Free The Folly by Ivan Vladislavic

turned up her nose and run the water.”
    “Ingenious contraption,” he said to cover his embarrassment.
    “Notice the built-in hinges here, and the little triangular compartment in the corner for Sauce. Brilliant.”
    Nieuwenhuizen peered into the container, grunted, wiped his fingers on his safari suit and tore another rib from the rack.
    When they had eaten their fill they moved their stones back in preparation for the bonfire.
    “Say a few words, Father,” Malgas suggested.
    “Why not? I’m in a talkative mood.” Nieuwenhuizen gathered his thoughts as he scoured the grease from his palms with a handful of sand, and then called for silence, cleared his throat, and began: “We have dined sumptuously, thanks to the generosity of our friend and colleague Malgas. Now let us enjoy a blazing fire and sit around it chatting amiably.”
    “Hear! Hear!” Malgas exclaimed. “Well spoken!”
    Nieuwenhuizen took a match from a waterproof container, struck it, and dabbed the base of the heap with the flame.
    It wouldn’t burn.
    “It so happens,” said Malgas, reaching into the darkness and producing, with a flourish, a king-size pack of Blitz Firelighters.
    Nieuwenhuizen shook his head resolutely.
    It was a crestfallen Mr who barged through his house a few minutes later, snatched a key from a hook and went to the garage. Mrs followed him silently to the back door and waited there until he returned carrying a petrol tin.
    “You be careful with that,” she said.
    Mr took two six-packs of beer from the fridge (Lions and Castles).
    “You be careful with that too,” she said, following in his footsteps to the front door and watching after him through the bars of the security gate. Then she went back to her stool in the darkened lounge.
    Nieuwenhuizen took the petrol tin and departed for the top of the heap. Malgas wanted to go with him, but he wouldn’t hear of it. “You’ll get your boots dirty,” he crowed. Malgas was left behind at the camp, staring dejectedly at his Hush Puppies. Nieuwenhuizen went up theheap in leaps and bounds and in no time at all he was standing on the summit. Instead of emptying the petrol into the “core,” as Malgas had proposed, he raised the tin in an expansive toast and kicked his heels.
    Malgas took the opportunity to break the Firelighters into sticks and spike the lower slopes. When that was done, he saw that Nieuwenhuizen was still occupied, so he slipped off his garters and pushed his socks down to his ankles. He ruffled his hair. He began to feel much better. Nieuwenhuizen stopped dancing and started pouring libations, first to the cardinal points of the compass and then to the lesser-known points in between. NNW , SSE , NWS . Malgas stretched himself out on the ground, rolled over a few times, and then looked up at the stars. They were far away, no argument. Mrs liked to describe them as pinpricks in a velvet tarpaulin. They had names, which the fundis were familiar with, and they were said to be “wheeling.” Furthermore, your stars foretold. If you understood how to join them together, like puzzles, you could arrive at mythological beings and household names. “He probably knows just how to do it. He’s travelled. Why don’t I, when I know so much about the world? Over coffee I – blast! – the chocolate digestives!”
    When Nieuwenhuizen eventually returned he was greeted by enthusiastic cries of “Speech! Speech!” but he waved the request aside. His adventures on the heap had had a marvellously soothing effect on him, for he patted Malgas between the shoulder-blades and handed him the matches. “Do the honours – you’re the guest. I’ll get the lights.” He doused the hurricane-lamp.
    Afterwards, when he recalled his conduct in these unusual circumstances, Malgas allowed himself a flush of pride. It would have turned out badly for him had he followed Nieuwenhuizen’s lead and stooped to light the fire. In the heat of the moment, however, he was able to acquit