Although she wanted to keep her daughters at home, Rachel was happy for the boys to go to the UK. The school system was suffering from the active opposition to the curriculum by the growing anti-apartheid movement. They had successfully organised boycotts of the coloured and Indian elections for the Tricameral Parliament. Under Prime Minister PW Botha, South Africa was sliding towards complete anarchy. International opposition to the Botha regime was decimating the economy, as US and European companies pulled out of the country.
Rachel applied to the Irish Embassy in Johannesburg and obtained a passport for her son. It would make travel much easier in Europe. She and Hanny shed a tear when Adam waved them goodbye at the departure gate at Durban International Airport. He would be met by the Housemaster when he arrived in London, like many other boys at the start of the school year.
Greg was three years ahead of him at school and Adam enviously watched him progress through his last years, winning just about every trophy, both academic and sportive. It had been difficult for the younger boy, always being the runner up in the family. Greg was only three when his brother was born and he was determined not to be upstaged by the new baby. As a result, Adam would often throw histrionic tantrums to gain his parent’s attention. He was endowed with a true Irish temper, and he used it to great effect.
The previous year, Adam had noticed the time difference between his parents wedding anniversary and his own birthdate. He realised that he been conceived out of wedlock and although he said nothing, it increased his sense of inferiority towards his step-brother. What exacerbated the feeling was that Greg was smarter and more gifted than him and he started to show this in spades. He finished his last year as school captain and obtained eight GCE “O” Levels and four “A”s. The school rugby team won the county championships under his captainship and he was voted Student of the Year.
Adam, on the other hand, was a very average student and didn’t fit well into the sports curriculum. He was too much of a loner, failing to mix with the other boys and lacking a team mentality. The school sports master had given up on him competing for anything until they went for the Junior School’s first year’s skiing trip to Chamonix. Adam turned out to be a natural skier. By the end of the week he had moved to intermediate level and he won the final race of the programme, competing against much older boys.
He continued to improve every year and each summer when he went home, he would open up his case and take out his ski trophies, proudly showing them to his parents. “See what I’ve won this year.” He’d line them up in the study alongside the few others he’d won, next to the impressive, expanding collection amassed by his brother. In addition, during his visits to Chamonix, he showed an aptitude for the French language. After a few years, he was able to communicate well enough to show off to the other boys in his class.
In 1992, Adam left St. Jerome’s after scraping an admission to Trelawney College. Greg was already there, in his penultimate year. He was Captain of Chapman House, captain of the rugby and cricket teams and had been singles tennis champion two years running. Six months before he left the college, in January, 1993, he was summoned by his Housemaster, Professor Bellamy. The housemaster of Adam’s house was also there and there was a policeman present.
“This is Sergeant Jeffries from the local constabulary. We’d like to ask for your help with a matter that has arisen.” The Professor was wearing his customary red and blue striped bow tie, a matching handkerchief tucked into his breast pocket. He looked like an antiques dealer.
Greg was mystified by the request. “Ask away, Professor. I’ll be happy to help if I can.”
“There’s been a bit of a problem in Smithfield House.”
Greg stiffened, that was Adam’s house.“What kind of a problem?”
“Nigel Stanford was attacked outside the school last night. He was on his way back from the Grey Horse.” The pub was the most popular venue in town for the undergraduates.
“Attacked? That sounds serious. Was it a robbery?” To Greg’s knowledge there had never been a robbery involving boys from Trelawney.
“Yes, it seems Stanford was wearing a diamond ring and it was stolen from him.”
“Do you know who’s responsible?”
“Unfortunately not, that’s the problem. Stanford was alone because his friends were still in the pub. The assailant came from behind so he couldn’t definitely identify him or her. He was hit on the head, but when he fell he apparently bashed his head again on the pavement and was rendered unconscious for a few minutes. He’s still in the infirmary.”
“Poor kid.” He turned to the policeman. “Do you have any information about the crime?”
“Sergeant Jeffries is here at our request, Greg. It’s rather a delicate situation. We need to ask for your assistance.”
“I’m confused, Professor. Why is it delicate and what assistance can I possibly give?”
“It seems that your brother was fascinated by the diamond ring. Apparently he had offered to buy it several times, the last time being yesterday. Stanford inherited the ring from his grandfather so he isn’t interested in selling it and he says he told Adam, in no uncertain terms, to drop the subject.”
“You’re not suggesting that Adam…?”
“I’m not suggesting anything. But Stanford says he is convinced that Adam knocked him down and took his ring. As I say, there were no witnesses and the police have been unable to find any evidence at all.”
The police officer coughed apologetically. “It was freezing rain last night, Greg, so the pavements have been washed clean. That is, if ever there was anything there in the first place.”
“How do you mean, if there was anything there? You think that Stanford’s lying?”
“Well,” interjected Dr. Clarence, Adam’s housemaster, “there seems to be a bit of bad blood between the two boys and since we don’t actually know what happened, it’s put everyone into a very difficult and embarrassing position.”
Greg looked at the three men, feeling perplexed and worried. “So, Stanford could actually have slipped and fallen and banged his head and there was nobody there at all?”
