Does it Hurt to Die (31 page)

‘
That was quick thinking,’ said Isabella.

‘
Well done,’ added Mike, looking, thought Christian, genuinely impressed. ‘I’m going to check the rest of the house. I’ll meet you back here in a few minutes.’

‘
And because it was a loose-leaf, Issy, they won’t know that it’s missing from the folder.’

‘
If our father had encoded the research, then he wasn’t cooperating with them,’ said Isabella. ‘I think he probably read the folder and realised how despicable the regime was and that what they were doing was morally unacceptable. He would have exposed them if he didn’t have to protect you and your mother.’

‘
That’s quite a speech, Isabella, for a newly discovered family member.’

‘
Well, I still want to find out more about him. With the folder gone now there should be no threat to us, so even if you don’t come to Johannesburg I’m going,’ she said.

Christian looked at her and thought, with that amount of determination, they must be related.

‘OK, sis, count me in,’ he said.

‘
Let’s go and find Mike and tell him that we still want to go.’

They walked towards the gates where Mike was standing over the security guard. As they got closer, Christian could see he wasn’t moving.

‘He’s dead,’ Mike said as they stood next to him. ‘I’ve called the police.’

The police arrived and took statements from everyone before arranging for the security guard to be taken to the Salt River mortuary. After some discussion, they insisted on leaving two armed policemen at the gate in case the two gunmen decided to return. They walked up the stairs together, adrenaline levels returning to normal, a dragging tiredness in its place
.

Ruby had by this time fully recovered and made them some of her wonderful curry, the smells greeting them as they entered the hallway. Realising how drained he was from the experiences of the day, Christian was uncertain whether he was hungry or not. As Ruby placed the curry in front of him, he contemplated trying a little when he heard Nadine and Sian’s voice in the front hall.

There was a collective gasp as they entered the kitchen and saw the large bandage around Ruby’s head. While Sian inspected Ruby’s wound, Mike gave them both a detailed explanation, reassuring them that everyone was OK but omitting the details of the security guard’s death. Christian observed that both Sian and Nadine were both remarkably composed considering the trauma they had all experienced. It was almost as if they had insight into the events. Christian knew that such a thought was impossible. The only other reason for their calmness would have to be that this type of incident was relatively frequent in the new South Africa. And if you let it get to you emotionally, life would be so constrained by fear that it would hardly be worth living. Maybe his intuition was working overtime and now was a little fatigued. Besides, you would never guess two men would return to a place where they had previously nearly been caught. South Africa clearly manufactured paranoia if you did not live there permanently, but it was not a feeling he thought he could adjust to.

Christian decided to try the curry, and despite his lack of hunger enjoyed the taste of garam masala and red chillies that was Ruby’s special blend.

‘Everything is secure and I suggest that everyone stays the night. There are plenty of rooms and beds for everyone,’ said Mike, looking at Isabella and Nadine. ‘Given everything that happened it may be difficult to sleep; I have a short acting sleeping tablet if you want to take one.’

‘
Thanks, darling,’ said Sian.

‘
I think that would be a good idea for us to stay,’ said Nadine. ‘Then we could have a full discussion over coffee in the morning.’

‘
If you two are up to it and still want to go to Johannesburg,’ he said, looking at Isabella and Christian, ‘I’ll drive you to the airport at lunchtime.’

Over coffee the next morning, Christian and Isabella both agreed that there might be something in the old files that would settle some of the doubts about their father’s involvement with BOSS. Christian secretly doubted that they would find much, but knew that Isabella’s new-found curiosity and genetic link demanded that they at least search.

‘
You know, we may not accomplish much and what we may discover we may never be able to verify.’

‘
We may not, but if either of us leaves questions about our father or his work unanswered, we may regret that forever. Even if we don’t get any more answers, we’ll at least know that we tried and that may help us both move on with our lives.’

Christian looked at her, a little taken aback by the forcefulness of her reply and the underlying criticism of his negativity. The determination in her reply was not the Isabella that he had previously experienced. Isabella had bounced back so quickly and replaced that disappointment with a determination to find more of the truth about their father, he wondered really, if the experience had been of the same intensity for her. Part of him wanted to share her positivity, but the reality was much more compelling so far.

‘I don’t want to leave it half-finished either, Isabella, but with the folder gone we may never know the full truth. Also, I’m sure those in the security forces who did not want to be incriminated wiped all the important facts from all the files. I was just trying to prepare you for a worst case scenario.’

‘
I’m quite prepared for that. I just want to give it my best try.’

