Off the Voortrekker Road
Page 15
‘And you? Your political persuasions? Are you a Nationalist as well? Do you agree with this new law they’re using against Johannes van Heerden?’
‘That’s my business, Mr Neuberger, not yours.’
There was silence.
They had reached a conclusion. Jack wasn’t sure he could get much further but he needed to be clearer about Clara’s intentions with regard to the court.
‘You know that the prosecution will call you? They’ll want to make full use of every last bit of what you have to say. They may ask you to act as a witness on their behalf.’
She nodded.
‘And if you do that, I will have to cross-question you to tear holes in your story. I’ll have to try to prove that you were mistaken.’
She nodded again.
‘Will you let yourself be used for the prosecution?’
‘I’m in a turmoil – I’m not thinking straight. I need to decide what to do.’
Jack thought, once again, that for a woman in crisis and confusion she seemed remarkably calm.
‘Will you let me know when you do decide? Or give me a call if you think of anything else that might help your friends. They are still your friends, aren’t they?’
There was silence.
‘Well then, Miss Joubert, thank you for coming to see me. Thank you for your time.’
He turned to Vera. ‘See Miss Joubert out.’
Jack sat back in his chair. He picked up his fountain pen and chewed the lid. Her story was flawless in its detail, entirely plausible and desperately worrying for his client. He remembered his first reactions on seeing Agnes Small, his shock at her refinement and her beauty. What would a jury say when confronted by the testimony of Dirk Fourie and his wife, the story of Clara Joubert and the glowing youth of Agnes Small? The odds were rapidly stacking up against Johannes van Heerden and the worst news had come, ironically, not from one of his enemies but instead from one of his dearest friends. He would need to fix up to see van Heerden urgently, to confront him with these latest revelations and see what he had to say.
He was just mulling over the best way of handling it when there was a knock on the door and Vera entered.
‘Sorry to disturb you, Mr Neuberger,’ she said, ‘but I just wanted to say something about the case and that woman who was in here just now.’
Jack sat forward in his chair.
‘I followed her down to the lobby and watched her go out onto the street. There was a man and woman waiting for her in a car. She got in the back and they drove her away.’
‘What kind of car was it, Vera?’
‘A red car, I think.’
‘A Chevrolet?’
‘Maybe. It all happened so fast. I couldn’t really say for sure.’
Chapter 17
1945
Pa’s Ford was giving him trouble. There seemed to be something wrong with the starter motor and he was constantly having to go out and ask people to help him to get it going with jump leads. It was driving his neighbours crazy; it was driving him crazy, and Ma too.
‘That car’s nothing but trouble. I don’t know why I ever bought it in the first place. The blooming thing never starts up when I need it to.’
‘Take it up to Mostert’s Garage to be fixed,’ Ma said. ‘I’m sure that they’ll do a good job on it.’
‘It’ll cost a pretty penny, ’specially if there’s parts to be replaced. They charge the earth for these things.’
‘Then use your secret little stash on it – I’m sure you’ve got enough to cover it.’
Pa hit the roof.
‘What stash?’ he roared. ‘Still on about that blooming pot of gold I’m supposedly hiding from you, that your sneaky little spy of a son told you about? You should be ashamed of yourself believing a little boy over your own husband.’
‘What’s it for, Sam, that money of yours?’
‘There is no money damnit! What a kvetch you’ve become, nagging away from morning till night. Is that what you learned from your mother, to kvetch and complain and drive your husband crazy with your nonsense?’
‘A woman has the right to know what her husband’s up to with his money.’
Pa shook his head. ‘Not in this household, she doesn’t,’ he said, ‘’specially when she’s no help at all when it comes to looking after it, when she gives it away, hand over fist, to every poor customer who comes in with a hangdog look and a sob story.’
They were back on that familiar treadmill of accusation and recrimination. The birth of my baby brother Mikey a couple of years previously had seemed to make things even worse, with Ma being tired and preoccupied and Pa resenting the fact that she had less time than ever to spend in the store or devote to making his life easier. I tiptoed away. Pa was quite capable of switching tack and turning all his fury onto me. When he referred to me now, unless in anger, it was almost always indirectly, as ‘that son of yours’, as if he had relinquished all claims to me, and all responsibilities; now I was hers, not his any more.
Meanwhile Sauly seemed to bask in his affections.
‘A chip off the old block. Just look at his skill with that model he’s making!’
He provided him with balsa wood and glue, with little bricks and wooden train tracks. Where Sauly was concerned, it seemed that money wasn’t a problem – the means were found to buy him little bits and pieces to fuel his new interests. For me though, there was never a penny to spare for books or paper, even if it was for schoolwork, or to start me off on my Jewish studies, to prepare me for the bar mitzvah that, like all Jewish boys, I would be having when I was thirteen.
Though Pa shouted and complained and resisted the idea of taking the car for repair, the day it failed to start altogether he threw up his hands and accepted that he’d have to send it up the road to Mrs Mostert’s garage. Walter arrived to collect it in the pick-up truck, coming in the back way through the yard gate to talk to Pa and make the arrangements, rather than through the store. I saw how shy he was with Pa, looking down at his feet, or off into the middle distance, rather than meeting his eye. But as he left he glanced over and gave me a big wink and a smile.
