A Dry White Season (9 page)

A sudden change of approach: “What attracted you to Gordon in the first place, Mr Du Toit?”

“Nothing in particular, I’m sure.” Are you once again suppressing something of which you’re not even conscious? “We exchanged a few remarks from time to time. When he was short of money I sometimes lent him a rand or two.”

“And you paid for Jonathan’s education?”

“Yes. He was a promising pupil. I thought it would be better for him to go to school than to loiter on the streets.”

“Not that it made much difference in the end, did it?”

“No, I suppose not.”

There is something very sincere and confidential in the
officer’s attitude as he shakes his head and says: “That’s what I fail to understand. Look at everything the Government’s doing for them – and all they can think of in return is to burn down and destroy whatever they can lay their hands on. In the end they’re the ones who suffer for it.”

Half-heartedly, dejectedly, you shrug your shoulders.

“No white child would behave like that,” he persists. “Don’t you agree, Mr Du Toit?”

“I don’t know. It all depends, I suppose.” Another surge of resentment, stronger than before. “But if you were given the choice, Colonel: wouldn’t you rather be a white child in this country than a black one?”

Is there the shadow of a movement behind your back? Once again you cannot resist the urge to turn your head to see Captain Stolz still watching you, immobile except for his slow and studied juggling act with the orange; as if he hasn’t even blinked in the interval. And when you turn back, there is an engaging smile on the face of the brawny young man with the
Scope
on his lap.

“I think that more or less covers it,” says Colonel Viljoen, putting his pen down on the ruled page covered with meticulous doodles. “Thank you very much for your co-operation, Mr Du Toit.”

You get up, frustrated and foolish, but hopeful in spite of everything. “May I take it, then, that Gordon will be released soon?”

“As soon as we’re satisfied he’s innocent.” He rises to his feet and offers his hand, smiling. “I assure you we know what we’re doing, Mr Du Toit – and it’s for your own good too. To make sure you and your family can sleep peacefully at night.”

He accompanies you to the door. Lieutenant Venter raises his hand in a cordial greeting; Captain Stolz nods, unsmiling.

“May I ask you one last favour, Colonel?”

“By all means.”

“Gordon’s wife and children are very worried about him. It would make things easier for them if they could be allowed to bring him food and a change of clothing while he’s still here.”

“He’s certainly fed well enough. But if they feel they’d like to bring him some clothes from time to time – ” He draws up his
broad shoulders. “We’ll see what we can do.”

“Thank you, Colonel. I’ll rely on you then.”

“Will you find your way out?”

“I think so. Thanks. Good bye.”

6

Minor ripples of Ben’s preoccupation with Gordon were beginning to affect the members of his family, almost imperceptibly in the beginning.

The two little blond girls of years ago had both grown up and left home by then. Suzette, always “her mother’s child", an effortless and charming achiever in music and ballet and the hundred and one other activities Susan had chosen for them, must have been about twenty-five or twenty-six at the time, married to an up-and-coming young Pretoria architect who was beginning to win major contracts from the Transvaal Provincial Administration for some of their more spectacular projects. After completing her B.A. in Pretoria she’d obtained a diploma in commercial art, spent two years working for an exclusively female advertising company, and then accepted a top editorial post with a newly-launched glossy interior decoration magazine. The work involved regular business trips, most of them abroad, which didn’t leave her much time for attending to the needs of the baby boy she’d produced in between her other activities. It annoyed and pained Ben, and it must have been roughly about that time, just after Suzette had returned from yet another trip to the U.S. and Brazil, that he spoke to her rather pointedly about the matter. As usual, she shrugged it off.

“Don’t worry, Dad. Chris has got so many conferences and consultations and things of his own, he hardly notices whether
I’m home or not. And there’s someone to look after the baby; he gets all the attention he needs.”

“But you assumed certain responsibilities the day you got married, Suzette!”

Smiling, she pulled a mocking face and ruffled his thinning hair: “You’re really an old stick-in-the-mud, Dad.”

“Don’t underestimate your father,” Susan said, entering at that moment with their tea tray. “He’s developed an extramural interest of his own lately.”

“What’s that?” Suzette asked, intrigued.

“Champion for political detainees.” Susan’s voice was cool and hard: not deliberately sneering, but with a smooth edge acquired through many years.

“Now you’re exaggerating, Susan!” He reacted more sharply than one would have thought necessary. “I’m only concerned with Gordon. And you know very well why.”

Suzette burst out laughing before he’d finished. “Are you trying to tell me you’re turning into James Bond in your old age? Or is it The Saint?”

“I don’t think it’s very funny, Suzette.”

“Oh but I do.” Another calculated ruffling of his hair. “The role doesn’t suit you, Dad. Drop it. Just be the sweet old square we’ve grown so fond of.”

Linda was easier to manage. She’d always been “his” child, from the time when, as a baby, Susan had been too ill to attend to her. She’d grown into an attractive girl – about twenty-one at that stage – but less strikingly beautiful than her sister. More of an introvert; and, since puberty, when she’d survived a serious illness, deeply religious. A pleasant, well-adapted girl above all, an “uncomplicated” person. Holidays or weekends when she was home from university she often accompanied Ben when he went jogging in the morning, or on his late afternoon walks. In her second year at university she’d met Pieter Els, much older than she was and studying theology; soon afterwards she changed courses, abandoning the idea of teaching and turning to social work so that she would be better qualified to help Pieter one day. Ben never openly opposed the kind, somewhat colourless young man; yet Pieter’s presence made him feel more inhibited towards Linda as if he resented, in anticipation,
the idea of losing her. Pieter was determined to become a missionary. During the first year or two after he’d completed his university course he worked among the Ndebele near Pretoria; but his real ideal was to spread the Gospel further afield in Africa or the Far East, saving souls in a world rapidly approaching its doom. It was not that Ben despised his idealism, but he did regard it as somewhat exaggerated, cringing at the idea of the inevitable suffering and deprivation it would cause his daughter.

