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Authors: Wilbur Smith

BOOK: Rage
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Shasa stood beside Manfred on the top stair of the stoep and they watched the Stander family climb the dunes, the beams of their flashlights darting about erratically and the shrill voices of the children dwindling into the night, and he wondered if he could ever piece together the clues he had gleaned this evening and discover the full extent of Manfred De La Rey's vulnerability. One day it might be vital to do so.
It would be easy enough discreetly to search the records for the marriage date of Sarah Stander and compare it to
the birth date of her eldest son, but how would he ever coax from her the true significance of her use of his military rank? She had called him ‘Squadron Leader'. She knew him, that was certain, but how and where? Shasa smiled. He enjoyed a good mystery, Agatha Christie was one of his favourite authors. He would work on it.
S
hasa woke with the grey of dawn lining the curtains over his bed, and a pair of bokmakierie shrikes singing over of their complicated duets from the scrub of the dunes. He stripped off the pyjamas Manfred had lent him and shrugged on the bathrobe, before he crept from the silent cottage and went down to the beach.
He swam naked, slashing over-arm through the cold green water and ducking under the successive lines of breaking white surf until he was clear; then he swam slowly parallel to the beach but five hundred yards off. The chances of shark attack were remote, but the possibility spiced his enjoyment. When it was time to go in he caught a breaking wave and rode it into the beach, and waded ashore, laughing with exhilaration and the joy of life.
He mounted quietly to the stoep of the cottage, not wanting to disturb the family, but a movement from the far end stopped him. Manfred sat in one of the deckchairs with a book in his hands. He was already shaved and dressed.
‘Good morning,
Meneer,'
Shasa greeted him. ‘Are you going fishing again today?'
‘It's Sunday,' Manfred reminded him. ‘I don't fish on a Sunday.'
‘Ah, yes.' Shasa wondered why he felt guilty for having enjoyed his swim, then he recognized the antique leather-covered black book that Manfred was holding.
‘The Bible,' he remarked, and Manfred nodded.
‘Ja,
I read a few pages before I begin each day, but on Sunday or when I have a particular problem to face, I like to read a full chapter.'
‘I wonder how many chapters you read before you screwed your best friend's wife,' Shasa thought, but said aloud, ‘Yes, the Book is a great comfort,' and tried not to feel a hypocrite as he went through to dress.
Heidi laid an enormous breakfast, everything from steak to pickled fish, but Shasa ate an apple and drank a cup of coffee before he excused himself.
‘The forecast on the radio is for rain later. I want to get back to Cape Town before the weather closes in.'
‘I will walk up to the airstrip with you.' Manfred stood up quickly.
Neither of them spoke until the track reached the ridge, and then Manfred asked suddenly, ‘Your mother — how is she?'
‘She is well. She always is, and she never seems to age.' Shasa watched his face, as he went on, ‘You always ask about her. When did you last see her?'
‘She is a remarkable woman,' Manfred said stolidly, avoiding the question.
‘I have tried to make up in some way for the damage she has done your family,' Shasa persisted, and Manfred seemed not to have heard. Instead he stopped in the middle of the track, as if to admire the view, but his breathing was ragged. Shasa had set a fast pace up the hill.
‘He's out of condition,' Shasa gloated. His own breathing was unruffled, and his body lean and hard.
‘It's beautiful,' Manfred said, and only when he made a gesture that swept the wide horizon, did Shasa realize that he was talking about the land. He looked and saw that from the ocean to the blue mountains of the Langeberge inland, it was indeed beautiful.
‘And the Lord said unto him, “This is the land which I sware unto Abraham, unto Isaac and unto Jacob, saying, I
will give it unto thy seed”,' Manfred quoted softly. ‘The Lord has given it to us, and it is our sacred duty to keep it for our children. Nothing else is important compared to that duty.'
Shasa was silent. He had no argument with that sentiment, although the expression of it was embarrassingly theatrical.
