When Time Fails (Silverman Saga Book 2) (27 page)

He backed awkwardly out of the lounge and almost fell down th
e
stoe
p
stairs in his haste to get away from their misery and pain.

Annamari looked at Thys. ‘They’ll never find them. I know they’ll never find them. I’ll never see my son again.’

Thys put his arms around her. Held her close.

‘They’ve gone,’ he said. Then he whispered: ‘Please Lord, watch over them.’

Annamari listlessly prodded the dough with her forefinger. Almost ready for the oven. A knock on the kitchen door startled her. No one knocked on the back door anymore. She and Thys rattled around the big house with its creaks and leaks, watched television, went to bed, slept, got up, had breakfast, got through the day, and the next and the next.

Steyn popped down to visit when his schedule allowed, but since getting the job with Etihad Airways, he was too busy flying the Asian route. Thys went to the Steynspruit Kibbutz School every day, taught his classes and came home, but there were more qualified teachers there now. He didn’t have to do it all. Neither did she. She really wasn’t needed in the nursery school anymore. And sometimes, it felt as if she wasn’t wanted. Perhaps she was paranoid, but conversations seemed to stop, become stilted, when she walked into the little room they had set up as a staffroom. She wondered if Thys had noticed. She didn’t want to ask him. She didn’t want to upset him. He was always so sad. Poor, poor Thys.

She wiped her floury hands on her apron and opened the door. A freezing gust of wind brought tears to her eyes.

‘Hello, MaAnni. Can I come in?’

Annamari stepped back as Beauty nipped in through the open door and slammed it shut. The two women stared at each other. Wary.

‘I’ve something to tell you,’ Beauty said. ‘Oh, and before I forget, I brought you this. It was in the Steynspruit post box in Driespruitfontein. Busi picked it up with some other post but she forgot about it. It’s been lying on her desk. I saw it when I went in there and I thought I’d bring it over and give it to you. Where’s BabaThys?’

‘He’s lying down. He doesn’t feel well. I’d rather not disturb him.’

Annamari put the brown envelope on the table. She looked curiously at Beauty. She bore very little resemblance to the young girl who had learned to read and write at this same table. But she looked uneasy. Which wasn’t surprising really, considering everything. It had been months – no years – since Beauty had been in this kitchen.

‘Oh, I suppose you can tell him,’ Beauty said, and shifted uneasily from one foot to another.

Annamari waited. Still Beauty hesitated. Then she said: ‘Have you heard anything more about Arno? Have the police...’ She faltered. Annamari was surprised to see tears in her eyes. ‘I can’t believe anything bad has happened to him. I wish... Sometimes I wish... but.’

Annamari reached over and took the younger woman’s hand. ‘Oh Beauty, I’m so sorry. I know how much you loved him.’

Beauty glared at her. ‘You knew, but you did everything you could to keep us apart. I’ll never forgive you for that. I always thought you ... I regarded you as a mother, and you rejected me. When push came to shove, you just couldn’t accept me as part of your family, could you? I never believed Arno when he said he’d found another girlfriend but it was obvious you meant more to him than I did.’

‘It wasn’t that, Beauty. I didn’t care – I don’t care that you’re... that you’re coloured...black.’

‘Then why?’

‘Tell her
,
liefi
e
,’ Thys said, smoothing down his tousled hair as he came through the kitchen door. ‘Don’t you think she deserves the truth after all these years? Hello Beauty. It’s good to see you. I think you should sit down.’

Annamari swallowed. She looked helplessly at Thys, but he just stared back at her. Waiting. As Beauty was waiting, sitting stiffly on her old stool, her blue eyes questioning.

‘Beauty... your father...’

‘What about my father? My mother has never told me but I’ve always presumed he was just some passing white man who came to the township for a bit of fun. And raped her. Like Stefan Smit raped her. And me.’

‘Oh Beauty. I don’t know anything about your father’s relationship with your mother, but I do know who he was.’

