When Time Fails (Silverman Saga Book 2) (19 page)

Thys hadn’t even pulled up the Corolla’s handbrake before Annamari clambered out and rushed into the house. She had to find it. She hadn’t thought about it for years and years. She hadn’t seen it since – she couldn’t remember. She couldn’t ask Thys if he knew where it was. What could she say if he asked her why she wanted it? Needed it. Right now.

She found it, under a pile of papers in the roll-top desk in the spare room. Her old room. She’d leave it there. She’d wait until Thys was out of the house, tomorrow, and then she’d... well, she’d think of something. After all, she couldn’t just suddenly invite Pretty into the house for a cup of coffee and a chat. Could she?

***

‘Look how young Thys was!’

Annamari pointed at Thys in the middle of the front row of the photograph of the First Rugby Team in the Driespruitfontein Hoërskool magazine.

Pretty smiled her vague smile and sipped at the glass of Oros orange juice Annamari had insisted on pouring for her when they returned to the kitchen after sorting through Steyn’s old clothes. It had been nothing short of a brainwave to ask Pretty to help her find some that were in reasonable condition and could be handed down to some of the younger kibbutz children. Especially as Pretty didn’t work for her anymore. Thys had insisted that they could not have a “domestic worker” if they were ordinary members of the kibbutz, even if they still lived in the big house. So now Pretty was just another member of the kibbutz too. Her current task – assigned to her by Petrus and the kibbutz committee – was to work in the communal laundry and mend the members’ work clothes.

Annamari had left the assistant nursery school teacher, Filomina, to watch over the little children as they took their morning nap, while she hurried back to the house to do some urgent chores. Well, that’s what she told Filomina – and Thys. Thys simply nodded and continued with his geography lesson.

Annamari hurried to the laundry. Pretty was sewing a button on a blue shirt but she put it aside and stood up as Annamari burst through the door. Annamari explained her predicament – that she didn’t have much time and she had to see exactly what clothes Steyn had before she took him shopping this afternoon. Pretty agreed to accompany her back to the big house and into Steyn’s chaotic bedroom.

***

‘Phew, it’s hot today, isn’t it?’ Annamari said.

Pretty nodded and continued folding the shirts and shorts Annamari had pulled at random from Steyn’s cupboard.

‘I’d love something to drink. Wouldn’t you?’

Pretty added another shirt to the growing pile on the bed.

‘Let’s go and see what we can find. Take the clothes – I think there’s a bag in the pantry that you can use,’ Annamari said, and led Pretty down the passage to the kitchen.

The 1977 Driespruitfontein Hoërskool magazine was lying carelessly on the kitchen table where Annamari had positioned it after washing up the breakfast dishes that morning. Pretty didn’t look at it. Annamari poured some Oros into two glasses, topped them up with water from the fridge and handed one to the other woman. She pulled out two kitchen chairs and indicated to Pretty to sit down.

Pretty perched herself on the edge of the chair. She sipped her drink and looked as uncomfortable as Annamari felt.

‘It’s not too sweet is it? Would you like more water in it?’ Annamari reached for Pretty’s glass and some of the orange liquid slopped on to the magazine.

‘I’m sorry, I’m sorry,’ Pretty said, jumping up.

Annamari brushed the liquid off the magazine with her hand and laughed. ‘Don’t worry. Look, there’s no harm done.’

She flipped open the magazine and smiled. ‘Gosh, Pretty. Look at this photograph. It’s of the rugby team when Thys was in matric. See how young he looked.’

She pushed the magazine towards Pretty. Pretty smiled. Annamari turned the page, pointing out people at random. She turned another page. And held her breath. The next page, she knew, featured the photograph of the cross country team.

She turned the page, and kept her eyes fixed on Pretty’s face. Pretty’s expression of mild interest didn’t change. Annamari let out her breath, her heart soaring. She counted to ten and then started to turn the page.

Pretty learned forward and pointed a trembling finger at the photograph.

‘That’
s
Baa
s
Alan.’

‘Who?’ Annamari fought the urge to cry.

‘There. That one.That’
s
Baa
s
Alan.’

Pretty’s finger was pressed firmly onto Alan Silverman’s face.

‘You know him?’ Annamari was shocked at how aggressive she sounded.

Pretty flinched and turned away, wiping her eyes.

‘Pretty, how do you know him?’ She hated pushing Pretty like this, but she had to be sure.

