Does it Hurt to Die (24 page)

‘
It doesn’t sound like Thompson was a threat in any way,’ said Christian.

‘
He wasn’t. It was probably that he was in the wrong place at the wrong time.’

‘
Mamma, can I give Christian a bit of background that may help him understand what led to my father’s murder?’

Christian saw Kathleena look at her son and beam as only a mother can when admiration overwhelms her desire to speak.

‘Well, of course you can, but only background information and don’t try and take over like you normally do,’ she mock scolded Sibokwe and got up to put the kettle on again.

‘
In 1959 the prime minister of the time, Hendrik Verwoerd, extended the Pass laws to women, too, and many felt that this was the last straw. A mass protest was organised in Sharpeville—just outside of Johannesburg—which the police decided to break up by using live ammunition and killing sixty-nine of the protesters. At an emergency meeting of the ANC, a mass protest was organised to be a peaceful meeting in the centre of Cape Town. The police fired rubber bullets and tear gas to disperse the protest.’

‘
So, that’s not where he was killed then,’ said Christian.

‘
No,’ said Sibokwe, ‘they found out that he was living here and came and smashed the door down. They dragged him outside and then threw him into the back of a police van, and no one ever heard of him again.’

‘
I received the news that Thompson died of natural causes from the local police officer in Pofadder, along with some money and a note from the Hartsburkes,’ said Kathleena when Sibokwe paused. ‘The note had many lines blacked out, but I was just able to see that he had left some money for Sibokwe’s education, which ended up being a blessing because I was able to take him to Dr Truter when he became sick. I think the rest of the story you may know.’

‘
Yes, Mike and Sibokwe had told me the story about going up to Pofadder. Kathleena, I remember reading that not long after that it was realised that the police had made a mistake. Did they ever come and apologise to you?’

‘
No, that never happened back then, although they wrote about it in the
Cape Times
. The newspaper tried to make the police admit to killing him, but nothing ever came of that,’ added Sibokwe.

‘
But it did mean that your father got to hear about my wonderful Sibokwe, and then the Lord led him to us in Pofadder so that he could continue to be the wonderful son that he is.’

‘
Now, Mamma, you’re going to be embarrassing Christian and Isabella and creating expectations that I won’t be able to live up to,’ said Sibokwe, reaching over and kissing Kathleena on the cheek.

‘
Well, at least Christian now knows how much I love you and how good God is,’ said Kathleena, looking at Christian and then pouring another cup of tea for Isabella.

‘
I think I understand both of those things,’ said Christian, hoping that his comment was not seen as an opening to discuss his spirituality, which his mother had often reminded him needed some remediation. ‘Is that why you have no bitterness towards those who killed him?’

‘
I have forgiven them, as God tells us we must, and back then the whites felt threatened by our lack of sophistication. They considered us as some kind of primitive race, quite incapable of integrating with them, and they thought that God wanted them to control us.’

‘
Kathleena, I can understand your faith. But Sibokwe, didn’t you want to find those who killed your father and ensure that they were punished?’

‘
Initially, I did, and anger really burned in my heart. However, it was difficult because all the files were deliberately destroyed and there was no trail to those who might have been responsible. Then I had my mother demonstrating that she had forgiven, and, of course, there was also Mandela’s example of forgiveness. I think my mind might have been more settled if I’d known who the policeman was, but then I may not have been able to get on with things without wanting to exact some revenge.’

‘
It sounds like you need more prayer and healing then,’ said Kathleena, turning to face Sibokwe.

‘
Mamma, we don’t all have your faith, and that is a wonderful thing, but we each have a different way of dealing with our pain. Mine was to accept that I’d never find Thompson’s killer, knowing that if I didn’t get beyond the anger that it would consume much of my life.’

‘
That is also something that Christian is going to have to deal with,’ said Kathleena, looking directly at him to see whether there was an opportunity to discuss her faith with him further.

Sensing that his mother was looking for an opportunity to explore Christian’s beliefs, Sibokwe took over the conversation again so that he could direct it away from what he knew might turn into a Bible study.

‘Are you sure that I can’t persuade you to move and live with me, Mamma? I worry about you living here even though the “Clever Kids” make sure no one worries you. Rhys, who is looking out for the car, tells me that two other gangs—“Hard Living” and “28s”—are trying to move in and take over. If that ever happens, you won’t be protected and you’ll have to come and live with me.’

