When Time Fails (Silverman Saga Book 2) (9 page)

The minibus shuddered over a series of potholes and the alarmed cries of Annamari’s passengers penetrated the maelstrom of thoughts whirling through her brain. Heavens, she was doing 140 and hadn’t even noticed. She eased her foot off the accelerator.

‘You okay, Kleinmissie?’ Rosie asked.

Annamari forced a smile and nodded at the old woman next to her. She had to focus on the road. She’d think about it all later. Up ahead, she could just make out the poplars, marching quickly towards them. Home. She stopped. Pretty clambered out, opened the gate. She drove through and Pretty, having closed the gate behind them, scrambled back into the minibus and slammed the door. Annamari drove slowly up towards the garage. It was quiet. The children were still in school. Most of the men were out in the fields somewhere.

Annamari didn’t wait to help the women offload the supplies they’d bought in Driespruitfontein. Grabbing her bag she hurried into the farmhouse kitchen. She needed a mug of strong coffee. She needed to be alone. She needed to think. The coffee was burbling quietly on the stove and she poured herself a large mug, added three Canderel sweeteners, stirred and walked slowly to th
e
stoe
p
. Sinking into the old wicker armchair, she took a sip and placed the mug carefully on the table. The poplars drew her gaze. They, at least, were always there, constant, reassuring.

She took another sip. So now what
?
Oom Grobler had been absolutely adamant.

‘I
s
Oom positive?’ she’d asked the old stationmaster. ‘It’ssix years ago
.
Oom could be mistaken.’

‘Listen Annamari – sorry, Mrs van Zyl. Nothing’s changed. There was never a train from Bloemfontein on a Thursday, or a Friday. The train only comes through here on Monday and Wednesday and now I hear they’re going to stop that too.’

‘What about the goods train? When did that run?’

‘I’m talking about the goods train. We haven’t had a passenger service here in Driespruitfontein since Lourens Muller was Minister of Transport, back when PW Botha was still in charge.’

‘What about the bus from Pretoria?’

‘What bus from Pretoria?
’
Oom Grobler snorted. ‘There’s no bus from Pretoria to Driespruitfontein. Never has been. You have to take the bus to Bloemfontein or Bethlehem. But the only bus from there to here runs on Wednesdays.’

On the other days
,
Oom Grobler said, they could use Grobler’s Taxi Service. But only from Bethlehem. That was the only option.

Grobler’s Taxi.How could she have forgotten
?
Oom Grobler had taken her to Steynspruit once when she was still at school and Ma was late fetching her for her weekend at home
.
She’d been terrified. Every tim
e
Oom Grobler had flicked his cigarette into the ashtray, the old black Valiant had veered violently to the left, almost leaving the road, and then he’d jerk the steering wheel back and carry on as if nothing had happened. After that, she’d always waited for Pa or Ma, no matter how late they were.

‘Di
d
Oom fetch Stefan Smit from Bethlehem? Or take him to Steynspruit? The day my ma and pa were killed?’

The old man shook his head.

‘Are you sure? This is really important. What about a minibus taxi – I’ve seen them sometimes, on the road from Lesotho – could he have taken that?’

‘
A
kaffi
r
taxi? No way. Not Stefan. Anyway, they don’t run all that often. ListenMrs van Zyl. I remember it like it was yesterday. Who could forget? And I’m telling you that Stefan Smit wasn’t in Driespruitfontein that day – that week. He always phoned me when he wanted to come into town – usually for
a
do
p
at the Royal. And then he’d go back to the farm. But he hadn’t been around for quite a while. I know, because he owed me money. A lot of money. He told me he needed it to pay for his wife’s and child’s gravestones.’

‘Did you tell the police?’

‘Why would I tell the police? He paid me back – eventually.’

***

After lunch, Annamari left Pretty watching over Steyn and went in search of Petrus. She found him in the old farm manager’s house – now the Steynspruit Kibbutz Office. He pushed his chair back and stood up as she came through the door.

‘Missy Annamari...’

‘Hello Petrus, how’s it going?’

The kibbutz chairman grimaced at the mess of papers on his desk.
‘
Haa
i
Missy... I’d much rather be out ploughing than doing this. Why can’t you do this, like you used to? I don’t understand all these numbers.’

Annamari smiled. Thys had insisted that if the kibbutz was to work, the kibbutz members should understand and be involved in all aspects of running the farm. That included the financials. So every afternoon after the little school bell rang and the children tore through the door of Christo’s house to play or – Thys hoped – to do their homework, Thys took on the daunting task of teaching their parents the basics of farm financial management
.

Petrus had been the first to be faced with the realities of running a successful farm. He had paled when Annamari and Thys first showed him just how much it cost to keep a farm the size of Steynspruit going. It had taken the others a little longer to understand. About ten months after the establishment of Kibbutz Steynspruit, Thabo, one of the younger members, had raised his hand at the monthly kibbutz meeting, which was being held in the open ground between the newly completed kibbutz members’ houses.

‘Ja?’ Chairman Petrus asked. ‘What is it, Thabo?’

‘We want more wages.’

There was a murmuring of assent from the others.

‘We are supposed to own this farm now. But we still earn slave wages like before. I say we should have more money,’ Thabo said.

Annamari held her breath. Only the week before, she and Petrus had gone over the books together. They had even discussed the issue of wages, but they had agreed that any increase in the members’ allowances would have to wait until after the harvest.

