Starlight in the Ring (15 page)

“Yes, thank you,” I reply, with a nervous giggle, pretending to be satisfied. I’m unhappy, and confused. I need to solve a mystery – Mark and Jimmie’s whereabouts. So, I ask him, “Where is Baas Jimmie, who previously owned this farm?”

“I do not wish to discuss anything with you. Go now, and do not visit your dead aunt ever again.”

I’m free. I walk all the way, hoping to stop the first car to pass by. I wonder what happened to Missus. People die of various causes. I wonder what happened to Jimmie and Mark.

I’ll discover one day – or perhaps I’ll never know. I have no connections with the Europeans here. This may complicate this matter.

I walk for a long distance without a car passing by. My legs ache; my eyes are in floods of tears, because this breaks my heart. I feel dizzy as if my head is spinning around. In my mind, I’m asking one question,
where are they, then?
I know now about Theodora, and not about Mark and Jimmie Douglas. If they are dead, and I can find their graves, my heart can rest.

Suddenly, I hear the car sound from behind me. It’s dark; only the lights shine on me. I stick my hand out to stop it.

“What are you doing here this time, woman?”

“I have visited my family. Now I’m returning to my home,” I respond to shut him up.

“Get in, and let’s go,” he says. “You’re beautiful. Who do you resemble?”

“Thank you. People say, I’m my dad’s spitting image,” I say, and then keep quiet, hoping he will leave me alone to ponder over the day’s key issues.

The driver wants to drop me in town. As it is very late, I ask for a lift to the township where natives live; I know where I belong. The first house I go into takes me in for the night, and I proceed home the next day. I feel relieved that I’ve visited the farm to look for Mark. I don’t give up hope that I might bump into him one day.

I
t’s a misty morning, with a cool breeze, in Aliwal North. Visibility is poor, with cars having their fog lights turned on, driving slowly, avoiding running over the pedestrians, crossing the streets randomly. Some drivers are blowing their horns, frustrated with the traffic jams on the road by the Magistrates’ Court. The streets are busy with many farm-workers, who have come to see justice for Mark Douglas, who the Bakers love. Some men are sitting by the Magistrates’ Court, smoking their long pipes and chatting across among themselves as early as seven o’clock, ensuring they get a place inside the tiny courtroom.

The paperboys are doing their rounds, delivering newspapers to the shops. The headline on the front page of today’s ‘The Daily News’ reads, ‘JIMMIE DOUGLAS IN COURT’, attracting people’s attention. This seems to be the most read article this morning, especially by the natives, who have come from the
farms around Burgersdorp, Aliwal North, Lady Grey and Bethulie. Newspapers in native languages have covered the story also.

As the courtroom on the natives’ side is not big enough to accommodate everyone, so some people are listening to the deliberations through the loud speaker system, and an interpreter from outside. My dad, mama, uncle and aunt are among the people, who have come to see Baas Jimmie on trial.

They have arrived on time, and secured a good view in the second row from the front. I’m happy to be seated with them.

The court is summoned to stand up as the judge and court messengers walk in. There is a remarkable silence, with no one talking, moving about or shuffling – you could hear a penny drop. The back door opens, and two police officers accompanying Baas Jimmie walk in, with him in the middle. Today, he is dressed in a grey suit, his hair and beard well groomed. He has lost a lot of weight.

“Where is Missus?” whispers my dad, appearing sad. He stands up to have a better view on the other side, perhaps hoping to see Theodora. Sitting down, he whispers again, “It’s strange for Theodora not to be here to support him.” My dad still loves the Douglas’ family like his own.

Aunty shrugs her shoulders in response, as if to imply, ‘I don’t know’, but she scans the courtroom until she actually stands up, ensuring a clear view. “No, Theodora is not here,” she whispers. I think,
should I tell them? How will they react?

I tap my aunt on the shoulder, whispering in her ear, “Aunty, Missus passed away. I saw her grave in their cemetery.” My aunt looks at me for a moment, in disbelief, before turning around, whispering to my parents.

Marie and her husband, the neighbours of the Douglases, are sitting in the front row, on the European side of the court. Jimmie is sitting closer to his solicitor on the dock situated on the right-hand side of the courtroom.

The prosecutor stands up and calls the court to order, before reading the charges, and concluding with, “Jimmie Douglas, do you plead guilty, or innocent?”

Jimmie stands up and responds, “I reserve my right to remain silent.”

The prosecutor then says, “The defendant is exercising his right; therefore, the case number SA&P Douglas V State is adjourned for trial on Tuesday 22 October 1968, and that’s in three months’ time. The defendant will be remanded in custody. Bail is refused. You can take him back to the cells.”

The officers take him through the back door into the cells, where he has been locked up, in preparation for the trial. The court is commanded to stand, and then dismissed.

There is a lot of murmuring from the natives’ side, as they walk out to join others outside. Their views vary, but they are all sympathetic to the tragedy in the Douglas’ family. Some say Jimmie deserves punishment, if he is found guilty. Others are just shaking their heads, hiding their internal grief. Some have only heard that Theodora is late. I listen hoping to hear them mention Mark, and perhaps what has happened to him. Sadly, no one actually says anything about him. What I sense from most of them is shock, and disappointment. Some refer to ‘the dark cloud’ in Skoonfontein.

