Off the Voortrekker Road

by Barbara Bleiman

  ‘Yes,’ said Ma. ‘I was.’ She was holding Sauly, my ugly baby brother, looking down at him and smiling tenderly.

  ‘I couldn’t leave her lying like that and she was shouting, “It’s coming, oy vay, it’s coming,” so I ran behind the counter and fetched one of those rolls of cheesecloth and I rolled it all out and got it under her bum (’scuse my language, Missus Neuberger) and I did what I’d heard Ma saying she told my cousin Alice when her baby was coming too quick. I said, “Now take it easy Missus N, and don’t you push too hard. Keep breathing, keep breathing,” and that kind of stuff. I didn’t want to look at what was happening down below because, well, you know… But then she was doing one almighty awful push like there was no tomorrow and she says, “The head, Piet, the head. You’ve got to pull.” So what was I to do?’

  ‘What did you do?’ said Mikey Shapiro but Mrs Shapiro tutted loudly and covered up his ears with her hands. ‘Too young,’ she said and kept them there for the rest of story, with Mikey squirming and struggling to break free.

  ‘There was no choice, I had to do it. There it was, all bloody and smooth, just coming out.’

  Piet paused in the telling. It seemed like he had to, as his eyes had filled with tears and he was swallowing hard and wiping them away roughly with his hand.

  ‘I shoved my shirtsleeves up to my elbows and I just took hold of the head. It was warm and soft. I could feel a little pulse beating, de dum, de dum, under the skin. I felt for the edges and gave it a little tug, just a little one and suddenly everything was out, slipping and slithering, shoulders and arms and legs and blood and a face all red and cross like Mr Krapotkin’s.’

  Mrs du Plessis ruffled Piet’s hair.

  ‘It’s good news for some little lady who’s going to marry you one day,’ said Mrs van de Merwe. ‘No doctor’s bills.’

  Everyone laughed.

  But his mother said, ‘I reckon this’ll stop him thinking about girls for a while. Let him concentrate on his studies and on his swimming and high jump for a year or two!’

  And then the shop erupted and Piet blushed again and turned his face away and hid it in his sleeve.

  Ma carried on the story for him. ‘When Sam came back late into the night, I was upstairs in bed with the baby. And what does he say? He takes one look at the baby and gives him a kiss on the head, then he asks me who in hell has broken down the store door, ’cause whoever it is is going to damn well have to pay for it!’

  Mrs van de Merwe frowned and tut-tutted and said what a shame. And Piet and Mrs du Plessis quietly left the shop and headed off home, but not before Mrs du Plessis had paused in the doorway and, in a loud voice, turned to Piet to make a solemn vow, ‘never to use that man’s store again’.

  Chapter 5

  January 1958

  Mrs van Heerden had just had her fourth child. The birth was a difficult one. It had ended in a Caesarean section and, with three other children to care for, she had found it hard to get back on her feet, to keep up with the day-to-day demands of the family, let alone the additional burdens of being a pastor’s wife. Even with Alice, the coloured girl he’d brought in to assist her, it was clear to her husband that she wasn’t really coping. Little Beatrice, like all the children, had been a blessing from God, but his wife had definitely struggled since her birth.

  ‘She’s a good woman,’ Johannes van Heerden told Jack, when he came to his chambers for that first meeting, ‘a decent woman.’

  It was a strange start to the meeting. Jack had set aside an hour for this first encounter with van Heerden. He had read the documents that Smit, the solicitor, had passed to him and had been appalled; the man had barely scratched the surface of the case. He’d not even talked to van Heerden himself or any of the other key people involved. Clearly, whether through lack of interest, negligence or distaste for its content, Smit was in a hurry to pass the case on and he’d made it quite evident that he’d be very happy to turn a blind eye and allow Jack to do the interviews himself, however unorthodox that might be. The papers were a mess; the defence was shoddy; Jack knew he couldn’t mount a proper case without more information. So he had decided to meet the accused himself.

