The Split Pomegranate

Dedicated to all emigrants great and small

Once you've split a pomegranate,
you can't put it back together again Oom Danie

(scroll down for the Afrikaans version)

Oom Danie’s back was as long and straight as a poplar tree.

Grandma dried her hands on her apron and pushed the door handle down. The loud knocking on the backdoor stopped.

“Come in, Danie”, Granma invited, crossing her hands behind her back. Oom Danie bent down under the door frame and offered his large hand in greeting. In his other hand, he held a flour bag. Grandma shook her head from side to side and explained: “You will have to excuse me, Danie, but my hands are wet from the dishwater.” Oom Danie wrinkled a friendly smile and lowered his hand in understanding.

When a grown-up tells a lie, it is called a “fib”. Children are not allowed to tell fibs before turning into adults, and I don’t know when that happens. Grandma was telling a fib because her hands were already dry. She had dried her hands on her apron before she opened the door! But she did not want to tell Oom Danie this, because she did not want his large hand to crush her small hand. One day, she bit her lip and made it bleed when he shook her hand. When I asked Grandma why she bit her lip, she said it made the pain in her hand better. I have tried it several times, but I think it works only when you are old.

Oom Danie swung the flour bag and placed it on the kitchen table. Grandma poured tea and stretched toward the rusks on the high shelf. Oom Danie stepped closer, lifted the tin over the jam jars, and handed it to Grandma. I walked around the table twice to get a better look at the round bumps in the flour bag. The things inside the bag were too big for lemons, but smaller than pomelos.

“Would you like a pomegranate?” asked Oom Danie. He opened the bag, took a large red pomegranate out and put it in my hands. The skin was smooth and shiny and red, nearly as if made from porcelain like Grandma’s teapot. But her teapot was white, and the pomegranate was red.

“If you give it to me, I’ll break it open for you”, Oom Danie offered, and I returned the pomegranate. His huge hands folded around the pomegranate and twisted it open like a tap! Right through the middle!

Inside a pomegranate is a secret. A person only knows about a secret once someone tells or shows it to you. The secret of a pomegranate is hidden inside it. The secret is also a surprise of sweet, red water berries carefully packed in white wax so they can’t shake around and get damaged if you drop the fruit.

I pressed the two sides of the pomegranate against each other and twisted it slightly so that you could barely see the crack anymore.

“Once you’ve split a pomegranate, you can’t put it back together again” Oom Danie said from somewhere above me. “Then you must eat it, otherwise, it will get rotten”

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Every time I look over my shoulder, the house with the thatch roof and red polished steps in front of the veranda gets smaller. Grandma, Grandpa and Oom Danie will drink tea, eat rusks, chat, and laugh in the kitchen.

My heart bounces in my chest. I’ve never been this far away from home. But Grandpa always says: “A man must do what a man must do.”

I have been waiting for this day for as long as I can remember. When Oom Danie split the pomegranate open, and I could not put it back together again, I knew that the time had come. One must be old enough and strong enough to do what you must do when you must do it. And when the time comes to climb a mountain, your heart must also be ready.

I have already passed through the cattle paddocks, crawled through the fence, and started climbing up this mountain. I don’t know if you have climbed a mountain before, but what is interesting about mountains is that the higher you climb, the smaller the things get that are not on the mountain. For instance, that cow in the paddock down there was much taller than me when I walked through the paddock. Look how small she is now! If you did not know how it works, you could have thought you could go down, put her in your pocket and take her home for a pet! But what is also interesting is that while you are climbing up a mountain, everything gets smaller at the same time. For instance, Grandpa, Grandma and Oom Danie all easily fit into that small house at the same time. This is because they all got smaller at the same time as the house got smaller! If it were not like that, that would be a disaster!

I’m going to sit on this rock to catch my breath. It is getting very high now, but I am not scared.

Look at the pemegranate juice running down my legs! It leaks out of my wet pockets. There is half a pomegranate in each one of my pockets. You see, one must be well prepared with food if you want to climb a mountain. And not only that, but you must also be ready to defend yourself.

Searching my back pocket with my right hand, I identify the pocketknife Dad gave me as a present last Christmas. There are leopards on a mountain, but Dad says they hunt at night. Well, the cow they killed last week was already half-eaten when the sun came up, so Dad must be right. In any case, Dad says they prefer cattle to people. So, they can’t be too hungry, because there are still many cattle in the paddock down there that have not been eaten yet! I hope they also prefer to stay at the backside of the mountain during the day and not on the front side where I am. But Dad said nothing about that, so I will keep looking for leopards.

