Authors: Wilbur Smith
Rage (55 page)
âYes â no! Nothing is wrong. Just a little heartburn, the dinnerâ'
âPretty awful,' he agreed, and returned his attention to the road.
âThe dining-room,' she thought, in near panic. âI have to warn Moses. I have to warn him it cannot be tomorrow â all his arrangements will have been made for the escape. I have to let him know.'
Shasa dropped her at the front doors of the chateau and took the Rolls down to the garages. When he came back, she was in the blue drawing-room and the servants, who had as usual waited up for their return, were serving hot chocolate and biscuits. Shasa's valet helped him change into a maroon velvet smoking-jacket, and the housemaids hovered anxiously until Shasa dismissed them.
Tara had always opposed this custom. âI could easily warm up the milk myself and you could put on a jacket without having another grown man to help you,' she complained when the servants had left the room. âIt's feudal and cruel to keep them up until all hours.'
âNonsense, my dear.' Shasa poured himself a cognac to go with his chocolate. âIt's a tradition they value as much as we do â makes them feel indispensable and part of the family. Besides, chef would have a seizure if you were to mess with his kitchen.'
Then he slumped into his favourite armchair and became unusually serious. He began to talk to her as he had at the beginning of their marriage when they had still been in accord.
âThere is something afoot that I don't like. Here we stand at the opening of a new decade, the 1960s. We have
had nearly twelve years of Nationalist rule and none of my direst predictions have come to pass, but I feel a sense of unease. I have the feeling that our tide has been at full flood, but the turn is coming. I think that tomorrow may be the day when the ebb sets inâ' He broke off, and grinned shamefacedly. âForgive me. As you know, I don't usually indulge in fantasy,' he said and sipped his chocolate and his cognac in silence.
had nearly twelve years of Nationalist rule and none of my direst predictions have come to pass, but I feel a sense of unease. I have the feeling that our tide has been at full flood, but the turn is coming. I think that tomorrow may be the day when the ebb sets inâ' He broke off, and grinned shamefacedly. âForgive me. As you know, I don't usually indulge in fantasy,' he said and sipped his chocolate and his cognac in silence.
Tara felt not the least sympathy for him. There was so much she wanted to say, so many recriminations to lay upon him, but she could not trust herself to speak. Once she began, she might lose control and divulge too much. She might not be able to prevent herself gloating on the dreadful retribution that awaited him and all those like him, and she did not want to prolong this
tête-à -tête
, she wanted to be free to go to Moses, to warn him that today was not the day he had planned for. So she rose. âYou know how I feel, we don't have to discuss it. I'm going to bed. Excuse me.'
tête-à -tête
, she wanted to be free to go to Moses, to warn him that today was not the day he had planned for. So she rose. âYou know how I feel, we don't have to discuss it. I'm going to bed. Excuse me.'
âYes, of course.' He stood up courteously. âI'll be working for the next few hours. I have to go over my notes for my meeting with Littleton and his team tomorrow afternoon, so don't worry about me.'
Tara checked that Isabella was in her room and asleep, before she went to her suite and locked the door. She changed out of her long dress and jewellery into jeans and a dark sweater, then she made a cannabis cigarette, and while she smoked it she waited fifteen minutes by her watch for Shasa to settle down to his work. Then she switched off her lights. She dropped the cigarette butt into the toilet and flushed it away before she let herself into the passage once again, locking her suite against the unlikely chance that Shasa might come up to look for her. Then she went down the back stairs.
As she crossed the wide stoep, keeping against the wall, staying in the shadows and moving silently, a telephone
rang in the library wing and she froze involuntarily, her heart jarring her ribs. Then she realized that the telephone must be Shasa's private line, and she was about to move on, when she heard his voice. Although the curtains were drawn, the windows of his study were open and she could see the shadow of his head against the drapes.
rang in the library wing and she froze involuntarily, her heart jarring her ribs. Then she realized that the telephone must be Shasa's private line, and she was about to move on, when she heard his voice. Although the curtains were drawn, the windows of his study were open and she could see the shadow of his head against the drapes.