  Now that he was here in front of him, he had a long list of questions to ask. He wanted to get the facts clear – what had happened over the weeks leading up to the accusations and formal charge, van Heerden’s relationship with the woman, with his wife, with his accusers and, most important of all, whether he had decided which way he was going to plead, guilty or not. Jack hoped he might get one or two good angles, either way: if innocent, a few initial lines of enquiry that might help him mount a defence; if guilty, a way of presenting the mitigating circumstances so as to achieve the lightest possible sentence.

  The first question he had actually asked his new client was a different one, a gentle warm-up to establish a relationship. He was aware of the huge gulf between them, him a Jew from Parow, brought up in his father’s hardware store, van Heerden an Afrikaner with a Dutch Reformed Church background that had made him a well-known figure in his community. He was very conscious of the gap in their ages as well. He couldn’t have helped but notice the look of surprise on van Heerden’s face when he walked through the door. An advocate barely out of school! How could he possibly be experienced enough to handle this kind of case? He’d have to find ways to reassure his client, however much he himself might secretly share his doubts.

  ‘Tell me a bit about yourself, Pastor. I’d like to get a sense of who you are, before we get down to the details of the case.’

  But straightaway van Heerden started talking not about himself, but about his wife.

  ‘We’ve been married for fifteen years now. We met at church. She was the daughter of the previous pastor, Reverend Pietersen. Laura Mairie Pietersen, the third of four daughters. It was clear from the start that we were meant for each other. Everything seemed right – everything made sense.’ He paused. ‘It has been a good marriage and she has been a good wife. I want you to understand that, Mr Neuberger. I love my wife. It’s important that you know that.’

  ‘Of course,’ Jack said. ‘That’s understood.’

  ‘Good,’ he said and then, somewhat disconcertingly, he began to sob. ‘She’s a good woman,’ he continued, struggling to speak through the tears. ‘This whole business, it’s been terrible for her. It’s for her that I want to clear my name.’

  He leaned forward, placing his head in his hands.

  ‘This must be upsetting for you,’ Jack said. ‘Take your time.’

  While van Heerden composed himself, Jack took the chance to observe him more closely. He was stockily built, dressed in a grey suit, rather than the dog collar and robes Jack had been expecting. His hair was springy and thick but somewhat grey. He had a wide face and a large, full mouth, straight shoulders, big, broad hands. In other circumstances, Jack could have pictured him on a farm in the Karoo, herding cattle into the coral, or driving a harvester over a field of mealies, an authoritative figure, shouting orders out across the noise to his workers.

  ‘Shall we continue?’ Jack said.

  ‘I’m sorry for that silliness. It’s been a difficult time.’

  ‘Not silly at all, Mr van Heerden. Perfectly understandable.’

  Van Heerden now spoke more firmly, holding his gaze. ‘I want to know what I should tell you, so you can help me. I’ll do whatever is necessary.’

  Jack hesitated. He wasn’t quite sure how to take this. He wondered whether van Heerden understood that his words to his own advocate were not to be said lightly, that Jack was held to a code of conduct? Was he asking for a steer, to find out how much he could say, without jeopardising his position?

  ‘You need to tell me the truth, Mr van Heerden. And then I act upon the facts of the case, on your behalf, representing your interests as best I can. If you tell me you’re innocent,
I fight to prove that. If you tell me you’re guilty, I make the best possible case for you. If you tell me you’re guilty, I can’t go into court and pretend otherwise. I can find mitigating circumstances, of course, and I can question points of law, but your admission is what will guide my actions.’

  Van Heerden continued to look straight at him but there was nothing in his gaze that gave anything away.

  ‘I suggest that we take this slowly,’ Jack said. ‘At this stage, perhaps you don’t even understand exactly what the law itself states and what the implications are. Maybe you’ve read about it in the papers, big headlines and sweeping statements, the politics behind it all, but probably you don’t know anything about the fine detail. I’d say you’re not yet in a position to judge how your actions may have been interpreted, rightly or wrongly, so perhaps we should just start with the story. You can tell me what happened and then we’ll take it from there. We’ll see what kind of case we can mount.’