‘
Baa
s
Alan, he came to th
e
lokshi
n
. He... he ...to visit the girls.’

‘And you, Pretty? Did he... umm... Did you... Did he visit you? Or the other girls?’

Pretty pulled the magazine towards her and stared hard at the photograph.

‘He liked me. Always when he came, it was for me. But he never came back. He said he was going to fetch clothes for the baby. But he never.’

Annamari hoped Pretty couldn’t hear her hammering heart. ‘What baby? His baby?’

Pretty put her hands over her face and turned away. Annamari resisted the urge to grab her shoulders, spin her around and shake her.

‘Pretty... what baby? Did Alan ... was your baby...’

Pretty began to sob. She started moving towards the back door. Annamari grabbed her hand and pulled her back.

‘Tell me. What baby? Beauty?’

Pretty pulled her hand out of Annamari’s desperate grasp.

‘Pretty, you have to tell me. Was... Is Alan Silverman Beauty’s father?’

Pretty turned and swept the magazine off the table. ‘He never came back. He never brought the clothes like he promised. He never brought the money. Beauty never had a father.’

***

When Thys came into the kitchen, Annamari was slumped over the table, the shroud of despair that enveloped her so heavy, she could barely lift her head to look unseeingly at her husband.

‘Annamari? What’s happened?’

She looked away and resumed her languid inspection of the wood grain that was visible through the old table’s chipped and faded white paint. It was probably dreadfully unhygienic, but what did it matter?

‘What’s going on? Why are you sitting there like that? Filomina came to call me when you didn’t come back. She was worried.’

Annamari’s fingers picked at a chip in the paint, loosening a small flake. She pushed it aside and continued to pick, pick, pick. Another flake. She felt a soft pressure on her shoulder. Then a slight shake. She turned her head. Thys was standing right next to her. She wondered why he had come home so early. Why he was shaking her.

‘Annamari? Are you ill?’

Was she ill? She was dying! She wished he would just go away and let her die in peace. Then she wouldn’t have to break her son’s heart. Then she wouldn’t have to destroy Beauty, again. Then she wouldn’t have to lie to her husband, yet again.

‘I’m fine. Tell Filomina I’ll be along in a few minutes.’

‘Nursery school’s finished for the day... Annamari? How long have you been sitting here like this? Don’t tell me you’re fine. You’re not. You’ve been acting strangely since... for days. What’s wrong?’

She dragged her head around to look at the kitchen clock. Almost two o’clock. Steyn would be flying through the back door any minute, hungry as a horse and she hadn’t even started preparing lunch.

She hauled herself to her feet. ‘I have to make lunch for Steyn. Do you want a sandwich or something?’

‘Why do you always do that? When I want to talk to you?’

‘Do what?’ she muttered, easing past her husband and opening the wooden bread box.

‘This. Ignoring me. Changing the subject.’

She shrugged and meticulously cut a slice from the whole-wheat loaf. Steyn hated whole-wheat.

Thys turned on his heel and headed out the back door, back to the school. Annamari heaved a sigh of relief. Now she had a little more time to decide what to do. To decide how to do it. She wondered if it would be enough.

It wasn’t.

A gentle tap at the back door, far too soon, set her heart hammering. Annamari bent her head over her task, carefully smoothing the chunky Black Cat peanut butter over the two slices of whole-wheat bread she had cut from the loaf, ensuring every crumb was evenly coated. She wasn’t ready for this. She hadn’t rehearsed what she would say. She didn’t have a clue what to say.

‘May I come in?’

Annamari swallowed and deliberately cut each slice into three meticulous soldiers.

‘I’m sorry, MaAnni,’ Beauty said, so quietly Annamari’s head jerked up in surprise.

‘What?’

‘I said I’m sorry. I had no right to speak to you the way I did at the restaurant. I was rude and I said some terrible things. I’m sorry.’

Annamari’s legs were trembling so much she almost fell into a kitchen chair. Now what? She forced herself to look at Beauty. The girl’s wan face swam before her, and Annamari was horrified to see tears rolling down her cheeks.

‘I don’t know what came over me,’ Beauty said. ‘I was just so... I don’t know... I was hurt. I’d hoped and prayed that you’d be happy for me, for us. But you... you looked as if you hated me.’

‘No. Oh Beauty, no. I could never hate you. How could you even think that?’

