‘Just not them!’
‘No, uncle Dirk’s brother, Jan.’
‘They call him Jannie,’ my father corrects my mother.
‘No, it doesn’t ring a bell,’ I say, sounding disappointed at the prospect of spending an evening with uncle Dirty Dirk’s family.
‘I’m sorry, darling,’ my mom says, ‘but we had no option. Their son is also here and they don’t have very much, so we offered to take them out. Just make the most of it, OK?’
‘Is he in Infantry School?’
‘Yes. I can’t remember his name, but they call him Blackie.’
‘No, I don’t know him. I don’t really know the people from the other companies. We hardly ever mix.’
Parking outside the restaurant, my father says, ‘Are we late? They’re here already.’
‘No, we’re not,’ says my mom.
‘How do you know they’re here?’ I ask.
‘Because that’s their truck,’ my father says, pointing to a black breakdown truck with the words Jannie and Son dramatically sign-written on the door. Below it, in a straight line, are the words: Best prices, speedy & honest.
I am appalled, picturing a drunken version of uncle Dirk being rowdy in the restaurant, in the presence of other members of my platoon or company.
‘Where do they live?’
‘Somewhere in the Transvaal.’
‘And they travelled all the way in this!’
‘Yes, uncle Jannie said the car was not reliable, or something like that.’
‘Nick, it’s the right thing to do, OK? Be nice to them.’
‘Of course,’ I say, mildly irritated.
The establishment is in a beautifully renovated old house that once belonged to a wealthy ostrich farmer.
‘Yes,’ says the maitre d’, ‘Van der Swart! The rest of your party is already here. Please follow me.’
I stand back, like a well-mannered boy, to let my parents seat themselves, and only then do I see Oscar sitting at our table. My immediate reaction is one of embarrassment that he might see my distant relatives, but when my folks greet the two people sitting with him, I realise that Oscar is their son. He gets up to introduce himself to my folks. Then he shakes my hand, smiling. ‘Howzit, Vannie.’
It takes me a glass and a half of wine before I am relaxed enough to respond to Oscar’s attempts at small talk. My father directs most of his questions at Oscar, as if I have never had anything to do with the Defence Force. Oscar answers politely, until he too has emptied a glass of wine, when he says, ‘Uncle Peet, do you know that of all the troops in Golf Company it is actually Nicholas and a friend who have had the most combat experience?’
‘What?’
‘Yes, he and a friend were the only ones to actually go on patrol with Koevoet and have a major contact!’
‘I don’t believe it!’
Everyone is quiet. My father looks away from Oscar, appears to think for a while, and then starts talking to uncle Jannie.
I am flushed with wine and Oscar’s support. Our parents start conversing in twos—the women with each other and the men too. Oscar smiles, notices that I see the smile and says, ‘Let’s go for a jol tonight, you and I.’ Then he turns to his father and says, ‘Pa, ek wil vanaand die trok gebruik, OK?’ (‘I want to borrow the truck tonight.’)
The adults decide to travel back together so that the youngsters can go and ‘chase some chicks,’ and without waiting for dessert we leave.
After trying the bars and finding them too crowded, we decide to go to the Holiday Inn. We order a bottle of wine in the lounge, where it is quiet enough to chat. We talk mostly about the past year, and particularly about the border. I am keen to talk about the time he kissed me, about helping me after the land mine explosion, and the last day of Vasbyt, when he picked me up. As Oscar pours us a second glass of wine I say, ‘Listen, I just want to say thanks for the times you’ve helped me.’
He smiles and says, ‘It’s nothing, Vannie, nothing.’
I look at the condensation on the silver ice bucket, run my finger over it, look up at him and say, ‘I know it was you who helped me after the land mine.’
‘Oh, man, forget it!’
‘And I won’t forget Vasbyt either!’
‘Oh, that.’ He is slightly embarrassed, but I look straight at him and manage to say what has been uppermost on my mind. ‘And what about the day you kissed me!’