T
hree months seems to be over soon since attending a pre-hearing of Baas’ case, I think. On Tuesday morning the 22
^nd
October we all travel from Kanevlak village in my uncle’s minibus to Baas Jimmie’s trial in Burgersdorp. Every seat is filled with our family members and the farm labourers we picked up around Skoonfontein on our way to court. Being the key witness, it is imperative that I attend, and I also desperately need closure with Mark.
Is he alive or not? We promised to love each other for ever, and he suffered for my sake. How could I pay him back for that? Perhaps I’ll meet him again in court; who knows what might happen?

The moment everybody has been waiting for comes; at 10.30am, the door from the cells flings opens, suddenly.

Baas Jimmie Douglas enters the courtroom through this back door, looking down, appearing frustrated and more miserable than before with his shoulders sagging, tense lines about his
mouth and wispy unkempt hair. Two police officers are accompanying him, one on each side. His hands are handcuffed. I look at him, feeling sad about how a good man could be in this situation. How his life could turn into such a misery is unbelievable. I then realise he is just as much a victim of the Law as the natives have been. Looking at him above other people’s heads, I remember his kindness, giving me a lift in his van when I had a heavy metal trunk to carry home from school. Unable to stop tears rolling down my cheeks, I look up at the ceiling for a little while to gather my strength. I dismiss the thoughts of the nasty things he’s done to us in the past. I know it’s his weaknesses, but today I choose to focus on his strengths, and feel the pain and the shame he must be going through.

They are walking very slowly towards the dock. I expect him to have his usual walk, with his feet apart. But his feet appear restricted; walking is a struggle for him. I know Baas Jimmie; he always makes giant strides, but strangely, not today. I rise up from my seat until I’m on tiptoes to have a clear view of his feet. Unaware of my actions, I shout loudly in surprise, “Huh, Baas!”

His feet are in chains. Could it be he attempted to escape from his cell? I remember the night I spent in the stables with Rita, and the man who cried constantly throughout the night, with his hands in chains and the corn sheaves left beside him to exhibit theft evidence. He must have been uncomfortable to be in handcuffs all night long, waiting for the day, to be handed over to the police authorities for the alleged theft.

Jimmie, in a pinstriped navy blue suit and a creased blue shirt and a blue tie with black stripes sits on a wooden bench closer to his solicitor, who has a file opened in front of himself, and a pen in his hand. The two police officers remain standing behind him. The solicitor is here to offer him professional advice throughout the proceedings. He has been warned previously that the crimes he is accused of carry a sentence of life imprisonment. Jimmie, as I know him, would not expect to get this kind
of penalty in South Africa. All the people rise when the judges walk in, dressed in their dignified robes. I am fortunate to be inside. Crowds are gathered outside, and there are scuffles as people are pushing to get a better view among the reporters, who are raising their cameras, obstructing other people. The atmosphere is chaotic. I dart my eyes all around the room. I look across to the side for the Europeans, hoping to see Mark.

The trial starts with the Prosecutor reading the accusations. Baas Jimmie is charged with attempted murder of his son, Mark Douglas, and murdering his own wife, Theodora.

“Are you guilty or not guilty, Mr Douglas?”

He rises up saying, “Innocent, Sir.” There is uproar and shuffling in the court, until the usher shouts, “Silence!”

Everyone on both sides of the court room becomes quiet instantly. Staring at Baas, with my head throbbing from stress, I find it hard to believe the crimes he is accused of, yet I was there the night he shot Mark. I heard the bullet sound, and felt Mark’s weight on me before he dropped down. I find it difficult to comprehend that this ‘loving dad’, as Mark called him, is today accused of murdering his own family. This hurts me the most because I know all of these people very well, and love them as my own.

Jimmie’s solicitor rises to speak in his defence.

“Your honour, my clients is known to be a kind and helpful man. He is very sorry for his actions. He had not intentions to hurt anyone.”

He describes him as a responsible man, who upheld the laws. When the Prosecutor asks Jimmie some questions, his response shows remorse. Jimmie’s voice sounds hoarse; he looks across to our side, as if he remembers the good olden days at Skoonfontein. His voice fades completely, and he reaches for a glass of water. He takes a sip and puts the glass down. He unblocks his throat ready to talk, tries to speak, but upon mentioning Mark and Theodora’s names, he breaks down into
uncontrollable tears. The court is dismissed for a short break, and then resumes.

“Mark Douglas!” the prosecutor calls, and the usher leads him to the witness box, on their side. “Huh!” I whisper, and then take a deep breath, followed by a sharp sting in my heart. My face heats up from blushing. Clenching my jaws, and holding my hands together, I look down, and then up to the dock, listening to Mark, feeling some energy has just left me. He narrates the events surrounding the attempted murder, as he recalls them. Finally, he says, “After hearing the second shot, I remember no more.” Mark, rubbing his eyes gently, looks at his dad and then speaks with a slurred voice, “Daddy, I love you.” And then Mark looks down; his tears drip and disappear beneath his chin. He puts his hand into his pocket, takes out a handkerchief and presses it onto his face with both hands, sobbing. This confession must have triggered the ‘daddy-and-son’ affection, and perhaps brought up the memories of what was once a happy, rich family.