Rage

by Wilbur Smith

  ‘I suppose you do have the right to speak to me like that. The only man in the world who does,’ Shasa mused. ‘But don’t expect me to enjoy it, Blaine.’

  ‘I expect young Sean cannot accept criticism either,’ Blaine said. ‘He’s the one I wanted to talk about, not you. How did we end up discussing you? However, since we are, let an old dog give a few words of caution to both of you. Firstly, don’t dismiss Sean’s behaviour too lightly, you may just find yourself with a serious problem one day, if you don’t check it now. Some people have to have constant stimulation or else they get bored. I think Sean might be one of those. They become addicted to excitement and danger. Watch him, Shasa.’

  ‘Thank you, Blaine,’ Shasa nodded, but he was not grateful.

  ‘As for you, Shasa. You have been playing life like a game.’

  ‘That’s all it is, surely,’ Shasa agreed.

  ‘If you truly believe that, then you have no right to take on the responsibility of cabinet rank,’ Blaine said softly. ‘No, Shasa. You have made yourself responsible for the welfare of sixteen million souls. It’s no longer a game, but a sacred trust.’

  They had stopped walking and turned to face each other.

  ‘Think about that, Shasa,’ Blaine said. ‘I believe that there are dark and difficult days ahead, and you won’t be playing for an increase in company dividends – you will be playing for the survival of a nation, and if you fail, it will mean the end of the world you know. You will not suffer alone—’

  Blaine turned to Isabella as she ran to him.

  ‘Grandpapa! Grandpapa!’ she cried. ‘I want to show you the new pony Daddy gave me,’ and they both looked down at the beautiful child.

  ‘No, Shasa, not you alone,’ Blaine repeated, and took the child’s hand.

  ‘All right, Bella,’ he said. ‘Let’s go down to the stables.’

  Shasa had found that Blaine’s words were like arrowgrass seeds. They scratched when they first attached themselves to your clothing, and then gradually worked themselves deeper until they penetrated the skin to cause real pain. Those words were still with him when he went into the cabinet room on Monday morning and took his place at the foot of the table, as befitted the most junior member of the gathering.

  Before Blaine had spoken to him, Shasa had considered these meetings no more important than, say, a full board meeting of Courtney Mining and Finance. Naturally, he prepared himself as thoroughly, not only were his own notes exhaustive and cogent but he had assembled full portfolios on every other member of the cabinet. Blaine had helped him with this work, and the results had been fed into the company computer and were kept up to the minute. After a lifetime in politics, Blaine was a skilled analyst and he had been able to trace in the tenuous and concealed lines of loyalty and commitment that bound this group of important men together.

  At the broadest level every single one of them, apart from Shasa, was a member of the Broederbond – the Brotherhood – that invidious secret society of eminent Afrikaners whose single object was to advance the interest of the Afrikaner above all others at every possible turn and at every level from that of national politics through business and the economy, on down to the levels of education and the civil service. No outsider could ever hope to fathom its ramifications, for it was protected by a curtain of silence which no Afrikaner dared to break. It united them all, no matter whether they were members of the Calvinist Dutch Reformed Church or of the even more extreme Dopper Church, the Hervormde Church which by Article No. 3 of its charter had ordained that heaven was reserved exclusively for members of the white race. The Broederbond united even the southerners, the Cape Nationalists, and those hard men from the north.

  As Shasa rearranged his thick sheaf of notes, which he would not need since they were already committed to memory, he glanced down the table and saw how the two opposing forces in the cabinet had arranged themselves like the grouping of an army. Shasa was quite obviously arrayed with the southerners under Dr Theophilus Dönges, one of the most senior men, who had been a member of the cabinet since Dr Malan brought the party to power in 1948. He was leader of the party in the Cape, and Manfred De La Rey was one of his men. However, they were the smaller and least influential of the two groups. The northerners comprised both the Transvalers and the Orange Free Staters, and amongst them were the most formidable politicians in the land.