âKitty!' he said. âKitty Godolphin, you little witch. I should have guessed that you'd be here.'
The name startled Tara, and brought back harrowing memories, but she could not resist the temptation to creep closer to the curtained window.
âYou always follow the smell of blood, don't your Shasa said, and chuckled at her reply.
âWhere are you? The Nellie.' The Mount Nelson was simply the best hotel in Cape Town. âAnd what are you doing now â I mean right this moment? Yes, I know it's two o'clock in the morning, but any time is a good time â you told me that yourself a long time ago. It will take me half an hour to get there. Whatever else you do, don't start without me.' He hung up and she saw his shadow on the curtain as he stood up from his desk.
She ran to the end of the long stoep and jumped down into the hydrangea bed and crouched in the bushes. Within a few minutes Shasa came out of the side door. He had a dark overcoat over his smoking-jacket. He went down to the garages and drove away in the Jaguar. Even in his haste he drove slowly through the vineyards so as not to blow dust on his precious grapes, and, watching the headlights disappear, Tara hated him as much as she ever had. She thought that she should have grown accustomed to his philandering, but he was like a tom cat in rut â no woman was safe from him, and his moral outrage against Sean, his own son, for the same behaviour, had been ludicrous.
Kitty Godolphin â she cast her mind back to their first meeting and the television reporter's reaction to the mention
of Shasa's name and now the reason for it became clear.
of Shasa's name and now the reason for it became clear.
âOh God, I hate him so. He is totally without conscience or pity. He deserves to die!' She said it aloud, and then clapped her hand over her mouth. âI shouldn't have said it, but it is true! He deserves to die and I deserve to be free of him â free to go to Moses and my child.'
She rose out of the hydrangea bushes, brushed the clinging soil from her jeans and crossed the lawns quickly. The moon was in its first quarter, but bright enough to throw her shadow in front of her, and she entered the vineyard with relief and hurried down the rows of vines that were heavy with leaf and grape. She skirted the winery and the stables and reached the servants' cottages.
She had placed Moses in the room at the end of the second row of cottages and his window faced out on to the vineyard. She tapped on his window and his response was almost immediate; she knew he slept as lightly as a wild cat.
âIt's me,' she whispered.
âWait,' he said. âI will open the door.'
He loomed in the doorway, naked except for a pair of white shorts, and his body shone in the moonlight like wet tar.
âYou are foolish to come here,' he said, and taking her arm drew her into the single room. âYou are putting everything at risk.'
âMoses, please, listen to me. I had to tell you. It cannot be tomorrow.'
He stared at her contemptuously. âYou were never a true daughter of the revolution.'
âNo, no, I am true, and I love you enough to do anything, but they have changed the arrangements. They will not use the chamber where you have set the charge. They will meet in the parliamentary dining-room.'
He stared at her a second longer, then he turned and went to the narrow built-in cupboard at the head of his bed and began to dress in his uniform.
âWhat are you going to do?' she asked.
âI have to warn the others â they also are in danger.'
âWhat others?' she asked. âI did not know there were others.'
âYou know only what you have to know,' he told her curtly. âI must use the Chev â is it safer
âYes, Shasa is not here. He has gone out. Can I come with you?'
âAre you mad?' he asked. âIf the police find a black man and a white woman together at this time of nightâ' He did not finish the sentence. âYou must go back to the house and make a phone call. Here is the number. A woman will answer, and you will say only, “Cheetah is coming â he will be there in thirty minutes.” That is all you will say and then you will hang up.'
Moses threaded the Chev through the maze of narrow streets of District Six, the old Malay quarter. During the day this was a colourful and thriving community of small stores and businesses. General dealers and tailors and tinsmiths and halal butcheries occupied the ground-floor shops of the decrepit Victorian buildings, while from the cast-iron fretwork of the open balconies above hung a festival of drying laundry, and the convoluted streets were clamorous with the cries of steet vendors, the mournful horns of itinerant fishmongers and the laughter of children.