He bursts into nervous laughter.
‘I just had to thank you, man. I tell you, it meant so much to me. It was so fucking brave of you. It like blew me away.’
He looks down smiling, then the smile fades, and with an intense look he says, ‘It had to be done.’
This gives me the courage to go on. ‘Oscar, there is something I want to tell you.’
‘Vannie, you don’t have to. It’s cool with me, whatever it is.’
‘No, I want to.’ I wait a while. The silence between us is not awkward; it is a moment we both need to prepare ourselves for a revelation. ‘I . . . I’m gay. I just wanted you to know that.’
In a split second, I become completely sober. I sink back, as if I have used up all my energy, and sigh, ‘I hope you understand.’
‘That’s OK.’ He leans over, straining to get closer to me, and says, ‘It really is OK, I promise you.’
‘Shit, I’m relieved. I don’t know why, but I needed to tell you.’
‘I’m glad you did. Just to put you at ease, I want to tell you about this guy I knew. Probably the most important person in my life. He sort of helped me see life differently. You see, where I grew up it was a bit rough. Well, this guy was my Art teacher and became a close friend. He is gay, and I tell you he was, and I guess still is, like a guru to me; definitely the most amazing person I have ever met. He told me early on that he was gay, and I spent a lot of time with him. Sometimes it would even be just the two of us in a tent, because we did many hiking trails together. Think about it, me a schoolboy and he a gay man, on a five-day hike, and I tell you I never ever felt the slightest bit threatened.’
‘Wow, I knew a guy like that too, sort of my mentor as well.’
‘Van, there’s something I must tell you too.’ Seeing my expectant look, he says, ‘No, no, I’m not gay. It’s something else. Do you remember that we spent a day together many years ago?’
‘My mom told me you visited my uncle when we were in Jeffrey’s. But I don’t remember meeting you.’
‘Well, we were staying in the caravan park that year. And that uncle . . . well, he’s not a nice man.’
‘I hated him.’
‘Do you remember that wrestling match?’
‘Yes, of course! No way, NO WAY . . . You’re that Blackie! Blackie, no way, man, no way!’
‘That’s me.’
‘Wow, man, I can’t believe it. Shit, and we were together in the army this whole year and never . . . What a coincidence. I also bumped into a cousin of mine here.’
‘It’s actually not such a coincidence, Vannie. I mean, most of the guys who matriculated the same time as we did are in the army now. Do you remember how you beat Michael that night?’
‘Yes, but it was a fluke, I think.’
‘It wasn’t. I remember it like it was yesterday!’
‘Oscar, I hated that man. I could go to hell for the thoughts I’ve had about him.’
‘He tried to feel me up, and my sister too, the sick cunt.’
‘What? In Jeffrey’s?’
‘No, we went down to Margate on a family holiday with them. He was a pain, trying to touch me and shit, but I wriggled away each time. I never really felt threatened because I knew he stood no chance. But then one afternoon, while everybody was resting, I went to the loo and passed my sister’s room. I heard her sort of talking, but more like moaning. I could hear she was distressed, so I opened the door and, shit, there he was, his hand down her . . . front.’
‘Fuck!’
‘I lost it, Vannie, totally. There was
a lamp next to the bed. I grabbed it and started hitting him. And then,’ Oscar smiles and sniggers softly, ‘the shade went flying and how exactly it happened I don’t know, but it was one of those lights with the switch under the bulb, you know. So the switch went on and the next time I hit him the bulb broke and I shocked him!’ We both burst out laughing. ‘So he tried to get off the bed and block the strikes, yelling at me to calm down, but I just went on hitting and hitting, using the broken bulb like a cattle prodder!’
‘And the rest of the people in the house?’
‘Aunt Fran was first on the scene. She knew immediately what was going on, so she got me to stop and sent him out of the room. The next minute my mother is there asking what’s going on, and poor aunt Fran says there was a little accident with the lamp. But the way she looked at me, almost pleadingly, I knew that she knew.