‘We have been given a paradise. We must resist with our lives all efforts to despoil it, or to change it,' Manfred went on. ‘And there are many who will attempt just that. They are gathering against us already. In the days ahead we will need strong men.'
Again Shasa was silent, but now his agreement was tinged with scepticism. Manfred turned to him.
‘I see you smile,' he said seriously. ‘You see no threat to what we have built up here on the tip of Africa?'
‘As you have said, this land is a paradise. Who would want to change it?' Shasa asked.
‘How many Africans do you employ,
Meneer?'
Manfred seemed to change course.
‘Almost thirty thousand altogether,' Shasa frowned with puzzlement.
‘Then you will soon learn the poignancy of my warning,' Manfred grunted. ‘There is a new generation of troublemakers who have grown up amongst the native people. These are the bringers of darkness. They have no respect for the old orders of society which our forefathers so carefully built up and which have served us so faithfully for so long. No, they want to tear all that down. As the Marxist monsters destroyed the social fabric of Russia, so they seek to destroy all that the white man has built up in Africa.'
Shasa's tone was disparaging as he replied. ‘The vast bulk of our black peoples are happy and law-abiding. They are disciplined and accustomed to authority, their own tribal laws are every bit as strict and circumscribing as the
laws we impose. How many agitators are there amongst them, and how great is their influence? Not many and not much, would be my guess.'
‘The world has changed more in the short time since the end of the war than it ever did in the hundred years before that.' Manfred had recovered his breath now, and he spoke forcefully and eloquently in his own language. ‘The tribal laws which governed our black peoples are eroded as they leave the rural areas and flock to the cities in search of the sweet life. There they learn all the white man's vices, and they are ripened for the heresies of the bringers of darkness. The respect that they have for the white man and his government could easily turn to contempt, especially if they detect any weakness in us. The black man respects strength and despises weakness, and it is the plan of this new breed of black agitators to test our weaknesses and expose them.'
‘How do you know this?' Shasa asked and then immediately was angry with himself. He did not usually deal in banal questions, but Manfred answered seriously.
‘We have a comprehensive system of informers amongst the blacks, it is the only way a police force can do its job efficiently. We know that they are planning a massive campaign of defiance of the law, especially those laws that have been introduced in the last few years – the Group Areas Act and the Population Registration Act and the pass laws, the laws necessary to protect our complicated society from the evils of racial integration and miscegenation.'
‘What form will this campaign take?'
‘Deliberate disobedience, flouting of the law, boycotts of white businesses and wild-cat strikes in mining and industry.'
Shasa frowned as he made his calculation. The campaign would directly threaten his companies. ‘Sabotage?' he asked. ‘Destruction of property – are they planning that?'
Manfred shook his head. ‘It seems not. The agitators are divided amongst themselves. They even include some whites, some of the old comrades from the Communist Party. There are a few amongst them who favour violent action and sabotage, but apparently the majority are prepared to go only as far as peaceful protest – for the moment.'
Shasa sighed with relief, and Manfred shook his head. ‘Do not be too complacent,
Meneer
. If we fail to prevent them, if we show weakness now, then it will escalate against us. Look what is happening in Kenya and Malaya.'
‘Why do you not simply round up the ringleaders now, before it happens?'
‘We do not have such powers,' Manfred pointed out.
‘Then you should damned well be given them.'
‘Ja
, we need them to do our job, and soon we will have them. But in the meantime we must let the snake put its head out of the hole before we chop it off.'
‘When will the trouble begin?' Shasa demanded. ‘I must make my arrangements to deal with the strikes and disturbances—'
‘That is one thing we are not certain of, we do not think the ANC itself has as yet decided—'
‘The ANC,' Shasa interjected. ‘But surely they aren't behind this? They have been around for forty years or so, and they are dedicated to peaceful negotiations. The leaders are decent men.'
‘They were,' Manfred corrected him. ‘But the old leaders have been superseded by younger, more dangerous men. Men like Mandela and Tambo and others even more evil. As I said before, times change – we must change with them.'