Unlike Suzette, she shared his concern over Gordon. Not that they had any really profound discussions about it – she was away in Pretoria most of the time and only came home for the occasional weekend, with or without the fiancé – but he felt encouraged by her sympathy. Above all, she was practical. What mattered to her was to make sure that Emily and her family did not suffer materially while Gordon was away; she made arrangements for food and clothing and rent. And, like Ben, but even more positively so, she was convinced that everything would be cleared up very soon.

“After all, we
know
he didn’t do anything wrong,” she said when, during that first weekend after the arrest, she and Ben went for a stroll to the Zoo Lake. “And the police are bound to discover it very soon.”

“I know.” In spite of himself he was feeling morose. “But sometimes unfortunate things do happen.”

“They’re human, just like us, Daddy. Anybody can make a mistake.”

“Yes, I suppose so.”

“You’ll see: any day now they’ll let Gordon go. Then we can find him a good new job.”

Her Pieter had a slightly different approach: “The first thing we must do after he’s released is to make him come over to the Dutch Reformed Church. Those, sects are just a breeding ground for all sorts of evil, misleading the poor trusting members. With a more solid foundation they won’t land in trouble so easily.”

“I honestly don’t think the church has anything to do with their problems,” said Ben tartly. Followed by prolonged sucking on his burnt-out pipe.

And then there was Johan, the son Ben had always wanted and who’d been born so unexpectedly at a time when they had really given up thinking of having more children. But while Ben was prepared to spoil the boy, Susan had always been unreasonably strict with him. –
Now don’t be a sissy, boys don’t cry. You’re just as hopeless as your father. Come on, you’ve got to be tough.
– A lively, healthy boy. A promising chess player. A good athlete. But tense. Like a young horse straining to go but not yet certain about which way to head for.

On that Friday Ben and Johan were driving back home from athletic practice, Johan drumming his fingers on the glove box, accompanying some inaudible tune in his mind.

“It’s been your best thousand metres I’ve seen yet,” said Ben warmly. “You were a good twenty metres ahead of that Kuhn boy. And only the other day he beat you.”

“But I had a better time on Wednesday. One-point-seven better. Why didn’t you come to watch me then?”

“I had business in town.”

“What business?”

“I went to see the Security Police.”

“Really?” He looked at Ben. “What for?”

“To find out about Gordon.”

Johan looked intrigued. “Did they say anything about Jonathan?”

“No. It doesn’t look good to me.”

Johan was silent for a minute. “Hell,” he exclaimed suddenly. “It’s so strange to think about it, isn’t it? I mean: he used to work in our garden and everything. I rather liked him. He made me that steelwire-cart, d’you remember?”

“And now they’ve got Gordon too.”

“Did you manage to convince them?”

“I don’t know. At least the Colonel was very understanding. He promised they’d let him go as soon as possible.”

“Did you see Gordon?”

“No, of course not. No one is allowed to see a detainee. Once they’ve got you – “ He stopped at an intersection, waiting in silence for the lights to change. Only after they had started up again he resumed: “Anyway, they’re allowing his family to bring him a change of clothes when they want to.” After a while
he added: “If you don’t mind, I’d rather you didn’t mention to Mother that I’d been to see them. She may not like it.”

With a conspiratorial smile Johan turned to him. “You bet I won’t.”

7

It was, in fact, the arrangement about the clothes that led to a new development in Gordon’s case.

About ten days after Ben had sent a message to the family about Colonel Viljoen’s promise, a stranger brought news to Emily – and she promptly reported to Ben. The man, it turned out, had been detained at John Vorster Square for a few days on a suspected assault charge; when it proved to have been a case of mistaken identity he was released. But during his detention, he said, he’d seen Gordon briefly and had been shocked by his condition: he was unable to walk or speak properly, his face was discoloured and swollen, one ear was deaf, his right arm in a sling. Was there anything Ben could do about it?

Without delay he telephoned the Special Branch and demanded to speak to Colonel Viljoen personally. The officer sounded very cordial to begin with, but grew more severe as Ben repeated what he’d been told. In the end he regained his heartiness: “Good heavens, Mr Du Toit! You don’t mean you’re serious about such a wild story? Look, there’s no way a man held on an ordinary criminal charge can communicate with one of our detainees. I can assure you Gordon Ngubene is in perfect health.” A slight but significant change of tone: “I do appreciate your interest in the case, Mr Du Toit, but you’re really not making things any easier for us. We have more than enough problems as it is and a bit of trust and goodwill will go a long way.”

“I’m relieved by your assurances, Colonel. That’s why I phoned you. Now I can tell the family not to worry.”

“We know what we’re doing.” For a moment the officer sounded almost paternal: “In your own interest, Mr Du Toit, don’t just believe any rumour you hear.”

He would have been relieved to accept it at face value. But he kept on imagining Captain Stolz somewhere in the background while the Colonel was talking, his pale face expressionless, the thin scar on his cheek a deadly white on white; and although he tried his best to reassure Emily there was something restless and unhappy in his own mind.

Barely a week later it suddenly came to a head when Emily and two of her children left another change of clothing for Gordon at the Square. When they arrived home and prepared to wash the old clothes returned to them, there was blood on the trousers. Closer examination revealed three broken teeth in the back pocket.