Afrika, page 12
“Why didn't Hendrik and my mom leave together for Canada?” Kim asked. “Why didn't they get married in Canada?”
Oom Piet shrugged. “That is a good question. Sorry. I don't know the answer. That was between your ma and Hendrik.”
They drove without speaking. They could smell the fire now and Kim worried about her mother's safety.
“Why did the townspeople set the fires?”
“A few extremists did this. They don't trust the Truth Hearings,” said her uncle. “They think it stirs up hatred for us, for the Afrikaners.”
Kim glanced across at him. He frowned as he stared at the road.
“Luckily, the rains have begun,” her uncle continued. “We have lived through many droughts. We know how the rain makes the land, the animals, and the people rejoice. Tomorrow you will see how the Karoo will have sprung to life. It will be a magnificent green. The rain, if it falls as far north as the town, might lessen the fire, too. Your mom will be safe,” he added. “I promise you.”
The light was almost gone. For the first time Kim felt close to her uncle. She was grateful that he was taking her to her mom and that he had answered so many of her questions, even though he could not answer the key ones about her father.
Oom Piet was searching for news but couldn't get a station to tune in properly. One channel played a jingle in Xhosa and Kim remembered all the times she had gone to Lettie's room and how Lettie always found a way to make her feel better. How could Lettie be so kind to Kim and Riana, after all the pain that Oupa had inflicted on her?
The radio station vanished into silence. Oom Piet flicked on his headlights as it had gotten quite dark.“Kim,” he said. “Riana paid her price in leaving and we paid our price by staying. It is my hope that when you return to Canada, you remember where you come from.”
Kim adjusted her great-grandmother's brooch deeper into her pocket.
“What do you see when you close your eyes?” he asked in a strange voice. He lit another cigarette and added, “I asked your mother that question the other day. She told me that when she closes her eyes she sees your yard in Canada all dressed up in snow. How about that? What do I see when my eyes are shut? Our little baby girl Katie – gone.”
Kim lifted her turtleneck up to her nose and smelled the fear from the wild ride on Willem trapped in the cloth.“What happened to Katie?” she whispered.
Uncle Piet's fingers that held the cigarette trembled. “It was during the time when there was a lot of unrest in the country. Many people were unhappy with apartheid. Your Tannie Reza was driving Elsie into the township when the car was stoned by black youths. Little Katie was strapped into the backseat of the car. She was hit in the head by a stone the size of a brick. My daughter did not suffer. She died instantly.”
Kim's stomach squeezed tight and she could not speak. She thought of how Tante Reza always wore black and moved through the house like a ghost. How mean she had been to deride her aunt for her strange behavior.
A sudden blast of static from the radio unit interrupted Kim's thoughts. “Piet, kom in! Piet, kom in!” Piet grabbed the handset and adjusted a knob. “Piet here!” The line crackled and a male voice spoke in Afrikaans.
Kim let her turtleneck slip back into place. “What is happening?” she asked.
“It is good news,” her uncle said pulling hard on the steeling wheel. “The wind has changed and the town is no longer being threatened.”
A truck rumbled by. It was open in the back and filled with black and white men. “Look,” said her uncle. “Those are volunteers. They will hack a firebreak with axes and spades.” Her uncle pointed. “Look there, on the mountain.”
They had come around a bend in the road and could finally see where the fire was. Red molten patches crisscrossed the mountainside. The mountain resembled an outraged volcano pouring out its lava.
For a few seconds Kim watched the fire spread its ruby-red destruction. “When will we get there?” she asked.
“Soon,” said her uncle as he pressed his foot down on the gas pedal.
“What are you doing here?” Riana cried as they rushed onto the veranda of the Lion's River Hotel. Behind Riana, brilliant pink and magenta flowers bloomed on the wall.
“I came to help with the fire,” Piet explained.
Riana looked in outrage from Kim to her brother. “You shouldn't have brought Kim.”
“Mom,” Kim pleaded. “Don't blame him. I hid in the back without his knowing. I was worried about you.”