“Well, it is odd that Stanford didn’t make this accusation until Dr. Clarence visited him in the infirmary late last night. It might be that he was a bit concussed.” Sergeant Jeffries coughed again. “However, if the ring has been stolen then we have a different situation.”
“What does the ring look like?”
“I’ve seen it several times,” answered Dr. Clarence. “It’s a gold ring with a yellow stone embedded in it. I know nothing about jewellery, but it is obviously quite old and Stanford says the stone is a yellow diamond.”
Greg knew if it was a yellow, or fancy yellow diamond, as they were known, it would be quite valuable. “So have you interviewed my brother? What does he have to say about it?”
“I have talked to Adam, but he says that he was studying in his dorm until the other boys who share with him came back from the pub. They found Stanford and helped him back to the college infirmary. That was the first he heard about the matter, according to him.”
“Was Stanford unconscious when they found him?”
“Apparently not. He was standing, rather shaken, with a nasty cut on the back of his head where he’d fallen.”
“Had he had much to drink?”
“Two pints of beer, I understand. Not enough to make him fall over in the street.”
“Has Stanford actually pressed charges, Sergeant?”
“He has not. He said he wanted to find the ring. If Adam had it, he would press charges.”
“So, Stanford has no proof that my brother attacked him or stole his ring, but based on his accusation that Adam did it, we’re faced with a scandal which could be totally unfounded.”
“I entirely agree, Greg. We all want to avoid a scandal if possible, but I have to try to do my job.” The policeman was also not at ease.
“So what happens now?”
Professor Bellamy repl
ied. “Sergeant Jeffries has a proposal to make.”
“What is it, Sergeant?”
“It occurs to me that this could just be a bit of fooling around between two young men. Stanford maybe just had a fall in the street. It was quite slippery last night in the freezing rain. He doesn’t seem to be too fond of your brother and he was put out that he kept going on at him to buy the ring. So he invents this story that Adam took it, to make him sweat a bit. Stanford hasn’t pressed charges, so Adam isn’t yet involved in a police matter. I suggest that you have a word with him. Ask him if he knows anything about this. Was it a bit of tomfoolery? Does he have the ring in his possession?”
Greg was mortified. He had to ask his younger brother if he’d attacked and robbed a school friend. My God! What a mess. “Very well, I’ll go and see him right now. But I’m sure he’ll deny any knowledge of the affair, so what happens then?”
“In that case,” replied Professor Bellamy, “we must search his dorm and all his personal effects. If we find nothing, then we will have to recommend to Stanford to drop his accusation, since it will only be his word against Adam’s. If he agrees, then Sergeant Jeffries will continue his investigation for an unknown assailant and that will be the end of it.”
Adam was mad with rage when his brother recounted the discussion to him. “That lying bastard, Stanford! I never tried to buy his ring, it’s a piece of cheap crap. It’s a battered old ring, made of dull gold with a tourmaline in it. It’s not even worth pinching. And to suggest I might go around bashing people on the head in the street! I didn’t budge from my dorm last night, everybody knows I’m cramming for the exams. I was studying when the other boys went to the pub and I was still at it when they got back. We’re not all geniuses you know, Greg, some of us have to study to get a pass.”
Greg ignored this jibe at his academic ability. “The thing is, Adam, he’s accusing you of assault and theft. It’s not a trivial matter.”
“Well, let him go and accuse some other poor sod, ‘cos it wasn’t me. Now I really do feel like bashing his head in. Serve him right, the vindictive little prick.”
“But why would he invent such a story? Is there something you’re not telling me?”
“It’s just a clique thing, that’s all. They’re all conspiring against me, Stanford’s cronies. Little rich boy, buying his friends with his grandad’s money. Bunch of bloody lying sods.”
Greg was amazed to hear this abusive talk from his brother, though this was not the first time he had seen Adam become semi-hysterical when things didn’t go his way. He sounded as if he was suffering from a victimisation complex.
“Adam, there’s only one way to settle this. We have to make a search of your dorm and all your stuff. We’ll prove that you don’t have the ring then it won’t matter what Stanford says. No one saw anything, so he’ll have to retract his story and the business will be over.”
At this, Adam went into paroxysms of rage and it was only after a very stern lecture from his elder brother that he agreed to this solution.
They searched the dormitory and Adam’s personal effects with great care, but found nothing. When they explained the situation to Stanford he agreed not to press charges, so Sergeant Jeffries left them, to make other lines of enquiry. The housemasters reported the outcome to the principal and it was agreed to drop the matter. Greg was relieved at the result, but felt a nagging doubt at his brother’s extreme reaction to their discussion.
Things settled down at Trelawney, and the strange business of the vicious attack and theft of the diamond ring was relegated to a historical anecdote. The ring was never found and the police failed to find or even identify the attacker. Stanford left the college that year and went up to King’s. Greg and Adam never mentioned the matter again, but Greg didn’t forget it.
Greg gained a first in economics and won the tennis singles championship again. The Trelawney cricket team carried the Southern College’s Tournament and the rugby fifteen won the Inter-College Trophy. He went back home to Durban in a blaze of glory.