  Jack picked up his phone.

  ‘Vera, I think we need a pot of coffee in here. And maybe order us a few sandwiches from Lou’s. Salt beef suit you, Mr van Heerden, or a smoked salmon bagel?’

  ‘I’ve never tried either,’ van Heerden said.

  ‘There’s always a first time,’ Jack said and saw that he’d brought a faint smile to van Heerden’s lips. Good to make a relationship. Not what Willem du Toit might do, or Fineberg or Cohen for that matter, but it was his way of going about it, and he’d find out soon enough whether it would pay off or not.

  ‘Now perhaps you want to tell me the story,’ he said. ‘Take off your jacket. Relax. Start whenever you want.’

  Van Heerden shifted a little in his seat but kept his jacket on, despite the heat. ‘I was brought up in a house of God,’ he said. ‘My parents were good, upright people. I went to school, I read my bible, I went to church, I married young. Laura and I, we started a family. And when her father died, ten years ago, God rest his soul, I took over as minister. We are a large community and a strong one. We have over one hundred families attending Sunday services, you know. It’s grown since I took over and though I can take some credit for that, so can my wife. She’s well respected. People come to her for help. The women like her.

  ‘She runs a prayer group for women and they decided that their prayers should be turned into deeds. They started visiting the poorer areas of our community, taking with them things they’d made themselves or articles they no longer needed, clothing or jars of jam or bags of koeksisters, old toys, kitchenware, anything they thought might be appreciated by those less fortunate than themselves. They go out to share their own riches with others more in need. Acts of goodness to others, daily demonstrations of their faith. This group has brought all kinds of people to our door. They come to my wife and her group for help.

  ‘I have supported her with this. But when she had Beatrice and was so unwell, she stopped being able to keep up this good work. It was too much for her. The women turned to me for help and I stepped in. It was only intended to be for a short time, until she got back on her feet, back to her usual self. They needed someone to guide them and it seemed only right that I should do this for her.’

  Jack found himself wondering where all this was leading, but he was reluctant to interrupt his client. His style of speech was rather ponderous and slow, but it might prove helpful in court; it suggested a man who thought hard, who measured his words and his actions carefully, not someone who would lightly throw caution, and his reputation, to the winds. And yet again, it drew attention to his love and admiration for his wife.

  ‘I came across the woman while carrying out these duties for my wife.’

  Now were getting closer to the nub of it, the reason why they were both here in the small office on the third floor of Temple Chambers. The woman. Agnes Small. The co-accused.

  ‘She was a woman on her own, with two small children. Her husband had died and she had no family to speak of. Her employer went bankrupt and she lost her job. She’d come to our house to ask for help and my wife had taken her situation to heart. She was a proud-looking woman, who clearly found it hard to seek assistance and yet she was close to despair. Laura told me of her plight. And when she became ill, she asked that I should continue to help her.

  ‘So there we have it,’ he said. ‘I visited her from time to time, taking with me a sack of groceries or a small bag of clothes that my wife had gathered from our little flock. I took her these things and then returned to my duties at the church, or to my wife and family.’

  He looked Jack in the eye. ‘It’s as simple as that,’ he said. ‘Laura knows all about it. She asked me to go. And as for the accusations, they are malicious rumours, nothing more. People – her neighbours, others on the fringes of our community – find it hard to understand why a white Afrikaner, whether a man of God or not, should go to see a coloured woman in her home. They imagine the worst. They do not understand that all people are equal in God’s eyes and that this woman is as deserving of our love and our charity as anyone else.’