At nightfall the traders shuttered their premises and left the streets to the street gangs and the pimps and the prostitutes. Some of the more daring white revellers came here late at night, to listen to the jazz players in the crowded shebeens or to look for a pretty coloured girl â more for the thrill of danger and discovery than for any physical gratification.
Moses parked the Chev in a dark side street. On the
wall were the graffiti that declared this the territory of the Rude Boys, one of the most notorious of the street gangs, and he waited only a few seconds before the first gang member materialized out of the shadows, an urchin with the body of a child and the face of a vicious old man.
wall were the graffiti that declared this the territory of the Rude Boys, one of the most notorious of the street gangs, and he waited only a few seconds before the first gang member materialized out of the shadows, an urchin with the body of a child and the face of a vicious old man.
âLook after it well,' Moses flipped him a silver shilling. âIf the tyres are slashed when I come back, I'll do the same for your backside.' The child grinned at him evilly.
He climbed the dark and narrow staircase to the Vortex Club. A couple on the landing were copulating furtively but furiously against the wall as Moses squeezed past. The white man turned his face away but he never missed a beat.
At the door to the club somebody studied him briefly through the peephole and then let him enter. The long crowded room was hazy with tobacco smoke and the sweet smell of cannabis. The clientele included the full spectrum from gang members in zoot suits and wide ties to white men in dinner-jackets. Only the women were all coloured.
Dollar Brand and his Quartet were playing a sweet soulful jazz and everybody was still and attentive. Nobody even looked up as Moses slipped down the side wall to the door at the far end, but the man guarding it recognized Moses and stood aside for him to enter.
In the backroom there was only one man sitting at a round gambling table under a green shaded light. There was a cigarette smouldering between his fingers, and his face was pale as putty, his eyes implacable dark pits.
âYou are foolhardy to call a meeting now,' said Joe Cicero, âwithout good reason. All the preparations have been made. There is nothing more to discuss.'
âI have good reason,' said Moses, and sat down on the empty chair, facing him across the baize-covered table.
Joe Cicero listened without expression, but when Moses finished, he pushed the lank hair off his forehead with the back of his hand. Moses had learned to interpret that gesture as one of agitation.
âWe cannot dismantle the escape route and then set it up again later. These things take time to arrange. The aircraft is already in position.'
It was an Aztec chartered from a company in Johannesburg, and the pilot was a lecturer in political philosophy at Witwatersrand University, the holder of a private pilot's licence and a secret member of the South African Communist Party.
âHow long can he wait at the rendezvous?' Moses asked, and Cicero thought about it a moment.
âA week at the longest,' he replied.
The rendezvous was an unregistered airstrip on a large drought-stricken ranch in Namaqualand which was lying derelict, abandoned by the discouraged owner. From the airfield it was a four-hour flight to Bechuanaland, the British protectorate that lay against the north-western border of the Union of South Africa. Sanctuary had been arranged for Moses there, the beginning of the pipeline by which most political fugitives were channelled to the north.
âA week must be enough,' Moses said. âEvery hour increases the danger. At the very first occasion that we can be sure Verwoerd will take his seat again, I will do it.'
It was four o'clock in the morning before Moses left the Vortex Club and went down to where he had parked the Chev.
K
itty Godolphin sat in the centre of the bed, naked and cross-legged with all the shameless candour of a child.
itty Godolphin sat in the centre of the bed, naked and cross-legged with all the shameless candour of a child.
