Rage (64 page)
Authors: Wilbur Smith
There under the
Mail
's crest at the very top of the editorial page was his headline: A MARTYR IS BORN.
's crest at the very top of the editorial page was his headline: A MARTYR IS BORN.
He read it through quickly, and then started again and read it aloud, mouthing each word, rolling it over his tongue like a noble and precious wine. He propped the paper, open at the editorial, beside the mirror while he shaved, and then carried it down to the Greek fast-food café where he had his breakfast each morning and showed it to Mr Costa, who called his wife out of the kitchen.
âHey, Michael, you a big shot now.' Mrs Costa embraced him, smelling of fried bacon and garlic. âYou a big-shot newspaperman now.'
She let him use the telephone in the back room and he gave the operator the number at Weltevreden. Centaine answered on the second ring.
âMickey!' she cried delightedly. âWhere are you? Are you in Cape Town?'
He calmed her down and then read it to her. There was a long silence. âThe editorial, Mickey. You aren't making this up, are you? I'll never forgive you if you are.'
Once he had reassured her, Centaine told him, âI can't remember ever being so excited about anything in years. I'm going to call your father, you must tell him yourself.'
Shasa came on the line, and Michael read it to him. âYou wrote that?' Shasa asked. âPretty hot stuff, Mickey. Of course I don't agree with your conclusions â Gama must hang. However, you almost convinced me otherwise, but we can debate that when next we are together. In the
meantime, congratulations, my boy. Perhaps you did make the right decision after all.'
meantime, congratulations, my boy. Perhaps you did make the right decision after all.'
Michael found that he was a minor celebrity in the newsroom, even the sub stopped by his desk to congratulate him and discuss the article for a few moments, and the pretty little blonde on the reception desk who had never before been aware of his existence smiled and greeted him by name.
âListen, kid,' said Desmond Blake. âOne little fart doesn't make a whole sewage farm. In future I don't want you pushing copy over my head. Every bit of shit you write comes across my desk, get it?'
âI'm sorry, Mr Blake. I didn'tâ'
âYeah! Yeah! I know, you didn't mean it. Just don't go getting a big head. Remember whose assistant you are.'
The news of Moses Gama's reprieve threw the newsroom into a state of pandemonium that didn't subside for almost a week. Michael was drawn in, and some of his days ended at midnight when the presses began their run and began when the first papers hit the streets the next morning.
However, he found that the excitement seemed to release limitless reserves of energy in him and he never felt tired. He learned to work quickly and accurately and his way with words gradually assumed a deftness and polish that was apparent even to himself.
Two weeks after the reprieve the editor called him into his office. He had learned not to knock, any waste of time irritated Leon-Herbstein and made him bellow aggressively. Michael went straight on in, but he had not yet entirely mastered the pose of world-weary cynicism which he knew was the hallmark of the veteran journalist, and he was all radiant eagerness as he asked, âYes, Mr Herbstein?'
âOK, Mickey, I've got something for you.' Every time Mr Herbstein used his Christian name, Michael still thrilled with delicious shock.
âWe are getting a lot of requests from readers and
overseas correspondents. With all the interest in the Gama case, people want to know more about the black political movements. They want to know the difference between the Pan-Africanist Congress and the African National Congress, they want to know who's who â who the hell are Tambo and Sisulu, Mandela and Moses Gama and what do they stand for? All that sort of stuff. You seem to be interested in black politics and enjoy digging around in the archives â besides I can't spare one of my top men on this sort of background stuff. So get on with it.' Herbstein switched his attention back to the work on his desk, but Michael by now had sufficient confidence to stand his ground.
overseas correspondents. With all the interest in the Gama case, people want to know more about the black political movements. They want to know the difference between the Pan-Africanist Congress and the African National Congress, they want to know who's who â who the hell are Tambo and Sisulu, Mandela and Moses Gama and what do they stand for? All that sort of stuff. You seem to be interested in black politics and enjoy digging around in the archives â besides I can't spare one of my top men on this sort of background stuff. So get on with it.' Herbstein switched his attention back to the work on his desk, but Michael by now had sufficient confidence to stand his ground.
âAm I still working under Mr Blake?' he asked. He had learned by this time if you called him âsir' it just made Leon Herbstein mad.
Herbstein shook his head but did not even look up. âYou are on your own. Send everything to me. No hurry, any time in the next five minutes will do nicely.'
