My mother was a German woman of noble birth. I have her photograph. There! Look there on the wall! Centaine glanced at it. 'That was Lothar's wife,, she agreed. She died almost two years before you were born. No. It's not true. It cannot be true. Ask your father, Manfred, she said softly. Go to Windhoek. The date of that woman's death will be registered there. He saw it was true, and he slumped down into his chair and buried his face in his hands.
if you are my mother, how can I hate you so bitterly? She went and stood over him. Not as bitterly as I have hated myself for renouncing and abandoning you. She bent and kissed his head. If only - she whispered.
But now it is too late, far too late. As you have said, we are enemies separated by a void as wide as the ocean. Neither of us can ever cross it, but I do not hate you, Manfred, my son. I have never hated you. She left him slumped at his desk and walked slowly from the room.
At noon the following day Andrew Duggan telephoned her.
My informant has retracted his allegations, Centaine. He tells me that the papers, all the papers connected to the case, have been burned. I think somebody got at him, Centaine, but I cannot for the life of me think who. On 25 May 1948, the day before polling for the general election, Manfred addressed a huge crowd in the Dutch Reformed Church hall in Stellenbosch. All of them were staunch Nationalist supporters. No opposition was allowed to enter the hall, Roelf Stander and his action squad saw to that.
Yet when Manfred rose to speak, he also was prevented from doing so. The standing ovation that the crowd gave him kept him silent for fully five minutes. However, when it was over, they sat and listened in attentive silence as he gave them a vision of the future.
Under Smuts this land of ours will become peopled by a coffee-coloured race of half-bred mongrels, the only white ones left will be the Jews, those same Jews who at this very moment in Palestine are murdering innocent British soldiers at every turn. As you well know, Smuts has hastened to recognize the new state of Israel. That is only to be expected. His paymasters are the Jewish owners of the gold mines, Now the crowd cried: Skande, Scandal! and he paused impressively before he went on.
What we offer you instead is a plan, nay more than a plan, a vision, a bold and noble vision which will ensure the survival of the pure untainted bloodlines of our VoLk. A vision that will at the same time protect all the other people of this land, the Cape coloureds, the Indians, the black tribes.
This grand concept has been drawn up by clever men working with dedication and without self-interest, men like Dr Theophilus Donges and Dr Nicolaas Diederichs and Dr Hendrik Frensch Verwoerd, brilliant men every one of them. The crowd roared their agreement, and he sipped a glass of water and shuffled his notes until they quieted.
It is an idealistic, carefully worked out and completely infallible concept that will allow all the different races to live in peace and dignity and prosperity and yet allow each of them to retain its separate identity and culture. For this reason we have named the policy Separateness. That is our vision that will carry our land to greatness, a vision at which the world will wonder, an example to all men of good will everywhere. That is what we call Apartheid. That, my beloved people, is the glorious mantle which we have prepared to place upon our country. Apartheid, my dear friends, that is what we offer you, the shining vision of Apartheid. He could not speak for many minutes, but when there was silence, he went on in a brisker more businesslike tone.
Of course, it will first be necessary to disenfranchise those black and coloured people who are already registered on the voters roll When he ended an hour later they carried him on their shoulders from the hall.
Tara stood close beside Shasa as they waited for the electoral officers to finish counting the votes and announce the result in the Hottentots Holland constituency.
The hall was filled with an excited crowd. There was laughter and singing and horseplay. The Nationalist candidate was at the far side of the hall with his tall blond wife beside him, surrounded by a restless overwrought knot of his supporters all sporting Nationalist rosettes.
One of the United Party organizers beckoned frantically at Shasa over the heads of the crowd, but he was chatting gaily to a bevy of fernale enthusiasts, and Tara slipped away to answer the summons. She came back only seconds later and when Shasa saw her face he broke off his conversation and went to meet her, forcing his way through the throng.
What is it, darlings You look as though you have seen a ghost. 'It's the Ou Baas, she whispered. A telephone call from the Transvaal. Smuts has lost Standerton. The Nationalists have won it. 'Oh God, no. Shasa was appalled. The Ou Baas has held that seat for twenty-five years. They cannot discard him now. The British discarded Winston Churchill, Tara said.
They don't want heroes any more. It's a sign, Shasa muttered. 'If Smuts goes, we all go with him. Ten minutes later the news was telephoned through.
Colonel Blaine Malcomess had lost the Gardens by almost a thousand votes.
A thousand votes, Shasa tried to accept it, but that's a swing of almost ten percent. What happens now? The electoral officer climbed onto the stage at the end of the hall. He had the results in his hand, and the crowd fell silent but edged forward eagerly.
Ladies and gentlemen, the results of the election for the constituency of Hottentots Holland, he intoned. Manfred De La Rey, Nationalist Party: 3,126 votes. Shasa Courtney, United Party: 2,012 votes. Claude Sampson, Independent: 196 votes. Tara took Shasa's hand and they went out to where the Packard was parked. They sat side by side on the front seat, but Tara did not start the engine immediately. They were both shaken and confused.
I just cannot believe it, Tara whispered.
I feel as though I am on a runaway train,, Shasa said.
Heading into a long dark tunnel, no means of escape, no way of stopping it. He sighed softly. Poor old South Africa, he murmured. 'God alone knows what the future holds for you. Moses Gama was surrounded by men. The small room with walls of galvanized corrugated iron was packed with them.
They were his praetorian guard, and Swart Hendrick was chief amongst them.
The room was lit only by a smoky paraffin lamp, and the yellow flame highlighted Moses Gama's features.
He is a lion among men, Hendrick thought, reminded again of one of the old kings, of Chaka or Mzilikazi, those great black elephants. Thus must they have called the war chiefs to council, thus they must have ordered the battle.
Even now the hard Boers vaunt their victory across the land, Moses Gama said. But I tell you, my children, and I tell you true that below the leaping flames of their pride and avarice lie the ashes of their own destruction. It will not be easy and it may be long. There will be hard work, bitter hard work and even bloody work, but tomorrow belongs to us. The new Deputy Minister of Justice left his office and went down the long corridor in the Union Buildings, that massive fortresslike complex designed and built by Sir Herbert Baker on a low kopje overlooking the city of Pretoria. It was the administrative headquarters of the South African Government.
Outside it was dark, but there were lights burning in most of the offices. All of them were working late. Taking over the reins of power was an onerous business, but Manfred De La Rey revelled in every tedious detail of the task he had been given. He was sensible of the honour for which he had been selected. He was young, some said too young, for the post of a deputy minister, but he would prove them wrong.