In the years Shasa had known her, she had changed very little physically. Her body had matured slightly, her breasts had more weight to them and the tips had darkened. He could no longer make out the rack of her ribs beneath the smooth pale skin, but her buttocks were still lean as a boy's
and her limbs coltishly long and slim. Nor had she lost the air of guileless innocence, that aura of eternal youth which so contrasted with the cynical hardness of her gaze. She was telling him about the Congo. She had been there for the last five months and the material she had filmed would surely put her in line for her third Emmy and confirm her position as the most successful television journalist on the American networks. She was speaking in the breathless voice of an
ingénue
.
and her limbs coltishly long and slim. Nor had she lost the air of guileless innocence, that aura of eternal youth which so contrasted with the cynical hardness of her gaze. She was telling him about the Congo. She had been there for the last five months and the material she had filmed would surely put her in line for her third Emmy and confirm her position as the most successful television journalist on the American networks. She was speaking in the breathless voice of an
ingénue
.
âThey caught these three Simba agents and tried them under the mango trees outside the burnt-out hospital, but by the time they had' sentenced them to death, the light was too bad for filming. I gave the commander my Rolex watch, and in return he postponed the executions until the sun was up the next morning so that Hank could film. It was the most incredible footage. The next morning they paraded the condemned men naked through the marketplace and the local women bargained for the various parts of their bodies. The Baluba have always been cannibals. When they had sold all three of them, they took them down to the river and shot them, in the head, of course, so as not to damage the meat, and they butchered them there on the river bank and the women queued up to claim their portions.' She was trying to shock him, and it irritated Shasa that she had succeeded.
âWhere do you stand, my love?' he asked bitterly. âOne day you are sympathetically interviewing Martin Luther King, and the next you are portraying all the grossest savagery of Africa.'
She laughed, that throaty chuckle that always roused him. âAnd the very next day I am recording the British imperialist making bargains with your gang of bully boys while you stand with a foot on the neck of your slaves.'
âDamn it, Kitty. What are you â what are you trying to do?'
âCapture reality,' she told him simply.
âAnd when reality doesn't conform to your view of it, you bribe somebody with a Rolex watch to alter it.'
âI've made you mad.' She laughed delightedly, and he stood up from the bed and crossed to where he had thrown his clothes over the back of the chair. âYou look like a little boy when you sulk,' she called after him.
âIt will be light in an hour. I have to get back home and change,' he said. âI've got an appointment with my Imperialist slave-masters at eleven.'
âOf course, you've got to be there to hear Supermac tell you how much he wants to buy your gold and diamonds â and he doesn't care whether they are dripping with the sweat and bloodâ'
âAll right, sweetness,' he cut her off. âThat's enough for one night.' He stepped into his trousers, and as he tucked in his shirt, he grinned at her. âWhy do I always pick screaming radical females?'
âYou like the stimulation,' she suggested, but he shook his head, and reached for the velvet smoking-jacket.
âI prefer the loving â talking of which, when will I see you again?'
âWhy, at eleven o'clock at the Houses of Parliament, of course. I'll try to get you in the shot, you are so photogenic, darling.'
He went to the bed and stooped over her to kiss that angelic smile on her lips. âI can never understand what I see in you,' he said.
He was still thinking of her as he went down to the hotel carpark and wiped the dew off the windshield of the Jaguar. It was amazing how she had been able so effortlessly to hold his interest over all these years. No other woman, except Tara, had ever done that. It was silly how good he felt when he had been with her. She could still drive him wild with erotic desire, her tricks still worked on him, and afterwards he felt elated and wonderfully alive â and, yes, he enjoyed arguing with her.
âGod, I haven't closed my eyes all night, yet I feel like a Derby winner. I wonder if I am still in love with the little bitch.'
He took the Jaguar down the long palm-lined drive from the Mount Nelson Hotel. Considering the proposition and recalling his proposal of marriage and her outright rejection, he went out through the hotel gates and took the main road that skirted the old Malay quarter of District Six. He resisted the temptation to shoot the red of the traffic lights at the foot of Roeland Street. It was highly unlikely there would be other traffic at this time of the morning, but he braked dutifully and was startled when another vehicle shot out of the narrow cross street and turned in front of his bonnet.
