The four had been on the pavement for a few seconds (although Chad would insist for the rest of his life that it was not less than ten minutes) when an officer walked over and shouted, “Was die mense in die motor by die vergadering? Is hulle op reis saam met die ander individue?”
A man with his foot on Peter’s neck replied, “Hulle was agter die ander motors. We can’t be sure, but we should—”
The officer bellowed, “Laat die vier van hulle gaan. Aye, let them go.”
The four policemen released them and walked away without saying a word. As they were getting into the Beetle, Peter started to speak, but Chad covered his friend’s mouth with his hand and pushed him into the cramped backseat of the Beetle.
Peter shouted out just as the door shut, “Screw this! We can’t let them treat the others like that!”
“There is nothing we can do! We’d all end up in jail!” his companions said, nearly in unison.
Peter hit the back of the front seat with both fists, jarring Chad. He shouted, “No! It’s not right. Let them take us too. We should be there too!”
Chad snapped, “Are you out of your mind? Come on, Sarah. Just go! We can’t help them, Peter! Sarah, drive!”
As they drove past the scene, they witnessed the beating of several Black men and one White man. Peter yelled, “Look at that! God! They’re being manhandled, beaten, treated like thugs guilty of gruesome murders. And did you see that? Did you see the way they treated Roger? My God! They’re thrashing him! He’s getting the worst of it. How can we just drive away?” Peter paused and watched the scene through the back window as the diminutive car did its best to escape. “What did your Philip say, Sarah? What did he say? ‘The only thing worse than a Kaffir is a Kaffir lover’? They’re gonna beat the life out of Roger. I wish Philip was in front of me now so I could have the satisfaction of beating the crap out of his Boer ass again.”
The two in the front seat laughed. Cindy took both of Peter’s hands and said, “Calm down. We can’t do anything now. There’s no point. We have to calm down. Roger and Dumisani will be okay. They knew this could happen.”
No one spoke for the next ten miles.
The silence was shattered when Chad exploded. “Why the hell did you drag us to that twisted communist rally? I’ve had all I can take of this shit – all this African bullshit. You can have your dream world, Peter, but don’t drag me into it! Don’t try to turn me into an idealist, dreaming of bullshit. You should let the country be what it is. Just let it be! Those people, those wild toyi-toyi dancing Africans of yours, want to destroy it! They probably will. Why the hell do you want to be a part of that? Look what the bastards did to Mozambique, what they’re doing to Rhodesia. They want to do the same thing here, destroy everything. Given the chance, they would kill us in a heartbeat, with a smile. You know that, and you dance around with them while they plan how to destroy South Africa, plan how to kill people. I’m sorry, Sarah, but there are things I just don’t get about this place. Things I don’t freakin’ understand. But keep your bloody rallies to yourself, Peter! Goddamn you for bringing me out here. You can …” Chad stopped. He looked away and stared out the side window.
The others looked at each other with sad and bewildered expressions. Peter wanted to scream back at Chad. He felt extremely embarrassed for the two South Africans in the car and wanted to speak up for them, defend them, and rebuke his friend – only he knew there was no point. He looked out the window watching the flat, monotonous landscape of the Transvaal roll by. Cindy rested her head on Peter’s shoulder and held his hand. He caressed her beautiful red hair with his other hand.
***
Chad left quickly after dinner that evening, leaving Simon and Peter sipping lukewarm coffee. Peter talked about Chad’s impertinence in the car and how utterly inappropriate Chad had behaved and how he was greatly embarrassed by the tirade. After recounting the incident, he said, “I don’t know what’s going on with him. I really don’t. I know he’s stressed over Sarah, but that doesn’t excuse that behavior. It was awful, Simon.”
Simon nodded but did not reply.
Peter continued, “Maybe I shouldn’t have coaxed him into going. I’d hoped it would be a … I don’t even know. Maybe because I want him to see, feel, understand things differently. But he is so goddamn narrow-minded. He is so clear and simply intolerant.”
Simon interjected, “Chad may well say you are the intolerant one.”