‘Then why? Why don’t you want me and Arno... Arno and me... why are we such a problem for you? It’s 2002, MaAnni. There are lots of mixed couples... couples like us in Cape Town, in Johannesburg. I know it’s hard for you but times have changed. We love each other...’ Her voice trailed away.

‘Love isn’t everything,’ Annamari blurted. ‘Sometimes
there are things... things we can’t control...’

Steyn bounded into the kitchen and stopped, looking from his mother to Beauty with big, round, brown eyes. Annamari sent him off to his room to play the Flight Simulator game Arno had bought him for Christmas and which he couldn’t seem to get enough of. Steyn grabbed his peanut butter soldiers and disappeared before she could change her mind.

Annamari turned back to Beauty. Silence, an impenetrable curtain, hung between them. And then it came to her. She knew exactly what she could say. But only as a last resort. Only if she had to – the one argument Beauty would accept, because if there was one thing Beauty wanted more than anything – more, she prayed, than Arno – it was respect and admiration and acceptance. To be treated as an equal, a first among equals. First, however, she would try a softer approach, drawing on that pseudo–psychobabble article she had read in th
e
Huisgenoo
t
magazine. She wished she had cut it out and kept it, because it could have been about Beauty and Arno, sort of.

She indicated to Beauty to sit and waited for the water in the kettle to boil. She put rooibos teabags into two mugs and added the boiling water. She sensed Beauty squirming in the chair, but she had to marshal her thoughts. So Beauty would accept her argument. Because Beauty wasn’t stupid... anything but! She squeezed the water from the teabags and placed them on the drying saucer, to be added to the collection which she would spread in her vegetable garden. They said i
n
Huisgenoo
t
that this would keep the snails away
.

‘I know you think I’ve always tried to keep you and Arno apart, but you’re wrong.’ She pushed a mug of the steaming tea across the table towards Beauty.

‘You stopped him taking me to the matric dance. You never wanted us to be... friends.’

Annamari could see that Beauty was struggling to control herself. Tears were starting to spill down her cheeks again. She swallowed hard. She was also close to tears. This was so difficult. But what choice did she have?

‘Oh, Beauty, I’ve never had a problem with you being friends. In fact, I always thought you were incredibly lucky to have such a wonderful friendship. But I admit, I’ve worried about the two of you mistaking your special friendship for something more.’

‘It isn’t a mistake. And it always was something more,’ Beauty said with such quiet dignity and determination that Annamari caught her breath.

‘No, it wasn’t. And it isn’t now. You love each other, yes... and that’s natural. You’ve been best friends since you were little. But that’s the problem, you see. You were raised together. You are like brother and sister.’ Annamari forced herself to keep from flinching as she vocally acknowledged Beauty and Arno’s relationship for the first time.

‘So what?’

Annamari hurried on. ‘Listen. It’s a known fact that when children raised as siblings – or as close as siblings, even if they aren’t ... well, when these children grow up and try to ... to be... want to be together, in an adult relationship, you know what I mean... well, it just isn’t a good idea. It never works out and everyone gets badly hurt.’

‘But why? What could be better than being in a relationship with your best friend? Look at you and BabaThys. You were childhood sweethearts, weren’t you?’

‘That’s different,’ Annamari shot back.

‘No it’s not. Arno told me. BabaThys proposed to you when you were twelve years old.’

Annamari forced herself to smile. ‘Yes he did. But... but we weren’t raised together, virtually under the same roof like you and Arno. I mean, you used to bath together when you were little. Every time we came to the farm, you and Arno would play together and get so dirty, your mother would just dump you both in the bath and wash you off. Remember?’

‘But we were just kids...’

‘You see. You and Arno, you know each other too well... there isn’t any of the mystery that keeps romance alive and makes relationships last.’ Annamari desperately tried to recall what else th
e
Huisgenoo
t
article had said. She plunged on: ‘Even after all these years, there are still some things Thys doesn’t know about me and things I don’t know about him. If we didn’t have that... that sense of mystery...we would have grown bored with each other years ago. And once you are bored with each other ... well, that’s when marriages fall apart.’

‘Arno and I will never be bored. We are ... I don’t know how to describe it. We know what each other is thinking; I know what Arno is feeling without him having to tell me. He seems to be able to sense when I’m sad or worried about something – even when we are miles apart. He’ll phone me, out of the blue because, well, he just seems to know when I need to speak to him.’