‘Who?’

‘Arno’s father. Beauty, you and Arno have the same father. You are brother and sister. That’s why I had to... why I couldn’t let you...’

Beauty jumped up and stared at Thys. ‘You? You’re my father?’

‘No, Beauty – not Thys,’ Annamari said quietly.

‘But... I don’t understand.’

‘Thys isn’t Arno’s biological father. That’s why I couldn’t tell him, you... anyone. No one knew – except me. Not even your mother. Or Petrus.’

Beauty slumped. She opened her mouth. Closed it. Opened it again.

‘Why should I believe you?’ she muttered. ‘You’ve lied to me about everything else.’

‘Why would I lie about this?’

Thys took Annamari’s hand. Beauty stared at them, seemed to stare right through them.

‘Beauty? Are you okay?’ Annamari asked.

‘It wasn’t racism,’ she said. It wasn’t a question, more of a resigned statement.

‘Of course not. I loved you. I love you. I’ve always regarded you as the daughter I never had.’

Annamari stopped. She waited. She knew what Beauty’s next question would be.

‘So who is my father? Who is Arno’s father?’

Annamari took a deep breath. This was it. But Thys interrupted. ‘I don’t think that matters now. He died a couple of years ago but he had a wife and children...it really wouldn’t serve any purpose now to expose what he did when he was young and reckless.’

Annamari held her breath.

Then Beauty smiled, a sad, wry little smile. ‘You know, Arno and I always used to joke about the fact that our eyes were the same colour.’

‘Oh God. I am so sorry,’ Annamari said. ‘But I couldn’t tell you. Not back then. I hope you will come to understand...’

Beauty stood up and walked slowly towards the kitchen door. As she reached for the handle, she paused, then turned back to Annamari and Thys. ‘You know... you might just have done me a favour. I have made a life for myself, and I’m enjoying it. I love being a judge, and making a meaningful contribution to our country. To be honest, I don’t think I could have done it if I’d been a wife, and possibly a mother too... So... maybe... Goodbye Annamari, Thys...’

‘Beauty... no.’

Beauty held up her hand. Shook her head. She turned and pulled the door open. A freezing wind rushed in.

‘Beauty wait,’ Annamari said. ‘What was it you came here to tell us?’

Beauty stopped. ‘Oh yes. Of course. You should be getting a call from Mr Venter tomorrow, but I just wanted to tell you personally.’

‘What?’

‘As you know, or maybe you don’t. The Restitution of Land Rights Amendment Act was signed into law last week. This means new land claims – ones that missed the previous 1998 deadline can now be lodged. Well, a new claim has been lodged against Steynspruit.’

‘No! Who?’ Annamari shivered.

‘Us. The people of what you call Kibbutz Steynspruit. People who actually do have a real claim to this land, people whose families have lived on and worked this land for decades.’

Thys gasped. ‘But why? I don’t understand. They already own Steynspruit.’

‘No, you do. You and your family. The kibbutz was your creation, and while it gave people like Petrus and Johannes and my mother and Busi a greater say in the operation of the farm, ultimately, they do not own this land. There was, and is, nothing to stop you from reneging on the kibbutz agreement. I’ve seen the agreement. You went to a very sharp lawyer to draw it up.’

‘But once the kibbutz has paid off the agreed purchase price, ownership of the land will officially be transferred...We would never... Beauty, you know we would never go back on an agreement,’ Thys said.

‘You instituted the kibbutz more than twenty years ago. And how much has been paid towards the purchase price? Hardly anything.’

‘That’s because we’ve been through some difficult years.’

‘The purchase price will never be paid. You will continue to own this land, and my people will continue to work it. That is not going to change unless we do something – I do something – to change it. Now, thanks to the amendment to the Act, things will change. The government will pay you a fair market price for this land. My people belong on here, on this this land and this land belongs to them.’

‘But ... my grandfather... my great grandfather... This has been our home for more than a century,’ Annamari whispered.