‘
We’ll see. There’s so much work to be done here. And now I’m going to have to shoo you out, as it’s time for my prayer group to arrive.’

‘
Kathleena, thank you again and I hope I see you again before I leave,’ said Christian.

‘
I hope I see you both again,’ she said, looking at both Christian and Isabella. ‘I think it would be good to unite both the countries,’ she said, smiling as she stood up.

‘
Having to put up with that accent full-time, I don’t know whether I could cope with that,’ said Isabella quickly.

‘
Come on, you two,’ said Sibokwe, ‘I still want to show you the University of the Western Cape and get you home before dark.’

As they walked to the car, Christian looked behind and gave one final wave to Kathleena, who was watching them from the window. Sibokwe’s car sitters looked up to see them coming and greeted him with a complicated handshake that seemed to also be an acknowledgement of a contract well done. One of them then indicated to Sibokwe to follow him to the entranceway. Christian watched as he pointed down the street and Sibokwe looked in that direction for a minute or two before returning to the car.

‘What was all that about?’ said Isabella as they all got into the car.

‘
Not quite sure,’ said Sibokwe, ‘but both of them had noticed that a car had driven past a couple of times while we were inside talking to Kathleena. Being gang members they know all the vehicles around here and didn’t recognise the white Toyota.’

‘
A white Toyota,’ said Christian. ‘I thought one of those followed us back from Stellenbosch the other day.’

‘
Christian, I told you white Toyotas are a dime a dozen in South Africa.’

‘
Issy, you know you can’t be too careful. Anyway, one of the gang members is getting it checked out for me. Although I was thinking of visiting the University of the Western Cape, Mike and Sian will be concerned if you get back too late, not to mention your mother, Issy. Perhaps we can go later in the week?’

‘
Now, don’t say, “Sounds like a plan”, Christian,’ said Isabella. ‘How about something more Australian like, “sounds great, sport”.’

‘
Sounds great, sport,’ said Christian in his best Australian accent, while trying not to laugh.

Christian woke early the next morning and made his way down to the kitchen. As he searched for the coffee beans, he saw an envelope with his name on it. Mike must have left it for him, he thought. He turned it over and on the back was written
, ‘Much love, Dad.’ Christian sat down, thinking about how his father had written his name in his own hand, which was legible unlike many other doctors he knew. Part of him wanted to tear open the envelope to find out what was inside, the other part was concerned that he would learn something that he would prefer not to know. He decided to procrastinate by making a cup of coffee.

He watched the kettle not allowing it to boil, fearing that its whistle might wake Mike and Sian. He watched the steam rise, overwhelmed by the feelings that had overtaken him. On the one hand, aspects of his father so far seemed positive and not at all like he had been involved in anything subversive. On the other hand, he did not want what he had learned tainted by negative revelations; but in his heart he knew he had to have the whole story to be satisfied and move on.

Then, into this journey had marched Isabella. He had never met anyone like her before who had the combination of beauty, sensitivity and intelligence. The other girls he had gone out with in Adelaide were attractive and fun to be with, some intelligent and witty, but none had ever caused this feeling that he was at a loss to describe. Besides being an exciting feeling it also created what he considered was a small pang of guilt; the feelings that she was generating were interfering with the true purpose of his trip—the emotional part of his father’s history.

As he took a sip of coffee, he picked up the letter and felt its thickness. It was not the normal-sized envelope but one you would usually send a card in. When he squeezed it, it felt like there was another envelope inside. He wondered about opening it or leaving it for later so that if there was anything that he did not understand he could immediately ask Mike or Sian. However, his curiosity soon got the better of him and he took a knife from the cutlery drawer and slit it open.

Inside there were two letters in separate envelopes: the first was addressed to Mike and Christian. The second, also in his father’s handwriting, was addressed only to him. He quickly read the letter to Mike, struggling to grasp that this was his father actually writing to him. He read the details of his father’s involvement in both the chemical warfare programme and the genetic research programme into blacks and coloureds. He read the section where his father apologised to Mike for having let down everyone and become part of a government programme that sought to entrench, at any cost, white rule. As he read further he had a sense of nausea and was uncertain as to whether he should continue.