“Simon, I think you are the one saying I’m intolerant. Just say it if that is what you mean.”
Simon smiled and raised his eyebrows.
Peter shook his head and then grabbed the top of his head with both hands. He replied in a subdued tone, “How is it intolerant to care, to want to see change, to believe something’s important? I’m doing my damnedest to be tolerant.”
“That’s all very fine, and I applaud your passion, but intolerance – pushing your views and perceptions onto others without bothering to understand and respect their views could be interpreted as intolerance. Destroying a friendship because someone else does not share your passion and your view of the world – is that not being narrow-minded and intolerant? Chad needs you to appreciate him as he is, every bit as you wish him to appreciate who you are, and who you have become.”
“If he can’t appreciate me, why I should I worry about caring about him?”
“Ay, Peter. Listen to yourself. It is such an attitude that makes the world a difficult place. Do what’s right because it is right. Respect the other person because he is a human being, not because he gives you the respect you assume you deserve.”
“More of your homespun South African bull, Simon?”
“I don’t know. There is a good Zulu word, a wonderful concept, which says much the same.”
“I know, Simon, I know. Ubantu. Ubantu. I ain't there yet.”
“Neither am I, Peter. It is a quest.”
“What about Chad? What can we do? How can we … I help him? Fix him?”
“We can’t fix a heart that is breaking, and we can’t stop it from breaking. We just have to be there to help gather the broken pieces. Peter, be patient and be tolerant with our friend.”
“He sure makes that hard.”
“Ohh? That is exactly what he says about you.”
“Ouch.”
***
Chad made a decisive and unequivocal decision: He would ask Sarah to marry him one last time. This time, it would be a proper, serious, life-changing proposal, on his knees. There would be no jokes, no games. He would insist that she move on with her life and make plans now to come to America as his fiancée. One more time, he would try to save her from things she could not change. He walked defiantly to her home for the last time.
Chad stood on the curb, peering into Sarah’s front window. Sarah stood in front of Lisa, shaking her index finger, holding up what looked to be homework papers. Obviously, Lisa had again failed to complete and turn in another homework assignment. Lisa, close to tears, refused to look at her sister. Johan sat in his worn chair, a cigarette in one hand and a beer bottle in the other. He waved his arm, commanding Sarah to shut up; the evening television broadcast was beginning. Sarah continued with her lecture, and Johan got up and left the room. He returned with another bottle of beer and turned the volume on the TV up.
Chad had a strong urge to turn away and walk back to Simon’s house. A thought he did not expect, intruded: I should leave this behind. I’ll be flying home in a few days. I should just give it up and leave things as they are – just forget about this place and everything that’s happened here. This thought evoked sadness deep in his heart. He stood staring through the window for a few more moments, and then he turned around and began to walk back home.
As he took his second step, he glanced back at the window. He was struck by Sarah’s silky, flowing brown hair and her perfect warm, lightly bronzed complexion; it all created a beauty so stunning, yet so innocent. He smiled as watched her flaunt that sassy app
roach to life and that fiery spirit that had so intrigued him and made her incredibly irresistible. This woman had enabled – no, unleashed – his love.
He knocked on the door, and they went for a long walk.
“I leave in six days,” Chad said coyly.
“I’m not thinking about that. I don’t want to.” She paused, grasped his hand, and whispered, “It’s too soon. I wish things could have been different.”
“They still can be, Sarah.” Chad stopped, grabbed her shoulders, and turned them square with his. “I want to marry you.” He paused, then deliberately and slowly asked the question that at age seventeen he had solemnly sworn to himself to never utter: “Sarah, will you marry me?”
She held her breath and closed her eyes.
Chad went on. “We will do whatever it takes to work things out – whatever it takes. I want to go home knowing that you will be my wife. I’ll come back in December, and then we can get married.”
Sarah leaned over and kissed him – a long, passionate, surrendering kiss. “Everything in me wants to say yes, but … it just wouldn’t be right. I love you so much; I just don’t know if it is enough. I really don’t think I love you enough for that, Chad. I’m so sorry.”