After a further climb, I’m again sitting down for a rest. This time on an old log with two holes in it. I know snakes like holes, but if snakes were in those holes, they would be right at the back of the holes and not where I am sitting because snakes are scared of people.

I must tell you now why I am climbing this mountain.

Since I was born, I have noticed baboons on this mountain. You could see them best standing on the veranda before sunset. The ones you could see the clearest were standing on the top of the mountain with the sky and clouds behind them. There were big ones and small ones, mum baboons, and dad baboons. There were even little baboons on top of big baboons. But I must tell you this as well: these baboons always stand dead still. I have never seen any one of them move, and where they stand tonight, they will still be standing tomorrow night. As far as I know, baboons must move. Otherwise, where are they going to get food from? So, maybe the baboons on our mountain are dead. But (and I think this is for sure), if something is dead, he first gets bigger and then smaller. There was a cow in the top paddock that died. She then became so big that she burst open, and then she became tiny. I have not seen any of the baboons getting bigger or smaller, so I doubt that they are dead.

So, now I can tell you a secret. I have been thinking for a week now that the baboons on our mountain might not be real baboons. I think that it might be possible that they look like baboons, but they actually are trees! But of this, one can only be sure once you have checked it yourself. That is the reason why I am climbing up the mountain now. I have to find out if the baboons are real baboons or actually trees!

But there is a second secret. I can only tell you this secret if you promise not to tell anyone else. And, because you are my friend, I will share the money with you. No, you don’t have to sign a document. Dad said if gentlemen talk business, they don’t need paper.

About a week ago, it rained here in the mountains. After the rain stopped, a very bright rainbow appeared in this valley. It had red, purple, yellow and green stripes in it, and some other colours as well. But not black. Grandma saw the rainbow as well and came to stand next to me on the veranda. She then told me that at the tip of every rainbow is a big pot of gold! When I asked her if anyone had fetched the gold yet, she just pulled her shoulders up and said she did not think so. She thinks they are always a bit late, and then the gold has disappeared again. But what Grandma does not know is that a big pot of gold is heavy. It can’t just disappear! So, I marked the spot where the gold was in my head. It is further up from where I am and to the left. Over there!

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The roar of jet engines hangs in the air like the roar of thunder in the Pilanesberg mountains. We slowly climbed up the stairs, stopped before the door and turned back. Hannelie’s shoulders are small under my big hands. The three children cling to pants and skirts.

We waved at the shadows behind the glass windows and disappeared through the door.

The Boeing 747 climbed slowly up the blue mountains to Australia. Below us, the houses, the people, and later, the whole world we knew got smaller and smaller until it all disappeared.

You see, “Once you’ve split a pomegranate, you can’t put it back together again.”

PS: My Editor was unsure about how the story works and could not understand it’s meaning. So, I did a couple of small adjustments.

I am very keen to hear what you think!

(Remember, this is only a beta version in preparation of a hard copy)

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NEXT TIME:

The last story before we break for Christmas and New Year

And: a gift offer for Christmas!

Rescue

Christmas 2023

What turmoil stirs the heart of he who witness the making of death

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NOTICE:

Please note that only 10 stories will be kept in the Library at any time.

We noticed that some people accumulate the stories to read them all together at a later stage.

It might be best to read them early, otherwise you might have to wait for the hard publication!

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Die Gebreekte Granaat

Opgedra aan alle emigrante groot en klein

As ’n man ’n granaat gebreek het,

dan kan jy hom nie weer aanmekaar sit nie  Oom Danie

Oom Danie se rug was lank en regop soos a populier boom.

Ouma droog haar hande aan haar voorskoot en druk die handvatsel af. Die harde geklop aan die agterdeur deur stop.

“Kom binne Danie”, sê Ouma en vou haar hande agter haar rug. Oom Danie buk onder die deurkoesyn en hou sy groot hand uit vir ’n groet. In sy ander hand hou hy ’n meelsakkie. “Jy moet maar verskoon Danie” en Ouma skud haar kop heen en weer. “My hande is nat van die skottelgoed water”. Oom Danie glimlag van verstaan en laat sy groot hand sak.

Mens noem dit ’n “kluitjie” as a groot mens ‘n leun vertel. Kinders mag nie kluitjies vertel nie. Dit was ’n kluitjie, want Ouma se hande was klaar droog. Sy het maar net gesê dat hulle nog nat was, want sy wou nie hê Oom Danie moet haar klein handjie met sy groot hand groet nie. Sy het eendag haar lip stukkend gebyt toe hy haar gegroet het.