Beauty started to say something, stopped, turned and stepped through the door into the cold winter night. ‘Goodbye,’ she said.

Annamari didn’t respond. Neither did Thys.

***

The brown envelope that Beauty had brought fluttered onto the floor. Annamari picked it up. Turned it over. There was no return address. She peered at the postmark: Heathrow International Airport. The date was blurred. She slipped her finger under the flap and ripped open the envelope. Inside was a single, folded sheet of paper. She recognised the handwriting. Her hands began to shake.

Dear Ma and Pa.

I am sorry if you have been worried about us but I want to reassure you that we are both fine. We discussed everything and we agreed that we are going to be together and nothing is going to stop us. I hope you will find it in your hearts to be happy for us and, perhaps, to wish us well.

Love,

Arno and Aviva.

PS. You are grandparents. We have just had a son. His name is Thys.

Annamari handed the note to her husband, and wept bitter tears of relief. Tomorrow, when Mr Venter phoned, she’d tell him not to fight the new land claim. She’d tell him that there was nothing left for her and Thys on Steynspruit. She’d tell him that they were going to make a new home for themselves with their children, and grandchildren. Somewhere
.

Writin
g
When Time Fail
s
was a lot more difficult than writin
g
A Beautiful Famil
y
– largely because I wrote the latter in a heady rush of naive enthusiasm. I basically had absolutely no idea what I was letting myself in for. I was more cautious – and critical – the second time around. So writing took me a lot longer and there were times when I questioned what I was attempting to do.

If it hadn’t been for my husband, Poen, I might have given up. He let me bend his ear with my ideas and thoughts for the plot, even at the most inopportune times (when he was watching his beloved Sharks and Cheetahs play rugby); he gave advice; he encouraged and prodded me. And, of course, he gave me invaluable insight into life in a small Free Stat
e
dorpi
e
and a privileged entré (as an honorary Afrikaner) into the rich culture of South Africa’s Afrikaans community.

Poen was going to proof-rea
d
When Time Fail
s
– just as he ha
d
A Beautiful Famil
y
– but time failed us too. He never even got to read it. I will always regret that, because I’m sure his comments and suggestions could only have improved the final product
.

Thanks to my brave and beautiful daughter Laura, for stepping into her father’s shoes and handling the proof-reading for me. And to my younger daughter, Jessica, for taking on the mantel of sounding board and giving me the idea to continue what I started wit
h
A Beautiful Famil
y
an
d
When Time Fail
s
. Thanks to her, the third book in which I’m now starting to think of as “the Alan Silverman trilogy” is in the works.

I must also thank Annelize Crosby, Legal and Policy Advisor at Agri SA for her invaluable information about the land reform process in South Africa. This helped me to shape the plot o
f
When Time Fail
s
.

Paul Engelbrecht (jnr) and Juandre Snyman allowed me to pick their brains during a family celebration, saving me having to wade through pages and pages of information about pilot training in South Africa. I thank them and wish them both enormous success in their future flying careers.

Once again, I must thank the brilliant Francois Engelbrecht for designing the most amazing cover fo
r
When Time Fail
s
. He did it fo
r
A Beautiful Famil
y
and he has outdone himself again
.

My thanks too, to my editor, John Hudspith, for his insightful comments and suggestions which have contributed to making this novel so much better than it would otherwise have been.

Finally, my thanks must go to my extended family and friends – those I know and the many, many who became friends afte
r
A Beautiful Famil
y
was published. Thank you for your support: thank you for buyin
g
A Beautiful Famil
y
and so allowing me to think of myself as a “real” author. Without you and your encouragement – emails, comments on my Facebook page, in reviews, in online readers groups – I don’t believe I would have been able to complete and publis
h
When Time Fail
s
.
I hope you enjoy it and I look forward to bringing you the next instalment in The Silverman Saga.

Marilyn Cohen de Villiers