  Strangely, in this assembly of impressive men, Shasa’s attention went to a man who had been a member of the Senate as long as Shasa had himself been a member of the lower house. Before his appointment to the Senate in 1948, Verwoerd had been the editor of Die Transvaler, and before that he had been a professor at Stellenbosch University. Shasa knew that he had lectured to Manfred De La Rey when he was a student, and had exerted enormous influence upon him. However, they were in different camps now, Verwoerd was of the north. Since 1950 he had been Minister of Bantu Affairs, with godlike powers over the black population, and had made his name synonymous with the ideal of racial segregation at all levels of society.

  For a man with such a monumental reputation for racial intolerance, the architect of the great edifice of apartheid which was being erected with intricate interlocking laws that dictated every aspect of the lives of the country’s millions of black people, his appearance and manner were a pleasant surprise. His smile was kindly, almost benign, and he was quietly spoken but persuasive as he rose to address the cabinet and explain with the aid of a specially prepared map of South Africa his plans for the rearrangement of black population densities.

  Tall and slightly round-shouldered, with his curly hair beginning to turn to silver, there could be little doubt of his utmost sincerity and belief in the absolute rightness of his conclusions. Shasa found himself being carried along on the plausible flood of his logic. Although his voice was pitched a little too high, and the tense note of his monologue grated on the ear, he carried them all on the strength, not only of his total conviction, but also of his personality. Even his opponents were filled with awe at his debating ability.

  Only one small detail worried Shasa. Verwoerd’s blue eyes were slitted, as though he were always looking into the sun, and though they were surrounded by a complex web of laughter lines, they were cold eyes, the eyes of a machine-gunner staring over the sights of his weapon.

  Blaine’s words came back to Shasa as he sat at the polished stinkwood table. ‘No, Shasa, it’s not a game. You have made yourself responsible for the welfare of sixteen million souls. It’s no longer a game, but a sacred trust.’

  But he remained expressionless as Verwoerd ended his presentation. ‘Not one of us here today doubts that South Africa is a white man’s country. My proposals will see to it that within the reserves the natives will have some measure of autonomy. However, as to the country as a whole, and the European areas in particular, we the white people are and shall remain the masters.’

  There was a general murmur of agreement and approbation, and two of the others asked for clarification on minor points. There was no call to vote or to make any joint decision, for Verwoerd’s lecture had been in the form of a report back from his department.

  ‘I think that Dr Henk has covered this subject fully – unless anybody else has a question, we can go on to the next matter on the agenda.’ The Prime Minister looked down the table at Shasa. The agenda read:

  ITEM TWO: Projection by the Hon. Minister for Mines and Industry on the capital requirements of the private industrial sector over the next ten years and the proposal of means to satisfy such requirements.

  This morning would be the first time Shasa would address the full cabinet, and he hoped he would muster only a small portion of Verwoerd’s aplomb and persuasion.

  His nervousness faded as soon as he rose to speak, for he had prepared in depth and detail. He began with an assessment of the foreign capital needs of the economy over the next decade, ‘to carry us through to the end of the 1960s’, and then set out to estimate the amounts available to them from their traditional
markets within the British Commonwealth.

  ‘As you see, this leaves us with a considerable shortfall, particularly in mining, the new oil-from-coal industry and the armaments sector. This is how I propose that shortfall should be met: in the first instance we have to look to the United States of America. That country is a potential source of capital that has barely been tapped—’

  He held their attention completely as he described his department’s plans to advertise the country as a prosperous market amongst the American business leaders, and to entice as many of them as he could to visit South Africa at the expense of his department. He also intended establishing associations with sympathetic and influential politicians and businessmen in the United States and the United Kingdom to promote the ‘country’s image, and to this end he had already contacted Lord Littleton, head of Littleton Merchant Bank, who had agreed to act as Chairman of the British South Africa Club. A similar association, the American South Africa Club, would be formed in the United States.

  Shasa was encouraged by the obviously favourable reception of his presentation to continue with a matter he had not intended raising.