‘I had not realized that the threat was so real.'
‘Few people do,' Manfred agreed. ‘But I assure you,
Meneer,
that there is a nest of snakes breeding in our little paradise.'
They walked on in silence, down to the clay-surfaced
airstrip where Shasa's blue and silver Mosquito stood. While Shasa climbed into the cockpit and readied the machine for flight, Manfred stood quietly at the wingtip watching him. After Shasa had completed all his checks, he came back to Manfred.
‘There is one certain way to defeat this enemy,' Shasa said. ‘This new militant ANC.'
‘What is that,
Meneer?'
‘To pre-empt their position. Take away from our black people the cause of complaint,' Shasa said.
Manfred was silent, but he stared at Shasa with those implacable yellow eyes. Then Manfred asked, picking his words carefully, ‘Are you suggesting that we give the natives political rights,
Meneer?
Do you think that we should give in to the parrot cry of “One man, one vote” – is that what you believe,
Meneer?'
On Shasa's reply rested all Manfred's plans. He wondered if he could have been so wrong in his selection. Any man who believed that could never be a member of the National Party, let alone bear the responsibility of cabinet rank. His relief was intense as Shasa dismissed the idea contemptuously.
‘Good Lord, no! That would be the end of us and white civilization in the land. Blacks don't need votes, they need a slice of the pie. We must encourage the emergence of a black middle class, they will be our buffer against the revolutionaries. I never saw a man yet with a full belly and a full wallet who wanted to change things.'
Manfred chuckled. ‘That's good, I like it. You are correct,
Meneer
. We need massive wealth to pay for our concept of
apartheid
. It will be expensive, we accept that. That is why we have chosen you. We look to you to find the money to pay for our future.'
Shasa held out his hand and Manfred took it. ‘On a personal level,
Meneer
, I am pleased to hear that your wife has taken notice of whatever you said to her. Reports from my Special Branch indicate that she has given up her
liberal left-wing associations and is no longer taking any part in political protests.'
‘I convinced her how futile they were,' Shasa smiled. ‘She has decided to become an archaeologist instead of a Bolshevik.'
They laughed together, and Shasa climbed back into the cockpit. The engines started with a stuttering roar and a mist of blue smoke blew from the exhaust ports, clearing quickly. Shasa lifted a hand in salute and closed the canopy.
Manfred watched him taxi down to the end of the strip then come thundering back, and hurtle aloft in a flash of silver and blue. He shaded his eyes to watch the Mosquito bank away towards the south, and he felt again that strange almost mystic bond of blood and destiny to the man under the perspex canopy as Shasa waved in farewell. Though they had fought and hated each other, their separate people were bound together by a similar bond and at the same time held apart by religion and language and political beliefs.
‘We are brothers, you and I,' he thought. ‘And beyond the hatred lie the dictates of survival. If you join us, then other Englishmen may follow you, and neither of us can survive alone. Afrikaner and Englishman, we are so bound together that if one goes down, we both drown in the black ocean.'
‘Garrick has to wear glasses,' Tara said, and poured fresh coffee into Shasa's cup.
‘Glasses?' He looked up from his newspaper. ‘What do you mean, glasses?'
‘I mean eye glasses — spectacles. I took him to the optician while you were away. He is shortsighted.'
‘But nobody in our family has ever worn glasses.' Shasa looked down the breakfast table at his son, and Garrick lowered his head guiltily. Until that moment he had not realized that he had disgraced the entire family. He had believed the humiliation of spectacles was his alone.
‘Glasses.' Shasa's scorn was undisguised. ‘While you are having him fitted with glasses, you might as well get them to fit a cork in the end of his whistle to stop him wetting his bed also.'
Sean let out a guffaw and dug an elbow into his brother's ribs, and Garrick was stung into self-defence. ‘Gee, Dad, I haven't wet my bed since last Easter,' he declared furiously, red-faced with embarrassment and close to tears of humiliation.
Sean made circles with his thumbs and forefingers and peered through them at his brother.

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