Annamari stared at the girl, awed, horrified and even a little jealous at the passion in her voice.

‘Did you see that movie?’ Beauty continued. ‘The one with Tom Cruise and Renée Zellweger..
.
Jerry Maguir
e
? Well, in the movie Renée Zellweger says to Tom Cruise – “you complete me”. That’s how it is with Arno and me. He completes me. And I complete him.’

Annamari swallowed her desperation and sorrow. Beauty’s love for Arno, their love for each other, was something most mothers could only dream about for their children. And here she was doing her utmost to destroy it. Because she had to. Because there simply wasn’t an alternative. She’d thought about it. Considered it. Would it be so terrible just to let them be? She wasn’t religious, not like Thys. But. But she couldn’t let Arno and Beauty commit an unforgiveable sin, an abomination, one that the bible said was wicked, and evil, and worse. She had looked it up in Thys’ bible, which he still kept next to his bed, although he didn’t read it every night like he used to. And there it was, in Leviticus 20:17, as clear as anything: “And if a man shall take his sister, his father’s daughter, or his mother’s daughter, and see her nakedness, and she see his nakedness; it is a wicked thing; and they shall be cut off in the sight of their people: he hath uncovered his sister’s nakedness; he shall bear his iniquity.”

She had asked Thys what iniquity meant and he said that the bible said it was the worst kind of sin.

‘But the Lord forgives iniquity, doesn’t He?’ she had appealed in despair.

‘The bible says that the Lord forgives all sin if one truly repents and asks for forgiveness,’ he had replied, looking at her curiously.

But Arno and Beauty would never know – could never know – that they were committing an act of iniquity. So they could never ask for forgiveness and she would be condemning her son, and Beauty, to eternal damnation. What mother would knowingly, willingly, do that to her child? She could tell them the truth, perhaps... but what was the point? It would destroy Arno. And Thys. And her marriage. And for what? They still would not be able to be together.

Anyway, she also had to think about their offspring. Her grandchildren. They would probably be born with horrible deformities... and it would all be her fault.

‘Beauty, listen to me,’ Annamari begged. ‘It can’t work, what you and Arno think you have.’

‘Why can’t it?’

‘Because ... because if you are together, you will never be people in your own right. You will... you will devour each other. And you are both too bright, too independent to allow yourselves to disappear into someone else.’

Beauty looked sceptical so Annamari ploughed on. She’d hoped she wouldn’t have to stoop to this but desperate times called for desperate measures. The end would justify the means. A stitch in time ...

‘Also.’ Annamari paused. She had to get this right. It was her last chance. ‘Also, you need to ask yourself... will your love be strong enough to withstand your disappointment when you fail to achieve everything you have worked so hard for, because – and I’m going to be brutally honest now – because your husband is white?’

The question reverberated around the kitchen. Determined to take advantage of Beauty’s dismay, Annamari pressed home her advantage.

‘Just think about it. You changed your name to Bontle. Why?’ She kept her voice gentle, unaccusing. She sipped her rooibos and waited for Beauty to respond.

Beauty opened her mouth. Then closed it.

‘It’s because Beauty is not a black name and you want to be ... you wish you were black, really black. Don’t you?’

Beauty’s eyes filled with tears. Annamari hated herself, hated seeing the pain in Beauty’s eyes, but she forced herself to continue.

‘You know that you are going to find it hard enough to convince the people who appoint judges and people like that to consider you because they will take one look at you and say you are Coloured. Yes, they may appoint you because you are an amazing young woman and you might get lucky. But everyone knows that when it comes to things like transformation of important government institutions like the judiciary, it’s far better to be black than anything else – even Coloured.’

‘I am black. I am!’

‘But you don’t look black. You look Coloured. And you sound white. That’s why you call yourself Bontle, isn’t it?’

Beauty flushed and looked away.

‘So just think how much harder it will be for you to convince everyone that you are black, and that you are proud of your black heritage if your husband is white – a white Afrikaner.
A
boe
r
. You’ve always spoken about your dream of becoming a judge one day. Will your relationship with Arno survive if you don’t achieve your ambitions because of him?’

‘No one will care what colour my husband is,’ Beauty whispered.

‘Are you sure, Beauty? Bontle?Can you be absolutely certain about that?
’