“It's not a problem,” said Piet.
Riana pushed her larger-than-life glasses up on her nose. “Don't make light of it,” she snapped. “Don't do that to me, okay?”
Kim tried to keep her voice normal. “Please. Riana. You're always fighting with each other.”
“We are not,” insisted her mother, through clenched teeth.
“I heard you,” said Kim. “Last week. You were screaming at Oom Piet and you were screaming at Oupa. You had my stuff spread out all over the table.”
“Well, I needed photos!” Riana exclaimed. “Remember that first flat we lived in?”
“No, I don't.” Kim reminded her. “I was only six months old!”
Oom Piet stepped forward, put his arm around Riana, and tried to calm her. Riana looked like she would wiggle away, but then Kim saw the space between them grow smaller and smaller. Riana blinked her doe eyes and allowed her brother to hug her.“You don't think I knew?” he said to her quietly. Then he turned to Kim, “Your ma needed to show us those photos so I would understood how very brave you both are,” he said.
Kim looked at her feet. She was embarrassed to watch this rare exchange of affection.
“Well, maybe it's better that you're both here,” Riana said as she pulled away. “I guess it really is. This has become a much bigger story than we first thought. I won't have time to return to the farm.”
Piet met her eyes. “Riana, are you sure?”
“Pa and I talked. We did. I think he began to understand.”
“All right. Then I'll say your good-byes for you when I get back.”
Riana smiled at her brother. “Ag, boetie, thank you.”
“Always my pleasure,” he said. Then he hugged Kim close to him. “Don't forget about us when you return to Canada. My girl, you are always welcome on the Milky Way Farm.”
“Wait,” said Kim as her uncle walked down the stairs of the veranda. Her throat was tight and suddenly, she didn't want him to leave. “I thought the fire was under control.”
“Well, they still need help with it.” He walked to his vehicle. “Bye-bye, hey,” he said as he climbed inside and slammed the door.
I won't cry, I won't cry, Kim told herself. But right there on the hotel veranda, her eyes were blurred with tears. Her uncle was the first relative she had ever met. She did not know when she would see him again.
She cleared her throat and shouted, “Be careful, Oom Piet.” But he had already started the Land Rover and did not near her. Cigarette between his teeth, he waved good-bye.
Kim rubbed her face on her shirt and watched her uncle disappear down the main street. Riana slipped her arm around Kim and they strolled past a white church with a spire and continued walking until they reached the outskirts of the town. It was dark and the stars were beginning to show in the sky. After a moment Kim spoke.“Oom Piet told me about Hendrik.” There was a pause. “And he told me about Katie,” Kim added.
Riana found Kim a tissue. “I was going to tell you about Katie when I thought you were old enough. Piet wrote to me about the funeral. Oupa bought a few boards of pine and built the small coffin himself. Afterwards Oupa retreated to his ark, pulled up the tall ladder, and would not come out for days.”
Kim ignored the tissue and brought her sleeve up to her cheek.“Why didn't you go to the funeral?”
“You were only a month older than Katie at the time. I couldn't afford the air ticket. Besides, it was not a good time for them to see me.”
Not a good time for them to see me either, thought Kim, shoving the unused tissue into her pocket. She felt the brooch that her grandfather had given her and took it out.
“Why would Oupa want me to have this?” she asked as she showed the heavy silver ornament to her mother. “Is it because he feels guilty about the past?”
Riana drew in her breath as she studied the brooch. “This was Great-Ouma's and was passed down to my mother. Oupa is getting old. I imagine he wanted to make amends before it's too late.”
Suddenly in the darkness there was a drawn-out wail ending in a bark. “What was that?” Kim asked. She slipped the brooch in her pocket and moved closer to her mother.
“Just a jackal.”
Kim shivered and looked up at the sky. There were more stars than Kim had ever seen, but there was no Big Dipper, no Little Dipper, and no constellation that Kim recognized. For a moment they stood saying nothing.
“Mom, are you going to be okay?”