‘Later I felt bad that I hadn’t done something about it. Someone like that is sick and needs help, man. What if there were other kids, or even his own? But you know what it’s like with family and shit. Plus, I was only about ten or eleven, so what would I have been able to do?’
Before we go back to the base, Oscar gives me a gift—something that means more to me than material things ever could. We drive out of town and turn off the tar onto a gravel road. He drives on for about two kilometres, stops on a small rising and says, ‘Let’s get out.’
The Milky Way is so powerful above me that it feels as if I’m looking up at one enormous, solid, heavenly body, and the vast energy of our entire galaxy comes flooding towards me.
‘Listen to this, Vannie,’ he says and puts on a tape in the truck. And there, on the edge of the great expanse of the Karoo, with the smells of the veld where I had slept and trained for nine months, under the stars that I watched for countless hours on guard duty, we listen to Beim Schlafengehen, one of Richard Strauss’s four last songs.
The music swirls around me, then cuts into me and seems to link me to the cosmos—to the greatness of friendship, my admiration for Oscar and the love I have for Ethan. The Karoo air, with just a hint of dust and the scent of the bushes carried within its cleanness, gives me a feeling of unshakable power.
On our way back to camp, we drive through Oudtshoorn. The town is emptying out after its brief siege of army personnel, junior leaders and their families. Taking a shortcut past a late-night bar, the truck’s lights fall straight on Dorman, walking down the street. He is drunk. Oscar slows down and follows him. I ask why, but when he doesn’t answer, I don’t ask again. Dorman’s Datsun bakkie is parked in a side street, next to a pine tree. He fumbles for his keys, finds the right one for the door and gets in.
Then he looks down, trying to find the ignition. This man that has caused me such endless hardship looks small in his drunken state. He doesn’t look up at the lights blazing on him and flashframing his image into me as Oscar completes the turn and lines up directly in front of his bakkie. He eases up against the Datsun’s bumper. Dorman’s head immediately snaps up and he tries to block the light from his eyes. Oscar gently pushes the vehicle back until it is sandwiched between the tree and us. There is the sound of metal buckling, glass breaking, and the revving of our vehicle’s engine, but it is so gentle it’s almost muffled.
Then Oscar gets out, walks over to Dorman, and I follow.
‘Come here, Vannie,’ he says quietly as he stands looking down at Dorman, who is sitting in the car without a sign of the malevolence for which we have known him all year. In fact, he starts talking, and it sounds pretty much like pleading. Then he stops, and both he and I look at Oscar, who is undoubtedly the one in charge of this situation.
‘You have done wrong,’ Oscar eventually says in a steady voice, still not looking away from the drunken, trembling man in front of him. It is as if God himself has spoken on Judgment Day and there is no reprieve for Dorman.
‘I want you to know this, Dorman; I want you to realise that you have done terrible things this year. What you have done will never go away!’
I hear Dorman swear on the name of God, I hear him refer to Oscar’s rank, which is now higher than his, and I hear him make promises, but none of it has any truth or carries any weight. Then Oscar and I turn around, get back into the truck and drive off.
PART FIVE
After the older man has run his hand over the boy’s chest, stroked the smooth, young skin of his torso and seen the hard shape grow in his Speedo, he slowly eases it out. The young penis is so hard that it looks like skin over bone. It is clear that the boy is blistering with lust. When the man touches his scrotum, there is a jolt of pleasure in the younger body.
They are lying at a pool on beds designed for tanning. It is a hot night. Both of them have drops of water on their skins, in which the silver-blue light is now trapped. The water in the pool is still moving from when the two bodies were in it; from the chasing, touching and finding. The only light that is on, is inside the water, and it is now herding sharp sparks of silver light against the deserted pool house.
As the older man moves closer, the boy rolls over on his back, opens his legs and spreads them. They are exquisitely defined and youthful, almost tender under the stroke of the older man’s hand moving over taut, elongated muscles.