‘Coming to play with Terence again soon?’ he asked.
I looked at Pa.
‘Whenever it suits Mrs Mostert for him to come,’ Pa said.
Two days later Pa drove the car back from the garage and parked it out front, on the main road. It was newly polished and waxed and looked a treat. He came into the store beaming.
‘Won a prize Mr N?’ Ada asked. ‘Your lucky number come up?’
‘The car – it’s all fixed,’ he said. ‘Good as new. That Walter’s done a decent job on it. Sorted out the starter motor without replacing it. And Mrs Mostert’s not charged me for it either. Not a penny. Said it was just Walter’s labour and, given that Jackie and Terence are such good friends, she’d not go to the bother of writing out a bill.’
‘Nice woman, that Mrs Mostert. But what’s going on between her and Walter Hendricks is anyone’s guess,’ Ma said drily.
‘What do you mean?’
‘Ask that son of yours,’ she said. Now Ma too was disowning me. ‘He can tell you better than me.’
‘What are you suggesting, Sarah? That May Mostert is having an affair with Walter?’
‘I have my suspicions.’
Pa’s curiosity was aroused. ‘Tell me more.’
Ma smiled. She seemed to be enjoying herself, playing a little game of cat and mouse. ‘I’m too busy. I’ve got clothes to put through the wringer and supper to cook. I haven’t got the time to just stand around gossiping. Ask that boy of yours. He’ll tell you.’
When Pa started grilling me, I shut my mouth firmly and refused to open it, not for him, not for anyone, and stayed like that for the rest of the day.
I shrugged.
‘Want a nice gobstopper from the jar?’ she whispered.
I shook my head.
‘Man, Jackie, something’s really got to you bad. When a little boy doesn’t want a gobstopper, things aren’t looking so good.’
I turned away. I couldn’t explain to her what I could hardly explain to myself, my terrible dread of saying something wrong. However careful I was, however sure I felt that I wasn’t betraying or harming anyone, my words seemed to be fallen upon, devoured greedily, then spewed up in some distorted new form, used in some battle or other that made little sense to me. Safest to remain silent and not take any risks in the arguments between Ma and Pa, nor in the story of what was going on between Walter and Mrs Mostert, whatever that might be.
Later that evening, when I was supposed to be in bed and sound asleep, I woke up needing the toilet. I heard raised voices, so I crept down the stairs. Halfway down, in the darkness, I stopped and sat down, listening to the conversation between Ma and Pa in the kitchen.
‘The boy shouldn’t be too involved with that family,’ Ma was saying, ‘not if there’s monkey business going on between her and him.’
‘Is it so terrible, Sarah, what goes on between a man and a woman? Sad for Simey, yes, but these things happen.’
‘Do they?’ Ma said. I waited for Pa’s reply but there was nothing.
‘He’s coloured,’ Ma continued. ‘Bad enough if she was just cheating on Simey, but with a non-white too. The hired man.’
‘Does that make such a difference?’ Pa said. ‘A man’s a man, after all. And Walter’s a decent person, not a nishtikeit, a nothing. He’s made something of himself and of that garage. It’s impressive what he’s done.’
There was silence. I felt a huge well of feeling surge up. This was Pa speaking, Pa, who wouldn’t talk to me, who burnt my matchboxes, who hid money under the floor and lied to Ma about it, who loved Sauly more than he loved me. This was my father, standing up for Walter; Walter, who’d made me my toy garage and set me off with my matchboxes, who ate frikadells with us in the kitchen at the garage, and sat laughing and joking with Terence and me.
‘That Walter does you a little favour with the car, no money to pay out, and now he can do no wrong,’ Ma said. ‘You won’t hear a word said against him.’
‘Just because you did your teaching exams, doesn’t mean to say that a whole pile of nonsense doesn’t come pouring out of that mouth of yours sometimes, Sarah. Book learning you may have, but brains, no! A big chochem you think you are! That garage would be closed and boarded up if it weren’t for Walter. So what if he does a bit more than look after the cars? It’s been a long time since Simey’s been away you know and it’s not such a crazy thing for May Mostert to turn to Walter.’
Ma’s voice was full of scorn. ‘Have you been walking around with your eyes shut or something?’ she said. ‘People don’t like it, whites going with coloureds. Talk to Mrs van de Merwe or Arnie Fortune or just listen to the chitchat in the store. They don’t like those coloureds thinking they can do whatever they like, forgetting who they are. Things are changing, Sam. We’ll be branded kaffir-lovers if we’re not careful and Jackie will too. He’s still just a boy and he doesn’t understand these things like we do. We have to protect him.’
‘Tell me something. What if they start saying the same kind of things about Jews? Have you considered that possibility in amongst all your clever ideas? What if they don’t want Jews doing this, or Jews doing that? What if they worry that the Jews are getting uppity, forgetting who they are? You shouldn’t forget that, Sarah. Our parents, they came to this country to get away from all that kind of craziness, all that nonsense. A man’s a man, at least in my book. So let the boy carry on playing with Terence – there’s no harm being done.’