FIFTY-SIX
January, 1991
Rio de Janeiro, Brazil
There was no reply when Ray d’Almeida knocked at the door of the house on Centennial Drive, so he he tried the door handle. The dwelling was a small bungalow in Leblon, a pleasant, but not expensive area of Rio. The door opened and he called into the hall, “Hello Sra. Lindosa, it’s Ray. I’ve got your groceries.”
Ray was sixteen years old and working at three jobs. First thing in the morning he sold newspapers on the street corner. He made grocery deliveries in the afternoon and in the evening he was a waiter in a small café near the beach. No salary, tips only.
Times were tough and Ray’s father, Sergio, had little work and even less money. His sister Alicia suffered from the same asthmatic condition that had killed their mother fifteen years ago and could just about look after their shack in the favela and cook what little food they could afford.
It was thanks to his father that Ray was still on the straight and narrow. Like all the kids around, he had been approached many times to get involved in the thriving drug business. After the third time it happened, when Ray was ten years old, Sergio took him to a shack at the poorest end of the track, where the Caldeira family lived. The place was in darkness. Not even a candle lit up the shed, which reeked of stale food, dirty bodies, animal detritus and worse.
“Bento!” Sergio called twice into the darkness. He struck a match and lit a taper which shone into the doorway. Ray stood nervously at his side, not knowing what to expect.
“Sim?” The voice that answered was weak and hoarse, accompanied by a wracking cough and a hacking sound.
“Can I come in?” Sergio didn’t wait, but pushed his son ahead of him into the room.
In the flickering light from the taper Ray saw a scene more frightening than any of the nightmares that had plagued him since his mother’s death.
Lying on a filthy, stained couch at the end of the room was a naked man. Long, matted hair and a mangy, unkempt beard. Vivid bruises and weeping sores covered his stick-thin arms and legs so that the skin looked like a grotesque graffiti design.
His eyes were puffed up and almost closed and he peered blindly through the gloom to see who was disturbing him. Even from several feet away, they could smell the feral stench of his breath as he gasped at the effort of trying to sit up on the couch. After a moment, he fell back again and lay motionless.
Sergio took his son to the bedside. Discarded hypodermic needles, teaspoons, match ends and candle stubs lay on the floor around the bed and on a table nearby. The man still didn’t move. It was as if he was in a coma. Sergio said, “He’ll be dead by the end of the week. That’s what drugs do. If you want to be like that, you’re on your own.”
Bento died on the Friday. Ray had worked at three jobs ever since.
There was still no sound in the Lindosa’s house so Ray walked along to the kitchen and dumped the paper bag on the table, checked the bill and laid it beside the groceries. Turning to leave, he saw a handbag lying on a chair at the table. He went into the living room and back into the hall, looking around and listening carefully. There was no one in the house.
The purse inside the bag contained thirty dollars. He removed a five and two dollar bills, slipped them into his back pocket, replaced the purse and bag and went back to the hall.
“Hello, Ray. What are you doing here?” A woman in a gardening smock was coming in through the door. She had been working in the garden and hadn’t heard him.
Confused, he replied. “Bom dia, Senhora Lindosa. I was just delivering your groceries. I put them in the kitchen.”
“Oh, thanks. Come back in, I’ll get something for you.”
Anxious now, he said, “Don’t bother. I’ll be back next week.”
“It’s no bother. Come into the kitchen.”
Ray followed her back in and she picked up her bag and took out the purse. “That’s strange. I could swear I had five dollar bill
s in here.” She looked up at d’Almeida and saw from his flushed face what had happened.
“I’m sorry, Senhora. Here’s the money.” He pulled the notes from his pocket and placed them on the table. “Please don’t say anything. I’ll lose my job and be nicked. My father’s broke and my sister’s sick. My family needs me to work. Please don’t report it. I’ll do anything.”
The woman appraised Ray as if he was a potential purchase in a boutique. He was taller than her husband and better looking, with a muscular build, a light olive skin and dark, curly hair. In fact, she registered, Ray was a good looking young man.
“I think we can work this out,” she said, and took him by the hand towards the staircase.
An hour later, Ray rode off from the house on his bicycle to make his last deliveries. He’d avoided being fired and probably going to jail, but he wasn’t too happy about the weekly duties expected of him by Sra. Lindosa.
FIFTY-SEVEN
1996 - 1998
Durban, South Africa
After finishing at Trelawney, where he gained a pass in modern languages, Adam returned to Durban in 1996, two years after Mandela’s swearing in. Apart from holidays, he hadn’t lived with his family for twelve years. He had missed living through the most tumultuous times in recent South African history. When he left, his homeland was divided by race and mutual hatred. It seemed that the country would be torn apart by a storm of violence and go the way of so many other African nations, towards civil war. The nation had to endure another ten years of trauma before Mandela’s African National Congress won the first non-racial democratic election and he was sworn in as President of the country. Adam came home to a democratically governed republic. The storm had abated.
His sisters, Catrine and Birgitta, were now married, with a little boy and two girls respectively. Their husbands both worked in Hanny’s business as store managers. And Greg, who had returned three years previously, was engaged to be married and also working with his father, preparing to take over the business.
[African Diamonds 01.0] The Angolan Clan Page 35