They chatted somewhat uncomfortably on the plane up to Johannesburg, uncertain how to relate as brother and sister. They both tried to make the transition by having no physical contact between them as they sat in the plane. Christian wanted to talk about what had happened, but everything seemed to have been tainted by Nadine’s revelation and he was unsure whether Isabella wanted to talk about it. She seemed to have made the transition to a sister quite seamlessly. Perhaps talking about it would be too difficult, and therefore he had to follow the lead that she was providing as a sibling. There were times of silence between them, such as they had not previously experienced, which he thought, ironically, was probably how most brothers and sisters behaved.

After one period of extended silence, Isabella turned to Christian and said, ‘Look, this is something we need to do together for both our sakes; the brother-sister relationship will take care of itself.’

Again, he was amazed by her change in attitude and the way she had dealt with the change in relationship.

‘You’re right, Issy,’ he said as the flight landed. ‘Let’s find out what we can and then at least we’ll know we tried our best to find any skeletons.’

‘
Good, you’re sounding like a reliable brother already,’ she said, smiling at him, albeit a little sadly.

They walked out through the domestic terminal at Johannesburg and saw the black Mercedes, complete with tinted windows and driver, waiting for them. The ride into the heart of Johannesburg reminded them of the ever-present threat that still existed in post-apartheid South Africa. At none of the red lights did they stop. The driver would slow well before any red light or stop sign but would never come to a complete stop; as he explained, that allowed would-be gangsters to smash the windows and possibly hijack the car. As they approached one red light, Christian could see the shattered remains of a car window. The driver had obviously slowed too much, he thought. When he suggested that to their driver, the driver explained that some criminals had now even taken to throwing acid in through the window once it had been smashed to stop the car from driving off. He explained that some cars slowed hardly at all and that you had to be extremely careful at intersections that you did not collide with someone.

As they turned left into Malan Drive, Christian noted the increasing number of stalls and hawkers. In Cape Town, the scarcity of white faces on the streets had for some reason not been as noticeable. Perhaps, he thought, there was more a mix of coloured people in Cape Town than here in Johannesburg where they were mostly black. While there was some laughter amongst the hawkers, he could also see the pain of survival and wondered whether the fall of apartheid had made any difference to these people.

The driver delivered them via an underground car park to an impressive concrete building, the headquarters of the new National Intelligence Service. They were taken up in the lift to the seventh floor. On entering the lobby, they saw an armed guard monitoring the computer screen. He looked up as they walked towards him and told them that Galela was ready to see them. He pressed the switch on the desk, which let them enter another room, and he indicated for them to sit on one of the couches.

It was a stark room surrounded on three sides by large tinted windows. The floor was covered partly by deep red and blue Persian rugs, a metaphor perhaps for the rainbow nation that everyone was hoping would evolve. At the far end of the room was a desk surrounded by a bookcase filled with books on South African law and politics. The desk in itself was unusual; large yet shaped almost like the African continent. Behind the desk was the largest signed portrait of Nelson Mandela that Christian thought must exist. He stood up and could see the impressive Johannesburg skyline through one of the floor-to-ceiling windows. High-rise buildings crowded the foreground, and then, in the distance, the plumes of smoke located the shanty towns beyond. He moved closer to the desk.

Behind the desk was a document signed by the Truth and Reconciliation Commission absolving Ruben (Rambo) Galela of numerous crimes confessed to them in the struggle against apartheid. Christian had just been able to discern the word
‘assassination’, when a door opened to the left of the bookcase. Framed in the doorway was a black man. While not quite filling the doorway, his physical presence was immense. His head was shaved and there was a chunk missing from his left ear suggesting that there was a violent part or past to his life. His neck was short and thick and his arms appeared oversized, too long for his body somehow, and as he moved towards them, Christian noticed that he limped. Galela stopped a metre in front of them and then surveyed them with a professional diligence. Christian felt uneasy; it was not just Galela’s intimidating physical presence, but also something more that suggested he was uneasy with them being here.

Then, in perfect English, Galela said
, ‘Please sit down,’ gesturing with his hand to two chairs.

‘
Sibokwe has explained your quest to me, and I’ll help you in so far as I can,’ he said.

Christian looked at him and sensed not only that he would be a formidable physical opponent, but that he also had an unusual assuredness. He gave the impression that he was physically impregnable and something about how he presented himself commanded you to believe he was.

‘I’ve obtained the files from the old Bureau of State Security. You can go through them here in my office. We can only give you one hour, and you’ll need to sign a legally binding document that states you’ll never repeat to anyone anything that you might see or read in these folders. There is information in these folders that other governments still want protected.’

Christian looked at Galela as he finished talking; the sense of disquiet had not left him. Could it be, he thought, that it was just that Galela was uncomfortable showing them restricted documents as a favour to Sibokwe
? Nevertheless, it seemed more than that; beyond the sense that this was something that he was reluctantly doing. There was almost a degree of personal discomfort—that he had information that only he, Galela, had access to and that he was not going to allow them to see it.

