The Satanic Mechanic by Sally Andrew Page B

Please give her my best.’
    â€˜She told me about your group.’
    â€˜Ja.’
    â€˜My doctor thinks . . . I think . . . I have PTSD,’ I said.
    â€˜You’re welcome to join us,’ he said. ‘We meet twice a week, usually Saturdays and Tuesdays. Come today. We’re meeting this afternoon.’
    â€˜Today?’
    â€˜Ja, four o’clock on my farm. Then something to eat afterwards.’
    â€˜Oh.’ Today felt so soon. ‘What do you farm?’
    â€˜Some sheep,’ he said, then he laughed. ‘And also panel vans.’ His laugh was rich and from his belly. ‘You can bring your car too, if you like, but I’ll only work on it on Monday.’
    â€˜No, my car is okay, really. It’s me that needs fixing.’
    â€˜Fine. Fine. I’ll see you later.’
    â€˜Maria. I am Maria,’ I said, my name feeling strange in my mouth.
    â€˜Maria,’ he said in that warm coffee voice of his, then he explained to me how to get to his farm.
    I put down the phone and let out a big breath. Jinne, was I really going to counselling? With a satanic mechanic with a moerkoffie voice who farmed panel vans?
    I took a Rennie tablet, put on some lipstick and headed in to the office.
    Hattie’s car was there, but no sign of Jessie’s scooter. She was probably still at the festival. Hattie always came in on Saturdays. Jessie and I weren’t expected to work weekends, but we sometimes did.
    â€˜Maria!’ said Hattie. ‘How nice to see you.’
    She was not really seeing me, however, because her tall thin body was bent over some papers on her desk. She held a long sharpened pencil and looked like a heron hunting in a shallow pool. Now and then, she dived down to catch a mistake on the page.
    I made myself coffee and took Hattie a cup of tea. She looked up at me.
    â€˜Goodness. You haven’t slept again. Are your pills not helping?’
    I didn’t answer. She shook her head and carried on working while I looked through the pile of letters on my desk. One of them had spidery handwriting that I recognised, but it was another letter that called more loudly for opening. On it was written: ‘MAMA MARIA’ in capital letters. It wasn’t square block capitals, but flowery, with a little curl on each of the ‘M’s.
    I drank some coffee with a buttermilk rusk before I opened the envelope. It was nice to be eating beskuit again. Like seeing a good friend I hadn’t visited for a while.
    The introduction to the letter was written in the same flowery capitals:

    MAMA MARIA!

    QUEEN OF THE LOVE ADVICE AND RECIPE COLUMN OF THE KLEIN KAROO GAZETTE
    You have much help for the people who write to you and I am glad.I can give help for love and other problems. I have herbs and powers from God that can help with:
    *Love remote control *Bring back lost lover in 1 hour *To lock lover not to fool around and to be at your feet and listen to you only *Evil spirits, tokoloshes and other naughty goblins *Sexual problems in all sizes you want *Big and strong manhood enlargement 20 or 30cm – results in 40 minutes *Powerful lotto and casino lucky ring *Short boys/rats to bring money into your account *Magic stick to finish unfinished job *All diseases and pregnancy *Pig lice *Magic wallet attracts money and jobs *Clear debt in 1 hour *Sendwana oil protection *Rainbow water for luck *Bad dreams and bewitching from the dead *All other problems and wishes
    Come to Mama Bolo and you will be helped .
    100% GUARANTEED. PAY ONLY WITH SATISFACTION

    She gave a cell phone number.
    My own problems were covered by ‘Sexual problems of all sizes’ and ‘Bad dreams and bewitching from the dead’. If I had not already phoned the satanic mechanic that morning, who knows? I might have called her.
    I carried on reading the letter. She didn’t have a love problem of her own, but she did want recipe advice . . .

    Mama Maria