It was a sea-green Chevrolet station wagon, and he didn't have to check the number plate to know that it was Tara's. The headlights of the Jaguar shone into the cab of the Chev and for an instant he had a full view of the driver. It was Tara's new chauffeur. He had seen him twice before, once at Weltevreden and once in the House of Assembly, but this time the driver was bare-headed and Shasa could see the full shape of his head.
As he had on both the previous occasions, Shasa had a strong sense of recognition. He had definitely met or known this man before, but the memory was eroded by time and quickly extinguished by his annoyance. The chauffeur was not permitted to use the Chev for his own private purposes, and yet here he was in the small hours of the morning driving around as though the vehicle belonged to him.
The Chev pulled away swiftly. The chauffeur had obviously recognized Shasa and the speed was proof of his guilt. Shasa's first instinct was to give chase and confront the man, but the traffic light was still red against him and while he waited for it to change, he had time to reflect. He was in too good a mood to spoil it with unpleasantness, besides which any confrontation at four in the morning
would be undignified, and would inevitably lead to questions about his own presence at the same hour on the fringes of the city's notorious red-light area. There would be a better time and place to deal with the driver, and Shasa let him go, but he had neither forgiven nor forgotten.
would be undignified, and would inevitably lead to questions about his own presence at the same hour on the fringes of the city's notorious red-light area. There would be a better time and place to deal with the driver, and Shasa let him go, but he had neither forgiven nor forgotten.
Shasa parked the Jaguar in the garage at Weltevreden, and the green Chev was in its place at the end of the line of cars, between Garry's MG and Shasa's customized Land-Rover. As he passed it, he laid his hand on the bonnet of the Chev and it was still hot, the metal ticking softly as it cooled. He nodded with satisfaction and went on up to the house, amused by the necessity to creep up to his own suite like a burglar.
He still felt light and happy at breakfast and he hummed as he loaded his plate with eggs and bacon from the silver chafing dish on the sideboard. He was the first one down but Garry was only a minute behind him.
âThe boss should always be the first man on the job, and the last man off it,' he had taught Garry, and the boy had taken it to heart. âNo, no longer boy.' Shasa corrected himself, as he studied Garry. His son was only an inch shorter than he was, but wider across the shoulders and heavier in the chest. Down the full length of the corridor Shasa had often heard him grunting over his body-building weights. Even though he had just shaved, Garry's jaw was blue with beard that by evening would need the razor again, and despite the Brylcreem his hair was already springing up in unruly spikes.
He sat down beside Shasa, took a mouthful of his omelette and immediately began talking shop. âHe just isn't up to the job any more, Pater. We need a younger man in that position, especially with all the extra responsibility of the Silver River Mine coming on stream.'
âHe has been with us twenty years, Garry,' Shasa said mildly.
âI'm not suggesting we shoot him, Dad. Just let him take his retirement. He is almost seventy.'
âRetirement will kill him.'
âIf he stays it will kill us.'
âAll right,' Shasa sighed. Garry was right, of course, the man had outlived his usefulness. âBut I will speak to him personally.'
âThanks, Dad.' Garry's spectacles gleamed victoriously.
âTalking about the Silver River Mine, I have arranged for you to begin your stint up there just as soon as you have written your sup.'
Garry spent more time at Centaine House than in his lecture rooms at business school. As a consequence, he was carrying one subject for his Bachelor's degree in Commerce. He would write the supplementary examination the following week and Shasa was sending him up to work on the Silver River Mine for a year or two.
âAfter all, it has taken over from the old H'ani now as the Company flagship. I want you to move more and more into the centre of things.' He saw the glow of anticipation behind Garry's spectacles.
âOh boy, am I looking forward to really starting work, after bashing the books all these dreary years.'
Michael came bursting breathlessly into the dining-room. âThank goodness, Pater, I thought I had missed you.'
âSlow down, Mickey,' Shasa cautioned him. âYou'll burst a blood vessel. Have some breakfast.'