Then before he could help himself, Christian said
, ‘You know who killed our father don’t you?’

Galela moved neither a muscle nor blinked. Christian could sense Isabella’s shock at the boldness of his question. Christian’s eyes did not leave Galela, he wanted to see if his intuition was right and thought Galela’s eyes would be the best indication of the truth or otherwise. For what seemed like five minutes, they stared at each other over the desk, before Galela broke the silence.

‘Yes, I shot your father,’ he said unblinkingly. ‘He was one of many that I helped kill. You won’t find in those folders a reference to your father’s killers. He was killed by a security service that trained and used me. I shot him, but the white security agent, Van der Walt, provided the final killing shot and then tried to kill me. He wasn’t successful and I escaped. I was an instrument of that regime as that was a means to survive, but there were many killers, mostly white, who killed because they believed whites were superior to blacks and never wanted to share power with them. They believed that they had a God given right to this land, and since God had given them this right, those who opposed them were evil, a fact that in their eyes justified their removal by any means. They saw your father as one of those people who had the potential to destroy their heritage and felt that he was acting contrary to God’s will for their future.’

Christian sat back in his chair overwhelmed both by Galela’s brutal honesty and the fact that he was the last man to see his father alive. The man who had participated in the killing of his father was now sitting opposite him. Anger rose inside him and made him wish he had a gun, but then he was overwhelmed by sadness as the realisation set in that nothing could change the past. He blinked to hide a tear as he looked at Isabella and noted too that the colour had drained from her face.

‘I have many regrets. Shooting your father was one of them. He would have possibly become a compelling force for moderation.’ Galela looked away for a moment and then returned to look at Christian. ‘Your father died, but in doing so he saved you and your mother. It was intended that the whole family be eliminated, partly to confirm to others that no one was safe and partly because BOSS believed he had a folder of national and international importance and was doing research on blacks which he wouldn’t tell them about. The letter from your father was received by BOSS at the same time as the order to kill your family. The day that he was killed, you and your mother were also to die, but by chance you were not there.’

‘
I was there,’ said Christian. ‘My father put me over the fence after you killed the dogs. You missed me.’

Christian looked at Galela. He did not respond in any way: no body movement, no discomfort, and no response to an implied criticism.

‘If you seek remorse from me you won’t find it. I’ve dealt with my past and you must now deal with yours. I sold my soul partly out of hunger and suppression. I’ve made my peace with my past; meeting Sibokwe’s mother can do that even to the most hardened of hearts.’

Christian did not respond for a few minutes
. ‘You said there were many killers. How many?’

‘
Many had knowledge of the killings. I did know the white security man who was with me, Andre van der Walt. He was in charge of all operations. He was supposedly killed in a car accident, just before the change of government, but there are many who have their doubts and think that he went underground to support an ongoing white supremacist movement.’

As Christian tried to comprehend all he heard, Galela reached into a drawer and pulled out a folder. Christian saw his father’s name etched in black in the top right hand corner. He pushed the folder towards Christian—it was in Afrikaans. He glanced at Isabella, who took it from him and nodded that she could translate.

Galela then spoke to Christian again. ‘Your father is dead. You and your mother are alive and well in a new country. You have returned to a country of strange laws and a different violence to what we knew with the apartheid government. While we’re changing things, you need to remember that for many they can see no difference in their lives after a change of government. Life is not valued above food here for many, and the rule of law functions intermittently at best. When you read this file, you’ll find that your father was a good person who loved his country. Like many of us, he made mistakes. He paid for his mistakes with his life. You need to close this chapter and live the life that he has given you in Australia. If there are any loose ends, we’ll tidy them up.’

Christian looked again at Galela and realised this was not advice; this was more an instruction to leave. He wondered why if there was nothing further to uncover about his father.

‘That’s all I can do. You’ll not be allowed to take notes. There are many aspects of your father’s life that, as I previously mentioned, indirectly involved foreign governments. They’re still willing to protect these secrets and could possibly kill to do so.’ Galela stared at Christian until he was sure that he understood and then got up and left.

Isabella spoke first as she translated the Afrikaans
. ‘Christian, this section is about his genetic research.’

‘
What does it say?’

‘
It says they suspected that our father found a gene that was unique to blacks. But they couldn’t be certain because not only was the research coded, but also only part of the research was ever found.’

Christian moved across the room to try to read over her shoulder. It was in Afrikaans, but he could recognise firstly a list of countries: Angola, Mozambique, Namibia and South Africa. In addition, the medical terms Salmonella, Botulinum, E.coli and Cholera were familiar to him.