“Yes. Yes I am. And I'm glad we decided not to stay an extra three months.”
“And Andries?”
“Oh, that was nothing,” Riana said quickly.“I'll be finished with this story tomorrow and we can leave the next day.”
“Back to Cape Town?” asked Kim.
Riana nodded. “Yes. The amnesty hearing involving Themba's father is scheduled for Friday.”
The air was cool as they walked back on the tree-lined road to the hotel. The croaking of crickets filled the night with shrill obsessive sounds like the questions in her head: Who was her father? Why keep him a secret? Why did he not contact them? Kim was about to ask but before she could, Riana's cell rang. It was her producer. He wanted a background story on one of the victims. Kim sighed as her mom promised to stay up late and finish off another report. Tonight would not be the time to get the answers Kim needed.
With Riana at work early the next morning, Kim explored Lion's River's main store. She had never seen a shop like this: it smelled of mothballs and talcum powder, and had everything in it from jawbreakers and half loaves of bread to clothes and household wares. As she stared at the long strips of yellow flypaper spiraling down from the ceiling, she tried to focus on the Afrikaans conversation between the ancient old clerk and a girl about her age in a school uniform. Kim was surprised by how much of the conversation she understood and was relieved to have some place to distract her thoughts. All morning she'd rehearsed various conversations she wanted to have with her mother. But she found her mind jumping to Hendrik. She had a lot to ask him as well. She imagined herself, calm as a detective, peppering him with questions, making him do the talking. In another scenario, her mind filled with accusations. You must be hiding something! You didn't contact me. Not one lousy time.
By late afternoon Kim had made her way to the hall where the hearings were taking place and waited outside for her mom. It was a warm afternoon and some of the journalists and lawyers were sipping cold drinks on small chairs and tables set out on polished red tiles. Kim sat away from them and dangled her long legs over the stoep wall. Riana had appeared briefly, dressed in hemp pants and a man's wrinkled white shirt.
“Mom,” Kim had pleaded. “At least tuck in your shirt.” Reluctantly Riana did as she was told before she darted inside to say good-bye to colleagues. Now Kim sat with a messy pile of Riana's belongings: her battered leather bag, sweater, tape recorder, glasses, and notes.
Kim enjoyed the sensation of letting her eyelids close and open in the cozy heat of the stoep. The sun was dropping in the sky, tinting everything lime-green and gold. The vegetation had changed, sprung to life, just as Oom Piet had promised.
She could hear distant cheers from a cricket game as it wound down. Occasionally, a car went by on the dusty road in front of the hall. It would soon be evening. Kim remembered the girl in the shop, and wondered how she passed her time in a small town like this. Bored, Kim set her mom's tape recorder on her lap and pushed the PLAY button.
A hoarse female voice with a heavy African accent spoke. “When I went to the police to ask about my parents they said I must go to the mortuary. An uncle took me and we identified the bodies. ‘Are you sure?’ they asked us. ‘Yes,’ we answered. ‘We are sure.’ From that moment my life changed forever. I was fourteen at the time and I had to be mother and father to the younger children. I could not finish school. I could not take a job outside the house. I could not take opportunities. You see, sir, my parents' death was a murder. But our family unit was murdered too.”
A hawker with bags of tomatoes in his arms strolled past the veranda, chanting: “Five rands a bunch. Five rands a bunch.” Kim turned her attention back to the tape. The next speaker was a man with a deep distinct voice. “I dreamed of studying abroad,” he began. “Ja, I had dreams like that. ‘Solly Bosman, you are a born professor,’ the aunties told me often. But I did not further my education. My problems began when I got a job teaching school, but I did not teach the curriculum that was expected. Instead, I taught the real history using the names of our legitimate heroes and leaders. The principal took me aside and asked: ‘Why, Solly? Why be an agitator? It is dangerous because the white authorities are watching you.’ It was not the end of the story. One day the police came into my classroom and took me away. Not to the station but to a deserted farm. They hung me upside down. They put electric shocks on the bottoms of my feet and later dropped me off the roof of the barn. They wanted me to denounce my students, give up the names of those who had participated in rallies. When I would not, they shocked me again. This time in my intimate parts.” He cleared his throat and added, “Even today, Mr. Chairman, because of these injuries, my manhood is diminished. And I have no longer use of my legs because of the fall from the barn roof.”