âI'm not hungry this morning.' Michael sat down opposite his father. âI wanted to talk to you.'
âWell, open fire, then,' Shasa invited.
âNot here,' Michael demurred. âI rather hoped we could talk in the gun room,' and all three of them looked grave. The gun room was only used on the most portentous occasions, and a request for a meeting in the gun room was not to be taken lightly.
Shasa glanced at his watch. âMickey, Harold Macmillan is addressing both housesâ'
âI know, Pater, but this won't take long. Please, sir.' The fact that Michael was calling him âsir' underlined the seriousness of the request, but Shasa resented the deliberate timing.
Whenever Michael wanted to raise a contentious issue, he did so when Shasa's opportunity to respond was severely curtailed. The lad was as devious as his mother, whose child he indubitably was, spiritually as well as physically.
âTen minutes, then,' Shasa agreed reluctantly. âWill you excuse us please, Garry?' Shasa led the way down the passage and locked the gun-room door behind them.
âVery well.' He took his usual place in front of the fireplace. âWhat is it, my boy?'
âI've got a job, Dad.' Michael was breathless again.
âA job. Yes, I know you have a part-time job as local stringer for the Mail. I enjoyed your report on the polo â in fact you read it to me. Very good it was,' Shasa grinned, âall five lines of it.'
âNo, sir, I've got a full-time job. I spoke to the editor of the M
ail
and they have offered me a job as a cub reporter. I start the first of next month.'
ail
and they have offered me a job as a cub reporter. I start the first of next month.'
Shasa's grin faded into a scowl. âDamn it, Mickey. You can't be serious â what about your education? You have two more years to go at university.'
âI am serious, sir. I will get my education on the paper.'
âNo,' Shasa raised his voice. âNo, I forbid it. I won't have you leaving university before you are capped.'
âI'm sorry, sir. I've made up my mind.' Michael was pale and trembling, yet he had that obstinate set expression that infuriated Shasa even more than the words â but he controlled himself.
âYou know the rules,' Shasa said. âI've made them clear to all of you. If you do things my way, there is no limit to the help I will give you. If you go your own way, then you
are on your ownâ' he took a breath, and then said it, surprised at how painful it was â like Sean.' God, how he still missed his eldest son.
are on your ownâ' he took a breath, and then said it, surprised at how painful it was â like Sean.' God, how he still missed his eldest son.
âYes, sir,' Michael nodded. âI know the rules.'
âWell?'
âI have to do it, sir. There is nothing else I want to do with my life. I want to learn to write. I don't want to go against you, Pater, but I simply have to do it.'
âThis is your mother's doing,' Shasa said coldly. âShe has put you up to this,' he accused, and Michael looked sheepish.
âMater knows about it,' he admitted, âbut it's my decision alone, sir.'
âYou understand that you will be forfeiting my support? You'll not receive another penny from me once you leave this house. You'll have to live on the salary of a cub reporter.'
âI understand, sir,' Michael nodded.
âAll right, then, Michael. Off you go,' he said, and Michael looked stunned.
âIs that all, sir?'
âUnless you have some other announcement to make.'
âNo, sir.' Michael's shoulders slumped. âExcept that I love you very much, Pater, and I appreciate all that you have done for me.'
âYou have,' said Shasa, âa most peculiar way of demonstrating that appreciation, if you don't mind me saying so.' He went to the door.
He was halfway into the city, racing the Jaguar down the new highway between the university and Groote Schuur, before he recovered from his affront at Michael's disloyalty, for that is how Shasa saw his son's decision. Now suddenly he began to think about newspapers again. Publicly he had always disparaged the strange suicidal impulse that gripped so many successful men in their middle years to own their own newspaper. It was notoriously difficult to
milk a reasonable profit from a newspaper, but in secret Shasa had felt the sneaking temptation to indulge in the same rich man's folly.
milk a reasonable profit from a newspaper, but in secret Shasa had felt the sneaking temptation to indulge in the same rich man's folly.
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