Michael soon discovered that the
Mail's
archives were inadequate, and served merely to initiate him into the complexity and daunting size of the project he had been set. However, from them he was at least able to draw up a list of the various black political groups and related associations such as the officially unrecognized black trade unions, and from there to compile a list of their own leaders and officials.
Mail's
archives were inadequate, and served merely to initiate him into the complexity and daunting size of the project he had been set. However, from them he was at least able to draw up a list of the various black political groups and related associations such as the officially unrecognized black trade unions, and from there to compile a list of their own leaders and officials.
He cleared one wall of his bed-sitting room and put up a board on which he pinned all this information, using different-coloured cards for each grouping and press photographs of the principal black leaders. All this achieved was to convince him of how little was known about the black movements by even the most well-informed of the white section of the nation.
The public library added very little to his understanding. Most of the books on the subject had been written ten or
more years before and simply traced the African National Congress from those distant days of its inception in 1912 and the names mentioned were all of men now dead or in their dotage.
more years before and simply traced the African National Congress from those distant days of its inception in 1912 and the names mentioned were all of men now dead or in their dotage.
Then he had his first inspiration. One of the
Mail
's sister publications under the banner of Associated Newspapers of South Africa was a weekly magazine called
Assegai
, after the broad-bladed war spear that the impis of Chaka the Zulu conqueror had wielded. The magazine was aimed at the educated and more affluent section of the black community. Its editorial policy was dictated by the white directors of Associated Newspapers but amongst the articles and photographs of African football stars and torch singers, of black American athletes and film actors, an occasional article slipped through of a fiercely radical slant.
's sister publications under the banner of Associated Newspapers of South Africa was a weekly magazine called
Assegai
, after the broad-bladed war spear that the impis of Chaka the Zulu conqueror had wielded. The magazine was aimed at the educated and more affluent section of the black community. Its editorial policy was dictated by the white directors of Associated Newspapers but amongst the articles and photographs of African football stars and torch singers, of black American athletes and film actors, an occasional article slipped through of a fiercely radical slant.
Michael borrowed a company car and went out to see the editor of
Assegai
in the vast black location of Drake's Farm. The editor was a graduate of the black university of Fort Hare, a Xhosa named Solomon Nduli. He was polite but cool, and they had chatted for half an hour before a barbed remark let Michael know that he had been recognized as a spy for the security police, and that he would learn nothing of value.
Assegai
in the vast black location of Drake's Farm. The editor was a graduate of the black university of Fort Hare, a Xhosa named Solomon Nduli. He was polite but cool, and they had chatted for half an hour before a barbed remark let Michael know that he had been recognized as a spy for the security police, and that he would learn nothing of value.
A week later the
Mail
published the first of Michael's articles in its Saturday magazine edition. It was a comparison of the two leading African political organizations: the Pan-Africanist Congress, which was a jealously exclusive body to which only pure-blooded African blacks were admitted and whose views were extremely radical, and the much larger African National Congress which, although predominantly black, also included whites and Asians and mixed-blood members such as the Cape coloureds, and whose objectives were essentially conciliatory.
published the first of Michael's articles in its Saturday magazine edition. It was a comparison of the two leading African political organizations: the Pan-Africanist Congress, which was a jealously exclusive body to which only pure-blooded African blacks were admitted and whose views were extremely radical, and the much larger African National Congress which, although predominantly black, also included whites and Asians and mixed-blood members such as the Cape coloureds, and whose objectives were essentially conciliatory.
The article was accurate, obviously carefully researched, but, most important, the tone was sympathetic, and it carried the by-line âby Michael Courtney'.
The following day Solomon Nduli called Michael at the offices of the
Mail
, and suggested another meeting. His first words when they shook hands were, âI'm sorry. I think I misjudged you. What do you want to know?'
, and suggested another meeting. His first words when they shook hands were, âI'm sorry. I think I misjudged you. What do you want to know?'
Solomon took Michael into a strange world that he had never realized existed â the world of the black townships. He arranged for him to meet Robert Sobukwe, and Michael was appalled by the depth of the resentment the black leader of the Pan-Africanist Congress expressed, particularly for the pass laws, by his enormous impatience to effect an upheaval of the entire society, and by the thinly veiled violence in the man.
âI will try to arrange for you to meet Mandela,' Solomon promised, âalthough, as you know, he is underground now, and wanted by the police. But there are others you must talk to.'