Soon the boy ejaculates. He is still on his back, resting his head on the arm of the man lying on his side next to him. His penis stays hard. In this light, his pubic hair is black against his white skin, and a line of fine hair runs up to his navel.
When the alcohol has worn off and they had sex one more time, the older man starts telling the boy why he shouldn’t tell anybody about what has happened. The boy doesn’t tell him, but there is a good reason why he won’t tell anybody: he is in love and wants to spend the rest of his life here, with this man, whom he would never ever want to hurt or jeopardise. In fact, he will do anything for this man.
But soon the one who has lived longer, who should be the more mature, begins to realise his hold and starts abusing this love. He has had so many men fall in love with him that he reads the signs easily. And after a conquest, he gets bored and looks for other stimulation. But the young man with the long, black hair is so infatuated that he will do anything, which is when things start going wrong.
By the time the weekend is over and they are driving back to the city, he has shared the boy with a friend while he watched. Without consent, he also filmed the boy being fucked. But it is his obsession to hurt the boy that scars this beautiful man-child for the rest of his short life. He doesn’t understand why his uncle would want to burn him with a cigarette while he is entering him, but it helps that he is either high or drunk when it happens.
When he turns to go to the first-class lounge at JF Kennedy Airport, after checking in his bags to South Africa, his uncle reminds him of the Super 8 film he has taken and will keep as an insurance policy. He also reminds him to keep his back and buttocks covered until the scabs have healed.
EPILOGUE
It took me twenty years to pluck up the courage to look at my diaries and start reconstructing the events of that year. In all this time, Ethan’s visit was the one thing that stood out—everything else remained buried until I started the process of writing this story.
Life simply seemed to carry on, even when it felt as if the planet should stop and take a breath to reassess what had happened. Everything just goes on with the momentum that life gives it. I guess a story never really ends. It certainly doesn’t remain in the ‘ever after,’ but it does stay with us ‘forever after’ in that it has changed us, made us grow, or scarred us.
My second year in the army turned out to be surprisingly comfortable. I was based at Danie Theron Combat School with Malcolm, and after receiving rank I worked in the media centre as a graphic artist. I was close enough to Pretoria for weekly visits to and from Ethan, and the year passed on the wings of first love.
After the army I enrolled at art school and Ethan at UCT. We rented a small bachelor flat and shared a
year of uncomplicated bliss. But in that year, while we had everything our hearts could desire, we were introduced to something more dangerous than prejudice—the darkness of substance abuse. That, however, is a story for a next time.
My friendship with Malcolm has stood the test of time and distance—a distance that has since grown to the western shores of Canada.
There are nights when I wake up from dreaming about the army—about conversations, acquaintances and emotions that emerge from somewhere deep in my unconscious. They awake in me a sense of longing that lingers for that whole day and leaves me slightly confused. How it is possible to have hated a time so much and then to discover that somewhere inside, one is yearning for certain aspects of it?
My only explanation is that when one has an experience that is so traumatic, it knits itself into your very fibre while you are raw and ripped open. Then, when there is a really good moment, it can be so incredibly fine that it surpasses all other, because of the acute contrast.
GLOSSARY
Balsak Large canvas bag used to carry kit (literally: ball bag)
Bivvie Temporary shelter
Blerrie Bloody
Bliksem Used as a noun: scoundrel; used as a verb: to beat up (literally: lightning)
Blouvitrioel Copper sulphate; mixed into beverages to reduce libido
Bok Antelope; goat
Boer Afrikaner (literally: farmer)
Boerseun Young Afrikaner male (literally: farm boy)
Boerewors Traditional South African sausage
Braai Barbecue
Broer Brother
Buffel Buffalo; also name of anti-landmine vehicle
DB Detention Barracks
Deurtrekker Plastic coated cable to clean barrel of rifle
Dof Stupid
Dominee Pastor
Donner To fight; hit
Doos Derogatory word for female genitalia
Flossie Hercules freight plane
Fok Fuck
Fokof Fuck off
Moffie Page 32