“It’s enough! You love me enough. You need to … we need to look forward.”
“I can’t see past this week, Chad. I can’t think about next month. I can’t think about December or next year or the rest of my life. I can barely get through today, barely face what I have to do today. It takes all my energy to brace for tomorrow. That’s all I can deal with. I can’t, Chad. I am sorry. No, I can’t marry you. Maybe if you ask me in six months ... but even then, I just don’t know.” She paused and turned away from him, “I know that’s not fair to you, and I won’t ask you to wait. Please don’t wait on me, Chad. I can’t promise anything right now.”
Chad had prepared himself for this response, but he was still surprised when no tears came from his eyes. His emotions, his heart seemed to dissolve into nothingness. He spoke with a fading resolve, undetected by his lover. “I will wait. I will. Do what you have to do. I’ll wait as long as I can. But know … know I will always love you.”
“And I you, Chadwick Daley.”
***
Four days after the event at Bophuthatswana, Roger was released from jail. He was exhausted and brandishing bruised ribs, a broken nose, and a split lip – he took pride in every cut, scratch, and bruise. The district judge had cursed him prolifically and warned emphatically against any further involvement in anti-government and communist activities. He had been banned from public appearances of any sort. “This means,” the judge emphasized, “that you are no longer free to enter your pulpit. Should you choose to do so, you will be arrested. If it should be up to my court, you would be imprisoned for a very long time.”
At Sunday service, Roger declared to his remaining congregation that he did not care what the judge or the courts had to say. “I answer to a higher authority than the blind dogs in Pretoria!” he proclaimed. It was an attitude his wife did not like, but she still unwaveringly supported him.
Roger expressed much more concern for his friend and colleague. He told Peter that Dumisani could be locked up for a few more weeks or many months before being shipped off to yet another township. There, he would likely be kept under house arrest and forgotten about by the government. “Someday,” Roger said, “the National Party will begin its own house arrest in the confines of Hell.”
CHAPTER 42
Homeward Bound
Three days before their SAA flight to America, Chad and Peter sat with Simon around the dinner table, savoring one of Themba’s unforgettable cottage pies. In accord, the three dutifully lined up knives and forks on their respective plates and pushed them to the side. This was the last meal they would share together, perhaps forever. They nodded at one another, each with a smile reflecting sadness and gratitude.
Simon opened a second bottle of wine, and they began to relive the wild stories they would take home with them: a few stories they wished to forget, but none they would change.
With all tales exhausted, Chad leaned forward and declared, “I tell you this, Ole Bean, I will leave South Africa with an appreciation for much gained and so much lost. I will go home thankful for my friendship with you two – friendships that … well, we endured and we will endure. I am thankful for friendships that are strong enough to be able to forgive and to move on and … and to last forever.”
Peter started to speak, “Chad, you know I’m sorry, sorry for—”
Chad interrupted, “Shut up, Pete. No apologies.”
Peter smiled and nodded, then he shook his head and looked at Simon. “You remember that night when you said, ‘Come to South Africa.’ That changed our lives. But Simon, why? Why did you ask us? Why that ridiculous invitation? Ag man. If I had had any clue … Geez, I would have never embarked on this journey. Thank God I didn’t know what I was in for! But why ever did you ask us?”
“I never dreamt you’d agree to come. I was probably feeling homesick and just wanted to dream about home.”
“Bull!” Chad said. “That is not the kind of person you are.”
Simon laughed. “Perhaps I saw two wandering souls that needed … wanted direction. Perhaps I was worried about two spirits wasting away.”
“I think I’ll take your first answer,” Chad groaned, “but no regrets, Simon. No regrets.”
Peter looked at Chad and tilted his head. “None? Not any? Are you sure?”
“No, Peter. Not one. Not even your God-awful expeditions to the forbidden townships.”
Simon lifted up his glass of wine. “Time to move on, my dear friends. A toast to two dear brothers.”