  ‘We have just heard from Dr Verwoerd the proposal to build up self-governing black states within the country. I don’t wish to tackle the political aspects of this scheme, but as a businessman I feel that I am competent to bring to your attention the final cost, in financial rather than human terms, of putting this into practice.’

  Shasa went on swiftly to outline the massive obstacles in logistics and lost productivity that would result.

  ‘We will have to duplicate a number of times the basic structures of the state in various parts of the country, and we must expect the bill for this to run into many billions of pounds. That money could more profitably be invested in wealth-producing undertakings—’

  Across the table he saw Verwoerd’s great charm ice over with a crust of hostility. Shasa knew he was autocratic and contemptuous of criticism, and he sensed that he was taking a risk by antagonizing a man who might one day wield ultimate power, but he went on doggedly.

  ‘The proposal has another flaw. By decentralizing industry we will make it less effective and competitive. In a modern age when all countries are economically in competition with each other, we will be placing a handicap on ourselves.’

  When he sat down he saw that though he might have convinced nobody, he had given them much to think about seriously and soberly, and when the meeting ended, one or two of the other ministers, most of them southerners, stayed to exchange a few words with him. Shasa sensed that he had enhanced his reputation and consolidated his place in the cabinet with that afternoon’s work, and he drove back to Weltevreden feeling well pleased with himself.

  He dropped his briefcase on the desk in his study and, hearing voices out on the terrace, went out into the late sunshine. The guest that Tara was entertaining was the headmaster of Bishops. Usually this worthy would summon the parents of recalcitrant pupils to appear before him as summarily as he did their offspring. This did not apply to the Courtney family. Centaine Courtney-Malcomess had been a governor of the school for almost thirty years, the only woman on the board. Her son had been head boy before the war and was now on the board with his mother, and both of them were major contributors to the College’s coffers – amongst their gifts were the organ, the plate-glass windows in the new chapel, and the new kitchens to the main dining-hall. The headmaster had come to call upon Shasa, rather than the other way around. However, Tara was looking uneasy and stood up to greet Shasa with relief.

  ‘Hello, Headmaster.’ Shasa shook hands, but was not encouraged by the head’s lugubrious expression.

  ‘Headmaster wants to talk to you about Sean,’ Tara explained. ‘I think a man-to-man chat will be appropriate, so I will leave the two of you alone while I go and get a fresh pot of tea.’

  She slipped away, and Shasa asked genially, ‘Sun’s over the yard arm. May I offer you a whisky, Headmaster?’

  ‘No thank you, Mr Courtney.’ That he had not used Shasa’s Christian name was ominous, and Shasa adjusted his own expression to the correct degree of solemnity and took the chair beside him.

  ‘Sean, hey? So what has that little hooligan been up to now?’

  Tara opened the door to the dining-room quietly and crossed the floor to stand behind the drapes. She waited until the voices on the terrace were so intense and serious that she could be certain that Shasa would be there for the next hour at the least. She turned quickly and left the dining-room, closing the door behind her, and went swiftly down the wide marble-tiled passageway, past the library and the gun room. The door to Shasa’s study was unlocked, the only doors ever locked at Weltevreden were those to the wine cellar.

  Shasa’s briefcase stood in the middle of his desk. She opened it and saw the blue folder embossed with the coat of arms of the state which contained the typed minutes of that day’s cabinet meeting. She knew that numbered copies were made and distributed to each minister at the end of the weekly meetings, and she had expected to find it in his case.

  She lifted it out, careful not to disarrange anything else in the crocodile-skin attaché case, and carried it to the table beside the french doors. The light was better here, and in addition, by glancing around the drapes, she could see down the terrace to where Shasa and the headmaster were still deep in conversation under the trellis of vines.

  Quickly she arranged the blue sheets on the table, and then focused the tiny camera that she took from the pocket of her skirt. It was the size of a cigarette-lighter. She was still unaccustomed to the mechanism, and her hands were shaking with nervousness. It was the first time she had done this.