Ouma sê as jy jou lip byt dan word die pyn in jou hand beter. Ek het dit al ’n paar maal probeer, maar ek dink dit werk eers as mens groot is.

Oom Danie swaai die meelsakkie en sit dit op die kombuistafel neer. Ouma gooi tee en rek hoog in die koers van die beskuit blik. Oom Danie stap nader, lig die blik tussen tussen die konfyt bottels uit en geen dit vir Ouma aan. Ek loop twee maal rondom die tafel om die ronde bulte in die meelsakkie beter te bekyk. Die goed in die sakkie is te groot vir lemoene maar kleiner as pomelos.

“Wil jy ’n granaat hê?” vra Oom Danie, maak die sakkie oop en sit ’n groot granaat tussen my hande. Die skil is glad en blink en rooi. Amper asof dit van porselyn gemaak is. Soos Ouma se teepot. Net rooi.

“Gee, dan breek ek hom vir jou oop” sê Oom Danie. Sy reuse hande vou rondom die granaat en draai hom oop soos ’n stywe kraan. Die granaat breek reg deur die middel!

Binne in ’n granaat is daar ’n geheim. ’n Mens weet nie van ‘n geheim voordat iemand jou nie daarvan vertel het of iemand die geheim vir jou gewys het nie. Die geheim in ’n granaat is soet, rooi waterbessies wat in was verpak is! Die Here het dit self so verpak en daarom is dit nie nodig am ’n granaat in ’n yskas te bêre nie.

Die waterbessies in ’n granaat is glad en blink en soet.

Ek druk die twee kante van die granaat weer teenmekaar en draai dit effe sodat mens amper nie die kraak kan sien nie.

“As ’n man ’n granaat gebreek het, dan kan jy hom nie weer aanmekaar sit nie”, klink Oom Danie se stem van die dak se kant af.

“Dan moet jy hom eet, anders word hy vrot”

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Elke keer as ek omkyk dan word die grasdak huis met die rooi politoer trappe voor die voordeur al hoe kleiner. My hart bons in my borskas. Ek was nog nooit so vêr van die huis af nie. Ek wag al vir hierdie dag vandat ek kan onthou.

Oupa het altyd gesê: “’n man moet doen wat hy moet doen”

Toe Oom Danie die granaat oop breek en ek kon hom nie weer aanmekaar sit nie, het ek geweet: die groot dag het aangebreek. Maar ‘n man moet oud genoeg en sterk genoeg wees om te doen wat hy moet doen. En as die tyd aangebreek het om ‘n berg te klim, dan moet jy reg wees!

Ek is al deur die beeskamp, het deur die draad gekruip en het begin om die berg te klim. Ek weet nie of jy al ‘n berg geklim het nie, maar wat interessant is van berge is dat hoe hoër jy klim hoe kleiner word die dinge wat nie op die berg is nie. Byvoorbeeld, daardie koei daar onder was hoër as ek toe ek deur die beeskamp geloop het. Kyk net hoe klein is sy nou! As jy nie geweet het hoe dit werk nie, dan kon jy dalk afgeklim het van die berg af om haar in jou sak te steek vir ‘n troeteldier! Maar wat ook interessant is, is dat terwyl jy teen die berg uitklim word alles kleiner op dieselfde tyd. Byvoorbeeld, Oupa en Ouma en Oom Danie pas almal gelyk in daardie klein huisie. Dit is omdat hulle almal saam met die huisie kleiner geraak het! As dit nie so was nie, dan sou dit darem ‘n groot gemors afgegee het!

Ek gaan nou hier op die klip sit om te rus. Dit raak nou baie hoog, maar ek is nie bang nie.

Ag, kyk nou net hoe loop die granaat sop nou hier teen my bene af! Dit kom hier uit my nat broeksakke uit. Elke broeksak het ‘n halwe granaat in. Jy sien, ‘n mens moet goed voorberei wees met genoeg kos as jy teen ‘n berg wil uitklim. En nie net kos nie, jy moet ook wapens hê om jouself mee te beskerm. Ek soek met my regterhand deur my broeksak en voel die knipmes raak wat Pa vir my met Kersfees gegee het.