Ma didn’t reply and I heard a chair scraping back and the sound of the kitchen tap being turned on. Quickly I got myself up from the step and tiptoed softly up the stairs and back into my bed, where I lay awake thinking and looking at the tired old gardenias on the wallpaper for quite some time before finally falling asleep.
*****
The next morning, Ada came to wake me for my breakfast and to say that Ma had gone off for the day to Ouma and Oupa’s, taking Sauly and Mikey with her. My night-time wakefulness had taken its toll and I’d slept long and late, not even hearing the noise and the bustle of the family getting itself up and opening up the store, nor the excitement of the trip to my grandparents’ house.
‘She’s gone to help your Ouma prepare for the Passover, cleaning the house ready for your Seder, and all that. So much to do, she says.’
‘Cleaning up the chametz!’ I wailed. ‘I’ll be missing them sweeping the bread up with a feather and a spoon! Mikey and Sauly are there doing it right now!’
I loved the rituals that surrounded Passover, everything from the cleaning out of the house of every single crumb of leavened bread from each nook and cranny, to the wonderful foods that only appeared at this festival time, my favourite being the charoset, a heady mix of grated apple, ground almonds and sweet wine, symbolising the mortar the Israelites used in their forced labour, when they built houses for the Egyptians. Passover was a special time, when Ma and Pa seemed to put their differences to one side and joined the rest of the family for the annual celebration. For once, the children were taken seriously, not just left to get on with things, but actually thrust into the limelight. Mikey was just coming up for two years old, so Sauly, as the next youngest, at six, would be asking the ritual questions, why on this night do we eat unleavened bread, why on this night do we eat bitter herbs, why do we recline in our chairs rather than sitting up straight, and, as his older brother, this year I would be able to join with the adults in supplying the answers that had become familiar to me. I’d help Sauly along – he’d need a bit of prompting and it would be a good chance to show him just how much his big brother knew. And then there would be the hunting of the afikomen, the piece of matzo, hidden for us children to find, and I would be best placed to find it, looking in the most likely hidey holes, in Oupa’s workshop or Ouma’s kitchen or out in the yard, while Sauly either whirled around like a mad thing, too young to know where to look, or trailed disconsolately after me, all too aware of the advantage of age that I had over him. A prize would follow, a few coins, or a bag of sweets from the store, and then, caught up in the spirit of Passover good will, perhaps for a change I’d choose to be gracious and hand over one or two to my younger brother, unasked.
‘I want to go to Ouma and Oupa’s,’ I cried. ‘I want to help sweep up the chametz with a feather and a spoon!’
‘Not till this afternoon,’ Ada replied. ‘I’ve got to help your pa in the store. I’ll take you there after lunch when things quieten down.’
‘I can go myself. I know the way.’
I was growing up, getting to be quite confident, and thought myself perfectly capable of walking to my grandparents’ house on my own.
‘I’ll ask your pa, see what he says. When I was your age I was doing all kinds of things – running down to the shops for my mother, selling mealies for her on the market, a good two miles walk away, looking after the little ones when she was busy. Once I even caught the bus into Cape Town to take my brother to a clinic for his skew eye. Boy, that was something. Scary as hell but lekker too. So walking to your Ouma and Oupa’s house, why not? It should be a piece of cake for a big grown-up man like you.’
When Pa came back in, Ada asked him if I could do it. If I went soon, I’d get there in time for lunch.
‘I know the way,’ I said.
> ‘I don’t see why not,’ Pa said. ‘It’ll get you out from under my feet and you can help them with the preparations for Passover. I suppose that’s fun for a little kiddie like you. Your mother would object, maybe, but then she’s not here is she? She worries too much about you, if you ask me! Wraps you up in cotton wool.’
I made a sudden dash towards him and hugged him round the waist as hard as I could. I wanted to thank him for letting me go. He looked down at me. Like a bag of nails, or a sack of rice, or a piece of dried biltong, he seemed to be examining me, weighing me up. With one hand, he finally patted me hesitantly on the head, then drew away.
Chapter 18
April 1958
It was the second night of Passover. Renee’s parents were coming to them for the first time and Jack’s mother was joining them too, along with Saul and Mikey, who, at fifteen, bore a striking and disconcerting resemblance to his father. Ouma was too frail to leave the nursing home to be there with them, so it made sense for Jack and Renee to host the Seder night for the small group of family who were left. It was just over a year since Sam’s death, and Jack’s mother was still rather lost – not exactly grieving but unsure of her role, wondering what her life was all about, what lay ahead. The Handyhouse had long been sold up, Oupa’s cobbler’s shop taken over by another Jewish family from the quarter and Sarah and the younger boys now lived in a small flat above Woolworths, which she had bought with the proceeds from the sale of the store.
‘Of course, if there were a small child or two for Pesach, it would all be different,’ she said, taking off her coat and settling herself into a comfy armchair. ‘You need children at Pesach, for it to really mean something.’
They hadn’t yet told Sarah Renee’s news – it was a bit too soon – so it was hard for Jack not to catch Renee’s eye and smile, and give the game away. His mother would be beyond excitement.