‘None of us earns wages anymore,’ Petrus said. ‘We all get an allowance – the same allowance. And there’s no money for more.’

‘You sound like a whit
e
baa
s
,’ Thabo said. ‘But there’s no more whit
e
baa
s
on this farm. That’s what Thys said. We’re all equal, Thys said. Before you cheated us with this kibbutz rubbish, our wages were more. This is a big farm and we work hard. Of course there’s money. It’s ours and we want it.’

‘What’s going on?’ Thys whispered. His Sotho had come along in leaps and bounds since moving to Steynspruit, but he still found it difficult to follow the rapid argument between Petrus and Thabo.

Annamari quickly translated. ‘Perhaps you should explain to them again,’ she suggested.

‘Petrus will handle it,’ Thys said. ‘He’s kibbutz chairman and speaking up now will just undermine him.’

‘Before, you also had to pay for your food, and your clothes, and the doctor,’ Petrus said. ‘Now the kibbutz pays for everything. We spoke about this when we were voting to turn Steynspruit into a kibbutz. We agreed that if we made a profit at the end of the year, we would decide what to do with it. Well, today we can decide. Should we share out the profit and all take a little bit? Or should we use the profit to buy something big we all can use. Maybe we should buy a minibus so we don’t have to walk to town anymore.’

Annamari watched as the argument for higher wages raged back and forth. Petrus held his ground and finally, clearly sensing the tide turning against him, Thabo backed down.

‘Now we will vote,’ Petrus said. ‘Who wants to share the profit between all of us?’

Thabo raised his hand, then slowly lowered it.

‘Who wants to use the profit to buy a minibus?’

Annamari and Thys raised their hands along with most of their fellow kibbutz members.

***

‘You always complain about the books, Petrus,’ Annamari said. ‘But you’re doing a far better job than I ever did.’

Petrus beamed and indicated the chair on the other side of the desk. ‘Sit, my child. What can I do for you?’

‘Petrus, I …I need to ask you. About the day Pa and Ma and Christo were killed.’

Petrus sat heavily. He stared at her, clearly puzzled. She had never spoken about it with him – with any of them – before. She never spoke about it with anyone, except Thys. Occasionally
.
Like when he tried to persuade her to open Christo’s house for the school – which she’d done; or to clean out the room where it happened and use it for... something – which she hadn’t done. Not yet.

‘That night – did you or any of the others hear anything?’

‘We heard shooting,’ Petrus said.

‘What about the dogs? They must have barked when the terrorists came through the fence.’

‘We didn’t hear them, Missy. I wish we had.’

That’s what the police had told her. No one had heard anything.

‘Do you know what time Stefan Smit got back to the farm?’

‘I don’t know, Missy. From where?’

‘From Pretoria, of course.’

Petrus shook his head. ‘Pretoria? I didn’t know he went to Pretoria. When did he go?’

‘I’m not sure. A day or so before the attack? He wasn’t here when it happened. He only got back in the morning.’

‘No, Missy. He was here that night.’

Annamari felt her heart stop. ‘Are you sure? Did you see him?’

‘Yes. I remember that night. He put out the lights at his house early again. Usually, his lights were on when I went to bed. But he was in his house when we all went out to work in the morning. The lights were on inside and I saw him in the kitchen.’

‘Maybe he’d just got home.’

Petrus shook his head. ‘He was in his pyjamas. He was drinking coffee at the table. Like always. I saw him.’

‘What time was that?’

‘Five o’clock.’

‘Did you tell the police?’

‘The police?’

‘About Stefan Smit being here that night.’

‘No one asked me abou
t
Baa
s
Stefan.’

Annamari clenched her fists. ‘What did the police ask you about? What did you tell them?’

‘Just that I heard shooting. I didn’t know what it was.’

‘And then? After the shooting?’

‘It stopped and I went outside to look, but I didn’t see anything. I thought maybe it was from Viljoenspruit again. Then I went to sleep. Then I went to work and at about nine o’cloc
k
Baa
s
Stefan came and shouted at us. He told us to go to th
e
khay
a
and stay there. So then we waited at th
e
khay
a
and he came later with the policeman, and the policeman asked us if we had heard or seen anything and we said we heard shooting but we stayed in our houses because we were scared, an
d
Baa
s
Stefan shouted that we were lying. Then the policeman went away an
d
Baa
s
Stefan told us to pack our things an
d
hamb
a
– go, leave Steynspruit... leave our homes.’

Annamari gasped. ‘Petrus, no!’

Petrus shrugged.
‘
Baa
s
Stefan said we were lying. He said we’d helped the terrorists but we didn’t know what the terrorists had done. The
n
Baa
s
Thys came and told us about your ma and pa an
d
Kleinbaa
s
Christo.’ Petrus wiped his eyes with the back of his hand.

‘
Baa
s
Thys told us to stop packing. He asked us to stay
.
Baa
s
Thys said you needed us, Missy Annamari. He said he knew, and you knew, that we would never have helped the terrorists. So we stayed.’

‘Oh gosh, I wish I’d known that. I would have fired that horrible man right then and there. And maybe saved Beauty… But Petrus, are you sure? Are you absolutely sure that Stefan Smit didn’t go to Pretoria for a few days before... the day before... that night?’

‘Missy, he was here every day and Pretoria is very far.’