  Good, good, thought Jack. He would make an excellent advocate for himself on the stand, though some of his views might not be to everyone’s taste. There were plenty of Dutch Reformed Church clergymen who, in the current political climate, would be happy to make distinctions between themselves and their black neighbours, who would find no trouble in squaring this with their Christian faith, as if Jesus himself had sanctioned a hierarchy of human value based on the colour of your skin. It was a relief that van Heerden’s rhetoric was different. Jack would have found it hard to sympathise with him and act for him, were this not the case. But his client needed to take care in court. He mustn’t come across as a liberal thinker, or, worse still, a communist. If van Heerden could be persuaded to tone down his views, he had a perfectly plausible story to tell, of charitable doing with the blessing of both God and, perhaps more importantly, his wife.

  And yet… Jack couldn’t help but wonder. It was all so simple, all so obvious. From his limited experience, perhaps too simple.

  ‘Tell me about the accusations. Where do you think they stemmed from? When did they start?’

  ‘A whispering at first, a few strange looks in church, a word of concern from my church warden, then one day a letter through my letterbox and a stone through the window. Finally, the inevitable, a knock on the door from the police. That’s when Laura had to be told. I’d kept it from her, fearing for her health. “Just boys playing tricks,” I’d said and got the window repaired. It was a terrible shock to her when the police came to our house. “We’ve been led to believe…” they said. “People tell us…” “We understand that…” – all very vague and unclear. But then a week later they were back with papers to sign, saying, “We now have sufficient evidence to warrant a charge.” Perhaps you know better than me who my accusers are? The prosecution must be preparing to bring their witnesses before the court. Have they provided you with a list?’

  ‘One or two names have been mentioned but I don’t yet know for sure who they’ll call. Is there anything you could have done that would have created resentment towards you? Anything that might have aroused suspicion? You did nothing beyond visiting the woman with your wife’s charitable offerings?’

  ‘No, nothing at all,’ he said. ‘There is nothing for which I can feel any sense of shame or remorse.’

  There were other questions to be asked about the visits to the woman, how often he had gone and how long he stayed and Van Heerden took them in his stride. He was clear and direct in his answers – just six or seven visits over a period of six months, staying for ten minutes or so and once or twice a little longer, to share a drink of tea and offer up a short prayer.

  So far so good, but Jack wanted to find out more about van Heerden’s wife, the state of her health and whether she was well enough to be interviewed, to confirm her husband’s version of the events, to him first o
f all and then in court if need be. He would like to meet van Heerden’s wife. She was clearly a woman who commanded respect in her community. And the love Johannes expressed for her was admirable and appeared to be genuine enough. It seemed, from his account, that theirs was a marriage truly made in heaven. He pictured them together in church, or in the midst of their large family, at a charity sale or harvest festival, or kneeling in prayer together at the end of their bed. And inevitably he thought of their intimate life, alone together, and wondered whether for Laura and Johannes van Heerden that too was a model of marital happiness. That would be important to know. But it would be a difficult thing to broach with him. Van Heerden’s feelings for his wife were strong; he would want to protect her at all costs. Jack knew, however, that in the end it would inevitably be brought into play, if not by him, then certainly by the prosecution. Van Heerden’s marriage was going to be put under the microscope.

  ‘Let’s leave it for today, shall we?’ he said. ‘We’ll take it further when we meet next time.’

  Van Heerden nodded. ‘I should get back to my wife. She’ll be worried and wanting to know what has happened.’

  ‘Tell her I’m fighting your corner,’ Jack said. ‘She can rely on me to do my very best for you. I’ll do everything I can.’

  He came out from behind the desk and shook van Heerden’s hand. He liked the man, despite all the myriad differences between them, and he meant what he said. He would do his damnedest to get him off, and though he could barely acknowledge it to himself, let alone voice the thought to anyone else, he knew that he wanted to have him acquitted, innocent or not. The law was an outrage and a farce and any jury of decent men and women should recognise that. They should reject it, as a mockery of justice and basic humanity. And if he could get them to do that, wouldn’t that be an achievement? An act of defiance, a small but significant stand.