Chad winced at such sentimentality and then chuckled. “It’s been a great, crazy ride, but, I’m ready … ready to go home.” Chad pointed his index finger at Simon. “I love your country, Ole Bean, I really do. But it’s your country, not mine.” He raised his glass. “I truly thank you. Thank you for the opportunity of a lifetime. A toast to the wild ride of the past year and to a friend who, for no good reason, believed in me … in us! I wouldn’t have missed it – any of it – for the world. However, it’s not home. Here’s to home! This is a wild country, Simon. I love it, but it’s not America. I’m ready to get back to a dull, predictable life.”
“What about dear Sarah, Chad? What about our wonderful Sarah?” Simon asked.
Chad hesitated, rubbed both temples with his index fingers, and then with a quiet, solemn voice replied, “I’d whisk her home with me in a heartbeat. Oh, wouldn’t we have a great life, an impossibly perfect, storybook life. I love her. She’s taught me that love exists – that love is real. And boy, she’s taught me love can and sure does hurt. But … well, Sarah is Sarah. I haven’t given up, mind you, but now it’s up to her. She’s got to get things together. It breaks my heart. I can hardly stand it. But I’m going home, back to my life. If she wants to join me … I would marry her tomorrow, next year, whenever. Simon, you keep working on her. Get her fixed up and send that wonderful beauty out to me.”
“I shall do my best, bru.”
Chad wiped away a tear welling up in his left eye. “It is … what do they say? Bittersweet. It’s goddamn bittersweet. But you know, I don’t regret it. No, I don’t regret a goddamn thing.”
Simon turned to Peter. “And you, Peter? What say you?”
Peter pressed his lips together and filled his lungs with a slow breath, then said, “Here’s the thing. I’ve decided I am not going home.”
Chad laughed. “Nooo! You cannot be serious. What do you mean you’re not going home? You can’t stay – no more permit extensions for you, bru, and your visa’s not even valid. Time’s up, game’s over, we got to go home.”
“No. I’m going to Rhodesia with Cindy.”
“Holy heavenly father! Are you crazy! You’re out of your mind!” Chad declared.
Simon spoke slowly. “I believe he may be, Chad. I do t
hink it is our responsibility to talk him out of it. Peter, are you serious?”
“Yes, and don’t bother trying to convince me that I’m nuts. It’s the right thing to do. I’ll be damned to hell if I’ll let Cindy go there without me. If she dies there, well, I’m going to die with her.”
Chad nearly shouted, “Oh my God! The African sun has made our friend senseless, plain cracked out of his mind, Simon! Oh my God!”
Peter pointed his index finger at Chad. “Hey, you may have a bit of Africa in your blood, bru, but Africa’s got a hold of my heart. I’m crazy for Cindy. I’m crazy for Africa, for the Africans. It’s been a wild ride, and I’m not ready to get off yet. I don’t know if I’ll stay here the rest of my life or our lives. Maybe not, but it’s the right place right now. I want to be part of this … this Africa. And Cindy and I are going to be in it together.”
Simon shook his head in amazement. “And what does young Cindy think of you going to Rhodesia? And this getting married?”
“Um ... she doesn’t know yet.”
Chad laughed. “Which part? Rhodesia or the marrying bit?”
“Neither. She doesn’t know either yet.”
“Let’s go, Simon. Let’s go watch Peter ask her. I am dying to see this. He’s so sure she’ll say yes. She is a woman, you know, Peter? Come on. It’s now or never. We’ll help you propose.”
“I’ll handle it on my own, thanks.”
“When?” Chad asked.
“After the last bottle of wine is empty. Ja man, a toast to two dear friends – one I still don‘t understand. God bless you, Chadwick Daley. Believe it or not, you’ve taught me more than you know and more than I knew. And to Simon, the one who believed in me when I could not believe in myself and who was so patient with me! And … and to Cindy, my redheaded troll doll I learned to love, as much as I was determined not to. And here’s to Africa, this blessed, wonderful Africa!”
The Smoke That Thunders Page 32