Swartskaap at Die Markie

Bloos looks around her nervously. Happy, excited visitors mill about at Die Markie at the Hermanuspietersfontein cellars.

But something bothers her. Kleinboet spots this, steps closer to her.

“The cellar just pressed the Sauvignon blanc grapes this week,” Kleinboet says proudly. Bloos nods – distracted, because she’s looking at the massive speakers and stage Swartskaap has set up.

Kleinboet follows her gaze, sighs. “Don’t worry. I’m sure Swartskaap won’t do anything too belaglik.”

But Bloos is unconvinced. “Remember the day after the Valentine’s Jol? When Swartskaap said he was going to write songs about justice and so aan? We haven’t seen him since!”

Kleinboet nods. “Ja, I know. Sounds like he locked himself into his cottage … Even Skoonma tried to convince him there was no thief, but he wouldn’t open the door, and-”

Kleinboet is interrupted by a procession entering the venue: A marching band, three dancers, and one slightly confused Whale Caller, his kelp trumpet in hand, clearly not briefed on his role.

Kleinboet and Bloos watch them as they get on the stage. Kaalvoet Meisie and Skoonma join them, both their jaws dropped. “What on earth is aan die gebeur?!” Kaalvoet Meisie exclaims.

Swartskaap rushes up, his eyes bright with excitement. “Julle! I’m ready for my protest song about thievery! Look at all the band members! I’m gonna be the voice of a generation! Like Bob Dylan or The Beatles!”

Kaalvoet Meisie puts her (bare) foot down. “Nobody stole Skoonma’s heart-shaped necklace. It was just a misunderstanding!”

Swartskaap goes pale – unusual for Swartskaap. “You mean … I wrote all those deep gevoelens from my heart … for nothing?”

The rest share a concerned look, not sure what to say.

Skoonma puts her arm around him. “Oh, Swartskaap. You are a true original, and I’m sure you can figure something else out. Sommer on the spot!”

Swartskaap sees the band members assembled on stage. He musters courage, and takes his place behind the microphone. A bit of feedback pierces through the venue, but it has a silver lining: It grabs the attention of the audience.

Swartskaap clears his throat. “There’s, um, something I want to sing about today,” he stutters. “And that’s justice, and thievery.”

Kleinboet, Kaalvoet Meisie and Skoonma gasp softly – he did not listen at all!

But Swartskaap turns to the band members. “It’s a new song … about Valentynsdag, and how we sometimes get it wrong.”

Confusion reigns – especially in the mind of the unbriefed Whale Caller. But Swartskaap starts singing:

“Oe, baby. The only justice is love …”

The band members hear the melody, start to fall in: First the strings …

“Oe, baby. But there’s thievery happening …”

One of the drummers adds a beat …

“Oe, because love is not a thing to sell, it’s not a commodity, but ja, it is an … oddity …”

Cheers and whoops from the audience. The rest of the marching band join in, creating a contagious combination of snares and cymbals.

“Oe, because love is togetherness. Love is chilled Sauvignon blanc on a hot summer’s day. Love is just lekker, love is not for sale!”

The full marching band kicks in, the crowd goes wild. Kaalvoet Meisie whoops in support, Kleinboet jumps onto a table and dances along to the music. Skoonma blows Swartskaap a kiss, gives him a thumbs-up.

“Bwuaaaaaap,” goes the Whale Caller on his kelp trumpet, finally getting in the groove.

Swartskaap inhales, his legs quiver – now amped and ready to rock and roll …