He had always considered his father a surgeon, driven by a need to help people. The racist remarks that he had seen on the websites following the terrorist attack in Cape Town he assumed to be part of a post-traumatic stress disorder. His father’s words, detailing his involvement in a world where racism was a conscious decision and where the colour of a person’s skin was linked to their destiny, disgusted him. How could his father be so involved in a system that denied them human rights? He wanted, in that instant, to disown his father and felt like tearing up the letter so that no one else could ever see it. How could someone who he had looked up to for so long have been so misrepresented?

As he forced himself to read the remainder of Mike’s letter, he started to feel a deep sense of betrayal. His father’s association with those who sought to kill because of colour tainted the memory of someone who had fought to preserve life and whose memory he wanted to cherish. Getting to the end of the letter, he sat staring into space for a long time, feeling not only nausea and disgust but wishing he had never come to Cape Town. He wished he had not read the letter or shed a tear over his father’s blood. He felt bewildered that his beloved memories had turned out to be something else. He was about to grasp the letter and throw it in the bin, when Mike walked in with his gym gear.

‘
Do you have a fever?’ he asked empirically.

‘
No, why?’ Christian asked, taken aback.

‘
I thought you might have caught Isabella fever last night,’ Mike said, chuckling.

Christian felt Mike’s humour try to penetrate his sombre mood but to no avail.

‘I see you opened the letter. Judging by your mood this morning, I imagine it was similar to the one that I received from your father a long time ago. Now take this coffee and come with me.’ He led Christian out to the small table on the stoep.

‘
When I first read your father’s letter, I was shocked. I felt betrayed. I knew that your father’s Afrikaner roots were deep, but I thought that his insight would prevail. Like you, I suspect, I’d revered and admired him. We’d shared many experiences, debated many issues and respected each other’s viewpoints. Never had I suspected that he was part of a system that so many of us were fighting against. Christian, many whites despised the system that was basically legalised inhumanity, with few restraints, imposed on everyone by a totalitarian regime. We tried to exert pressure for change. Ultimately, I believe your father’s fault lay not in his Afrikaner roots but in his ambition and political naïveté. I’ve read that letter many times, over the years. I think your father desperately wanted his liver transplant programme to succeed and that he felt that his involvement with the bureaucrats would be minor and a way of ensuring its success. As soon as his transplant programme was successful, it would have developed a self-sustaining momentum and he wouldn’t have needed those who sought to be his master. Christian, I think if your father was guilty of anything it was naïveté. I suspect that he realised this too late and found himself trapped. There was no way out with BOSS other than death, and this usually applied to one’s family as well. I’m sure your father fully understood that; hence his measures to protect you and your mother.’

Christian looked at Mike, realising that although it was a long time ago it must have been as awful for Mike as it was now for him.

‘BOSS was a law unto itself,’ Mike continued. ‘Their sole aim was to preserve white rule. If they had suspected that your father was developing a conscience about what he was involved in, which I believe he had, they would’ve killed him, and maybe they did. Your father would’ve understood that fully. Irrespective, he had the courage to try to rectify his mistake. I think he was so ashamed of how he’d been compromised that he made the ultimate gesture of threatening to expose them, knowing that his life would be in danger. He would also have known that as an organisation they were so out of control that his whole family could be threatened. In that sense, I’d like to remember him as a friend who, like us all, made mistakes, but one who could no longer countenance the lie his life was, and who showed more courage than all of us in trying to end that lie.’

Christian sat back and looked at Mike, aware of the tears in Mike’s eyes and those in his own. Mike reached out and touched Christian’s arm
. ‘He was a real friend, a wonderful, powerful thinker who would’ve been really proud of you. I’ll always remember him as someone who saw his faults and was humble enough to admit them. His memory I’ll treasure, not degrade.’

Christian could sense Mike’s feeling of loss all those years ago and the anguish that he must have had to confront, just as he now did, about his father.

Mike interrupted his thoughts, and, looking at the closed envelope with Christian’s name written on it, said, ‘You haven’t read his letter addressed to you yet, have you?’

‘
I hadn’t wanted to until now.’

‘
Why don’t you take your father’s letter and share it with Isabella. Drive to Sea Point and sit on the beach. It’s an experience that you’re going to need to share with someone who cares; we’ll be here when you get back and can talk some more. Also, I need to give you some advice about what you experienced yesterday in Paarl and Stellenbosch.’

