yelled, 'Let me know if you're coming through here on your way back. I might be able to let you and Spud use the spare room at my place. If you behave yourself.'

True to form I had no desire now to play a round of golf. I wanted to climb into the Uno with Spud and soothe my Stout jangled nerves with mountain scenery. Inside the Doc's surgery the woman with the page-bob looked up from behind her desk and grinned. It was the sort of knowing, affectionate grin unmarried women give men who insist on drinking like idiots.

'Krisstoffel! And Spud! Hi!' The Doc's busy but I'll tell him you're here.'

She bustled off and I sat in the rather spare waiting room. A black man in tattered rural clothes sat facing me. Red dust caked his bare shins and his face had been painted a perfect oval with bright orange clay. The room reeked with the acrid smell of his sweat. How far had he walked to be here? Resting against his knee was a gnarled knobkerrie with a head not much smaller that a soccer ball. He stared impassively straight ahead and never once in the few minutes I was there did he glance to the side - not even when the room suddenly filled with three mothers in tribal dress accompanied by clinging gape-eyed kids and a tremendous rustling of Checkers packets.

The Doc when he came out was transformed into a busy, harried professional. His craggy features displayed a certain bleary haggardness, but he carried himself and spoke with a firmness and a sureness that were reassuring. I had little doubt he was a good doctor. As far as last night went though, we were both pale imitations of the fervent, passionate plan makers we'd been. When I told him I was keen to hit the road he looked relieved.

'Look, try to drop in on your way back. We'll make proper plans then. I'll get the wife to prepare us a good dish.

We shared a hurried handshake, and he hustled back to his rooms with a mom and her terrified kids in tow.

Richard was waiting for me behind his desk in the showroom.

'Krisstoffel! Howzit my friend! The parts have arrived. Sarel's just trying them out now. How's the head? Good night, hey? The Doc's a character, isn't he? He took a real shining to you. I'm glad I could organise you that room. That's me, hey. If someone's in trouble, I try to help. That's my nature. Sometime's I get taken for a ride, but what the fuck. It's worth it in the end. Hey hey! There she goes!'

From the back of the workshop the Uno roared tinnily into life. I was relieved. I was less relieved when Richard hit me with the bill. I remembered him saying - I wrote them down - the prices of the parts coming from Beaufort West: R319 and R497. The bill came to R757.32. This he magnanimoulsy rounded offf to R750. I'd been told by Sarel that the courier service from Beaufort West came free. It had taken them a few minutes to find the problem; how long had it taken them to stick this part in? I doubted more than a few minutes.

My face must have registered my distress and budding disgust because his took on a wounded, defensive and slightly aggressive cast. His red forehead furrowed like a dog's pallette and his eyes narrowed. Buddy, what the hell? I bought you beers, showed you a good time, organised you a free place to stay for the night. Is this how you repay me? I suppose he had a point. I paid him in a somewhat surly and aggrieved silence - this coming from both of us - and went into the back to collect the Uno. There a thought ocurred to me. I went over to Sarel.
'Which part did you put in, the one for R319 or the one for R497?'
He laughed and looked embaressed. 'Hell! You'll have to ask Richard that. I just sommer stick them in.'

I left it at that. When I told this story to a friend of mine recently he asked, 'Did you check the battery water?'

'No. I didn't know batteries took water.'

'No kidding? When it runs out the car just dies. Sort of like yours did. All you have to do is top it up with distilled water. Boiled water does the job just fine.'

Fucking red faced bastard of a ferret cunt.