He took Michael to Baragwanath Hospital and introduced him to the wife of Moses Gama, the lovely young Zulu woman he had seen at the trial in Cape Town. Victoria was heavily pregnant, but with a calm dignity that impressed Michael deeply until he sensed the same terrible resentment and latent violence in her that he had found in Robert Sobukwe.
The next day Solomon took him back to Drake's Farm to meet a man named Hendrick Tabaka, a man who seemed to own most of the small businesses in the location and looked like a heavyweight wrestler with a head like a cannonball criss-crossed with scars.
He appeared to Michael to represent the opposite end of the black protest consciousness. âI have my family and my business,' he told Michael, âand I will protect them from anybody, black or white.' And Michael was reminded of a view that his father had often expressed, but to which Michael had not given much consideration before this. âWe must give the black people a piece of the pie,' Shasa Courtney had said. âGive them something of their
own. The truly dangerous man is one with nothing to lose.'
own. The truly dangerous man is one with nothing to lose.'
Michael gave the second article in the series the title âRage' and in it he tried to describe the deep and bitter resentment that he had encountered on his journeys into the half-world of the townships. He ended the article with the words:
Despite this deep sense of outrage, I never found the least indication of hatred towards the white person as an individual by any of the black leaders with whom I was able to speak. Their resentment seemed to me to be directed only at the Nationalist government's policy of apartheid while the vast treasure of mutual goodwill built up over three hundred years between the races seems to be entirely undiminished by it.
He delivered the article to Leon Herbstein on the Thursday and found himself immediately embroiled in an editorial review of it that lasted until almost eight o'clock that evening. Leon Herbstein called in his assistant and his deputy editor, and their views were divided between publishing with only minor alterations and not publishing at all, for fear of bringing down the wrath of the Publications Control Board, the government censors who had the power to ban the Mail and put it out of business.
âBut it's all true,' Michael protested. âI have substantiated every single fact I have quoted. It's true and it's important â that is all that really matters.' And the three older journalists looked at him pityingly.
âAll right, Mickey,' Leon Herbstein dismissed him at last. âYou can go on home. I will let you know the final decision in due course.'
As Michael moved dispiritedly towards the door, the deputy editor nodded at him. âPublish or not, Mickey, it is a damned good effort. You can be proud of it.'
When Michael got back to his apartment he found somebody sitting on a canvas holdall outside his front door. Only when the person stood up did he recognize the massively developed shoulders, the glinting steel-rimmed spectacles and spiky hairstyle.
âGarry,' he shouted joyously, and rushed to embrace his elder brother.
They sat side by side on the bed and talked excitedly, interrupting each other and laughing and exclaiming at each other's news.
âWhat are you doing in Jo'burg?' Michael demanded at last.
âI've come up from Silver River just for the weekend. I want to get at the new computer mainframe in head office, and there are a few things I want to check at the land surveyor's office. So I thought, what the hell â why spend money on a hotel when Mickey has a flat? So I brought my sleeping-bag. Can I doss on your floor.'
âThe bed pulls out into a double,' Mickey told him happily. âYou don't have to sleep on the floor.'
They went down to Costa's restaurant and Garry bought a pack of chicken curry and half a dozen Cokes. They ate the food out of the pack, sharing a spoon to save washing up, and they talked until long after midnight. They had always been very close to each other. Even though he was younger, Michael had been a staunch ally during those dreadful childhood years of Garry's bed-wetting and stuttering and Sean's casually savage bullying. Then again Michael had not truly realized how lonely he had been in this strange city until this moment, and now there were so many nostalgic memories and so much unrequited need for affection to assuage, so many subjects of earth-shattering importance to discuss. They sat up into the small hours dealing with money and work and sex and the rest of it.
Garry was stunned to learn that Michael earned thirty-seven pounds ten shillings a month.
âHow much does this kennel cost you a month?' he demanded.
âTwenty pounds,' Michael told him.
That leaves you seventeen pounds ten a month to eat and exist. They should be arrested for slave labour.'
âIt's not as bad as that â Pater gives me an allowance to make do. How much do you earn, Garry?' Michael demanded, and Garry looked guilty.
âI get my board and lodging and all my meals at the mine, single quarters, and I am paid a hundred a month as an executive trainee.'
âSon of a gun!' Michael was deeply impressed. âWhat do you do with all that?'
It was Garry's turn to look amazed. âSave it, of course. I've got over two thousand in the bank already.'
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