Christian wondered whether he was referring to the two men who had approached them or about the white Toyota that he had noticed. Perhaps he was not paranoid after all. He realised, though, that he needed to deal with his father’s letter first. He called Isabella and explained that Mike had given him two letters from his father. He told her he had read the letter to Mike and that the things his father had revealed to Mike had shocked him. Another letter, addressed to him, he had not yet opened.

‘Would you like me to come over?’ said Isabella, unprompted.

‘
That’d be great,’ said Christian. ‘I think there are a few issues I’m going to need to work through and need someone else’s perspective on.’

‘
As long as this is not a pretext to ask me out again,’ Isabella teased, lightening his mood a little.

‘
No, no,’ he replied. ‘If I wanted to do that I’d be direct, like “what are you doing tonight?”’

Isabella laughed again, but did not acknowledge the question
. ‘See you in twenty minutes,’ she said, and before she hung up added, ‘Oh, Christian?’

‘
Yes?’

‘
I really enjoyed yesterday and sharing some of your discoveries.’

Christian stared at the phone, thinking suddenly how that feeling of anger, betrayal and nausea had been replaced by joy and excitement. It was as though the contents of the letter no longer held any fear for him.

‘G’day, mate!’ she said as she bounced through the doorway shortly after.

Christian stood and stared unconsciously at her black curls sitting on her shoulders, skin shining as though polished and lips delicately traced with red lipstick. Her black t-shirt revealed a beauty of shape that was rare.

Isabella saw his reaction—one that she had seen in men before, but in Christian’s eyes she saw no lust. His eyes, while defining her beauty, were loving her with their gaze. For the first time she loved the reaction she evoked.

‘
OK, Aussie, Aussie, Aussie!’ she said, breaking the silence. ‘You can either kiss me or I’ll kiss you.’

He quickly bridged the gap between them, swung his arm around her waist and kissed her quickly on the lips.

Ruby’s voice suddenly brought them both back into the world. ‘Miss Isabella, would you like your coffee standing up or sitting down?’

‘
On the stoep is just fine, but I thought we were going to Sea Point?’

‘
I didn’t know whether I could wait until we got to Sea Point to talk to you about this,’ replied Christian.

As they sat on the stoep, Isabella moved her chair closer to his.

‘Christian, I know about your father’s letter to Mike. I haven’t read it, but Mike and Nadine have discussed it countless times, so I feel like I’ve read it. I also know what you must be feeling. I can only tell you from what my mother has said that your father was someone to be honoured, not dishonoured—he was loved by many. He did a great deal to help our people, and I don’t think he would have willingly been part of a killing conspiracy against black people.’

‘
That’s what Mike more or less said. I just need to understand why he did what he did. My father seemed so straightforward and intelligent, a good surgeon, all the things you would expect of someone in his position, and yet he seemed to betray so many people. I need to know him to be sure that I love him and can honour him as my father.’

‘
Good,’ said Isabella, ‘but before we read that letter, a few rules though.’

Christian looked at her, intrigued by her forwardness, but also delighted that she wanted to be part of whatever he may discover.

‘Firstly, no secrets. We share everything. And secondly, that I be treated as an equal in any discovery, not just a sounding board who is given the expurgated version.’

Christian nodded; thinking at that moment there was nothing he did not want to share with Isabella.

‘Is that all? Only two requests?’ Christian ventured.

‘
As a matter of fact, it’s not.’

Christian raised his eyebrows, smiling, knowing that her next requests would probably be laced with humour.

‘If we’re going to be together for a while, you must kiss me at least once a day.’

Christian laughed out loud, reached across and kissed her firmly on the lips, before breaking off and saying
, ‘I accept your conditions, on one condition.’

‘
And what’s that?’ Isabella attempted an imperious pose.

‘
That there be no minimum.’

‘
Don’t be greedy,’ she playfully rebuked him, before adding, ‘I thought this was going to be about your father’s letter.’

Christian looked at her, understanding that despite their growing fondness and its manifestation in their verbal affectations, a wall still had to be scaled and its roots explored.

‘Let’s have coffee first,’ said Christian, unsure about the effect of reading his father’s letter with Isabella.

‘
Christian,’ she said, with a degree of authority that caused him to concentrate his gaze on her. ‘Christian, I realise that your father’s letter may have a profound effect on you. It’s always difficult to start a journey, but unless you do, you never reach the end.’