  Molly had given her the camera at their last meeting, and explained that their friends were so pleased by the quality of the information she was providing that they wanted to make her job easier for her. Her fingers felt like pork sausages as she manipulated the tiny knobs and snapped each of the sheets twice, to cover herself against possible mistakes of exposure or focus. Then she slipped the camera back into her pocket, before stacking the sheets in their folder and replacing it carefully in Shasa’s briefcase in exactly the same way she had found it.

  She was so nervous that her bladder felt as though it might burst and she had to run down the passage to the downstairs toilet. She only just reached it in time. Five minutes later she carried the silver Queen Anne teapot out on to the terrace. Usually this would have annoyed Shasa, who did not like her to usurp the servants’ work, especially in front of guests. However, he was too engrossed in his discussion with the headmaster to notice.

  ‘I find it difficult to believe that it is anything more than robust boyish spirits, Headmaster.’ He was frowning as he sat forward in his chair, hands on his knees, to confront the schoolmaster.

  ‘I have tried to look upon it that way.’ The headmaster shook his head regretfully. ‘In view of the special relationship that your family has to the school, I have been as lenient as I can be. However,’ he paused meaningfully, ‘we are not dealing simply with an isolated instance. Not simply one or two boyish pranks, but a state of mind, an entire behaviour pattern which is most alarming.’ The headmaster broke off to accept the cup of tea that Tara passed across the table to him. ‘Forgive me, Mrs Courtney, this is as painful to me as it must be to you.’

  Tara said quietly, ‘I can believe that. I know you look upon each of your boys as one of your own sons.’ And she glanced at Shasa. ‘My husband has been reluctant to come to terms with the problem.’ She hid her smug satisfaction behind a sorrowful but brave little smile. Sean had always been Shasa’s child, strong-willed and thoughtless of others. She had never understood nor accepted that cruel streak in him. She recalled his selfishness and lack of gratitude even before he could talk. As an infant when he had gorged himself at her breast, he would let her know he was satiated by biting her nipple with sufficient force to bruise her painfully. She had loved him, of course, but had found it hard to like him. As soon as he
had learned to walk, he headed straight for his father, staggering after him like a puppy, and his first word had been ‘Dada’. That hurt her, after she had carried him big and heavy in her belly and given him birth and suck, ‘Dada’. Well, he was Shasa’s child now and she sat back and watched him grapple with the problem, feeling a spiteful pleasure at his discomfort.

  ‘He’s a natural sportsman,’ Shasa was saying, ‘and a born leader. He has a good mind – I am convinced that he will pull himself together. I gave him a good thrashing after his school report at the end of last term, and I’ll give him another this evening to get him in the right frame of mind.’

  ‘With some boys the cane has no effect, or rather it has the opposite of the desired effect. Your Sean looks upon corporal punishment the way a soldier looks on his battle wounds, as a mark of his courage and fortitude.’

  ‘I have always been against my husband beating the children,’ Tara said, and Shasa flashed her a warning look, but the headmaster went on.

  ‘I have also tried the cane on Sean, Mrs Courtney. He seems positively to welcome that punishment as though it affords him some special distinction.’

  ‘But he is a good athlete,’ Shasa repeated rather lamely.

  ‘I see you choose, as I would, the term “athlete” rather than “sportsman”,’ the headmaster nodded. ‘Sean is precocious and mature for his age. He is stronger than the other boys in his group and has no qualms in using his strength to win, not always in accordance with the rules of the game.’ The headmaster looked at Shasa pointedly. ‘He does have a good brain, but his school marks indicate that he is not prepared to use it in the classroom. Instead he applies his mind to less commendable enterprises.’ The headmaster paused, sensing that this was not the moment to give a doting father concrete examples. He went on: ‘He is also, as you have noted, a born leader. Unfortunately, he gathers about him the least desirable elements in the school, which he has formed into a gang with which he terrorizes the other boys, even those senior to him are afraid of him.’