Kim clicked the STOP button. In the field across from her, a school group was packing up a picnic. Straw hats bobbed up and down with laughter. She trembled as she put her mom's tape recorder back in the leather bag.
“Solly, would you like a cool drink?” boomed a voice behind her. Kim turned to see a tall, brown-skinned man enter the stoep beside a man in a wheelchair. They had just come out of the hearings and they were both dressed in suits.
“I'm fine,” said the man in the wheelchair.“But I'm glad that is behind me. Thanks, man, for bringing me up here.”
Kim froze. She recognized the male voice. It was the one on her mom's tape.
The man wheeled himself close to where Kim sat. She couldn't help but stare at him. “Afternoon,” he said to her. He had short gray hair and thick glasses.
“Hello,” said Kim, suddenly shy. A car squealed to a stop in front of them, and Kim was relieved to have this distraction. Everyone on the stoep turned to stare. The driver got out, and squatted down to look underneath the car. A skinny woman with blonde cascading hair flung open the passenger door. “It was a rock!” she cried in an American accent. “It was a rock the size of a tortoise.”
“Sure enough,” grumbled the driver. “Water is dripping onto the ground.”
The man in the wheelchair turned to Kim. “Look, the foreign journalists are having troubles with their rented car.”
The tall man went forward. “The petrol station is closed for the night. How far must you travel?” he asked the American couple.
The man looked up at him. “Only a few miles. We are staying at Bushbaby Camp.”
The tall man called to a waitress. “Mama, please bring me some Sunlight soap,” he said.
“Come, Hendrik, what are you up to now?” laughed the man in the wheelchair.
In a moment the waitress came back with a bar of soap.
“I will take chips off the soap and massage them between my palms,” he explained. Kim watched as he scraped slivers of soap off with his thumbnail. Then he kneaded them between his hands. “Look what I get – ‘Plasticine.’”
The tall man pushed the putty into the crack in the radiator. “In the morning ask someone at the petrol station to fix the leak,” he said as he straightened up.
“Thanks a million,” said the American journalist. “Can we give you a ride?”
“No, thank you,” he responded. “We are traveling all the way back to Cape Town tonight and we have our own car.”
The Americans drove off. The terrace was growing dark. The waitress brought out candles and set them on the tables. Then the man in the wheelchair spoke to Kim. “Do you know the time?”
Kim looked at her watch. “Six o'clock,” she said.
The tall man stooped forward to look at Kim. “I detect an accent,” he said with a smile.
“I'm Canadian,” said Kim. “My mom's a journalist.”
Kim stared right into his eyes. They were gentle, wrinkled up with his smile. “A Canadian journalist?” he asked.
“My mom's South African. She grew up on a farm near here. But we live in Canada now.”
The handicapped man pivoted his chair around. “I will use the nice toilets here before we go. Just think, Hendrik, the cubicles have been constructed not only for Africans, but for Africans in wheelchairs,” he added with a laugh as he wheeled himself into the building.
Kim and the tall man were alone. Kim wondered why he was staring at her.
“Have you been in South Africa long?” he asked.
“Almost three months.”
“Well, what do you think of our country?”
Kim wasn't sure what she was going to say until she spoke. “I'm glad my mom brought me.”
They both looked past the twisted aloes and thorn trees to the empty Karoo veld beyond the town. The land that spread out in front of them looked raw and prehistoric in the dimness.
At that moment Riana returned. Her white shirt was only half tucked in at the waist and she had a paper cup of coffee. She stopped dead when she saw the face of the man standing beside Kim.
Riana put her coffee down on a table. She was very pale.
“My God,” said the tall man. “Riana. Let me look at you.”
