The funeral the following Thursday went off according to tradition. The predikant mouthed the usual words about the Lord moving in mysterious ways and managed to put in some strong words on the subject of intemperance. The eulogy was spoken by Andries du Plessis, who said a lot of nice things about his fellow elder and a lot more about his prowess on the rugby field, where he was going to be most missed. (He kept quiet on the subject of wife and laborer bashing.) Then it was dust to dust in the pleasant little village cemetery, and the considerable crowd of mourners made its way to Rina’s. She and Lisa had organized an enormous spread of sandwiches and all the traditional cakes. There were urns of tea and coffee and, for those brave enough to partake after the predikant’s sermon, there was wine, beer, and brandy.
Like all funerals, it was both a sad occasion and a chance for old friends and relatives, some from afar, to get together. I was introduced to many aunts, uncles, and cousins as “my good friend and neighbor,” which, under the circumstances, I thought a fair description. George and I and our wives wandered among the mourners, chatting idly but all the time on the lookout for the slightest sign of dissension on the coroner’s verdict or any sign of a smear campaign starting. Only Oom Wynand said anything and that was to remark that it had been a good decision.
It was when the party was over and Mary and I were making our way out, expressing our sympathy in the usual manner and asking if there was anything we could do to help, that Hansie said, “Yes, there is — quite a big thing — I want to tell you about what really happened. I know you don’t think the coroner got it right, and though you don’t want to believe that any of your friends could commit a terrible crime, you can’t be comfortable with Dr. Frank’s scenario, knowing, as you do, that we were all out there in the rain.” I gave an uncomfortable little nod. “Then come round to my place tonight, bring George and Jean, and we’ll try to put your doubts at rest.”
When we, all seven of us, were comfortably seated around a very pleasant fire in Hansie and Lisa’s big living room, holding steaming mugs of Irish coffee, Hansie began.
“We will tell you the story of that dreadful night, and if you don’t believe it, you will understand why we didn’t tell it in court and told so many lies instead. When Lisa finally managed to kick Dirk out, he was so drunk that I went with him to make sure he got safely off my property. I was very drunk, too, but I was happy drunk and he was mad drunk. By the time we got to the bridge, I realized that he was murderous drunk, and I was scared. I didn’t want to get in a fight with him — I wouldn’t stand a chance. He kept saying he knew I was having an affair with his wife and if he ever caught me around there he would murder me. His language was foul so I started to edge away, but he had decided he would do for me right there and then. He took a vicious swing at me, but I saw it coming and dodged. The momentum of the intended blow swung him round so his back was towards me, and I aimed a kick at him. He doubled up with pain and went staggering across the bridge, and I turned and ran, flinging taunts over my shoulder as I went. I shouted to him to cool off before he went home — I guess I was sort of drunkenly excited at getting the better of him.”
“Nobody ever died from a kick in the balls,” said George. “Why did you say you had hit him with a stone?”
“Ah well, I didn’t know what the doctor would make of the bruise on the back of his head.”
Of course this didn’t satisfy George, but he let it go and Hansie went on.
“A hundred or so yards on, I stopped to see if he would come after me. Then I heard him splashing about in the water and thought the silly so-and-so had fallen down the bank — but good, the cold water will help sober him up.
“Lisa was still in the kitchen finishing up when I got home. I told her what had happened, and she said, serve the brute right. She had started up the stairs to bed when a thought struck her: what if he drowns? They’ll accuse you of murder! Why should he drown, I asked; the water’s not two feet deep in the pool and only a trickle elsewhere. She started up again and then came back. What if he doesn’t drown? He’ll go home and murder Rina. We’ve got to go and stop him. Normally I would have scoffed at the idea, but I had seen the murderous mood he was in. I told her to put on her boots and coat, as it was going to rain. I got mine, too, and headed for the pickup. I took a three foot length of three by two that was lying near the garage.
“We drove quietly down the road as far as the branch to the bridge; then we stopped and listened. It was a weird night. The moon was about three quarters full and nearly overhead, very bright and casting dark shadows. To the west the clouds were piling and already reaching nearly to the moon, and there were distant flickers of lightning. The atmosphere was electric, ominous. We left the pickup and walked softly, arm in arm, clinging to each other.
“We both heard it at the same time — a grunting, groaning, cussing kind of sound like two sumo wrestlers struggling. It must have been Dirk, but what could he be doing? Terrible thoughts came into our heads, and we began to move faster. Suddenly there was a cry of triumph, and we began to run. When we got to the bridge, we stopped and hid behind some bushes. Dirk was standing alone, brandishing a fence standard he had wrestled from the clay. He hefted it like an assegai and started forward purposefully. I let go of Lisa and started after him.”
“But I grabbed him and pulled him back,” Lisa took up the tale. “ ‘Don’t be a fool,’ I whispered, ‘he’ll kill you with that thing, that bit of wood won’t help you. Rina’s not in danger yet — we can follow when he starts off for the house.’ ”
But he hadn’t started for the house; instead, he had taken his weapon to the rock and set about loosening it, scraping earth from under it, levering it away from the bank. The two watched him, fascinated, trying to imagine what was in his mind. After what seemed hours, but was probably about ten minutes, he had the boulder loose — so loose that he could rock it to and fro. It was a wonder it didn’t roll on him. All this was easy to see in the bright moonlight, though wisps of cloud were now scudding across the moon, dimming it but not blotting out the light.
“He stood back,” Hansie said, “and admired his handiwork. It was clear from his stance that he was pleased with himself. Then, the fence stake still in his hand, he started up the bank. We started to move, but he stopped dead still for a moment as if he had seen something unexpected. He put the stake down quietly and, very stealthily, made his way back to the riverbed and lay face down like a drowned man, one arm spread out to the side and his feet in the water. We should have moved then, but we were rooted to the spot, not knowing what was going on...”
Rina took up the tale. “They were worried about me, and I was worried about me, too. When all the guests had gone and the servants had cleared up, Hansie invited us to go to his place, but I was scared. I knew that if I went home with Dirk he would beat me up. So I said I was too tired and drove home in the car. I locked my bedroom door and went to bed, hoping he would be sober and in a better mood in the morning. I knew Dirk wanted to get rid of me, and I’d have gone willingly enough, but he wanted to discredit me and that’s why he had started the malicious rumor about Hansie and me. I think he had really come to believe it himself, though I’m sure it was his own invention. It was deadly quiet, and I lay there listening. Sometime after one o’clock I thought I heard voices in the distance. I got up and opened the window and could hear raised voices coming from the direction of the new bridge. It was too far for me to distinguish words, but I was sure Dirk and Hansie were quarreling.”