Daar is luiperds op ‘n berg, maar Pa sê hulle jag net in die nag. Die koei wat hulle verlede week gevang het, was al klaar amper halfpad opgevreet toe die son opkom. Pa sê ook dat luiperds verkies om eerder koeie te vreet as mense. So, die luiperd in die berg kan nie baie honger wees nie, want daar is nog baie beeste oor in die beeskamp hier onder wat nog nie geeet is nie! Ek hoop net hulle verkies ook om deur die dag aan die agterkant van die berg te bly, en nie aan die voorkant waar ek is nie. Maar Pa het niks hieroor gesê nie, so ek sal maar versigtig wees vir luiperds.

Ek klim nog verder, en nou sit ek weer om ‘n bietjie te rus. Hierdie keer sit ek op ‘n ou stomp met twee gate in. Ek weet slange hou van gate, maar as daar slange in is, sal hulle heel agter in die gate wees en nie waar ek sit nie, want slange is bang vir mense.

En nou moet ek jou vertel hoekom ek teen die berg op klim.

Vandat ek gebore is het ek bobbejane op hierdie berg gesien. Mens kon hulle die beste sien van die stoep van ons huis af, net voor die son onder gaan. Dié bobbejane wat bo-op die rand van die berg gestaan met wolke en lug agter hulle kon ‘n mens die best sien. Daar was grootes en kleintjies, ma bobbejane en pa bobbejane. Daar was selfs klein baba bobejaantjies bo op groot bobbejane. Maar dit moet ek jou ook vertel: hierdie bobbejane het altyd dood stil gestaan. Ek het nog nooit een gesien wat beweeg nie. Net daar waar hy vanaand staan, staan hy nog steeds môre aand ook. Nou, so vêr ek weet, moet bobejane beweeg. Waar gaan hulle anders kos vandaan kry? So, toe dink ek: miskien is die bobejane op ons berg dood. Maar (en ak dink dit is verseker), as iets dood is, dan word hy eers groter en dan kleiner. Daar was ‘n koei in die boonste kamp wat gevrek het. Sy het eers so groot geword dat sy oopegebars het, en daarna het sy rêrig baie klein geword. Ek het nog nooit enige een van die bobbejane op ons berg groter of kleiner sien word nie. So, ek dink ook nie dat hulle dood is nie.

En nou kan ek vir jou ‘n geheim vertel. Ek dink nou al vir ‘n week lank dat die bobbejane op ons berg dalk nie regtig bobbejane is nie. Ek dink dat hulle dalk net lyk soos bobbejane maar dat hulle eintlik bome is! Maar hiervan kan ‘n mens net seker wees as jy nie self gaan kyk het. Dit is die rede hoekom ek nou hier teen die berg opklim. Ek moet uivind of die bobbejane regte bobbejane is, en of hulle eintlik bome is.

Maar daar is nog ‘n geheim. Maar hierdie geheim kan ek jou net vertel as jy belowe om vir niemand anders te vertel nie. En, omdat jy my vriend is, sal ek die geld met jou deel. Nee, jy hoef niks op papier te teken nie. Pa sê as eerlike mense besigheid praat, dan het hulle nie papier nodig nie.

Omtrent ‘n week terug het dit hier in die berge gereën. Nadat die reën gestop het, het daar ‘n helder reënboog hier in die vallei geskyn. Hy het rooi, pers, geel en groen strepe in gehad, en nog ander kleure ook, maar nie swart nie. Ouma het ook die reënboog gesien en langs my op die stoep kom staan. Sy vertel my toe dat aan die punt van elke reënboog is daar ‘n groot pot goud. Ek vra toe of enige iemand al die goud gaan haal het. Ouma het net haar skouers opgehaal en gesê sy glo nie. Sy dink hulle is altyd ‘n bietjie laat en dan het die goud al weer verdwyn. Maar wat Ouma nie weet nie, is dat ‘n groot pot goud is baie swaar. Hy kan nie sommer net verdwyn nie! So, ek het die plek waar die pot goud staan mooi in my kop gemerk. Dit is nou net so ‘n entjie op hiervandaan en so effentjies na links. Net mooi daar waar ek nou wys!

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Die dreun van die jet enjins hang om ons soos die rammel van reën bo in die Pilansberge. Ons klim stadig teen die trappe uit, stop voor die deur, en draai terug. Hannelie se skouers is smal onder my groot hande. Die drie kinders klou aan broeke en rokke.

Ons waai met blink trane na die skaduwees agter glas vensters en verdwyn deur die deur.

Die Boeing 747 klim stadig teen die blou berge uit na Australië. Onder ons word die huise en mense en later die hele wêreld klein en kleiner, tot dit uiteindelike heeltemal verdwyn.

“As ’n man ’n granaat gebreek het, dan kan jy hom nie weer aanmekaar sit nie.”